Sanctuary, thirteen years ago
"Oy, Milo."
Milo did not look up from where he'd made two crickets fought each other. "What?"
Aiolia squatted beside him. "There's a new kid."
"So?"
"This one's a bit weird."
Milo glanced at him briefly then back at the crickets. "How weird?"
"Well, he never talks and has his nose stuck in a book most of the time. No one can divert his attention...not even Angelo."
That got Milo's attention. It seemed the newcomer was different from other saint trainees who were either chipper bores like Aiolia or bullying jerks like Angelo. Certainly he had to be something if he dared to defy the Cancer gold saint candidate and his gang. "Where is he?"
"Over there." Aiolia pointed to the edge of the small hill and Milo stood along with him, abandoning the crickets for once.
In the clearing below them, a turquoise-haired, delicate-featured boy about their own age was surrounded by a group of older boys. He was reading a book, alright, and did not seem to notice taunting faces around him.
"Nice hair, Sister," Angelo mocked. "Where did you get it colored?"
Without even a twitch in his expression, the boy got up from his seat on a flat rock and sauntered to a spot beneath a shady tree, as if the older kid had been no more than a buzzing gnat.
Enraged, Angelo kicked a pebble that landed right in the middle of the boy's book.
The boy simply flicked it off and continued reading.
For some reason, his cold indifference bothered Milo more than Angelo's crudeness. "Hey!" he shouted, making Aiolia jumped. "Are you going to just let him kick you around like that?"
"Stay out of this, Scorpio!" Angelo shouted back, then an evil grin slowly spread on his face.
"Uh-oh," Aiolia whispered.
The older boy approached the new kid and reached out to tear a page of his book.
Aiolia gasped, but not out of horror for the newcomer, Milo soon realized, as he saw, amidst the shocked stares of the onlookers, that Angelo's arm had been frozen solid up to his elbow.
The stranger boy, looking up for the first time from his reading, turned his gaze from where he'd apparently caught Angelo's wrist with one hand to his bully's eyes with an icy-cold look that even made Milo shiver.
Angelo was apparently not prepared for this reversal of situation, and the cruel glee on his face dissolved into an expression of horror and disbelief. Yet it was not without reason that he was known as Deathmask among his peers. With a flare of his cosmo, he broke free of the ice shackle and sent the new boy flying to the ground.
A commotion ensued as the gang attacked the new boy, apparently taking the clue from their leader's action. The boy surprisingly held his own against them, moving in swift and precise attacks completely belying his calm demeanor. Before long half of the opponents had been frozen in one way or another, yet with Angelo having fully recovered his arm and the boy being outnumbered five to one, they quickly regained the upper hand. Angelo smiled as he had his target cornered, panting, ready to avenge his earlier humiliation.
"SCARLET NEEDLE!"
There were screams as some of the bullies fell to the ground, writhing in pain. Milo had jumped into the foray with Aiolia in tow, his index finger poised for attack with long, sharp red nail.
"I told you to stay out of this, you filthy insect," Angelo growled menacingly. "What's your business with this freak here anyway?"
"Nothing," Milo said calmly. "I just hate cowardly bastards who gang up on smaller, younger kid."
"You asked for it." Angelo raised his hand. "DARK WORLD WAVES!"
The clearing soon turned into a violent battlefield as the two groups of young saint candidates clashed against each other. It was rather an unequal fight though, as the combined power of Milo, Aiolia and the new kid was already more than a match for the bullies, and even Angelo could see he was not going to get his way today.
"Retreat!" He roared to his followers and pointed a finger at Milo. "This is not over yet."
Milo returned his threat with a bestial smile. Angelo shot him one last poisonous look before turning around to leave with his battered soldiers.
Milo turned to find the new boy quietly picking up his book from the ground and dusting it. "You alright?"
The boy did not even so much as glance at him as he sat back on his previous reading spot. Milo's temper suddenly flared and he slapped the book out of the boy's hand.
"Will you stop looking at that damned book!"
The boy whirled toward him, sending a blaze of ice his way, and Milo was almost gleeful to see, finally, a spark of fury in the cold dark blue eyes.
Before long they were rolling on the ground, grunting and punching each other. They only stopped when the astonished and panicked Aiolia hissed loudly, "The Pope's comin'!"
Milo, who now looked a bit worse for wear, let go of the boy's neck and turned to run, but bumped instead into a tall figure wearing long black cloak.
"What is happening here?"
The voice was soft and calm, yet Milo had never heard anything more intimidating in his life.
"It was Deathmask...I mean, Angelo, sire!" Aiolia sputtered. "He and his gang were bullying the new boy, and Milo helped him fight them off."
"Is that so?" The Pope continued to look at Milo. "Then why were you two fighting?"
Milo was usually good with answers, but at the time he could not think of anything to say. His temper had frequently gotten the best of him and the Pope had warned that if he could not control himself, he would be in danger of being expelled from the Sanctuary. And Milo was not going to return to where he'd come from again.
"I started it, sire."
Shocked, Milo and Aiolia whipped their heads to the new boy, who had spoken for the very first time. He looked evenly at the Pope as his hand wiped dirt and blood from the corner of his mouth.
"I was angry he helped me, thinking I could handle my opponents myself. So I hit him."
The Pope's violet eyes regarded the boy carefully. "It's not like you to do that, Camus."
"It wasn't him," Milo heard himself spoke up. "I hit him first because he ignored me."
The Pope turned his attention to him, and Milo felt his face hot with embarrassment.
"I am deeply disappointed with you," the Pope said. "If you can get provoked with the slightest disturbance, there is no way you will be able to master self-control that is essential to becoming a saint."
"Angelo does not seem to need it," Milo blurted before he could stop himself.
"There's a difference between being reckless and being cruel," said the Pope. "Angelo loves to fight and can be a bit of a bully, but he is no dumb brute. And neither are you. You can be so much more than he ever will be, if only you'd control that rage and power, and I want you to realize that potential. Otherwise, you will only waste your time here." He turned. "I think you need some down time to think about your actions."
Milo felt his heart sank.
"Sire," the Camus boy began hesitantly, but the Pope lifted up a hand.
"The stairs of the twelve temples have gotten quite dirty. Maybe you can help sweeping the dead leaves. I want them all to be cleaned by supper." He began to walk away, then stopped, as if having second thought. "Camus, I think Milo will need a hand. Perhaps you two can sort it out as you work. I will return later to check how you are doing."
Milo deflated. He HATED sweeping, and working with the Ice Boy would make it even more agonizing. Yet he figured it was much better than being expelled as he'd previously thought.
The Pope then led Aiolia away."Come, young man. I need you to tell me what happened. Maybe I will have a little chat with your Cancer friend."
Aiolia looked helplessly at Milo before the Pope teleported them both away.
The two boys walked to their punishment in silence. At least Angelo is not going to walk away from it easily either, Milo thought, and that made him feel better.
Camus quickly set to work as they approached the stairs. Milo eyed him and decided to swallow his pride.
"Thank you for trying to save me," he said before he could change his mind. "And I'm sorry I hit you earlier."
Camus did not react and Milo felt stupid. But then came an answer, "Just forget it."
They worked in silence for a while. Milo noted that Camus was just as swift and efficient in sweeping floor as he was in fights. "Where are you from?"
Another stretch of silence before the other boy answered, "France."
"Why do you want to become a saint?" Milo asked after another five minutes.
Camus took a longer time to answer. "So I can protect helpless people."
Milo sighed. From the way they held this conversation, it looked like it was going to be one long day.
Asgard, present time
He tried to get up, struggling to peel his eyelids open. But no matter how hard he tried, the darkness kept pulling him under. He tried to scrape any strength left from within him, but there was none. It was as if all his energy had been sucked, lost to the numbing coldness and burning fire.
Cold. Fire. It had been years since he felt them both at the same time...
Sanctuary, thirteen years ago
"Are you alright?"
Milo looked up to find Camus standing behind him, an expression like concern in his usually unreadable dark blue eyes.
"I will be," Milo muttered through gritted teeth. He was covered in cold sweat as he crouched beneath the apple tree and held his right hand in death grip, trying to withhold the excruciating pain burning through his whole body.
Dammit, he thought. I thought I already got it under control. If this continues I will be dead in minutes.
"You sure you don't need help?" Camus asked, crouching beside him.
"It's nothing you can help with," Milo growled. "Just go away."
Suddenly he felt a burst of cold energy from his back, penetrating his body, flowing in his veins. It felt icy yet soothing at the same time. It pushed the scorching pain from the venom emanating from his right hand, further and further until it became a small, concentrated point on the tip of his index finger.
Amazed, Milo turned to the other boy. "Uh...thanks. How do you...?"
Camus lifted his hand from Milo's back and looked at him with curious expression. "The Pope saw you and told me about your...condition. So you live all this time…with that venom in your body?"
Milo nodded as he leaned back on the tree trunk, his body temperature dropping, his breathing returning to normal. "I got stung by a rare venomous scorpion when I was five. My parents were too busy with their other four kids so by the time they found me it was too late. The nearest hospital was about five miles away and people said I would have died by the time I got there. My parents would rather call an undertaker than waste the scrap of money they had for hospital fee when it was clear I wouldn't survive anyway." He smiled bitterly. "I was left alone to die, but then I thought I heard footsteps and someone lifted me and poured some liquid into my mouth. I tried to resist, but I was too weak and finally just swallowed it. The next thing I knew, I was already in hospital with this weird green-haired old man beside me."
"Pope Shion?" Camus' eyes widened.
"Yeah. He told me he'd tried to neutralize the scorpion venom, but some of it still lingered in my blood circulation and if I exerted myself too much, it could endanger my life. But if I would go with him he would introduce me to someone who could teach me to control the venom and turn it into something else. I had no other choice, so I agreed." He lifted his right hand to look at the reddish tint on his skin. "He brought me to Milo island—that was how I got my new name—to see Asclepius, the Ophiuchus silver saint and expert in medicine. It was him who taught me how to use my cosmo to concentrate the venom in my blood to one focused point and use it as a weapon."
"The Scarlet Needle," Camus deduced, nodding. "But you are still...working on it."
Milo scowled. "He believed I might be able to master it faster without his help, if I am under death threat all the time."
They fell silent for a while. Then Camus asked, "So you trained all this time just to survive?"
Milo smirked. "That was my thought at first. But then...I was thinking it might be fun to use this stinger on people who really deserve it. Like maybe child-beaters, thugs, murderers..." He lifted his index finger, examining the sun glinting at the pointed tip of the red nail. "That was what drove me to come to Sanctuary. To become strong enough to change fate, to make sure I will never again feel that helplessness I felt when I was too weak to help myself and others. And I think the Pope saw the determination in me. That's why he hasn't kicked me out, though I have only been getting into troubles since I came here."
Camus studied him for a moment, then stood and began climbing the apple tree behind them.
"What are you doing?" Milo asked, puzzled.
An apple bounced off his head in answer.
"Hey, watch it!" he said, annoyed.
Camus hopped down from the lowest branch and wiped one of the apples with his tunic before giving it to Milo. "You'll need a lot of this if you want to be healthy and strong enough to grow your cosmo and control that venom."
Stunned, Milo picked the apple and bite into it. It was very sweet and juicy, and before he knew it, he had eaten the whole fruit.
"It's tasty alright," he said. He'd never tasted apples before, and no one had ever offered him to try.
Camus, who had also taken a bite, offered another one to him. "Some more?"
Apples had, since then, become Milo's favorite food.