The Silver Millennium was a golden age. The Moon Kingdom was a land of
paradise. And one day, an evil Kingdom from beyond the hills destroyed it.
Everyone has heard the legend of the peaceful people who lived on the moon.
And those who tell this tale remember it as if it were a dream. It glitters
in the distance, beyond anyone's reach--so close and yet so far--a wonderful
collage of spectacular sights and ideals. It was a glorious and fantastic
moment in history, but just like a dream, the details are blurred beyond
recognition. And the details aren't important, because only the story truly
mattered.
Truth and beauty, perfection and paradise, the Moon Kingdom was all this and
more. It was a tale about a utopian society destroyed by the sins of the
people, and it was a prime example of what mankind should strive to create.
But the people who lived on the moon are long dead, and those who have been
reborn have only fragmented memories to rely on.
So is it that hard to imagine, to wonder, and ask: if that fairy tale
romance of good and evil, of right and wrong, of monsters and wicked
witches, of virgin princesses and fairy-god queens--was just a dream?
It is said that: "a dream will always triumph over reality, once it is given
the chance." So, perhaps it is time to wake up, and look at a reality long
forgotten--a reality with details so beautiful, ugly and grotesque, that few
will have the courage to look at it head on.
Dare to dream of a reality where the line between black and white explodes
into a kaleidoscope of gray, where heroes become just as wicked as the
villains and the villains become just as virtuous as the heroes; enter a
world where justice rarely triumphs, and where decisions are neither right
nor wrong but unleash a wave of consequences which echo far into the future.
Wake up reader.
Open your eyes, and hold that gaze steadfast--as everything you know, and
everything you think you know, crumbles into ashes, consumed by an
unquenchable crimson flame.
Don't be afraid.
Open your eyes.
And look.
py•rex•i•a
n. A rise in the temperature of the body; Fever.
"It was a pleasure to burn." -Fahrenheit 451
Artemis dreamed.
In his dream everything he touched started to burn. The flames started red,
then yellow, then finally blue. Billowing in the air like ghostly fireflies;
the red and yellow and blue flickering fairy-flames danced in circles. They
were mesmerizing and hypnotic.
He was alone, steeped in the darkness, and his eyes were glued to the only
light source around. And all he saw was the red and yellow and blue,
swimming in circles about his face. Artemis couldn't help but stare at the
flames. He couldn't help but want to touch something else, so the flames
would never stop.
He didn't want them to stop. Ever.
But everything was burning hot. Rough and dry, his throat complained for
water. He wanted to scream, but nothing came out. He felt his skin sizzling.
It was shriveling, crumbling--he was fading away.
Water! Air!
No sounds. Only silence, only the rasps of labored breathing.
Everything hurt. Everything throbbed. Everything burned.
Confused and bewildered, his body panicked. Twitching and thrashing and
rolling, Artemis tried to calm down. Panic killed people. But he was
burning! He was burning! Burning! Burning! Burning!
And the mantra kept repeating: The mind is strong. The body is weak. The
mind is strong. The body is weak.
Rolling, tumbling, turning, terrified and afraid, he breathed in and out
smoke. In and out the air went. In and out.
Artemis was smoke. Artemis was fire.
Flames blossomed from his fingertips. Ten little flames at the tips of his
fingers. Ten little beacons in the realm of darkness.
And even though there were things hidden in the darkness, he knew they were
there. He reached out to touch them, and when he did, they burned.
Burning brighter than the sun, objects came and went as the fire blossoms of
destruction enveloped them. Artemis watched and was pleased. They were
brilliant, vibrant, and spectacular--crimson turned golden turned
azure--these were the colors that the flower deigned to show.
A few seconds to blossom and burn and wilt away to ashes. Just a touch and a
garden of fire blossoms could sprout, so tantalizing and mesmerizing so
beautiful and ugly and deadly at once.
Artemis watched and reached, groping and grasping those objects in the dark.
Again and again, the fire blossoms bloomed and withered and bloomed again.
Red, yellow, blue. Red, yellow, blue.
Hands reached and grasped until there was nothing left. And then the flames
went out. All of them went out, and Artemis was alone in the pitch black.
The darkness covered him like a wet blanket and hugged his skin in a
vice-like grip. Holding him down like a panicked lover, Artemis noticed
that the throbbing-burning-terrifying pain which tortured his skin finally
disappeared.
But its grip was getting tighter, heavier. It wouldn't let go.
Artemis was drowning now. He was sinking into oblivion. The weight at his
chest started to crush his ribs, he couldn't breathe. The darkness was
dragging him under.
Don't struggle. Panic kills people!
Artemis let go.
He was falling.
Falling.
Falling.
He woke up and saw Hell.
Her head nodded forward then snapped back to attention, as the little girl
resisted the temptation to drift off to sleep. The familiar sight of rough
wooden planks, a dirt trodden floor, and a picture of a man long gone,
sketched with charcoal, met her eyes. An earthy smell mixed with a hint of
cinnamon jolted her back to full consciousness.
Home, this was her home.
The same old fireplace cheerily crackled as the little girl noticed that
half of her was uncomfortably hot and the other half was freezing cold.
Much too close to the flames, she realized.
She scooted back just a few more inches, and then continued to watch her
mother string up cobs of corn on a length of twine. The cobs of corn were
being tied together like beads on a necklace. And Mama was incredible; her
hands were calloused and rough from working day and night so their little
family could survive.
The little girl felt quite content sitting by her mother, just observing.
Mama's hands were like magic. They flew around with such speed that angry
dragonflies could not match. What had started in the morning as a
mountainous pile of corn was steadily whittling down to the size of an
anthill. The little girl could only hope that she would become that skilled
one day. Her previous attempts to string corn had been disasters; the knots
she tied were loose and sloppy and her mother had to redo the work she had
done.
The little girl knew that they strung up corn to dry so that they could eat
during the winter time. Tomorrow the line of corn would adorn the outside of
their house, like the lights she saw once strung around the capital
building.
This she knew, but there were a great many other things the girl did not
know. Adults would often confuse her with what they said. They would use
big words, or laugh about things that she didn't think were very funny. All
of this confused her, but the little girl knew that her Mama could tell her
what they meant. Mama was always right about these things.
After Mama finished the last knot, the little girl climbed on her mother's
lap. A mountain of warmth and comfort, her mother was. And Mama was never
wrong, so the little girl was never afraid to ask questions.
The line of corn cobs was placed on the floor and warm arms wrapped around
her. She was safe here. She could ask anything, and her mother's flaming red
hair, wild and unmanageable just like her own, tickled the sides of her
face. A smile welcomed the child, "Do you have a question?" Mama asked.
This was their ritual, the little girl would ask questions when all the
work was done. It was just like a game. She would ask questions and her
mother would answer them. Tomorrow night the same thing would happen too.
"Yes Mama," the girl tilted up her head to gaze directly at her mother.
"What does 'evil' mean?"
Her mother laughed and playfully patted her head. "Now, where did you get
this silly idea?"
"Ah, nowhere Mama. The neighbors talk here and there." The red-headed girl
smiled. "Just talkn' and nothing more."
"Still, even if the neighbors were just talking, you better be careful,
child," her mother chided. "You never know when something bad can happen to
you. We don't have someone to protect us anymore, so you better be more
careful."
"Yes Mama," the little girl replied.
Her mother was silent for a time and the little girl noticed that Mama's
eyes got distant. Mama's eyes were drawn toward that charcoal picture
hanging on the wall. Her mother paused like this a lot, during some of the
nights, but the fits wouldn't last very long.
"Enough of that," Mama said, batting her head. "Child, just remember this:
'evil' is just 'evil.' It's when really bad things happen to good people,
for no reason at all."
"So how do you know when something is evil?"
"I don't know honey; you can only tell what 'evil' is, when it looks you in
the eye."
The little girl thought for a bit. "So, Mama, is the Moon Kingdom 'evil'?"
Her mother paused once more. Her face looked all normal and calm, but the
little girl could see her mother's hand clenched in a little ball. Her
Mama's fist was all white knuckled. It was clenched so tightly, that small
rivulets of blood began dripping.
Crimson splashes appeared on the little girl's dress.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Her mother held her more tightly.
"Yes. The Moon Kingdom is evil." Her mother told her, ignoring the blood.
"But don't worry honey, in the end 'evil' people always get it. They'll be
punished one day. Just you wait and see. They'll be punished."
"Why is that, Mama?" The little girl said, as she tried to ease up her
mother's embrace.
Her mother smiled a wicked grin. Her teeth glinted in the firelight. "Well,
that's because good always triumphs over evil."
Freeing herself from an iron grip, the red-headed girl leapt off of her
mother's lap. Her mother didn't care, she didn't even notice.
Right now, her mother's attention turned inward, to a place where she could
never reach her. Mama got scary sometimes, so the little girl decided that
it was a good time to run outside and play.
Outside in the open air, the cold nipped her skin, but it was a clear night,
good for star viewing.
She thought the stars glittered like broken glass in sunlight, but the
prettiest thing up in the sky was the moon. The neighbors said that the
people on the moon lived in giant palaces, so beautiful and pretty that a
million of their old dirt floor homes couldn't even begin to compare to it.
The little girl looked up at the bright, grinning, crescent moon and
wondered what those moon people were doing up there.
She was sure they were having a tea party of some sort.
Artemis' eyelids opened.
There was a dead man on his chest. It was hard to breathe with a dead man on
his chest.
The dreaming man, now awake, rolled half-way to shove the body over. It
landed with a thump and the body began to sizzle on the stones. It was just
that hot; it sounded like an egg frying.
He lay there for a moment. Not moving, not doing anything. He couldn't feel
anything. His arms were like leather, his body like a dead weight.
And Artemis noticed he couldn't see the stars.
With the dead man off his chest, Artemis stood up slowly and painfully, and
stopped when he saw the fires roaring in the background. The shadows danced
and leaped against the ground, brought to life by the monster licking away
at the skeleton-frame buildings.
Artemis stared, and his mouth was open, and his throat was dry and parched.
Embers fell to earth like snow, dipping in and out of existence on a whim.
He saw and looked and stared, and noticed the flames were red and
yellow--brilliant and spectacular--and Artemis could only help but watch as
the Moon Kingdom was being burnt to the ground.
Burning. Everything was burning.
Artemis closed his mouth. He clenched his jaw.
The city was disappearing, but why? Why?
Don't struggle. Panic kills people!
He breathed in and out smoke. He was smoke. He was fire.
He stood. He watched. He stared. How was it gone already?
Then, sounds of footsteps reached his ears, and Artemis turned around,
feeling a slight weight hit his chest as he stopped. Was he wearing a
necklace? But that thought quickly faded away--
--Because his body melted when he saw her.
"Help me out here Fred! I'm melting! I'm melting!"
The shiny tin soldier was doing a rather good impression of a man melting to
death. He was slowly wobbling, slithering down to the floor until his whole
body rested in an awkward position of a mock death. "Ugh. I died." His face
flopped to one side. He rolled his eyes inward. A tongue dangled from his
mouth.
"Get your ass off of the floor. You are the biggest idiot alive." His
partner, Boma, tried to pull out his hair. "Of all the people I have to
work with; why am I stuck with you? And would you stop calling me Fred?"
"Because I'm so loveable and cuddly." He slapped the hand away from his
hair. "And why do I call you 'Fred?" He grinned, "Well I think you're a
'Fred' kind of guy."
"Boma. My name is Boma!" The other shiny tin soldier frowned, "If any more
of that loveable and cuddly goodness passes around this room, I might just
make sure you never have children. Then you could be the damn happiest
eunuch in the world, and then the world would personally thank me for
preventing another numskull from breeding." Boma picked up the idiot on the
floor, and carried a deadpan expression on his face. "Here, have a glass of
water."
"Why thank you Fred, I never knew you cared."
Boma screamed.
The facility, located fifty meters underground was like an oven, baking him
from the inside out. Despite the heat, what made it even worse was the fact
that he was stuck with an idiot. An idiot named Alphonse Edward Stevenson
the third.
Together they were two shiny tin soldiers, who never fought and never
protected, but were simply two men who pressed shiny red buttons. This was
their job. It was tedious and dull and boring.
"Oh alas, why did they send so many in the first place? We won't be done
until the sun sets."
"You're still talking aren't you, Mr. 'soon to be eunuch'? Perhaps you
should do yourself a favor and go send the next batch in, before I really
get upset."
"Alright Mr. Grumpy Pants." The man smirked. "Although I do hear if you
remove certain objects from your rectum, it--"
"Finish that sentence and die," Boma spat. "GO, NOW!"
"Roger! 10-4, I'm off to do my nation sworn duty! Risking life and limb--"
The other man skipped off to the holding cells, while Boma simply
contemplated why he was here.
Transfer. Yes a transfer was in order. Immediately, he would ask for a
transfer, and be whisked away to a different station and post. Away from
him. Away from him.
And in an almost complete change of character Boma watched as Alphonse
prodded the next batch of people into a small square room with a
professional military ridged-ness usually only seen from troops fresh out of
the academy.
When the people were securely inside, Boma pressed another button. The doors
shut. They were four inches thick and the people, who looked grubby and
dirty and less than human from behind the one way screen, would have no
chance of escape.
Alphonse took his sweet time getting back to the control room, walking as if
he were in some grand parade march. And when he returned, one of those
pathetic examples of humanity leapt at the one way screen.
The man's feeble body thumped and thumped against the screen, but it would
not give. The soldiers were well protected. There was five inches of wall
separating them. "I'll kill you! I'll kill you all! You can't get away with
this!" The man screamed.
He was clawing at it, desperately seeking freedom. He was trying to get out.
He was trying to get them. He wanted to kill those two tin soldiers and
destroy everything they stood for. Clawing, fighting to the end!
"Sure pal, right." Alphonse grinned, looking on at the man's futile efforts.
"Let's see you kill us now."
Alphonse pressed a shiny red button.
A white flash blinded everything. The pounding stopped. The room skyrocketed
in temperature and pressure.
And when the light faded away the people did too. There were no bodies,
there were no skeletons, there was no dust, or ashes, or anything at all.
When the light went away, there were only shards of diamonds littered on
the floor, and they glittered like broken glass in sunlight.
The tin soldiers looked emotionlessly at the shards. This batch was ready
for collection.
Alphonse laughed, "Did you get a load of that guy? He actually thought he
could kill us."
"I should kill you where you stand."
Her voice cracked. It was filled with anger and sadness and despair. Worse
yet, it was familiar to Artemis. This was someone who talked to him
everyday, consoled him when he was hurt, shared with him laughter and tears.
His friend. His comrade. His lover.
And here she was carrying a sword in her hand, bloody and well used, pointed
directly at his face.
Artemis didn't know what was going on. There was a blank in his memory.
There was a nothing to show how a peaceful utopia turned into a funeral
pyre. Nothing to show. Nothing at all. And what did he do? What did he do?
Why? Why? Why?
"Luna!" Artemis gasped. "Luna, please! Tell me, was it the Dark Kingdom? How
did we fall?"
"Artemis you already know." Her gaze pierced his soul, and she took another
step closer. Her eyes looked wild and feral--no she was desperate, pleading.
"Just die." She spat out, "You've done enough. More than enough. Just die,
Artemis. Just die."
Panic rose. All Artemis wanted to do was to hug her and love her and take
all the hurt away, but he didn't know what was going on, and he had seen
that same look on her face before. There was no reasoning with her. Eyes
latched onto eyes, as she readied herself, to charge into him and gut him
with her sword.
He froze and watched. But his brain wouldn't let him. It wouldn't let him
die. Panic killed people.
And then his instinct kicked in.
Artemis was unarmed. He was covered with soot, burned and bloody from who
knows what, and he was completely defenseless. But Artemis was well trained.
He could act before he thought, and he didn't want to die.
So he concentrated, visualizing the magic runes in his head. They were
blindingly bright in his mind and all he had to do was connect them, connect
them and draw the power out.
Luna ran with her sword. Artemis connected the runes.
The two bodies collided together and everything turned white.
Darkness was their name and tribute.
They lived it. They breathed it. There was only one torch allowed in the
corner. It was a pitiful thing, barely lit, just present to point out the
exit.
And it was so dark at this point of time, in this particular corner of the
universe, that the people gathered here couldn't see a foot ahead of them.
This was a meeting of sorts. Everyone participated: the young and the old,
the weak and the strong. Everyone who supported the cause came, wrapped up
in thick dark cloaks, even though it was too dark to tell anyway.
No one had knowledge of who stood next to them. They were simply brothers
and sisters in their fight. They took great lengths to protect their names
and faces, because this was the only way their movement could succeed. And
it had to succeed. For their sake, it had to. There was no other option.
If anyone was caught and questioned, then only one person would be lost,
instead of hundreds. This type of secrecy was done for their protection.
Here there were no chains in the link, just people, an uncountable number of
people lining up like rows of teeth in the mouth of a shark. If one fell,
another would step forward to take his place. Like a formless mass of goo,
if their enemies tried to stick a fork in it, a few would fall but the goo
would bounce right back.
And they would bounce right back, no matter how many times they were pushed
down. They would bounce right back, until they wore down their enemy to
nothing more than dust and bone.
The gathered men and women stood silently in the dark. They were calm. They
were steadfast. They were not afraid of the dark. They were only afraid of
what they saw in the light.
By some magic signal, the meeting began and someone shouted the traditional
opening lines:
"By this oath, we swear: that we will reclaim our lands, and save our
people. We will starve no more. They will slaughter us no more! And they
shall FEAR us, those children of the moon; they shall FEAR the people in the
dark--the people they have trampled upon for so long."
More people entered the chant as it progressed. The voices were getting
louder, rising in intensity and pitch as more and more voices were added.
They all spoke as one.
"They will fear us, the children of the shadows, thrown out of the light for
so long. The Dark Kingdom shall rise!"
Everyone spoke now. They shouted with all of their soul.
"And the Moon Kingdom shall fall!"
It flew. Oh look how it flew.
Artemis watched with morbid fascination as Luna's body sailed twenty feet in
front of him. His magic spell had done its work. It had burned a hole right
through her. Now her eyes were dull and glossy. Dead. She was dead, dead,
dead.
And how had this happened?
Luna missed. She should have stabbed him through the heart, but she hit his
thigh instead.
His thigh burned, and spurted blood, and probably leaked out a lot of
important fluids that were vital to his survival, but that pain didn't
matter. His heart was threatening to explode into a billion itty-bitty
pieces.
Frozen, Artemis stared and stared at the motionless body twenty feet ahead
of him. He looked at her ebony hair, and her perfect eyes, and her flawless
face one last time.
"Good-bye Luna," he whispered.
His mind still could not comprehend what had happened. He said it as if he
was going to see her tomorrow. But there would be no more tomorrows. This
was forever, it couldn't be undone.
So, Artemis looked, and his eyes lingered on her for an eternity, until he
noticed the growing pool of crimson gathering around his leg.
Oh that's right; she had stabbed him with the sword.
A familiar acid tang began to creep up his throat as he doubled over and
started to dry heave. He wanted to puke, but nothing would come out. He
doubled over and over again, but nothing would come out, and nothing would
make sense.
Everything was a mess. Every time he opened his eyes; he only saw a world
that was horribly wrong.
Luna was dead, the Moon Kingdom was burning, and for a few moments he
debated whether he should have just let himself bleed to death.
No. His body said, No not yet.
"No! Not yet! Not yet!"
The little red haired girl watched as her mother sobbed hysterically. She
was hiding in the cornfields. The stalks were nice and tall. It was very
dark, and she was very small. She would be safe here, but the little girl
was worried for her mother.
"You're late on your payments woman!"
A shiny tin soldier threw her mother on the ground. Her mother was shaking
uncontrollably.
"Just give me a little time… A little time is all I need!"
"Your time has run out. You know there are no second chances."
The shiny tin solder grabbed her and dragged her out to the line of strung
up people.
The little girl noticed that they were strung up like cobs of corn. The
soldiers strung up the people on a length of rope, each person just feet
away from the others. The people there were all muddy and tired. The soldier
added Mama to the end of the string with her hands tied in front of her.
Mama was good at stringing up corn. The soldiers were good at stringing up
people.
"March!" The tin soldier commanded, and the tired train of people got their
sore and bleeding feet one step in front of the other. They marched away.
It was the last time the little girl ever saw her mother.
The little girl knew that they were marching to their deaths. Her mama told
her once that anyone who was strung up like that would march to their
deaths.
The only problem was she hadn't asked her Mama what 'death' meant yet.
Artemis didn't die. He was going to die sometime later. For the time being,
he had somehow found the strength to rip his jacket into pieces, so he could
make a bandage for his leg.
Artemis sat on the ground some distance away from the body. This was as far
as he could crawl himself away from it. He sat on the ground like a tired
old man, sick of life and everything around him.
In and out and loop it around, his brain hummed. His hands looped the piece
of cloth around his thigh and tied a tight knot. A sharp pain greeted him
when he checked to make sure the bandage was on properly. Now his thigh was
throbbing with each heartbeat, and the red slowly spilled out, staining the
bandage like a disease.
Artemis rested his hand on his injured thigh. It was funny, how he could
run on auto-pilot.
Funny. Life was funny. He watched slowly, as the flames consumed all. His
brain noted that the palace used to be in that southwest corner, and that
the museum used to be further north. The building right next to him used to
be a barracks. Littered on the ground in all directions were motionless
lumps. Some were charcoaled, some were not. Artemis assumed they were all
dead.
He wondered how it had happened. It was the work of the Dark Kingdom, no
doubt, but how could they have gotten past all of their defenses? And why
was he alive? And why did Luna try to kill him?
Why, why, why was the Moon Kingdom burning?
Artemis didn't know anything.
He sat and watched the flames burn so beautiful and ugly that he cried.
He sat, and he settled, and then he finally noticed something. Somehow there
was a key resting on his chest. He was wearing it on a necklace.
That was weird. Artemis didn't normally wear a key. Someone must have put it
on him. It was probably on him when he first woke up; he had felt an extra
weight there before. It was a dainty brass key, but it was heavier than it
looked. Artemis wondered if it was supposed to be a diary key. It wouldn't
be much useful for anything else.
The pitiful man clutched the key in his hand, wondering if there was
anything he could have done. Somehow it was his fault, somehow he was all
to blame for this, but he didn't have a clue why. There was nothing he could
do, but like all men he wondered if only… if only he had done something
different!
And much to his surprise, the key that he clenched in his hands was
something much more than it appeared to be.
A bright light engulfed him, and he floated up to Heaven.
It was still very hot here, and the two soldiers made a point of it to
complain every ten minutes.
Another day, another shift, another set of worthless human beings.
The shiny tin soldiers did their jobs mechanically. They shoved the next
batch into the small room with five-inch thick walls. They checked their
equipment. They checked the gages.
The people inside were silent. They were too tired and hungry and scared to
do anything.
Only a small disheveled woman, whose right hand was bleeding mumbled,
"Time. I only needed a little more time."
The tin soldier pressed a shiny red button. Everything went white.
And a thousand crystals fell to the floor, dropping like rainbow tears.
It was misty here. It was white.
All Artemis saw was a big silver gate and a whole bunch of mist.
He had heard rumors about this place. It wasn't supposed to exist, but it
did anyway. He was at the gates of the underworld. The place in-between
everything. The time gate.
Artemis looked at the dainty little key around his neck, and just in front
of him, there was a big old gate. What irony! Every gate needed a key, and
here it was resting on his neck, the time key.
Funny, life was funny. It all depended on how people looked at things.
He wondered if the fabled Sailor Pluto was going to stop him, but he crawled
toward the gate anyway. He couldn't miss this chance. This was a golden
opportunity. He would save the Moon Kingdom. He would save Luna.
And so Artemis crawled and crawled. He inched forward, using his arms to
drag himself along. His arms burned with use and his thigh cried out in pain
with each jolt, each inch, each breath. Despite the fact that he was burned
so badly that his nerves had been destroyed, still Artemis inched along,
because he was determined and broken inside.
His world he had to fix!
He inched forward and forward, onward and onward, despite the pain, despite
the agony, Artemis dragged himself through the time gate, where the magical
energies set his skin afire and jetted him across time and space.
The only problem was Artemis had no idea how to use the time gate. He could
end up anywhere, anytime.
Artemis had leaped before he looked.
And do not forget that the time gate was HER domain.
She was Pluto, sworn guardian of the time gate, protector of the timeline,
warrior of time and space. She was never to leave her post. Time would never
be stopped. And time travel was to be forbidden. This she swore in her oath.
She was Pluto, the woman with the blood of Chronos in her veins. So, why
did she allow Artemis to pass through the gates? Why didn't she stop an
idiot man from doing idiot things? The answer to that was simple.
She was dead.
She was lying in a pool of crimson blood, somewhere in that mist. Someone
had murdered her.
And Artemis crawled right by her and didn't notice a thing, because he was
an idiot man, on an idiot mission, that was doomed to fail.
The man who was destined to destroy everything fell out of the sky like an
angel, and as he fell, he saw the crescent moon shining high in the sky.
From so far away it looked bright and pure, brilliant and breathtaking.
It was clear, it was fresh here. Everything smelled so sweet.
Artemis fell, and his hair whipped about him, his arms flapping as he tried
to slow down the fall. But it was no use. Everything went black for a
moment, as the pain from the impact overwhelmed his senses. Luckily for him,
he had landed in a pile of hay that buffered the impact.
Despite the cushion, everything still hurt and Artemis quickly found himself
drowning in a sea of hay. It took himself a few moments before he eventually
figured his up from his down. After a bit more work, his head finally popped
out of the vicious pile and Artemis caught a few quick breaths of air.
"Are you okay, mister?"
Artemis looked up and saw a little girl with red flaming hair. She was
probably only four years old. It was strange to see a little girl wandering
all by herself in the dark of night.
Artemis just laughed because everything was not okay. He had been burnt, he
had been stabbed, Luna was dead and the Moon Kingdom was gone. He nodded at
the little girl. "Yes. I think I'm ok."
She came up and examined his face as if he were just some insect in a jar.
"You're a real funny guy Mister. What's your name?"
"Artemis."
"My name is Beryl." The little girl proudly stated, "Don't you think it's
pretty? Mama named me that, but she isn't around anymore. How about you help
me find her? Even though Mama said I shouldn't talk to strangers but in this
case I think--"
Beryl? The same Beryl that--
"--it's okay… Hey Mister Artemis, you don't look too good, are you sure
you're alright?"
Beryl? Beryl? The heat enveloped his face as the weakness of his body caught
up to him. His temperature rose to almost a feverish degree, cooking him
from the inside out. Beryl the leader of the Dark Kingdom! Artemis' blood
boiled in a rage.
Boiling.
Boiling.
As the darkness claimed him.
kismet
Author's Rant:
Many thanks go out to Verloren, Mercury Omega, and Lianfearel who reviewed
my earlier drafts.
The quote from the introduction: "a dream will always triumph over reality,
once it is given the chance," comes from Stanislaw Lem, who no doubt had a
different meaning for it. Oh all those silly details about context...
And if you hadn't noticed, Artemis is not a cat here. He will remain human.
Yes, I do know the whole Artemis and Beryl match up is odd and unusual, but
it should prove to be interesting. Artemis is thrown back in time for some
good angst value as well as to give perspective on the situation.
That's the end of my rant. Now I'll go back to watching piles of anime and
futilely trying to write the third chapter of Pyrexia.
Author runs away from the people with torches