When you turn over an old, mossy stone, or a rotten log, you'll find all kinds of soft-skinned, squirming, near-blind creatures, desperately skittering and crawling away from the sudden, cruel, light, seeking to bury themselves deeper into the soft, welcoming earth. They go there to escape predators, the fierce, sadistic, alien creatures that inhabit the daylight world; they go there to escape; they go there because, ultimately, they can't live anywhere else.

And so, Morgan Khorsandi, staring at the wall, in the Shokushu basement. The similarities between the student and an arboreal bug are, it has to be said, limited, beyond their shared lack of a hard shell and near-sightedness, but she's fled into the catacombs of the school building for much the same reason. The past seventy-two hours have been almost too much - no, let's be fair, they have been too much, far too much - for her to bear. She's been isolated from the world she once knew, that she fled from to come here; she's been brutally raped, as her bruised insides and chafed inner thighs testify; and worst of all, she's been told, over and over, and not entirely unconvincingly, that she enjoyed it, that she wanted it all along.

She sits there, in the college's boiler room, thinking over her life thus far, college textbooks lying forgotten in a pile beside her. In the tropical humidity of the boiler room - which has reached the level of an ersatz bathhouse, rolling curtains of steam and all - her clothing, all long sleeves and ankle-length skirts, is deeply unseasonable, but she doesn't mind. It helps to hide her bruised and scored skin, and besides, ever since her first time, every exposed inch of flesh has been inflamed, hyper-sensitive; it helps to be covered up.

But even this depth of misery can't last forever. After a long time spent simply sitting, staring into nothingness, she begins to gather strands of fortitude, of righteous grit and resolution, coalescing them from the turbulent thoughts scudding through her mind. They're not really directed at anything, not just yet, and it's not like she has the first idea of what to do, but a little fight returns to her. She stretches - angular muscles and bones showing through her thin blouse, stands, and looks around her, squinting into the mist.

Gas pipes and steam, humidity, darkness. This was almost like an Earth version of home for the creature, and that was why he was attracted to it, and was compelled to spend time in it. The labyrinths, the slow, steady hum of machineries heating the school and the rooms and the darkness all gave the creature lots of time to be lost in thought, and to stay hidden within the shadows.

It was on this soliloquy that the demon was lost on. He was liking it here, much to his surprise, since it was abundant of his favourite appetite, but he was also longing for the kingdom that he once had. Here, there be monster, yes, but it was surprising enough that these monsters were strong as well...or at least it seemed all of them were of the same strength, speed and cunning, which insulted him greatly because he knew it was his birthright to at least be stronger, smarter, and of course, more powerful than the others. It was why he liked the basement. It offered him a lone time, a time where he could pretend, even if for a while, to be the most powerful creature in the dungeons.

Just all of a sudden, a sound from thither breaks him out of his concentration, his forced meditation. It was a dull -clank- and he knew that that was no rat that he heard.

It was no monster either. He left those monsters outside, and with his limited powers he managed to transmute inside the dungeons...though there's a fat chance that he won't be able to transmute again, not for a day, anyway.

He sifted through the dank, damp dungeon-like place, and surprised was he to see that he wasn't alone. Someone was in there...and a little bit later on, as he rounded a corner, he was able to see that that someone was a she, and she was alone...and lost. The place could be a little misleading, and here she was. Right into his palm.

The old demon smiled.

Morgan curses as she brings her foot up, too hard, against an undifferentiated pile of metal scrap, long since rusted into oblivion by the thick, waterlogged air. This place feels like one of the oldest parts of the college, the school's old and foetid omphalos, dripping stagnant and corrupted water from long-rusted pipes. If this is the heart of the whole place, then she's not particularly surprised that she's reacted so badly to it. It's a silly superstition, of course, but it's helpful in keeping things straightened out in her mind, and it's certainly comforting to ascribe all the horrors of this place to a place, rather than people, creatures, things.

As she stands, she hears something moving, and snaps her head round to nail it. It's indistinct - nothing is distinct in these echoing, steam-filled catacombs - but there's certainly a presence down here with her. Something ineffable in the way the air moves, in its smell, tells her as much. She makes a point of ignoring the possibility that it could be another of those 'things' - it's only a student, surely? - and turns in the direction she thinks it is.

'Rika? Selena? That you?'

Surely they've come down here, looking for her. Surely ...

The steady hum of the engines that give power to the whole facility masks his footsteps a little bit more. It helps in the stalking, yes, and the mist doesn't affect his eyesight any. It was an advantage of those who lived in the dark, that they see better in the dark than they do when at daylight.

Still, that didn't stop the girl from sensing that someone...or something...was there with her. His scent, of course, he couldn't mask in time, and that gave him away. Monster smell had a distinct smell that made them easy to detect if only you had a keen sense of smell and was paying attention to your surroundings. The old demon's mistake was that the girl was steadily paying attention to her surroundings very clearly, since she was in an unfamiliar place, and she seemed to have been lost, taking a wrong turn or two.

He surveyed her...looking at what she wore, the expression she wore on her face. Her dress was more like a robe, and that suggested that she was different in an aspect from most of the students. He seemed to have a taste for these exotic prey, and it was them who offered more than the average student...and did more than the average student would do, when things get fun. She also looked...different, than most of the white, pale-skinned girls that he loved to stalk. Perhaps she would be another special girl which he would enjoy fully.

She starts whipping her head around, flipping her hair, and it only serves to give Lilitu all the signs that he had to have this girl.



He did not know if he should answer, or if he should react. She was looking at completely the opposite direction, and the element of surprise was with him. Should he spring out, or employ a trick?

No answer. Oh no. That was not good.

Morgan has not been quite herself these past few days - perhaps understandably - and has been rather ... on edge. A week ago, she would have dismissed her future self as ludicrously paranoid, with a hair-trigger fight-or-flight response, hearing and seeing phantoms in the fog, ghosts plucked from her imagination. But now, such paranoia just seems right - it seems like good sense. Her perceptions lash against the fatigue-numbed limitation of her senses, trying desperately to scrub the meaning out of every current of air, looking for the danger that she fears - no, she knows - is out there. New vitality suffuses her limbs as adrenaline begins to flow, and she begins to tremble. She'd like to say that it's with nervous energy, not fear - and perhaps she's right.

She flattens herself up against a wall, against the tangled mess of leaking pipes, not caring about the rust staining the back of her blouse. One hand snakes out blindly, looking for something to wield, to grasp and to interpose between her and whatever's out there.

Her voice is surprisingly calm. In a low, steady tone, she calls out:

'I know you're there.'

Ah, this was turning from bad to worse. Not only did she look different, she was a sharp one as well.

In all his earthly travels on this realm, he had only met a few like her, and most of them were members of the Mido clan, a group of ninjas who seem to know how to take on their kind. He did not know that somewhere in the world were others like them, and it was most dangerous for people to move on the assumption that the people they once faced were unique, and most others in the world were the same...in fact, all of them. It was foolish of him, and now, here was living, breathing proof of the foolishness he had just done.

He wasn't about to give out, though, oh no. He was too focused to give up, too block-headed to accept when he should back-out. He was going to take up this challenge, and the time to go was now.

He was seeing her clearly through the smoke and the haze, and she wasn't. Although the voice was clear, whole, and calm, that didn't mean she was in control of the situation...it was dark, and she was virtually blind. The low lighting and steady hum of engines provided him with an almost continuous layer of cover to exploit, and he was not going to presume that they were place there for nothing. Lilitu made his move, but first...confusion.

He had only used telepathy to communicate with his minions. It was the first time he was going to use it on a human.

" So what if you know I'm here?" he said, speaking, reverberating in her mind. " Do you even know where I exactly am?"