...
It had taken hours, maybe even days, and a good portion of her sanity, but they had finally found their much-anticipated somewhere.
Somewhere, as it turned out, was just as lifeless as nowhere, but far more interesting in composition.
The hallway opened into a cavernous room. The checkered floor spread wide, disappearing into the darkness, bracketed only by the faint glow of the walls. The musty scent of decay tainted the air.
A long wooden table stretched across the room, reaching farther than they could see without wandering in deeper. Dozens of chairs were arranged haphazardly along its edges.
Sharing a wary glance, they began their investigation.
Rotten fruits and stale crumpets were strewn about the table's surface. Teacups had been scattered among the mess, some chipped, some broken, some perfectly intact.
Her stomach protested loudly, whether from the smell or hunger, she didn't know. She wondered just how rotten the fruits were, and how bad could stale bread really be, anyway? Makoto considered her tastes to be fairly refined, but she was willing to lower her standards just this once.
She grabbed the handle of a porcelain teapot and pulled it toward her, hoping to find some tea, water, anything. She lifted the lid, peeked inside, then pulled back abruptly and mentally restored her standards.
A partially decomposed dormouse floated on the surface of a thick black liquid, bloated and—Makoto double-checked quickly, to be sure, but it was indeed very dead. Short of it turning out to be a zombie rodent, which wouldn't really surprise her right now, it was probably not a threat. Still, she put the lid back on to be safe.
"I don't think anyone's been here in a long time," Ami commented. "There's an awful lot of undisturbed dust." Her fingers swiped across the table, inspecting said dust.
"Are you as hungry as I am?" Makoto asked, picking up a crumpet. "These don't look too…" Makoto trailed off as the bread crumbled in her palm, disintegrating rapidly into some sort of grey sand. She hastily brushed her hand off. "Never mind."
"It could be a trap, like the pomegranate seed offered to Persephone in Tartarus." Ami paused, then said, "I hope this isn't Tartarus. That story didn't end very well. Perhaps we should avoid the food here?"
"Uh, yeah. Let's do that." Makoto added mournfully, "It's too bad the rice balls I made didn't fall in with us. That would have been convenient. I guess it's up to Usagi-chan to eat them now."
"I'm sure she won't mind the responsibility. Should we try to find an exit? There must be something here, somewhere."
Makoto offered the remaining crumpets a wistful glance before turning her attention to the rest of the room.
...
After a preliminary search turned up nothing useful, and a secondary search turned up even less, Makoto considered the possibility of supreme-thundering the hell out of the entire place just to see if it would stand.
Who knew, maybe blowing out the walls was really the way to go. The hallways they'd been stuck in were too cramped to safely allow for such a strategy, but a room like this was just full of possibilities. She pulled out a chair, flipped it around, and sat with her arms propped over the back of it.
Ami shuffled behind her, systematically tipping the furniture over, lifting teacups from the table and setting them back down again. She'd been at it for a while. The small clinking and creaking sounds were oddly comforting.
Makoto stared at what she was pretty sure was the south wall—her spatial orientation hadn't fared the fall well, and with no real reference points, she couldn't be sure. Nonetheless, the 'south' wall received her scrutiny first. It was a good twenty-five metres long, slightly less than half the length of the east and west walls. The north was dead to her. There was no way she was going back into that maze.
All in all, she figured the south wall would be their best bet. She hummed absently, calculating the amount of force necessary to break through—assuming there was something to break through to. Even if there wasn't, it would be fun to find out.
Dozens of white pillars stretched into the dark void above them, scattered unevenly along the walls. They did nothing for the interior design of the room, and their aesthetic appeal was sorely lacking. She'd definitely want to destroy those first, on principle if nothing else. First the pillars, then the south wall, then east, then—
A chair clattered loudly as it hit the ground, and another followed before Makoto could turn around.
She jumped up to check on Ami, only to see her stretch across the table and lash out at everything within reach. Objects flew off the edges, tumbling to the floor with a resounding crash. Dishware that had previously been mostly-intact was now decidedly beyond repair, shattered in dismal little piles where they had fallen, and all Makoto could seem to do was watch the process unfold.
Ami made a strangled noise that, coming from anyone else, might be classified as a roar. But of course this was Ami and Ami simply did not roar. Tsk tsk in displeasure, maybe, but not roar. Another chair and a handful of porcelain dishes fell to the ground before Ami stopped, leaning against the table with her head hung and her breath erratic.
The echo of her destruction gradually dimmed.
It took an absurdly long moment for Makoto to realise that Ami was angry. Physically safe, but unprecedentedly pissed off. And here Makoto had been considering the long and involved speech she'd need to convince Ami to let her demolish the place. It was going to be a compelling, passionate speech, too, maybe with some small scale demonstrations, but clearly it would be superfluous.
Ami sucked in a halting breath, her fists clenched on the table's glossy surface. "There is nothing here," she ground out. Then quieter, "Nothing."
She backed away from the table and slammed her open palm against the unyielding granite.
Makoto gaped, shocked and confused and more than a little bit concerned. "Ami-chan?" she ventured.
Ami leaned against the wall and slid slowly down, her hands covering her face. She drew her knees into her chest, making her seem small, dwarfed by the room and the tension that filled it.
Makoto dashed to her side, struck with the sudden irrational fear that she'd disappear altogether. "What is it? Are you hurt?"
Ami exhaled shakily, then lowered her hands. Her eyes remained closed, her head tipped forward against her knees. "Mako-chan, what if there is no way out?" she asked softly, as if sharing a shameful secret. Maybe she was.
Unsure that she could offer a satisfactory answer to the question that had been clawing persistently at the back of her own mind, Makoto knelt in front of her. "Hey, come on," she urged. She reached out, brushing Ami's hair from her face.
It was different when she had nothing to strike or tackle, no tangible enemy to take down. This was harder. Ami's eyes blinked open, brimming with doubt and vulnerability. Makoto remembered all the times their positions had been reversed and Ami offered gentle reassurances that everything was going to be all right. She was so good at these things. And she was right every time.
Everything would be all right. They'd make it through this. Makoto smiled warmly, accepting the challenge, and informed her, "You can't give up. You're stronger, remember? We'll find a way."
The doubt and vulnerability slowly receded, leaving Ami's eyes a lighter shade of blue. Ami nodded, returning Makoto's smile with a small one of her own, then leaned forward and hugged her tightly. Makoto decided to leave the destruction for later. There were more important things to take care of first.
...
Ami tipped her head back against the stone pillar and sighed, her eyes fluttering closed.
Makoto leaned into the pillar across from her, a few feet away, and crossed her arms. "There are chairs, you know."
Ami shook her head. "I don't want to fall asleep."
"And what if you fall asleep standing up?"
"That seems highly improbable." She still didn't open her eyes.
Makoto chuckled and prepared to keep watch.
Ami stretched her legs out, crossing them at the ankle. Her boots had retained a surprising degree of cleanliness, scuffed only at the toe. They clung tightly to her calves, perfectly fitted in every way to the Senshi of Mercury. Modest, like she was. Practical, too. The boots tried and failed to conceal a naturally attractive physique just as their owner did.
Her knees were both scraped and red-tinged above the trim of her boots, probably from the fall, but maybe even before that. A variety of tiny scratches were visible, trailing up Ami's thighs, contrasting with the pale ivory of her skin. The muscles there were slight but well-defined, those of a seasoned swimmer. Makoto imagined that the rest of her must be toned like that as well; all hard muscle and soft skin. Even the parts she usually kept hidden.
Ami's fuku was in far worse shape. There was a lot of blood. Only some of it was hers. Makoto noted the absence of Ami's bow a little guiltily. She hoped the bow would fix itself once they'd detransformed like their outfits usually did, because it was going to be hellish trying to get the blood stains out by hand.
The beginnings of a rip ran in a frayed line up the left side of Ami's slender waist. Between the dirt and the blood, her senshi uniform had fared about as well as Makoto's, but it stilled looked elegant on her. Makoto would never tell her that, of course, but she had to wonder if Ami even realised how flawless she was. Even now, with smudged dirt and flakes of dried blood on her skin, the way the dim light fell across her body was like poetry.
Makoto understood Ami's appreciation for art; the inherent fascination provoked by beauty born and beauty crafted. The glow of the wall next to them subtly highlighted Ami's curves, casting shadows across the folds of her skirt and into the crevices of the bow attached to her collar. It reminded Makoto of childhood fieldtrips to museums filled with marble statues. She was never allowed to touch them, but she always longed to know if they felt as real as they looked, if there was a heartbeat somewhere in there to warm the cool stone.
Makoto's gaze followed the smooth curve of Ami's neck, the delicate line of her jaw, the fine arch of her cheekbon—
Her eyes locked with Ami's, and Makoto's reverie derailed abruptly.
She'd been caught staring.
Makoto blushed fiercely.
Her throat flooded with a million different excuses and explanations, but none would come out.
How stupid could she be, how inexcusably careless? Ami could have been watching her this whole time. Everything had been going fine, and now she'd gone and made things awkward and uncomfortable and—god, she was an idiot sometimes.
Ami smirked. She moved away from the pillar.
"Do I remind you of your senpai, Mako-chan?" she asked, her voice low and sultry and not Ami-like at all.
"Ah?" Makoto replied, unintelligibly.
Ami was suddenly far too close.
Makoto's heart raced with the proximity, but the rest of her remained shock-still.
Ami's boots bumped Makoto's before she stopped, leaning close, eliminating the air between them, making it harder to breathe.
The unfamiliar sensation of being cornered and trapped like prey washed over her, but no coherent thought managed to assert itself in the tempestuous haze of confusion Ami had provoked.
"Well?" Ami prompted, but Makoto had already forgotten the question.
It didn't seem to matter, though. Ami didn't wait for an answer. She stood on her toes, lifting herself to eyelevel with Makoto.
The haze briefly parted, long enough for her to manage asking, "What are you…?"
Ami's lips against hers swallowed the end of Makoto's question, and she felt something ignite in her. Her senses lit up and the rest of her melted like candle wax.
Fingers tangled in Makoto's already tangled hair, drawing her closer. The watch attached to her bow dug into her ribcage, trapped between them. Ami's tongue teased at Makoto's bottom lip, an invitation, a dare. Makoto instinctively accepted. Sweltering heat rushed through her. She could feel it rising from her skin, simmering in her veins.
Makoto clenched her eyes shut. She couldn't seem to think straight, couldn't even seem to try.
Ami sucked the air from her lungs until Makoto's chest tightened with the lack of it. The heavy, crushing feeling of suffocation overwhelmed her, a peculiar balance of panic and ecstasy. Makoto pulled back, panting and exhaling icy puffs of air that belied the heat burning up her insides.
Her eyes opened and her focus sharpened, then blurred, oscillating between a level of clarity so intense that she could count each of Ami's eyelashes, then degrading into smears of white and blue.
Even as Makoto's mind writhed in a storm of want and need, it occurred to her that something wasn't right. This wasn't like Ami. She would never—
A small hand caressed the swell of Makoto's breast through the fabric of her fuku, shattering her concentration, and she moaned at the contact.
—She'd never—
Makoto flinched as one of Ami's wandering hands pressed too hard against the cut on her side, but Ami didn't stop, and Makoto didn't stop her.
Ami's lips slid down her neck, cool, grounding, just like her hands. And when had they become gloveless?
"Touch her," a voice met her ears and she distantly recognized it as her own.
Ami pressed into her and Makoto melted further into the pillar as one of Ami's legs slid between hers, rough and insistent, building up the friction between them. Her control crumbled.
She tilted her head toward the wall next to her as Ami lapped at the dip of her collarbone. Their images mirrored their actions, but Makoto's stared back at her with sentience behind its gaze. It had found her again, snuck back in when she lowered her guard. It occurred to her that she should care about this, but she couldn't remember how.
Craving compelled Makoto's hands to grasp, her mouth to search, and suddenly Ami was the one moaning and pinned against the pillar as Makoto's hand slipped under Ami's skirt.
The thought that she shouldn't be doing this weakly reasserted itself even as Ami's hips bucked against hers. Here, of all places, in some strange hostile world, next to a wall that was talking to her. All of it was wrong, completely messed up. She shouldn't be—
She gasped as Ami bit down on her shoulder, hard enough to bruise. Ami shuddered in Makoto's arms, pulling her closer, always closer.
Makoto shivered, her mind drenched in the euphoria of knowing that this was Ami, and Ami was…she was…
No.
She wasn't.
She wasn't Ami at all.
This had to stop. Oh god, she had to stop this.
Makoto stepped back, but Ami followed, grabbing and twisting until she'd pressed Makoto against the adjacent wall.
"Ami—" she started, her voice breathy and low.
"Shh…"
"Wait, can you just—" Lips against her own silenced her, and Makoto could feel the storm in her head intensify, pushing and pulling and demanding.
Makoto tried to extract herself again, get some space to think and breathe, to find her way back. Ami grabbed the pink bow on the front of Makoto's fuku, pressing her harder into the wall.
Cool fingers traced their way up her inner thigh, higher. Makoto gasped, moaned, fell apart for just a moment before pulling herself back together again.
"Stop," she breathed.
"Don't stop," her reflection whispered.
"Ami," she tried, "please, I can't—this isn't…"
But Ami wasn't listening.
Because she wasn't Ami, Makoto remembered, jolted by a sudden rush of clarity.
Desire plummeted into panic, and Makoto shoved her, hard. Harder than she'd intended to.
Ami stumbled backward, fell.
Everything stilled.
They were both flushed, breathing hard.
Ami stared at her, wide-eyed, her skirt riding up and her fuku dishevelled where Makoto's hands had been.
Ami clutched the wrist she'd landed on against her chest.
Makoto's reflection chuckled. "Oops. I think you broke her. See, this is why you can't have nice things."
Oh god, had she? Terrified it was true, Makoto stepped forward to help her, but Ami flinched at the movement.
"Now look at what you've done," it chastised. "I tried to warn you…"
Ami looked away, but Makoto could already imagine the fear building up in her eyes. She couldn't let that happen.
Makoto knelt and reached out carefully, the words tumbling from her mouth, "Ami-chan, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean—" She stopped short when Ami turned to her.
Makoto didn't find the fear she'd anticipated, but there was something cold and mocking in Ami's gaze.
Ami laughed abruptly, and the shrill, inhuman sound of it shattered any lingering doubt like the sharp snap of lightning striking the earth.
Makoto pulled back.
"You aren't Mercury," she stated.
That much was certain now. What she couldn't decide was whether Ami herself was possessed, or if this was a creature that had stolen her likeness.
Ami's lips twitched into a smirk.
An invisible force suddenly caught hold of Makoto, lifting her off the ground and sending her crashing into the south wall.
Her head snapped backward with a sickening crack against the granite, and she slid to the floor. Ami sauntered toward her, a sapphire blur. Makoto scrambled to stand despite the waves of dizziness slamming into her.
Unwilling to be cornered, she stepped forward, squared her shoulders, widened her stance, tested her balance.
With that kind of power, hand-to-hand combat would be pointless.
Static tingled in the tips of her fingers, running up her arms, through her chest. She was ready.
The imposter tilted her head and smiled, not another malice-laced smirk like Makoto had expected, but a real smile. Ami's smile.
No. This was a trap.
"You aren't her," Makoto repeated through gritted teeth. "Sparkling…" she began, pulling the energy between her hands and feeling it amplify.
"Just how sure are you about that?"
The energy pulsed, strengthened, begged release. Makoto whispered again, hoping that saying it would make it feel true, "You aren't—"
Makoto's reflection sneered at her from the polished floor. "Do it," her reflection encouraged. "Hurt her. Kill her. Tear her apart."
Makoto shook her head to clear it and tried to concentrate.
"…Wide…"
But she wasn't sure.
Maybe Makoto could just incapacitate her until she figured out a way to get Ami back. But if this was Ami, and she was possessed or under some malevolent influence, Makoto would hurt her. Maybe irreparably. Maybe even kill her.
"You can't help your nature," Makoto's image told her. "Embrace it."
"Mako-chan?"It sounded like a plea. It sounded like Ami, the tone that coloured her voice when she was worried, confused, scared.
Makoto's head pounded, her breath coming in short gasps.
No.
She couldn't.
She couldn't do it.
The risk was too high.
The lightning fizzled out until the tiny sparks of electricity crackling in the air were all that remained. Makoto's hands fell to her sides.
She was dreaming. This was a nightmare. None of it was real. If she could just wake up, everything would be back to normal, it had to be.
Wake up, Makoto silently chanted.
Ami—no, not Ami, the thing impersonating her—inched forward, and a flurry of ice ran down her arm, coalescing in the palm of her hand and shaping itself into a dagger. The blade glistened as it froze solid. She held it tightly in her hand even as her brow furrowed and a look of warmth and concern overtook her features. "Mako-chan, what's wrong? Tell me what you're afraid of. Maybe I can help."
Makoto belatedly tried to step back, but found that ice had rooted her to the ground.
"Hurt her," her reflection urged. "Make her scream." But Makoto wasn't sure who it was talking to anymore.
They were so close that the clean scent of Ami's shampoo was clearly discernible, and Makoto could see the flecks of indigo in her eyes.
She struggled against every instinct that told her to fight, to push and hit and annihilate the threat, because Ami could be in there somewhere and Ami would never hurt anyone. She wouldn't follow through. She wouldn't. This was just a dream, it wasn't real.
Makoto released a slow exhale as Ami leaned into her. Her hands shook with the effort of restraining herself.
Wake up.
Ami trailed the knife lightly along Makoto's collarbone, where her lips had been only minutes before. She could feel each drop of water slide down her skin as her body heat gradually liquefied the edge of the ice blade.
Makoto held her breath. Her brain struggled with the recognition, the knowledge that it looked like Ami, smelled like her, moved like her, knew the things only Ami knew, but it wasn't her. Not anymore. But no matter how hard she fought it, the betrayal still curled and writhed in her stomach.
"What, can't lift a finger against sweet little Ami?" Makoto's reflection asked. "It seems she doesn't have the same reservations when it comes to you. Pathetic. Or is it that you want this? Is this what you've been waiting so long for, an escape? An excuse? What are you really afraid of?"
"Stop it!" Makoto tried to twist away, desperation making her clumsy and ineffective. "Ami, please don't do this. This isn't you. You've got to fight it."
Please, wake up.
"Fool," Ami whispered against her neck. One unnaturally strong arm held Makoto tightly around the waist as instinct took over and she struggled, pushed, panicked.
This wasn't—couldn't be—real. But the pain was.
Her breath escaped as the blade ran through her, part sigh, part scream. She felt it leave, but heard only laughter. Makoto wasn't sure who it came from. Maybe it was Ami. Maybe it was her. Hysteria was lying somewhere there in her chest, tingling, eager to erupt through her throat and hit the air, add to the chorus.
Blood spilled from her, hot, and maybe red, but she couldn't bring herself to look and find out what was really inside of her. Melted water trickled down her abdomen, mixing the fire and ice and twisting them so tightly together that she could no longer tell them apart.
Ami jerked the blade back out.
Makoto's body suddenly caught up. She broke free, stumbling backward as chunks of ice scattered loudly across the tile. She hit the wall, but refused to fall. Makoto clutched her hands over the wound, trying to hold everything in place, but liquid was still slipping through her fingers.
"You're no fun at all. I really thought you'd do it," Ami said, a disapproving frown on her face. "Oh well." She turned the blade on herself and Makoto barely had time to scream at her to stop before Ami plunged it into her own chest.
Makoto wondered if this was what shock felt like.
She could feel her lungs expand and contract within her ribcage, she felt every breath as it brushed past her lips, and her dry tongue as it rasped against her teeth. Her heartbeat sang loudly in her ears, staccato, faltering.
Ami dropped to her knees and fell onto her side, gasping, choking. Something that wasn't quite blood trickled from the corner of Ami's mouth, pooling on the floor, part liquid and part fog.
Makoto watched mutely as it spread, rose, took shape. Ash-grey turned crimson as the fog solidified, and she could make out what may have been a woman's form, tall and misshapen. A twisted crown adorned the creature's head, the bright gold contrasting sharply with ropes of long black hair and a tattered scarlet gown. The knights they battled earlier should have tipped her off—where there were soldiers, there had to be someone giving the orders.
It stared back at Makoto, its body warping and flickering as though its form was unstable.
Flashes of pain licked like flames at the edges of Makoto's mind, growing more assertive, threatening to consume.
The hysteria was there too, demanding freedom. Her body shook with the effort to contain it. A hollow chuckle escaped from deep within her chest. Another joined it, and then she couldn't stop the flood.
All this time Makoto had thought she was going crazy, but she realised now that she was already there, long past the finish line. "I've gone mad," Makoto concluded in a whisper, her voice scraping her throat as it fled.
"Oh, precious girl, don't fret," the creature soothed, a cheshire grin spreading across its face like a crack ripping through concrete. "We're all mad here."
The creature advanced toward her, but a strangled gurgling sound caught both of their attention. It turned to see Ami thrashing on the ground. Makoto saw her opportunity.
If they were both going to die here, she wasn't going down without a fight.
Makoto latched onto the thin threads of electricity still running through her veins, concentrated them, amplified them, plotted their course. The creature's eyes snapped back to her as the words, "Supreme Thunder," left Makoto's lips and lightning crackled through the air between them.
The room lit up, white and blinding, and the flames consumed Makoto at last.
...
