Warnings: Slash & Mpreg

Chapter One

200 hundred years later.

Fallon City

It was a cold night in December, Clay didn't know what had brought him to this part of town. It was decidedly seedy and he didn't normally pass by this area of town. It was on his way home to the more posh side of Fallon City but many tend to ignore it. Tonight was different. As he passed the arched gates to the Old Town as it was called, something deep in his bones pulled at him. Instinct, one might say.

And as a Carlorian Ad'n, instinct ruled his life.

He had walked aimlessly, passing through groups of homeless, squatting on the roadside, begging for food or money. He ignored them. Anyone else would have been mugged and killed in this rough part of town but like all Carlorians, he had a distinct air of danger surrounding him. Besides, no one would be foolish enough to attack a man who towered over 6 feet and looked like he knew how to use all his muscles.

Apparently, he was wrong.

A small body knocked into him and ran into an alley. Clay was thrown slightly off balance but he knew that his pocket has been picked. He was taken aback. No one moved quick enough to be able to pick his pocket. No one had dared to try. He had broken many bones in the past of such thieves for trying to do just that.

"Why you little... " He burst out, jumping to his feet and running towards the direction of the darkened alley. He didn't have much in his wallet. It was a habit of his but it was his and wanted it back. He also wanted to see who the pickpocket actually was.

The alleys were a maze of interlink ways and it was hard to see where the boy had run to. His highly sensitive nose and sharp ears made it easy as he unerringly made his way towards the sound of feet running. Then suddenly, they stopped.

Clay frowned, attracted to the sound that was coming from one of the many alleys that made up the maze that was Old Town. Voices, arguing voices.

"You promised me!" A voice argued. "I have money!"

"Not enough," another voice joined in.

Unerringly following the sound of the argument, Clay found the small figure that got away from him with his wallet. He was being surrounded three men in ragged clothing. Clay's nose told him that these men smelled dangerous, of blood and violence. The small figure in black was in a dangerous situation and he didn't even know it.

Stupid boy.

The boy's scent disturbed him. It smelt wrong. Not disturbingly wrong, just oddly out of place here. It was a fresh clean scent that evoked memories of home and family. Not dark, death and filth.

"You told me that if I got enough you would sell me the medicine," the shorter boy looked up at the men towering over him fearlessly.

A smirk touched Clay's lips. Brave. Stupid, but brave.

A wracking cough came from behind the boy. "Dev, it's alright, let's go," another short figure touched the boy's shoulder, leaning against for support.

"No," the boy, Dev, said stubbornly. "You are sick, you need the medicine. They promised that they would give it to me if I got the money." He thrust Clay's wallet into their faces. "Well, here it is."

Once of the men pushed the wallet aside and grabbed the boy by the chin. "Well, looks like the price has gone up, seeing how desperate you are. I might just give you the medicine, for this," the man leaned in and kissed the boy's lips 


Something in Clay's stomach clenched seeing a child being handled this way. Just as he was about to step out of the shadows, the boy pushed a man three times his weight away from his across the alley like he weigh nothing and wiped his lips in contempt.

"If you are not willing to do business with me, don't waste my time," the boy spat. "Let's go Dec," he turned and supported the other boy walking away from the three thugs.

The other two was stunned for minute, seeing their downed friend. "Why you..." One of them burst into action, a glint of metal shining in the dark.

Clay wanted to call a warning but what happened next stunned him. The boy dropped the other figure he was supporting behind him and knock the knife away and punched the man in the gut. The man crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

Damn that boy is strong, Clay thought. Just who the hell is he?

"Devon!" The figure on the ground yelled, pushing the boy aside.

A gunshot filled the night air, snapping Clay's attention back to the third man. He had a smoking gun in his hands, as the other boy toppled to the ground.

"Declan!" The boy, Devon, screamed. "No!" He crawled towards the fallen body and gathered it into his arms. "Declan, no, please, no!" He held the other boy, shaking him. "Stay with me, please."

Clay sighed. He was experienced enough with gunshot wounds and other manner of violence to recognise an injury that was fatal. Apparently, Devon didn't as he held on the Declan, exhorting him to hold on. The man raised his gun again.

"Watch out!" Clay called out a warning just as the gun went off.

Time slowed as the boy spun around rising to his feet as the bullet caught him in the stomach. Devon's body jerked at the impact but remained on his feet. Even as Clay ran out to aid him, Devon moved towards the man with the gun with murder in his eyes. The thug recognised the look of a killer and backed from the enraged boy in fear. He raised his gun to fire again but the boy, seemingly unfazed by the gunshot wound he received earlier continued to advance, turning his body to avoid the oncoming bullets.

Clay was stunned into immobility, seeing the boy move in a way that was impossible to anyone but a Carlorian. Who the hell is he?

The dry clicks from the gun told Devon that the chambers were empty and he grabbed the weapon from the man's hand and flung it into the darkness.

"You. Hurt. My. Brother," he enunciated every word carefully backing the man into a corner. He punched the man once, twice and again and again and again. Even when the thug slumped to the ground Devon followed, getting onto his knees and continued to push his fists with awesome force into the soft body. The body of the man that hurt his brother, that could have possibly killed his brother.

Clay could clearly see that the man was unconscious after the first blow but the boy kept up the assault mindless of the fact that he could easily kill this man if he was indeed Carlorian. He stepped behind the boy and placed a hand on his shoulder, startling him. Devon swung a fist behind him blindly. Clay caught the blow easily, but winced as pain shot up his arm right till his elbow.

This boy is Carlorian that's for sure, he thought. No one but a Carlorian could make him feel pain with just one careless swing of an arm.

"Your brother needs you, boy," he looked over to the prone figure laying a few feet away. "Let me handle this, alright?" He couldn't let him murder the man. If the boy was caught and found to a genetically altered man, it would bring the entire scientific community's attention to the Carlorians again. It would be something that Clay would never allow. He would kill the boy with his own hands first.

There were shadows in the alley, but Clay could see the distrust and suspicion written all over Devon's face. Devon pushed him away and ran towards his brother, leaving the oversize thug to crumple heedless to the ground. Clay spared 

the man a glance before turning back towards the retreating back of the boy. Blood dotted the ground where he walked. The wound in his side was serious, if not fatal, and bleeding badly. It needed to be tended to fast. Clay flipped open his communicator and dialled his best friend's, Michael's home. He was a doctor; he would know how to handle this.

"What?" Came an irritated reply. And from the panting and moaning in the background, Clay knew that he had interrupted at a bad time.

"Michael, I need your help." Clay kept his eye on the two boys. The other one, Declan, was shot near the heart from his estimation, and punctured a lung. He would not last long. Devon was cradling his brother in his arms, trying to get him to wake up.

"Damn Clay, can't you wait till morning?" Michael's frustrated voice grated out through the 'comm.

"I am in Old Town right now and I think I found two Carlorians, one shot through the lung and sick, the other shot through the stomach and bleeding badly. I need to get them some help," Clay stated.

Suddenly, Michael sounded a lot less annoyed. "Who are they?"

"I don't know them, Mike. They are strangers, and they are very young." Clay walked closer.

"Where are you? I am coming."

"I'll leave the 'comm on; you can track me that way. And Michael, hurry." He shut the communicator and stood over the two.

Devon was hugging the other boy, both of them bleeding from wounds so severe that Clay could no longer distinguish whose blood it was.

"Declan, you promised, please wake up," he rocked the boy mindlessly, his eyes vacant.

The boy, Declan, coughed painfully, bloody froths erupting from the corner of his lips.

"Noooo..." Devon moaned, wiping the side of his brother's mouth with a tattered sleeve.

"Dev..." Declan gasped, painfully. "Sor..ry, not... ke..ep... pro...mise," he coughed again.

"Shhh.. don't speak, I'll fix you up. I'll get help, I always do," Devon urged, but deep within him, he knew the wounds were fatal. Fear and desperation forced him to speak, to beg, to plead his brother to hold on to life.

Declan opened his eyes and Clay's breath caught. Even though the light was weak in the alley, Declan's eyes were something that Clay would never forget. Deep violet and maroon, a smoky ring of black around the edges. Victoria Carlor's eyes. Not just a Ch'm but the eyes of an Ultimate Ch'm. A Ch'm that hasn't seen the light of day in Carlorian community for almost fifty years.

Clay cursed under his breath. Not only has he stumbled onto two young Carlorian, but one of them was an Ultimate Ch'm, as well. And he lay dying.

"Lo...ve.. yo..." Declan's head fell limp in the other boy's arm, his chest still.

"Dec? Dec, wake up. Declan," Devon shook his brother desperately. "Declan. Declaan!!"

Clay laid a comforting hand on Devon's shoulder, feeling the loss as well. While Ch'ms were rare, Ultimate Ch'ms were as coveted as diamonds and the Carlorians has lost this precious opportunity to bring strength back to their race.

Devon didn't acknowledge the hand on his shoulder. In fact, he didn't move at all.

"Devon?" Clay knelt down next to the boy.

Devon's eyes were closed and his breath was coming in small short gasps. From the weak light, Clay could see that the boy's skin was the colour of ashes. His small frame was shaking violently, but he still refused to release his dead brother.

Damn, he's going into shock, Clay thought. He needed to act fast or the Carlorians would lose two members of their dwindling community this night. Clay whipped off his jacket to cover the boy only to see him pitch forward and lose consciousness.

"Shit," Clay cursed, gently turning the boy over.

His entire shirt was drenched in blood and in the poor light, it appeared black. Clay ripped open his shirt and gasped at the condition of the boy's body. There was barely any flesh covering his ribs and there seemed to be bruises and cuts all over his chest. Clay wadded a handkerchief into the wound in his side, which was rapidly turning red.

"Where Michael when you need him?" Clay muttered to himself.

"Behind you apparently."

Clay turned to see his friend Michael a few feet behind him, standing over one of the thugs that had been sneaking up behind him with a knife in hand,

"Thanks," Clay said, lifting the boy in his arms. "We need to get him some help now." The boy was surprising light for someone that could pack such as punch.

Michael looked at the boy's ashen face and nodded curtly. "Bring him over to my house."

"Mine's closer."

"The other?" Michael questioned, staring at the boy on the ground.

Clay closed his eyes and sighed. "He's dead, but bring him along. His brother would probably want to give him a proper burial.