Carrot clenched his fists, noting with odd satisfaction the way his tensed tendons shook his entire arm. These were the worst. Anything, he could take. He was a Sorcerer Hunter. But this was worse. This brought to mind yellow flower fields and distant childish laughter, although it was altogether different.
Carrot clenched his fists and noted with supreme satisfaction the pulsing energy coiled within them. How the sorcerers never noticed, he could not guess. Soon, perhaps they would notice--but also soon, he should have enough. The tricky part was the timing.
No, the tricky part was the risk.
The bands soldered around his wrists and ankles, the collar that cut slightly into his neck when he swallowed--he wondered why they had not been there for him when he was free. But, of course, he often forgot what the sorcerer's true grip on the world was: everywhere and absolute.
Under the bands, somewhere, his skin was turning white and flaking off, he knew. He wondered how far it would go, if the metal would finally rot through his limbs. It's not as if he needed them for this, or even his head--
He shook the idea away quickly. He didn't need the image it gave him. His problem--his problem was whether the bands, which separated his Aranju from his Zoanthropy, might also give him some control when transformed. He had no reason to believe this, but had to hope. Otherwise, he would have to transform into something minor, and likely be killed--or transform into something major, and kill who knew how many.
That, he had to admit, was the real reason he was still enduring this. There was no right choice.
Mind still playing over doubts and fears, he failed to notice his partner victim until the door had locked firmly behind him. He could not see a face--and really, he had no reason to assume. The lighting cast a glow to the bound man's form, not that there were imperfections to hide. Carrot felt another vague and unpleasant prod of intuition, that this skin had been broken and healed many more times than when a Sorcerer Hunter's. The man's black hair, for all apparent purposes radiant and healthy, flowed across his shoulders as if artfully arranged there.
It was with the light step of an intruder on a freshly dug grave that Carrot made his way to the man's face.
He had to admit, suddenly, that he had always counted so much on the others. His options weren't any good. They never were. If he had gambled his life on success in the past, he would have wasted it. He found the answer in simple procrastination. Just wait, and don't take too many risks.
Marron should have been the one to come up with something. As it was, comprehension dawned very slowly in his quick mind. The dull eyes that were staring past Carrot, through the wall, through eternity just a moment before, were suddenly sharpened, irises contracting in painful consciousness.
Carrot bowed, touched their foreheads, bangs mingling.
"Little brother..." Far off, someone was yelling to get on with it. Carrot's arms disrupted the careful arrangement of Marron's hair, hugged around his neck.
"I'm...
...so...
sorry..."

Gateau's voice rasped into nothingness. "You what?"
"I killed him. Didn't mean to, of course. He was still... very... dead, though."
"What happened?"
I shouldn't be encouraging this. I shouldn't be letting him mourn a fantasy.
"I just... lost it. I'd been gathering up magic with the..." He raised a wrist, "the armband thingies... they only gave me a little at a time, but I pretended the transformations took just a bit more magic than they did... saved it up... one day, I just snapped."
"Snapped how?"
Carrot squirmed into the bed, as if getting ready to sleep. "Transformed all the way, into one of the big beasts... destroyed the whole place, all the sorcerers, all the hostages, all the ... everything. And Marron was there too, so..."
"He could've just transformed you back! Your dream doesn't make sense!"
"Naw..." He sighed, as though giving up, "He was right there, he was probably the first to die."
Gateau took a deep breath to steady his voice. "Carrot, that didn't happen."
Carrot just kept the silence and did not bother contradicting him.

There was a small pause as they walked away, and a much longer pause before Tira broke it, eyes flitting between Chocolat's heavenward gaze and Marron's downcast one.
"--w what do we do?! Marron, he thinks he killed you!"
Marron raised his half-closed hand to his lips, "I must admit, this is far worse than I had anticipated. If Niisan feels guilty, rather than merely pained, he will feel he has no right to let go of his memories."
"B- but he has no reason to feel guilty at all!" She turned back again to Chocolat for support, but received only a wistful smile in return.
"Darling can be very stubborn about things like this." She finally took her eyes off the ceiling, focusing them on Tira's. "Even if he acts like it doesn't bother him, he might still feel it for years."
Tira slumped, head down and gaze retreating. When she spoke, it was in a soft and almost pleading tone. "Isn't there some way to prove it? We know what reality is ... don't we?"
"An interesting conundrum," Marron let his arms fall and began to walk away. "The truth is, we do not." He paused mid-step. "Then again, the intangibility of the truth is our problem. But Niisan will surely not let us remove his memories. He is too attached."
"Then what do we do?!"
The note of Chocolat's voice rung in the hallway a moment before Carrot opened the door. "Eh? You guys back already?"
"...we couldn't leave you for too long, darling!"
"Yes, we... um... worry..."
Marron merely nodded. "I am not quite done yet," he said, and continued his slow steps away.

The Sorcerer they had been sent to confront was nothing major. It was the first time a mission had gone this smoothly since they were young. It was a sign of their power that every mission they were given was a challenging one. It was a sign of their frailty and dissonance, now, that they were being coddled with minor villains. Somewhere, Spooner was in dire trouble, and they were too inept to be sent.
Gateau seethed slightly at the thought, but he doubted Chocolat would leave Carrot alone in this state. Big Momma herself couldn't seperate them until she was satisfied. She was hanging off his arm and arranging his hair out of his face even now.
"You were so dashing, darling!"
Carrot shrugged. He hadn't even transformed; no one felt inclined to let him walk into any more spells, at the moment. But he had been much more on the ball than usual, a fact that somehow only made Gateau more uncomfortable. An adept Carrot was an anomaly. Carrot was supposed to suck, that was the way of nature. Next, they'd be attacked by vicious rabbits. Or Chocolat would get some glasses and figure out she should be hitting on Marron.
From her cooing, at least that sign of the Apocalypse was relatively distant. Not to mention, even this Carrot couldn't tell a joke properly. Some things never change.

When Mille returned to Big Momma to report, he found her examining a globe with great intensity. He stood there for some time, watching her bent back and trying to decide how to phrase things in his mind. The latest information had convinced him that this was not an idle matter, that this spell could have done irreperable damage to Carrot's spirit. Though he kept his stance, he felt the urge to sway on his toes like a child waiting for the rest room. Carrot had been cut in a way that took away his innocent blushing and niave good nature. Cut in a way that took a large chunk of his self.
Mille found his face had creased into a hard scowl, his mind turned to thoughts of murder. He diliberately smoothed it and took a deep a deep breath. Careful to keep his steps silent, he approached Big Momma's side.
The images in the globe rushed like rapids towards a fall. Mille did not understand how Big Momma recognized anything in the blur of color, but yet could not disturb her. He stared at the orb until it filled his vision, and perhaps he thought he might just see--
"Mille Feuilles."
He jumped. "Big Momma?"
"Bring them back. Bring them here."
He stammered, "My report--"
Big Momma's fierce demeanor dimmed to a slow burn. "Yes. Tell me about it. But once they are done with the current mission, they must return. And I want..."
She stopped and turned away from him, back to the globe.
"I..." She was talking to herself. "I do not know the reasons. I can only guess at the how and why. But I must prevent the consequences."
Mille did not bother to question her. "Yes, Big Momma."
"Carrot's state of mind," Her eyes darkened at the thought, "may be the least of our worries."
Mille could not begin to reply to that or to mask his surprise. He glanced quickly at the globe, and its caphonous swirl of color.