So this is a Sailor Moon X-men crossover. The first few chapters are written up and ready to be read. Please comment and review- it is the only way I get better. In return, I will post weekly. Read on and enjoy!
August Moon: PROLOGUE
A wind swept over the dull, quiet surface and beneath its touch, she felt strands dance against her cheek. Feel- she had felt the wind. Her eyes snapped open, glowing lightly so they pierced the surrounding darkness. Her breath tensed, and against the soft swishing of her gown she winced. Pain shot from a deep gash in her chest.
I can feel, her mind raced as her tiny fingers reached out, grabbing against clumps of rock and earth, tensing as she began to pull forward. I can feel! Her mind rejoiced. She ignored the sears of pain as dirt and debris entered the bloody mess on her belly. If she could feel, then she must be alive. If she was alive, then there was still a chance.
Sharp stones dug into the soft underside of each nail, but this mild discomfort she could ignore. A short distance ahead, her eyes caught glimpse of something metallic. Her lips curved upwards, the skin pulled taunt. Her left arm took place of her right, shaking off the soft moult of feathers that would occasionally drop from above. One, two, one, two, she chanted to herself, her mind calling forth the final reserves of her strength. Less than one foot; such a small distance between life and death, between victory and…
"No!" her voice echoed through the land, a servant bowing to their master. She would not fail them, not this time. Her body racked in ragged seizures, the body tiered and blanketed in welts and time. She glanced up and bit her tongue. Two inches. Her fingers strained, their whiteness glowing like some jewel crusted in rock. One inch. A little further, she felt the strain in her shoulder, in her elbow, in her body and then, as though some heavenly force had taken pity, she felt the cool, rusted metal graze her fingertip. There was a gunshot, and a spark of light so brilliant all of space seemed to glimmer. Then, only silence, and all was as it had been.
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"And Bobby just laughed, like it was all some big joke!" Scott suppressed the grin he felt creeping over his face and nodded sympathetically.
"Well, you know, he's still just a kid. He probably thought it was," he winced as he felt the piercing green eyes from the passenger seat sear through the side of his head.
"It's going to be weeks before we can get the plumbing to unfreeze. Its incredibly expensive, and immature and, oh for Pete's sake. Scott!" Jean shook out her thick mane of crimson locks as they tumbled over her shoulders. As the sports convertible hugged yet another tight turn on the two lane highway, she turned and glared at the handsome man sitting next to her. "Really, sometimes I think you're just as bad as them!"
"What?" his mouth dropped, agape. Even through the dark red sunglasses that were trademark for the native mid-westerner, Jean could see his eyes practically pop out. Crossing her arms smugly over her chest she pursed her lips in mock irritation. Scott looked out desperately into the night sky, searching for any sort of distraction from the present situation.
"Oh no, don't think you can get out of this so easily. There's nothing around for miles but you, me and the cows." She grinned evilly. "And cows don't talk." Scott lifted one hand from the wheel, shrugging apologetically.
"It's not like I suggested it, specifically anyway… but well, it's only fair, I mean, after Boom Boom blasted a hole in our bathrooms," He frowned. "You know how cold it gets in winter, and the girls wouldn't let us share theirs." Then for added effect, he let his lip droop sadly. "I got a cold that month, you know." Jean rolled her eyes.
"Oh boohoo Cyclops. If you think for one second we're going to let this one just slide off, please be forewarned. This means w-" Scott turned suddenly, surprised by her silence.
"Don't tell me you're losing your edge, Red." But she ignored him, craning her neck skywards and squinting as though listening to someone. Scott felt himself grow serious. "What is it?"
The moon shone down on the two figures racing over the dark asphalt. It was full this night, swollen against the sky so that its shine blotted the glory of all other stars. All stars but one. It seemed to come from within its light, small, but bright.
"A meteor?" Jean shook her head, eyes following the tiny spark that seemed to glow brighter and brighter. Her eyes widened as the object seemed to grow larger, and it was then she realized.
"It's coming to earth!" Scott alternated between eyeing the road and whatever speck of space dust seemed to be hurtling their way. It would be their luck that the Brotherhood would choose such a time to attack. There had been peace for weeks. As the summer began to draw to a close, he should have known it was too much to expect. He was, after all, their leader. "Keep driving, I'll try Psych blasts!" And she stood upon her seat, leaning against the wind so that her clothes and hair flapped dramatically behind her. With one hand upon the windshield and the other on her forehead, she clenched her eyes and with considerable effort, let out a cry.
They looked up at the same time. The object, whatever it was, did not flicker. In fact, it seemed to be gathering speed. Several hundred feet before them, they watched as it descended, its glow intensifying. Jean squinted, and attempted to send another mental blast its way. Though she felt the power leave her body she was dismayed to see no effect.
"Nothing," she whispered.
"Jean, can you steady the car?" Without waiting for a nod, the brown haired youth stood, one hand already pulling the sunglasses from his handsome face. A split second later, the air around them seemed to sizzle as two bright streams of hellish light burst from what should have been eyes. They converged, growing thicker, hotter and stronger so that the night felt her serenity split in two.
He blinked, eyes closing long enough to replace the lenses over his militia. Something was lying in the middle of the road. The car sped forward. One hundred meters. What was it? Had he killed it? His lungs stitched and he released his breath. He had never killed anything in his life.
Fifty meters. The lump took shape and he cried:
"JEAN!" but already the car was attempting to decelerate. Scott slid back into his seat, pulling the seatbelt tight over his muscular chest, foot slamming on the breaks for extra help. The car skidded, but did not spin, steadied by the invaluable mind power of the voluptuous woman riding shotgun.
Thirty meters. They weren't going to stop in time. Scott clenched his fists around the steering wheel. Twenty meters. It was a person. There was a person lying in the middle of the road and he had struck them down. He bashed himself mentally. How could he have been so foolish? He hadn't even waited for them to be in sight. For all he knew, it could have been a rogue mutant, intent on enjoying some freedom for the moment.
Ten meters. Five meters.
Something incredible happened. Slowly, imperceptibly, the car rose. It was as though a shield formed around them, trapping the bundle in gentle arms. Four meters. The air grew tight, and thick and bursting with energy so intense that the hairs on their arms rose. Jean called out to her boyfriend, but if he had replied she couldn't have heard. Flashed blew into her mind, dizzying images from impossible angles and she cried out, her hands clenching over the windshield.
Then suddenly, they stopped. The car stopped, the crackling ceased and the visions were gone. A breeze filtered softly through the trees, carrying with it the scent of late august, of heat and mosquitoes buzzing. Neither moved for a moment, shocked into stasis.
"J-Jean," Scott breathed deeply, steadying himself. "Are you alright?" She nodded, slowly, then with more confidence as though understanding his question. "W-what…" Jean pulled her face from where it was pressed on the window. Inches from their bumper lay a head. A head drowned in impossibly long clumps of silvery-blond hair. Below that a body, crumpled, and by the looks, broken. It was small and almost childlike. It seemed unfeasibly frail, as though the gravity from earth would crush its bones.
It was also breathing. Jean jumped over the front of the car, landing neatly beside the prone figure. Her brows drew together in a v.
Professor, her mind called. We need help!
"Jean?" Scott slammed the door, and it echoed like the drum of a funeral march. His legs dropped him wobbly on the other side of the figure. Hovering his hand over a very pale arm, he let it graze the skin gently. It was warm.
"It's a girl." Her voice sounded small and frightened. She looked up, searching his eyes. Scott dropped his head. If she was insulted, it did not show. Instead, she spoke softly. "The Professor's on his way."