**DISCLAIMER: Sailor Moon and other characters belong to Naoko Takeuchi, Cartoon Network, etc

**DISCLAIMER: Sailor Moon and other characters belong to Naoko Takeuchi, Cartoon Network, etc. None of these characters belong to me. **

Author's Notes: Konnichiwa, minna-chan. I hope you like this next chapter. Sorry for the delay in posting. Remember that this is an AU. Please send some feedback or review! I love getting your comments, and I will consider any suggestions that you have. After all, I am writing this for you, and I do want you to like it. Also, don't be confused; this chapter is essentially a flashback. Enjoy reading!

Rating: PG-13

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"Not the glittering weapon fights the fight, but rather the hero's heart."

~ Proverb ~

Silver Eyes

by: The Silver Princess

The memories burst inside Usagi like a lanced infection, relentless and virulent. Why did people always say that these things got better with time? They never did. Even now, two years later, the memories were too fresh, too hurtful. Time had not eased the pain; it had only exacerbated it. The further away the event, the more real and inescapable it became.

The day was hot and blue. The clouds had fled from the sky, and the sun burned fierily through the maze of concrete that was Tokyo. The streets teemed with people, businessmen stoically headed towards the office, teenagers laughing and wandering, tourists gawking and studying maps.

Usagi was dazzled by the bustle of the city; she did not yet see the seething darkness and corruption screened behind the thin veneer of sophistication. Her silver eyes danced as she drank in the sights, the sounds, even the smell. This was where she would attend school. In this magical city, this was where she would live. After all the cajoling and discussing, she'd convinced her family to accept the school's insistent pursuit of her, and they were moving out of the countryside and to Tokyo. Anticipation and hope raced through her. She wanted to shout for joy. Nothing could possibly go wrong. The world was simply too perfect for words.

"Shingo!" she yelled suddenly. "Get back here!"

"What!" he scowled as she yanked him by the arm.

"Baka!" she snapped. "You have to be more careful here. The cars probably won't stop in time; they go faster here."

Wrenching himself from her grip, Shingo stuck his tongue out at her, yanked her long braid, and scampered away. She shook her head. "That was mature," she muttered as she rubbed her scalp.

"So, Usagi," her mother asked as she reached her daughter. "Are you still sure you want to attend school here? That means transferring in the middle of your high school years."

"I'm positive," she declared emphatically. "I definitely want to come here."

Those were to be the last words that the Usagi of then would speak. She wanted this; she wanted Tokyo. She would have them, but by then, everything would be different.

Not realizing this however, she paused on the sidewalk and turned to gaze into a shop window.

"Sweetie?" came a questioning voice.

"Just look at it, Dad," she whispered reverently. "Isn't it wonderful?"

He laughed as he settled his hand on her shoulder. "You have a one track mind, don't you?" he said, with a hint of pride running through his deep voice. "I suppose you'll be joining the martial arts club at your new school."

She turned her head to grin at him. "Of course."

He rolled his eyes good-naturedly and began walking to catch up with Usagi's mother.

She turned her head to gaze at the katana in the window. Wonderful, simply wonderful. The blade was two and half feet long, gracefully curved and tipped with a narrow, sharp angle. The polished metal gleamed like silver fire, and magnificent designs and engravings adorned the hilt and ran down the length of the blade. It was a katana, the most revered and expert blade that a hand could wield, and she yearned to know that feeling of its handle gripped in her fingers. At the time, she didn't realize the reality of combat; she only saw the beautiful curve of the katana, and she only knew the exhilarating, empowering thrill of an expert kick and chop.

She pressed her hands to the window, wondering if her parents would mind her ducking inside the shop for a moment. The last image of her hands with her perfectly manicured fingernails lying over the glass, partially covering the gleaming arc of the blade would remain frozen with her forever.

She felt something before there was physical reason to. It was as though some movement twitched in the dark corner of her mind; some unexplained sense that spoke something she couldn't at that time understand. Her skin prickled, and a shiver ran down her spine. Her jubilation melted away, replaced by an unsettling dread, a knowledge that she didn't want to look at even if she could decipher it. She let her breath out slowly.

It didn't happen suddenly. There was no unexpected bang, no explosion of screams. Instead, there was a brief chilling instant of wordless breathing, a mutual, synchronized gasp. In that silent second, individuals in a crowd transformed into a panicky, mindless herd, and Usagi somehow knew what was happening. Her strange premonition crystallized into full-fledged terror.

Screams pierced through the air. The noise of yelling and crying mixed with the stampede of feet with nowhere to go. The air turned hotter and wetter with the pants of panicky lungs. Usagi yelled in vain, as she searched for anyone in her family. How could they have been separated so quickly?

The mob surged back and forth without really going anywhere, flowing, splitting, and then reforming like a mass of cells not humans. Usagi shrieked as she found herself picked up by the momentum and helplessly carried along. The pressure of bodies was suffocating, and she was terrified that she would fall and be trampled in the unnoticing horde.

Everything became a series of flashes. A glimpse of a red-faced, mustached man. A scrap of child wailing for its mother. Glimpses that lasted mere seconds as Usagi was buffeted about like a piece of flotsam on the tide. And through it all ran the communal sense of evil. That's when the shooting started. People screamed as bullets rained through the air and tore through the masses of compacted bodies. Guns flashed, and acrid smoke curled as their wielders cried of the apocalypse, of the need to cleanse the world of sinners.

Usagi cried out and her knees nearly buckled as a bullet grazed her forehead. A body fell against her, floppy and heavy like a slab of raw meat, its weight bearing her to the ground. Feet smashed against her hands, grinding into her fingerbones as she futilely tried to pick herself up. Blood was steaming in the air like a red mist, tiny droplets interspersed with clumps of bloody flesh. Screams, demons, bullets. Blood. She could see blood, smell it, taste it. She gagged even as she gasped in more air and more blood. The bullets continued to smash through soft flesh.

Tears ran from her eyes unnoticed as she struggled under the suffocating weight of the growing pile of bodies. She gritted her teeth and muttered a silent apology to the people's spirits. Then she started lashing out with her fists and elbows, shoving and pushing away both the dead, the injured, and soon as she crawled to her feet, the living mob. The sound of fists connecting with yielding tissue vibrated vilely inside her, but she refused to give in. The people barely fell back, but it was enough, and she managed to squirm her way to the outskirts of the mob. Finally, she paused, panting and leaning against the wall of the alley.

She yelped suddenly as a stray bullet ricocheted into the brick above her head, showering her with dirt and rubble. She coughed and choked, then ducked further into the dark alleyway.

She wrapped her arms tightly around herself, shuddering. She was so scared; Not of dying—that barely earned a second thought—but terrified for her family. They were out there somewhere with the bullets and the…whatever…that had started the riot. They were lost out there without the slightest benefit of even knowing how to throw a punch.

Suddenly, Usagi's neck prickled as that strange prescient feeling washed over her like a drenching wave of ice water, and she understood the over-used cliché of blood running cold. It was as though her veins had frozen and frost had coated the walls of her arteries. Why wasn't the mob fleeing? Why were they staying here despite the danger?

She knew; somehow, she knew. Horror gnawing in her gut, she slowly turned around and peered into the dark alleyway. A bullet whizzed unnoticed over her head, thudding into some fleshly shape, but there was no cry, no gasp, just a thudding of a foot stepping forward. Her stomach quivered inside her belly as she discerned the shape looming in the blackness.

The beast, the monster, the demon. It was every childhood nightmare embodied in a hulking, clawing creature. Its hide was a scaly snakeskin texture and such a dark color that it swallowed all the light near it like a black hole. It loomed ten feet high, and its teeth gleamed like daggers. It stepped forward menacingly, its dinosaur-like feet clacking on the pavement. Its red eyes glowed with evil light as alien energy swarmed around it like a cloud of insects.

Usagi screamed. She could not help it.

"Usagi!" a voice suddenly shouted.

Her head whipped around as panic roared up inside her with full force.

"Shingo, NO!" she screamed, her voice raw with emotion.

Her little brother barreled into the alleyway, intent on protecting his sister. His eyes glinted with fear and determination, and his legs pumped like pistons as he rushed towards the demon.

Usagi sprang into action, leaping forward and snatching at the scruff of his shirt. She heard his sputtering choke as she yanked him backwards and away from the demon. She dragged him out of the alleyway.

"Don't you EVER scare me like that!" she bellowed with tears glistening in her eyes.

"Usagi—"

"Shingo, please just listen to me," she interrupted. "I want you to stay right here. Don't go anywhere. I'll be fine; just stay here and be safe."

"But—"

"No! I can take care of myself, you know," she said firmly, pointing her finger in his face.

He scowled resentfully and then reluctantly nodded, his mop of sandy hair flopping into his eyes as he did. "Be careful," he muttered, sullen now that he was out of the demon's direct path and now that his sister—of all people—had ordered him to stay there.

Usagi turned, shakily tensing herself for her first real life-and-death battle. She had trained, she had practiced, she had worked her butt off, and now here was the ultimate test to pass. She clenched her fists, single-mindedly focusing on the direct matter at hand; a focus that let her put aside all other worries. The mob, her parents, they all slipped to the foreground now that she had a vital purpose. Her silver eyes glinted dangerously like a feline hunter's as she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

Bang!

A gunshot shattered her hearing, dangerously close. Her hands flew to her ears as she dropped low to the ground. Prescience guided her to turn around, and she screamed again. Her throat protested this overuse, but the scream could not stop. She would physically wrench it from her airless lungs if she had to, if it would only allow her to remain in this first gut-reaction and not have to continue with this unbearable path of time.

She crawled to her brother's fallen form and gingerly settled his head onto her lap. Tears dripped onto his face, cleaning streaks in the dirt that smeared his cheeks. Blood leaked at the edge of his lips, but she futilely tried to staunch the bleeding in his chest.

"I stayed. I kept my promise," Shingo gurgled laboriously through his blood-corrupted lungs.

Grief-stricken, Usagi sobbed, shaking her head convulsively, negating everything around her. Her fingers pressed against his chest, and the blood was slick and berry-red, squishing out from beneath her palms. It was a gaping, dark hole, a damn hole heartlessly blown through her brother's chest. Would he have been shot if she hadn't ordered him to stay there?

His young body arched against her hands as a shudder trembled through his limbs. Then his brown eyes darkened, and his face went slack. The blood oozed to a halt.

Usagi keened as she bent over her brother's dead body. She'd killed him. She had murdered her own baby brother. He was dead, and it was her fault. The blood on her hands was there for a reason.

She cried until her throat was swollen with tears and her nose was blocked. She cried until there was no more wetness to be wrung from her eyes. Then as she gasped in air, she hesitantly disengaged herself from the rapidly cooling corpse, carefully arranging him on the ground. She reached up and closed his lifeless eyes, and then gave a strangled sob as she realized that she had just streaked his own lifeblood over his face.

She stood up with eyes dead and dully gray. Her face was devoid of expression. Her head turned slowly to gaze at the shop window.

Smash!

Her foot shattered the glass into a million sparkling shards, tinkling to the concrete and some into the display. Her hand reached forward and the hilt of the deadly katana slid into her grip as though it had been fashioned specially for her. She withdrew her arm and the blade whistled a deadly song as she whipped it through the air. She had vengeance to wreak.

She knew the man who had shot her brother. She had caught a quick glimpse of him disappearing into the crowd before. His chiseled face, his bushy red hair, his wide eyes and high eyebrows. His features were embedded indelibly in her mind like a smoking brand.

Her keen, vengeful eyes caught sight of him quickly, his distinctive red hair bobbing very near her.

Powerful kicks and punches, and then the path was cleared for her.

Time slowed inside her mind like the dripping of molasses. He turned, his face confused. His hand raised the gun, pointing the barrel wildly in her direction. His jaw moved as though he were about to yell something.

The katana plunged smoothly into his abdomen as Usagi rammed the blade into him, using the force of her body to give it strength, bringing her nose to nose with the murderer. She locked eyes with his dark hazel ones as she jerked the blade up through his ribcage, and he shuddered, going limp and sagging downwards. Their eyes never broke contact as she mercilessly stared down at the corpse. It was a much more personal slaying than one with a gun, and she could still feel the feeling of piercing the katana through his soft belly and slicing through his ribs with that grating, unyielding sensation.

The katana fell from numb, limp fingers with a clatter as she stumbled away and retched everything from her stomach.

Everything settled into a curious gray haze after that. The only clear memory came in the aftermath, after the demons—there had been more than one—had departed, glowing with stolen life energy.

Her parents had died as well, victims to the greedy drain of the creatures. She was all alone. She recalled sitting on the hospital bed several hours later, rocking back and forth, trying to retreat inside her mind and to build up walls to protect her fragile heart.

Someone, possibly a social worker or psychiatrist, stopped by, trying to contact Usagi despite her blank-eyed departure. The woman eventually gave up and stood, pulling aside a doctor and relating a diagnosis.

Inside, Usagi perked up and listened.

"I don't know what to tell you," the woman said grimly. "She's in shock, and she's grieving. The girl has simply withdrawn into her own mind for comfort and protection. From the information we have, we've learned that she's sixteen." She sighed, glancing at the girl still rocking back and forth. "Her age and her condition is going to make it remarkably difficult, maybe impossible to find a foster family that can provide proper care."

It was like getting a hard slap in the face, and Usagi flinched. "No!" she screeched.

The doctors started and turned towards her.

Usagi bowed her head. "Gomen nasai," she apologized in a calmer voice. "But I do not wish to be placed in foster care. I can take care of myself." She looked up, gazing at the two people, baring her soul for them.

It had taken nearly two months to arrange Usagi's autonomy. The insurance had provided her with a healthy sum of money, and thanks to some clever business maneuvering, she managed to turn that amount into solid, prosperous investments in various stocks and business backings.

Her life remained dead and empty for another month. She lived life like a robot, going through all the motions and routines. She kept on breathing, her heart kept on beating, but for all purposes, she was like a coma patient. Life was a vast stretch of time without any landmarks except blood and guilt.

Until she heard of another attack, similar to the one that had claimed her entire family and her innocence. This time, however, there was a mysterious girl who had saved the day and cut back casualties to a minimum.

And suddenly, life began again like a videotape just unpaused. She created a new Usagi for the day and became a new woman in the night. Her innocence may have been burned away, but her heart remained good, and so she did good. Her memories shuffled into the background, always a kindling of fire but no longer the painful burning inside.

Usagi sniffled and rinsed the soap of her face. Squinting through the water, she turned the shower off and wrapped a towel around herself. Night was approaching fast, and the memories were driving her onward.

She had killed her brother and failed her parents.

She no longer feared the demons—the youma as they had been termed.

She would fight against the creatures that had destroyed her life.

She would set what she could right until time itself ended.