Damien was relieved, sort of, that it occurred in Braverley at this time of night. Being the city capital, there were plenty of strange people and dangerous characters lurking about at unsociable hours. No normal human would hang around, unless they were some poor soul who had a night shift. The last time they were there a few drunks had seen them, but considering their level of inebriation he didn't even bother erasing their memories – not that he was in any fit state to do so at the time, anyway.

The night stretched on. Vagrants snuffled in their sleep on the pavement, huddled against the wall in an effort to keep warm. Night taxis zoomed by, lighting the street up for a brief moment with their yellow lights. Stars glittered down. It was such a façade of peace. Damien peered over the main bridge that ran over the railway. The glass ceiling – who the hell had the bright idea to make a ceiling made of a few thousand panes of glass?! – displayed no indications of anything untoward. It was pitch black underneath.

Everything sounds reassuring enough, he projected to the rest of the team. They rounded the corner at the end of the bridge and began the rapid descent into the train station. Closed shops stared at them with their blank front windows, the mannequins frozen in their uncanny imitations of the living.

Their footsteps echoed, hollow, as they descended onto the platform levels. The temperature had dropped. Damien could only make out about three, four metres ahead of him before everything was sucked into the shadows. The hairs on the back of his neck rose. He couldn't see any of the shadow creatures yet, but the precarious balance between as-yet unable to detect them and being floored by them without warning was wreaking havoc on his nerves.

He kept his telepathy sharp, probing around the nearby areas in hopes of having an early warning.

Nothing yet.

They spread out in their usual position, minus Tora. Two of Ross's copies headed front with the real Ross. Two copies followed Damien and two followed Carlos, giving an illusion of a bigger team. Markl brought up the rear, his head continuously checking behind them.

Every footstep, every breath was loud in Damien's ear. The big electronic board indicating boarding times and platforms was shut for the night, as were the bookshop and convenience store to its either sides. Empty benches lined the outside of the shop windows. Pigeons trotted by, cooing, oblivious to what was to occur.

Damn, it's quiet... too quiet... Carlos thought to Damien. And then he chuckled. I always wanted to say that!

Damien hid a grin.

They fanned out further. Ross stood at the far side, checking out the first few platforms. Carlos vanished from view, heading for the ticket offices. Damien spread his senses to the platforms beyond the board. Markl watched the last of the platforms. His neck prickled, but not because of a demon rip. Still nothing yet – that was what gave him shivers. Something was terribly wrong. The computer wouldn't give false alarms, and with it being so quiet...

A slight movement behind him caught his attention.

Damien turned. A shout died in his throat.

The nausea hit him like a ten tonne truck at the same time as the bottomless despair. His knees gave way. His breath froze in his lungs as his kneecaps hit the concrete floor.

A large gash hovered in the air, at the same level as his head when standing. The edges pulsed like a living creature. Beyond it stretched pitch darkness.

A skeletal hand reached from the blackness and carefully clasped the edge of the opening. The wrist disappeared into a floaty sleeve.

Damien's vision swam.

A booming voice came from the recesses of his mind.

"You're a devil's spouse, I tell you!" The crack of a whip snapped through the air. "Be gone! Be gone!"

His head snapped back. Pain shot down the front of his face. Something warm and wet slid down his cheek, falling and staining his t-shirt.

"You've taken your brother already. Look at the state of him! He'll never talk again!"

Crack.

"Scum!"

Crack.

"Lowlife!"

Crack.

Cold air filled his nostrils for only one breath before another memory warmed him like a tidal wave.

Dark shadows hovered over him, flickering from the fire light in the corner. Candle flames floated above his body. Hot wax dripped onto his naked skin, sending searing pain along his limbs. Chanting drilled into his mind, meaningless words infused with terror and malice.

The shrieking crowd threw stones at him. Malignant grins spread across their faces, their features filled with hatred. Whether they were old or young, male or female, each hurled rocks at him without hesitation, death in their eyes.

"Go die!"

There was his friend from school, a twisted look on his young face.

"Burn, devil!"

And there was the shopkeeper who used to ask him to babysit her twins.

"Go back to hell!"

And the pastor... such a kind man.

Knives dragged down the centre of his chest, creating dark pools of blood in its wake which dripped down the length of his torso and down his waist onto the stone floor. His mother, muttering furiously under her breath, drew another line across his abdomen. The skin parted like tissue paper. He writhed, straining against the leather straps as he cried and begged. She ignored him.

Mother, please, I beg you!

"Get out of my head!" she screamed, throwing down the blade. It hit the floor with a reverberating clang, making Damien flinch. "It's all your fault! If you hadn't been born... if you didn't curse us with this unspeakable evil..."

I didn't do it!

"Stop messing with my mind!"

She shrieked, clutching her head. Tears streamed down Damien's face. The world swam in and out of focus with increasing amount of blood loss. All the while, his mother stumbled until she crashed into the corner, snivelling and intermittently screaming as she was hit by another invisible force.

"What are you—!"

His father burst in and rushed down the steps, fury on his face as he realised what was going on. Without hesitation he grabbed the rusty axe by the cellar stairs. He'd managed to swing it directly above his head before his muscles froze complete, a look of pure horror replacing all other emotions.

"What... are..."

His muscles twitched. Light green eyes – the same shade as his son's – full of engorged capillaries bulged; his terrifying persona was erased in one second. His whole body shook.

He dropped the axe with a thunk. His hands trembling, he reached out and untied the leather straps around Damien's wrists and ankles with his beefy fingers. Damien eased up, his breath rasping and eyes glistening, and attempted to stop the blood flowing. He pulled the remains of his ripped clothing and clutched them to his body, stifling some of the bleeding. He managed to get on his feet without feeling too dizzy. Damien shuffled to the stairs. The stink of blood hung heavy in the air, stifling when mixed with the sweat and fear.

"You monster!" hollered the man who had tortured him as early as he could remember. He seemed to come to his senses and snatched up the rusty axe again. "Look at what you've done to her – your own mother!"

Damien's eyes flicked to the terrified bundle by the wall. Her long soft hair, now sweaty and thin, plastered to her face. Her features were gaunt, filled with terror.

His eyes flicked back to his father. He was brandishing his axe, determination glinting in his eyes, rushing towards his son. Damien's heart flipped. His breath caught in his throat. He raised his hand, desperation clouding all coherent thought.

The man raised the axe over his head. Sweat dripped down his face. His entire body shook from head to toe.

Without a sound, he swung it down. There was a dull thud. Fresh blood exploded from his thigh.

A scream tore from his throat. The man collapsed, yelling, a pool of blood pulsing with vigour onto the stone floor. Damien found strength in his legs at last and stumbled up the stairs, almost falling over at the top.

"Damien!"

He curled tighter, his large eyes unseeing. The words kept on coming like some source of comfort for him.

"I'm sorry... I didn't mean to... I didn't mean to..."

The tears wouldn't stop. The chill from them was a relief over his flushed cheeks, but the despair and guilt hung over him, reminding him exactly what offences he had committed. The ground was rough beneath his fingers. Darkness leered at him from all four corners. It took a while before he realised he was back at the train station, not locked in his parents' basement being tortured.

Ross's shouts pulled him back to the situation at hand.

She was several metres away. Damien propped himself up, wincing with bruises blossoming on his lower back and elbow. She must have kicked him out of the way of the shadow creatures. His head still pulsed with the dark memories of days gone by.

About ten Rosses jumped about, keeping the three shadows distracted. The charcoal mist swirled around her. The strain was evident. Keeping so many copies active and fighting the urges to succumb to her dark memories was exhausting. Tears fell down her face, which had gone so white she resembled a marble statue.

The illusions attempted to throw punches and kicks at the spectres, their own mass-less selves making no impact on the gas-based beings. The false Rosses' colourings drained, reflecting the propagator. Two faded into nothingness. Ross gasped, her hands gripping her knees as she doubled over. The depression rode off her in waves.

Damien reached out with his mind. So dogged determination from Ross back in her pre-Seeker days where she could only try her best – but it was never enough. Her body ached from hours and hours of physical training, her hands callused and bleeding, her joints threatening to buckle. Her mind swam from all the information she'd crammed into her mind, all the inexplicable mechanisms and jargon clinging onto senses.

And every time she would get the same unimpressed stare and snort. It didn't matter she'd came first in the local marathon. It didn't matter she'd made the top ten in the country for mathalon. It didn't matter she'd skipped three grades at school and could attend university if she'd wanted. If she were lucky, she might get a verbal response of "Nothing I ain't seen before." Another hope dashed. Another dream shattered.

But she never gave up. She endeavoured for that smile and pat on the head from the man she'd admired all her life, for him to validate her worth. Nothing she achieved meant anything if he wouldn't acknowledge her. She'd ended up with broken bones, burned up from four all-nighters, stick-thin from skipped meals for tuition sessions. Yet all she could see was his back.

Ross couldn't let it go. That was why she was so uptight.

Think positive things, Ross, he urged her. They feed on our dark memories. Think of something positive... think... think...

He didn't know what Ross would find positive. Tora actually submitting to an order? Carlos not acting up?

I got it, said Ross, her voice strained.

Her mind was still a vortex of darkness.

Come on, Ross! Think of... What would Tora say? No, she wouldn't be in this situation. Fighting demons alone would make her happy enough. He imagined himself to be Carlos. Think of... baby animals! Fluff! Squishy things!

To his astonishment, Ross squared her shoulders and her eyes fluttered shut. The lead-like weight shifted into baby goats, their little hooves dancing on the grass. They head-butted each other with the tiny horns above their heads before skipping away.

A bunch of golden retriever puppies lolled into each other, fat and fuzzy. They could barely see for they were so young. Little pink-padded paws pushed into each other. Some whined for feed. Their fur was so puffy there was a thin halo of hair above their heads and floppy ears.

Who knew Ross had such a soft spot for new-born mammals?

I'll kill you if you tell Carlos this, said Ross. But it was working. More illusions split from the propagator, circling the three demons. The images' faces were pink, triumphant. The effect of the demons softened.

Something dark shot out of the shadows. Before Damien could react, the attacker had rammed Ross in the stomach. Her mouth opened in a surprise 'o'. The momentum carried her flying backwards.

Her head hit one of the stone pillars with a stomach-churning crunch. Her body collapsed like a rag doll on the ground. Her illusions vanished. Soft sobbing reached his ears from further away. Carlos must have been overwhelmed, too.

The dark figure advanced upon Damien. Damien fell. His bottom hit the ground, sending a shocking jolt up his spine. He scrabbled backwards, cold sweat pouring down his skin. His eyes widened in terrified recognition.

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