Four days ago..

The circular room was made out of window-less stone and it was close and humid. Sweat glistened and collected in large drops on the boy's naked form below him, covered only by a nearly sheer sheet. Habbor could see it in the dim, cinnamon tinted lighting. He could also see him grimacing and gritting his teeth in pain. Even when unconscious, the agony that the infusion caused reigned supreme.

Habbor had been informed of the boy by Rorel, as were they All. Nothing was a secret to Them, nothing could stay hidden from Them. Not for long.

The boy on the table whimpered, tried to roll over; tried to curl up. But the restraints on his limbs kept him from doing so. Habbor laid a hand on his forehead, beneath his violently ginger bangs, but that did nothing to console him. With the infusion of Yoma into the small child complete, all that was left was to wait and see if he died.

Males were never viable subjects. For they could never handle their Yoma powers responsibly. They would use and use, push and push their limits until they reached the state of unparalleled ecstasy also known as Awakening. Males were useless, and only lived as Claymore until the end of their first mission.

"I am doing this for your own good, boy," Habbor whispered down to the child as he placed a cool compress on his forehead. "You will soon understand, you will soon realize.. that number forty-six's life and the rest of Our lives are not for ones such as you. You cannot understand Our duty, or Our plight, but you will understand this. Because if you do not, you will die by her hand."

Habbor pulled away from the boy, letting his words sink into his unconscious mind where he was sure they would not reach. He was, indeed, doing it for the boy's own good. If he wanted to be around Them so much, he would become one of Them. But the burden They had to bear was one only They could bear. And Habbor knew, as he dissipated into nothing, that it would tear the boy to pieces.

Seven days ago..

Toby awoke to a starlit sky in the middle of a wood, a breeze cooling the sweat on his naked skin. He blinked and his eyelids stuck to his eyes, dry, feeling caked over with sand.

His chest rose and fell evenly, the fingers of his left hand twitched around the handle of a weapon. He soon realized that he was moving, breathing, without the searing pain that had recently accompanied him whenever he was awake.

He groaned and lifted a hand to wipe his eyes, resulting in fingers in his nose and mouth way too early. He blinked and looked at his hand, his arm. He could see it, a dark shadow where no stars shone. He could see it almost clearly. And it was.. bigger.. than he remembered.

Toby shifted, half rolling onto his left side, getting both hands under him and pushing up to his knees. Muscles all over his body fired then trembled with the effort to keep him up. He looked down at the grass, now flat from his body weight, focusing on it while he steadied himself enough to plant one foot down.. then the other.

Sticking his arms out to his sides for balance, inch by inch, Toby straightened up to his full height. The ground.. was further away too.

He spied the weapon down by his feet and bent to retrieve it. It was a dagger, a larger than average one, sheathed in worn leather with a beaded charm dangling from the handle. Fingers caressed it like he was blind, taking in every single detail.

He remembered it. This dagger.. it had been his.

Behind him, a bestial snarl gurgled through the night. He tensed, whirling around, too much momentum causing him to stagger. Just then, from behind a bank of black clouds, moonlight spilled down into the wood, coloring the trees and the long grass a pale blue. It bounced off several sets of beady, shiny eyes not twenty feet from him. He could see their shapes, canine, hunkering down, muscles rippling fluidly under their fur as they prepared to spring.

Tension surged into Toby's limbs, freezing him. His hand curled painfully around the handle of his dagger. He stared at the wolves, swallowing, his throat as dry as his eyes. It took him several moments to start running.

His bare feet pounded into the wet grass, rocks and branches stabbing him in his soles. He broke in and out of banks of moonlight and caught glimpses of his body as he did so. His legs were long and sleek, moving with grace that he could have only dreamed of. His torso, too, was long and slender, his stomach and chest tight and clearly defined. He hadn't been this big, he knew he had been shorter.. The last thing he remembered was running, exactly like this. And then darkness. Had he been asleep.. for years?

The snapping jaws, barks and thundering footfalls jerked him out of his thoughts. He dared a glance back, noticing the leading wolf closing in on him. Gritting his teeth, Toby pushed his new, longer legs to work harder. They cut through the air and wind hit him in the face harder, forcing small tears out of the corners of his eyes. The trees passed him in a blur. The sounds of the wolves grew further away until he burst through the trees and underbrush onto a spit of lawn that was a stone's throw from the border of a city.

He wasn't even out of breath, he noticed. Dark figures moved in and out of his line of sight, going into buildings, coming out of them. People. He heard laughter and voices.. then the howl of wolves that made him gulp and run towards the city for cover.

Belatedly a thought hit him: he should really find some clothing.