The girl had finally gone still. A pulse could still be felt, a minute or two longer and it would be silenced as well. Instead, the tendrils retracted from her small, fragile form. The power and the fight that had been within such an unassuming child was to be admired. A trait shared among the blood, it seems.

"Can you use this power? Does it hurt you?"

The questions were directed to the smallest child. A strange boy. Wouldn't look up. Wouldn't relax the stiffness of its spine or shoulders—

"I won't let it."

--but every word it spoke had none of the observed hesitation. It spoke frankly, sure of itself. It was an odd, unexpected comfort during these recent developments.

"The boy I spoke of before, he is hurting. There is something inside him, like a poison, that I wish to see removed."

The child glanced upwards, eyes half-heartedly searching the broken wilderness around them. "Where?"

Sight was an unneeded limitation, but it was also a strange comfort to conform to. Though the answer could be explained without looking, a turn towards the ruined forest took sight off the child for the briefest of moments. In that time, the eldest woman—the familiar acted. Exploding outward with surprising speed despite the injured leg, heading into the burned woods, eye focused on the boy.

A response was necessary. More violence. The giant ball of orange in the sky was getting ever lower, allowing the shadows to stretch much further. But the familiar was fast and gaining speed the closer it came to the prize. It was avoiding slower, more careful attempts to be restrained from the rising darkness. A shudder rippled through. A push for the shadows to rise in unison, surrounding the familiar with inky black walls. Pushing off from one leg, it attempted to leap over the high walls, but the walls merely grew taller and stretched out with dark, grasping hands.

A ball of fire ripped apart the defenses. The hands missed their target by inches as they crumbled beneath the light.

"NO!" the young child firmly stated when attention was turned on it.

No time to explain or defend or argue. Existence was shortening the closer the familiar grew to the boy. An exchange was needed. A hostage.

Tendrils seeked to wrap around the sleeping, flame wielding girl, but its stolen power was used again to keep them at bay. Attention was brought to the youngest boy once more. It wasn't desired, but choices had to be made. It had to be stopped.

Sharp and decisive, allowing the shortest amount of time to react, spikes of darkness shot outwards. Their target was the child, but they instead sunk deep into hardened bark as the child's elder brother used what remained of its power to shield from death. But it was groaning and screaming, the spikes keeping its arm locked in place. Leaving it open and exposed.

"That's enough, shadow!"

Unfamiliar, sharp pressure on the neck. Existence squeezed. A ring of fire erupted around the two boys, beating back the darkness. It scored through the air before settling around both sets of boys and girls. Protecting the children from further harm.

In direct contrast the boy—my boy had a dirtied hand over his throat. Twinges of pain as thin streaks of blood blossomed from beneath the creature's sharpened nails.

It was over.

...

"It's over," Kat gasped out between deep intakes of breath. Despite the trembling of her entire body, she kept the muscles taut and her fingers clenched over John's throat.

"Once again the boy is at your mercy," the shadow observed, it soft voice as nonplused as ever despite its predicament. "What will you do? Despite my actions, he is an innocent in this."

"Innocent or not you made him a target..." Kat shook her head, trailing off with both lack of energy and desire to proceed. "No, this is over. I'm sorry, but he has to die."

John's eyes popped open, his body attempting to jolt upwards. It was sudden and strong, but Kat recovered quickly enough to slam a knee into his groin. The boy's face twisted in pain and the fight went out of him long enough for Kat to send the younger familiar back into the ground, straddling him and keeping her arm straight and unbendable as her hand reaffirmed its grip on his neck.

"What...?" John gurgled out, hands fumbling around Kat's arm. His eyes were wide, bulging. Kat looked away from them to study their surroundings. Sure enough, several dark lines of shadow had surrounded the two of them, waiting for their moment to strike.

"I kept the boy in stasis to preserve my abilities," the shadow explained. The bulk of its body loomed nearby, watching over the familiar's struggle like a casual observer. "But if you are committed in killing him he should be allowed a fighting chance."

"Sha..." John tried to say, but couldn't get out much more than feeble attempts to take in a breath. His hands reached for her face, but she was much taller than him. His legs kicked and kicked beneath her, but they were rapidly losing strength. His face was turning all sorts of shades of reds, blues, and purples. "Sto..."

"I'm sorry," was all Kat could say as she focused all her waning energy in keeping her body on top of his, hand locked on his throat, nails sinking steadily deeper. Would it be that she could just rip out his throat and make it quick and easy, but hunger and fatigue were eating away at her. It took everything just to keep each and every pound of her slight weight pressed down upon him.

"You have to die." She repeated in her own head several times, willing—hoping he could hear her. "Your shadow has done terrible things and threatens to do worse. You have to die so that my family can live."

When his tear stricken eyes met hers she desperately wanted to look away, but willed herself not to. He deserved better than that. So her eyes were only for his dark ones. Taking in its fear and despair. Watching the light slowly fade and die.

"Lizbeth?" a soft, trembling voice asked. "What are you doing?"

"Trout!?" Kat choked out in both surprise and horror. He was supposed to be in the ring of fire. Indeed, the fire was still there, crackling and bright, but he was not there? He was behind her? Why? Why?

"Why are you hurting him?"

Kat's strength faltered, only for a moment, but it was enough for John to roll to the side. Her hand lost its purchase, nails ripped out of flesh, and Kat fell forward. Almost in slow motion she watched John crawl out from beneath her as the pointed shadows lifted from the ground and seeked to pierce her. There had to be at least a dozen. Too many to avoid. Not enough time to—

Cold bit into her in multiple places. As if parts of her body were suddenly coated with blocks of ice. The shadows pierced through her arms, legs, torso, head, and each spot blossomed with a bitter chill, but no worse. No blood. No death. Kat continued her fall, her body slipping through the shadows and into the ground. But she was pushing herself back up in an instant, rounding on John as the familiar scooted backward across the charred grass, one hand on his bruised throat.

"Stop!" John cried with a ragged, raspy throat. "I can make him stop! You don't have to do this!"

"Damage is done. Too risky," Kat rattled off as she took staggered steps towards him. Faintly, she felt more spots of her body turn cold and numb momentarily as the shadow continued its fruitless assault behind her. "Have to die. Have to die."

"Run, boy!" the shadow commanded, its airy voice bitter and sharp on the dying wind.

John was sputtering, crying. Hand still clenched around his bleeding throat, he attempted to turn around and stand, but was met with a firm kick from Kat on his backside, sending him face first into the ground. She moved to capitalize on his prone form, but was stopped by small, soft arms wrapping around her waist.

"Don't, Lizbeth!" Trout pleaded. "No more hurting!"

Kat only spared the small child a growl before placing a hand over his face and shoving him away. Trout stumbled backwards and fell, scrapping his elbows as he did so. He lay there in shock for a moment before his face scrunched inwards and began wailing.

His cries made Kat freeze, if only for a moment. They squeezed at her heart, reminding the familiar of a time not that long ago. But she couldn't spare the time to turn and apologize. John was already getting up again. His strength was returning. If he got away now, there would not be another chance.

Kat took a step and buckled. Her head dizzy. Her stomach aching. Her muscles burning. John's retreating form grew distant and blurry.

Can't get away.

A bloody, dirt-caked hand reached out before her.

Can't fail.

He was getting further and further away. Disappearing into the fading orange light. Outside her reach. Leaving her behind. Gone forever.

"Don't..." Kat pleaded, falling to her knees, tears blurring her already blurred vision. "Don't leave me."

...

John paused when he heard a light thump hit the ground behind him. Hesitantly, he turned, body still poised to spring away. The crazed familiar with the missing arm he was sure she didn't have last he saw her was on the ground, unmoving. An unfamiliar child was sitting down not far beyond her, crying and crying. Further beyond them was a dying ring of fire, shrinking by the second.

Speaking of seconds, he had nearly died just seconds ago. His throat still pulsed with pain when he unconsciously touched the strained muscles in his neck. She probably had caught him mid-intake of breath. His lungs had emptied so quickly. Consciousness was there and gone nearly in an instant. Breathing was still ragged—disjointed, his body slowly remembering how it was done. In and out. Slower. Slowly.

John flinched violently when his shadow descended down, though it was more like it was shrinking to grow closer to the ground. With the immediate danger gone for the moment, memories were slowly filtering in to replace the draining adrenaline and intermix with the pain. Shadow had shut him down. It had killed his brother or, at least, claimed to. The familiar with the missing arm (he had forgotten her name) said he hurt others—killed others, maybe, while John was out. He wouldn't shed a tear over the loss of his malevolent brother—he had it coming for awhile—but Gus had been as much of a prisoner as he had been. Nearly everyone but his brother and that wolf monster had seemed like prisoners. Had his shadow become their new jailer and, perhaps, executioner?

"Shadow?" John asked when he had caught more of his breath. "What's happened? What did you do?"

"In a moment," his shadow answered, almost dismissively as it continued its descent. It was alighting around the unknown, crying child, widening like a tent to hover both over and behind him. "Child, why are you crying?"

John wasn't expecting much of an answer from the kid, aside from perhaps screaming in terror when he saw what had descended upon him, but was surprised when the kid opened his tear-stricken eyes and softened his wails to answer.

"Hur-Hurts," he said with a sniffle.

"Where does it hurt?"

"El—" the boy raised his arms, showing elbows ragged and bloody. "My elbows. Both of them."

"Oh, that does look like it hurts," Shadow observed, nodding sympathetically with its blank face. A pair of hand-shaped tendrils peeled away from its widened form, reaching further down to the kid. "This will be cold, but it should help with the pain."

"Sh—!" John started, taking a step towards the pair, but stopped short when he realized it would bring him closer to his almost murderer. Though she still appeared out of it, he wasn't willing to take his chances.

The kid yelped, but it seemed more in surprise than in pain. Shadow had its hands pressed gently against the boy's arms but didn't seemed intent on trying anything further than that. Still, the boy tried in vain to shake it off.

"That's cold!" he protested.

"Yes," Shadow answered, "but do your elbows still hurt?"

The boy paused his moping, considering. "No."

John watched the exchange, unsure how to feel. The charred ground, blackened trees, and orange sky might as well be a blurred backdrop to the young child and the looming shadow. Like the world was taking a rare breath to give them their moment.

Why are you crying?

Although the unknown child had stopped his tears, John could still hear crying. He could still see a boy—this one much more familiar—sitting on a neglected sidewalk, back pressed to a fence with chipped paint. He was holding tight to his legs, knees pressed up to his chest, and sobbing into the smooth fabric of his pants. Several times he tried to stop, but the choking sounds that forced their way out only made him sadder.

"Why are you crying?"

The soft voice made him jump. Without looking to the speaker, he was already wiping his eyes and apologizing. He was sure this part of the city was mostly abandoned; just as sure that he hadn't heard anyone approaching. But once the tears started he had lost himself to his misery. Maybe—

Something cold—so cold it was like teeth biting into his shoulder—caused him to yelp and look up at his speaker and, for a moment, he thought he had gone blind. Darkness was the first thing he saw but, slowly, it took shape the longer he watched. The darkness had a head, arms, and legs. It was kneeling before him, in the shape of a person not much taller—no, maybe exactly as tall as him. Really, the more he stared the more he saw. It wasn't perfectly smooth; there were imperfections on the edges. Folds, lines, jagged edges. John swore he knew what they belonged to, as if an inner voice was giving him the answers to a test he didn't study for. The lines were hair tussled by nearly a mile of running. The folds the ruined, un-tucked undershirt and dirty dress pants. The figure before him changed from a stranger to something altogether different in the span of seconds.

Still, he had to ask.

"Who are you?"

There was a pause. With no expression to read, John immediately feared he may have insulted and angered it. He should apologize—wanted to, but the fear of what something so strange, so alien could do to him made his throat tight and stomach knot. Plus, maybe it wouldn't be so bad if something did happen.

"I am your friend," the dark thing answered.

John wiped a tear that suddenly fell down his left cheek. As he did, the head of the shadow rose up towards him, hands still pressed to the arms of the boy. The darkness wasn't so much a void any longer. More like a graying, fading mass.

"We've run out of time," his shadow said.

"Yeah." More tears came. John shut his eyes tight. "It's my fault, isn't it?"

"We both did what we did to survive, but you never forced the suffering of others to do so. I did."

"My dad and brother are dead," John said, forcing out the words between his tears. "They were bad people. I hated them. But it still hurts to know they are gone forever. Is that because I'm a bad person too? Did you do what you did because I'm a bad person? Because you're part of me?"

"No." The soft voice, always so close, was much closer now. Hovering near. Always near. "I do not believe that. I cannot believe it."

"Don't go!" John cried, eyes open, staring up at the blurred gray form before him. "Don't go away! There is still so much we haven't talked about! Who are you? Why did you choose me? Why does it hurt?"

His legs felt weak. It was growing hard to breathe again. But there were still more questions swirling in his mind. Why did he go with his brother to save that Swan girl? Because he was forced? Because he wanted to help? To save them? To die with them? Why couldn't he remember? Why? Why? Why?

"I do not have all the answers, John."

"But you are the only one I can talk to."

"That is not true."

"You're the only one who listens! Who understands. You are a part of me. You are. Without you, I'm nothing. Empty. I'd rather—"

"Do not finish that," Shadow interrupted, a rare trace of sternness in its voice. "Please, do not."

John grit his teeth, hands balling into fists. He wiped away at the tears still clouding his vision so he could stare at the cowardly shadow right in its empty face and shout: "Then what am I—!?"

Gone. Like having the air stolen out of his lungs or a vital organ ripped straight out his body. There was a sudden lightness as the shadow faded away entirely. He fell to his knees soon after, drained of both energy and strength, staring up at the spot where Shadow once hovered. Orange and red clouds swirled in its place. Somewhere far away a flock of birds flew. The rays of the sun were dull and dying, but still burned his eyes the longer he stared.

He wasn't sure how long he stared up at the sky. A passing head of shaggy, black hair eventually caught his attention. It was the crying kid, though he wasn't crying any longer. He knelt down beside the one-armed familiar and placed a hand on her back.

"Lizbeth..." he mumbled, shaking her back. "Lizbeth. Lizbeth. Lizbeth. Lizbeth."

"Hey," John mumbled, watching the girl not stirring, "is she okay?"

A wall of fire suddenly erupted before his eyes, causing him to cry out and fall away from the sudden brightness and warmth. He stopped himself short of nearly falling into more fire as the wall wrapped around and encircled him. The flames danced and licked far too close. Sweat was already starting to form and drip down his face.

Between the ever shifting flickers of light he could still see the boy kneeling beside the familiar, but there were others now stepping up beside him. Two girls, one with a shaved head and tanned skin, a burnt hand out and curled in his direction. The other, younger with long tangles of hair and much paler skin, with a similar looking boy whose one good arm was draped over her shoulder, the other looked like a lumpy mess dangling from his side.

"You the witch?" the shaved head girl demanded. It could have been the trick of the light, but John swore her eyes were pitch black as they glared at him from between the fire. "Where is the shadow?"

Her second question was in a voice different than the first. Deep. Guttural. It sent a shiver down John's spine despite the heat.

"Nobody!" John answered. "I'm no one! Please take the fire away! Shadow is...The shadow is gone."

"Lilly," the older girl snapped to the younger one, "put Gust down and keep your senses sharp."

"But, Elizabeth..." Lilly muttered even as she gently set the boy down.

"Kat!" the older girl called. "Wake up."

There was a strangled cry and a short burst of coughing as the thin form of the familiar—Kat rattled and shook. The youngest child still remained kneeling beside her and was now slowly rubbing her back, telling her it was going to be okay.

"What do you mean by gone?" the sinister voice continued, black eyes shifting back to him.

Before John could answer, a series of footsteps approaching from somewhere behind him pulled his attention. A large, dark-skinned man was leading another trio of people. One of the three he was actually half dragging behind him was the limp body of an older woman John faintly recognized as Dr. Garcia, though she had looked a lot better years ago when he last saw her. A much more welcoming sight was the bruised, cut up, but still alive form of Gustifer who hobbled a ways behind the larger man.

"Gus!" John called.

"Kat!?" the large man hollered nearly at the same time as he stopped on the other side of the circle of flame, his own dark eyes searching the members of the other group. His body was riddled with old scars while his lips were cracked and bleeding in several places. "Quincys? Is she okay!?"

"I'm fine, Stallion!" Kat answered back, trying and failing to lift herself up with one arm. "Just—Gah! The shadow! Where's—?"

"It's gone!" John shouted, forcing himself to say it again despite the way it tightened his throat. The fire was still as bright and as hot. He could almost feel his skin baking. "I think I spent too long as a familiar. Whatever was in me was weakening Shadow until..."

There was a pause. Eyes searched the surroundings. Eyes searched him. Gus was the only face he could bring himself to look at. It was pale, almost sweating as badly as him, his blue eyes staring with what John could only think was a mixture of fear and surprise. Was he seeing his freedom? His death? Something worse?

"It isn't gone," a small voice answered.

All eyes turned to the smallest child who still knelt beside Kat, his back to all of them as his tiny hands did what they could to brace and support the shaking familiar. He continued to address them with eyebrows knitted together in concentration and eyes firmly locked to the burnt out ground.

"I took him."