Chapter 9
anything in italics is thought
Under any other circumstances, it might have been amusing to think that malicious evil clones were presently residing almost directly beneath his Psychology 101 class. But Mamoru was not particularly amused by anything at the moment, least of all the idea that chubby old Professor O'Reilly could be in for a rather interesting surprise when a clone comes blasting through his lecture hall come Monday morning. Mostly because Mamoru did not want to think of how his grades would suffer because of it.
The black-haired prince heaved a sigh as he glanced around the dimly-lit halls of the Humanities building, blue eyes scanning for anything that might leap out of the shadows brandishing sparkly oversized sticks. Malachi had probably been right; the statue in the underground cave was just a decoy. But it was the only lead he really had at the moment, and if it was a decoy, he could get the clones' attention by walking right into their trap, at the very least. It was not the wisest move, sure, but he much preferred stumbling into a trap sooner rather than later. At least this way, he was mildly prepared.
A few strands of yellow tape were all that served to block off the charred and crumbling remains of a certain closet. Goodness, did I really survive that blast? The bit of blackened wood and ash that must have been the mop that had been sitting right next to him now leaned remorsefully against one wall, hardly recognizable from its original shape.
It was amazing how many times he had avoided death in the last few days. He was hardly the most resilient, macho of men, although he did seem to have a knack for being resurrected at the brink of death. And not just when dealing with these clones - it had always been that way. He specifically recalled the fight with the Dead Moon Circus, where he had spent so many days and nights coughing up blood, Elysian crumbling underneath him as the spasmed, unawares. Not counting the times he had -actually- been killed - the Dark Kingdom and Galaxia sprang to mind - he'd had his ass whooped more times than he could count. Yet here he was, staring down a charred vent, about to dive headlong into what very well could be his last battle ever.
Mamoru wasn't quite sure what had him so concerned. It was, perhaps, the fact that it was the first major battle he would fight on his own. Any time Sailor Moon had gone up against an evil queen, he had been there, right along with the Senshi (the fight with Galaxia excluded). There had always been friends to lean back on. But he wasn't about to let the Shitennou get them beaten to the ground again so soon - or ever again, if he had a say in it. But that meant it was just him, a handful of magical roses, and the Golden Crystal against whatever man, woman, blob, or twenty-legged sentient Jello squid really wanted to see him dead. As powerful as the Golden Crystal had become, it was nowhere near as strong as the Ginzuishou. Sometimes, even the Ginzuishou alone wasn't enough to defeat the bad guys. And if that was the case this time around, he was sure screwed.
But I have to do it. Mamoru stepped over the pieces of yellow police tape. I can't just sit idly by while the Shitennou lick their wounds and wait for the next time we get our collective ass handed to us. I have to fight back now, or it will only get worse. And if I have to look at Malachi wince one more time, I'm going to start putting my hands through walls.
The burned hole that had once been a vent was far more ominous now than it had been earlier, when he'd gone hurtling through it head-over-tea kettle. Maybe it was the lack of light, or the general Cajun cooked atmosphere of the whole closet. Or maybe it was the knot of anxiety that kept gnawing away at his stomach. Whatever it was, he didn't have time to dwell on it. He had a fight to pick.
Mamoru took a breath, pushing back the memory of how sickening his last journey down this charred little rabbit hole had been, and steeled himself. Then, before he could change his mind, he shoved his feet through, and dropped.
The tumbling plunge down the oversized air vent was not quite as jarring, but almost. Fortunately, he was transformed this time around, and other than a brief but alarming moment in which he nearly strangled himself with his own cape, he found the descent significantly less uncomfortable in his more powerful form.
He landed on his feet, Senshi reflexes dropping him into a crouch before his mind could even register it. He cast a quick glance around the cave. It was just as he had found it before--a large, cylindrical room, all of stone, a curved archway tunneling in every direction from the walls around him. And to his left, that same purplish glow emanating from one doorway in particular.
One thing was different, however. A few feet from where he landed, slumped dismally on the hard, strangely smooth floor, was an ordinary grocery bag. Mamoru blinked at the strangely out-of-place object for a few seconds before he suddenly recognized it. He reached over to pull it open--sure enough, it was filled with notepads and pens and other essential school supplies.
Malachi had given him that bag. Was it really only yesterday that that happened? Only yesterday that he did not have any guardians at all, that Malachi was nothing more to him than a kind-hearted stranger who happened to know a few too many of Mamoru's secrets? And it was only the day before that that he met all of them for the first time. But that was crazy--he had always known them, or at least it seemed that way. Even if he could not, for the life of him, list their favorite colors, or when their birthdays were, or whether they liked their eggs fried or scrambled, he felt like he knew them better than he had ever known anyone. Strange, how they could just appear in his life one day, and have it feel so right that it was as though they had been there all along.
He rifled through the contents of the bag carefully, as though there were small, vicious creatures in it that were waiting to take his fingers off. The Shitennou, even in their unawakened forms, remembered much more than they gave themselves credit for. He thought back to his other battles - whenever he'd given an order, demanded that someone leave to get help or remove themselves from harm's way, they did it. Except for Malachi; but Mamoru recalled that Kunzite had always been a pain when it came to protecting his own hide for the sake of the Prince. He couldn't put his finger on exactly how he knew - he just accepted it as part of a greater consciousness, something he gained now that he and the Shitennou were reunited.
And Malachi had insisted to take care of him, first when he'd gone stumbling around in the night, burned half to death and exhausted beyond reason, and again when he'd spent the night slumbering halfheartedly in the cafeteria. Malachi had wanted him to be comfortable and safe, even though they had no connection outside a chance run-in only two days earlier. Two days. Perhaps the longest two days of his life, or at least the days he could remember. But Malachi had wanted to stay with him, even after he spilled his secret, even after crazy clones tracked his every move and made it incredibly for a med student to actually do anything in the way of learning.
Mamoru blinked abruptly, coming back to reality. He would have time for reflection later - or so he hoped. For the time being, there was one last clone to track down, and one Major Baddie to confront and, hopefully, avoid irreparable maiming from.
He gently placed a handful of pens back inside the bag and rolled up the top, as though protecting some precious object. And maybe he was, really. He wanted very much to be able to use those pens that Malachi had given him. They looked like good pens.
"I'll be back for you later," he promised, rising to his feet. And without any further deviation, he turned and headed for the purplish light, and whatever destiny it may hold.
The statue was exactly how he remembered it. Beryl reared her ugly head, smiling viciously at the energy pulsating between her hands like a ravenous animal, the whole statue glowing faintly from within. The purple glow was all that lit the room, and the vast cavern was filled with a sort of eerie quality, with strange shadows standing stark against the light.
Everything was the same as before, except for one very great detail. At the foot of the statue, lounging with all the grace of a buzzard in the moonlight, was a sailor-suited imposter that he had dearly hoped he would never see again. She swung her feet childishly, leaning back against the hem of Beryl's dress to see the horrid face towering far above her. At the sound of Mamoru's footsteps, she glanced down at him with a languid sort of gaze, which would have been almost attractive if it were not so completely disturbing. Then she gave a gasp of joy, sitting forward on the edge of her seat with a rustle of broken feathers.
"Mamochan, you've come back to me!"
"It looks that way." The disgust in Mamoru's voice was palpable, and if Lunette had been any less evil, she probably would have winced. "But don't expect this to be like the last time."
"Oh, I would never do that," the blonde said sweetly, folding her hands on top of her bony delicate knees. She looked up at him, eyelashes fluttering. "This time, I'm going to kill you."
"That's what you--" The sentence couldn't be finished. Lunette sprung to her feet with lightning speed, and before Mamoru could even think to dodge, the Eternal Tier was pointed at his chest and, before you could say Starlight Honeymoon Therapy Kiss, a powerful blast of energy hit him straight-on in the chest and sent him flying backwards, out into the dark hallway.
Mamoru's reaction could only be summed up by a very eloquent "ow." Before he could even sit up, the business end of the Tier smashed against the side of his face, slamming him against the cold stone ground. Stars exploded behind his eyelids, pain pulsating so much beneath his skin that he could not even feel the blood that was already trickling out of a cut on his cheek. A pair of gloved hands snatched him up by the collar and shoved him against the wall, pinning him with far more force than a body of that size should have had.
"Now, Mamochan, here's your options." The clone leaned uncomfortably close to his face, her voice suddenly soft and husky. "Option one, we can do this nice and gentle. You do what I want, and you get any little thing your heart so desires. Or option two, we can do this the hard way. And you don't want to do it the hard way, Mamochan. I play rough."
"So I've noticed," Mamoru spat, getting a little blood on the clone's face - somehow, he'd managed to bite the inside of his cheek when he'd hit the ground. With a burst of speed, he tucked his leg up underneath him, and placed a very scientific and very painful kick in Lunette's crotch. The jolt of surprise and pain caused Lunette to lose her grip on Mamoru's collar as she swore violently, falling sharply on her bottom as her center of balance skewed.
Mamoru smirked, despite himself. "You'll notice, bitch, that I can play rough, too. Tuxedo Mirage!" His hand lashed out in front of him, almost of its on accord, and Lunette barely managed to roll away from the blast before it could turn her into dust. She shouted something about what he could do with himself, provided he had a cucumber and a large amount of flexibility, before she sprang to her feet and blasted with her Tier again.
The Prince jumped sharply to his left, his cape catching most of the energy. Most of the bottom was simply burned away, but he decided that it was really only decorative, anyway, and best left for dramatic entrances, of which he'd already made one. Of sorts. He followed her attack by rushing forward, first punching her square in the jaw, then grabbing one of her long odango tails and using it to spin her as one spins a top, except quite a bit more violently. She shrieked loudly as she flew, spinning, into one of the sides of the chamber, catching most of the fall with her face.
"Mamochan," she gasped tearily from the floor, "that hurt!"
"Ask me if I care," he growled.
"How can you hurt me like that, Mamochan?" The suddenly too-innocent girl pulled herself onto her knees, daintily wiping away tears with a gloved hand.
The black-haired Prince knew that it would be in his best interests to strike now, while she was down, but he was never one for taking cheap shots. Especially against a sobbing young girl who, if he didn't know better, would have seemed as harmless as a kitten. He was just all knightly like that.
"Get off the floor, Lunette."
"But Mamochan--"
"Get up and fight!" Dammit, why was she just sitting there? He felt like some schoolyard bully, towering over a pathetic little victim. If only she wouldn't look so darn helpless, he wouldn't have to think twice about blasting her to pieces. If only she didn't look so much like Usako, alone and crying and triggering every damn protective instinct in his body, all tingling in the back of his brain and screaming at him to protect the girl and rush to her side and make sure nothing bad would ever happen to her again, and--
"Stop it, Lunette! Just stop it!" Mamoru shook his head sharply. "Enough with your little games!"
The girl sobbed softly into her hands. "Stop what?"
"I'm through being fooled by you!" he shouted, his shaking hands forming white-knuckled fists. "You played your card once, and it worked. I don't have any illusions about you anymore. Get up and fight me like you're supposed to!"
But Lunette only continued to cry, pitiful, like a kicked puppy. Occasionally she would throw in "I love you, Mamochan" or "why are you hurting me?" but he continued to stand firm, clenching and unclenching his fists as many times as it took to keep him where he stood and resist Lunette's most deadly weapon. The Tier he could block and dodge, but not this emotional torture. He never liked to see a lady cry, and someone who, for all intents and purposes, looked like his Usako, made it all the worse. He had to console her--he hadn't meant to hurt her, it was only a misunderstanding--
and suddenly he couldn't see Lunette, but Zory, his face practically imploded after he'd scraped it nearly the full length of the courtyard, because of him, because of -him- and what he did for this woman, and Zory was so ready to die, but he wouldn't let go, he wouldn't let his Prince get hurt again even when his Prince had hurt him so badly--
Mamoru screamed, running for Lunette like he meant to pummel her to the ground. The clone stopped her waterworks for a second, petrified that he was going to do just that, but at the last second, he changed his path. Mamoru swung wildly for the statue that provided the only source of light in the whole room, and his fist took a large chunk of crystal out of Beryl's left arm.
He looked down at Lunette, the picture of hatred and contempt, and resisted the urge to slap her across the face. She looked up at him, clearly fearful, -really- fearful. The Prince tilted his head further, until pitch black bangs hid almost all of the hard, angry glint in his eyes. "You don't -own- me, bitch. You did once. And you never will again."
For a few moments, the girl looked positively petrified, too frightened to even remember to sob anymore. And then, as though the old incarnation of herself had returned to possess the clone, her lips turned up in a defiant little smirk, and all traces of fear faded from her eyes. "Such strong words, Prince. It's so unlike you. And in front of a lady, no less." Her grip slowly tightened on the Tier by her side. "I suppose you're right. Enough of the foreplay." Without a breath of warning, she swung the oversized wand smack into his stomach, only to bring it up and clock him in the temple. Mamoru staggered back against the statue, caught off guard by her sudden mood swing, but before she could take another swing at him with her makeshift baseball bat, he lashed out with his fist and caught the girl square in the face.
The clone stumbled backwards, reeling from the blow, but regained her balance just in time to avoid another punch of the same kind. She swung with her Tier again, but he blocked it with his arm, and when she tried an uppercut, he lurched to the left and simply swept her feet out from underneath her with his own. Now flat on her back, Lunette writhed on the floor before clobbering Mamoru in the knees with the business end of her Tier.
Yelping in pain, he crashed to the floor, just as a boot came down and crushed hard against his ribcage. But his arms were still free, and just as Lunette bared her perfect teeth and dug her heel down through his clothes and through quite a few layers of skin, she received a face full of golden energy that threw her high into the air, shrieking and wailing as the pure light burned everything it touched.
Hidden almost entirely in the shadows, a pair of feet, in sharp black dress shoes, were visible and waiting behind Lunette as soon as she landed. The left foot kicked the clone sharply on her shoulder, even as she writhed in pain, and a flat, toneless voice said, "Get up and fight, Lunette. Your job is not done."
Mamoru started at the voice and the new entity in the room. Something cold fell into his stomach - did those feet, and that voice, belong to the conductor to this awful orchestra? Was that time nearly at hand already?
He didn't have time to think. A blast of energy hit him practically from the toes up; Lunette was already standing, her charred face looking down at him like a rodent in a trap. He flopped across the floor like a fish on a reel and finally hit the far wall once the pink blast dissipated. The room spun, bright flashes of pain lit his vision until he couldn't pick out any shapes - not the Beryl statue, not Lunette, not the marble walls or the floor or anything but sharp white and shadows. But he could now say, with certainty, that he now understood how a youma must have felt.
The clone flicked a slightly flame-broiled pigtail over her shoulder, stalking towards Mamoru in her white high-heeled boots. The black-haired man struggled to regain his senses, but he could not see two inches in front of him, and any attempts to sit himself up were futile. Something warm trickled down behind his ear and into his shirt. Shit, I think I hit my head again. I'm gonna have to get checked for concussions after this.
"Poor Mamochan," the clone said silkily, standing over her prey. "Here you came all the way down here just to get rid of me, and all you did was get yourself hurt."
She knelt down next to the Prince's prone form, leaning delicately on the Tier like a staff. "Wouldn't you like me to make it better, Mamochan? I can make you stop hurting. I can make it all better..." A gloved hand reached towards him, intent on stroking his face. Before she could reach him, however, his own hand came up and smacked hers sharply away.
"Don't -touch- me," he growled. I can't see you, bitch, but I can feel you.
The clone smiled prettily. "Still being stubborn, Mamochan? Still clinging to the dream that some girl across the ocean will continue to love you and remain faithful to you after all this time, while you're here in a foreign country, all by yourself?"
"I'm not by myself..."
"I don't see anyone here protecting you. All I see is you and me, and this silly little issue of you fighting against what's good for you."
"You're not good for me. You're only out to hurt me. And you'd hurt my guardians, too." Mamoru tried to sit up again, but nausea hit him like a freight train, and he was forced to remain on his back. "So I'm fighting by myself. But I'm not alone."
"That's what you want to think, isn't it?" Lunette dodged an angry slap as her hand came to rest on his cheek, and as her fingers trailed up and down his cheek, already dirty and bruised, his hands felt cast out of lead. He tried to turn his head away, but no matter how he thrashed, her hand never moved. "It's so sweet of you to protect them. But they should be protecting -you-. And where are they now? Safe in their beds, caring not for a moment that you're fighting all alone, because you'll save them like you always do.
"But -I'm- here now, and I can make all of your pain go away." She snaked one hand down his neck, her white glove smearing the blood all around the back of his head. He hissed in pain, but she didn't notice - or if she did, she didn't much care. "Your Usako isn't here. Your friends aren't here. But I am. Don't you want me to help you, Mamochan? Don't you want me to love you?"
"No..." He was trapped. He could not move anymore. Everything she was saying was slowly, painstakingly becoming truth, no matter how fiercely his mind protested it.
"Don't you want me, Mamochan?"
"I... I want..." Memories were fading from his mind, thoughts and desires becoming warped and twisted into something unlike their original forms. He struggled to move, to shove her away from him, anything to make the clone's influence stop.
"Well?"
"I... want..."
Mamochan!
"...Usa."
Breathing her name was like breathing fresh air for the first time. The weight began to lift from his limbs, his mind began to clear.
The clone's face contorted with rage, and the once-tender gloved hand swung suddenly in a fierce slap across his face. "How can you still cling to that snotty little bitch?"
The moment the words had escaped her lips, Lunette realized her mistake. Mamoru's eyes shot from blue to gold in less than a second, the molten glow flashing like a sudden flame in the depths of his irises. Before the clone could even shield herself, she was launched high into the air, golden light cracking around her in a terrifying, burning whirlwind. Mamoru sat up, the wound on the back of his head rapidly healing itself, and glared across the cavern at the screaming girl.
"Insult my fiancé again," he sneered. "I dare you."
"Now that's what I like to see, Mamochan!" Surprisingly enough, Lunette was still on her feet, though now her fuku was scorched black from shoulder to waistline, and some of it had simply turned to crisp and fallen away - especially in some, ahem, revealing places. One of her odango had fallen out completely, leaving a cascade of dingy blonde hair across one shoulder. Her face was burned, bruised and black with soot. But she was still standing, and she was grinning as she swung her Tier around for a retaliatory blast. "Starlight Honeymoon--"
But in the time it took her to blink, Mamoru was on his feet, and cane at the ready - where had that thing been -before?- - he sprang forward and knocked the Tier out of her grip. She tried to backhand him, but the prince turned his cane upward and blocked the hand a hair's breadth from his face. Not to be foiled, Lunette punched him squarely in the gut and Mamoru stumbled. He only took a few paces to recover, and as Lunette bent over to get her Tier, he wasted no time with a "Tuxedo Mirage!" of his own.
With all the grace of cow taking a swan-dive, Lunette threw herself to the floor, just in time to watch the golden blast take off more of the Beryl statue's bust. It disintegrated into fine, shimmering dust, and her head, now without a neck, clattered to the ground loudly.
"That's what will happen to you when I get done," Mamoru said slowly, heaving to catch his breath. But his eyes were sharp, focused with anger and adrenaline. "So help me God, I am going to crush you for what you and your little friends have been doing to me."
Lunette propped herself up on her elbows, shaking a few blonde curls from her smudged face. "Strong words, Mamochan. But I don't think you can live up to them, without your precious Shitennou here."
"I've fought without them before. I can do it again. And now, I have the Golden Crystal to protect me."
"Oh, please," Lunette scoffed, shaking her head scornfully as she got to her feet. "That little light bulb isn't going to be enough to defeat me. I have the power to corrupt you, Mamochan. I'm the biggest chink in your armor. Whether you like it or not, I'm the puppeteer holding your strings. And trust me - I -will- cut them."
"Yeah? Try it." Apparently taking his words to heart, the girl leapt up, gloved fist swinging for his face. Mamoru neatly dodged out of her path and caught her by the shoulders, hurling the clone into the nearest wall. Lunette crashed into the unyielding stone with what should have been bone-shattering force, and landed in a heap on the floor. The remains of one charred buzzard-like wing sort of burst at the seams, littering the floor with piles of burned, broken feathers. Undaunted, she was back on her feet before the black-haired prince could get anywhere near her, and she swung at Mamoru with cat-like ferocity.
He tried to dodge again, but Lunette would not be avoided this time, and a punch to his jaw was immediately followed by a knee in the stomach, forcing him to double over in pain. The momentary lapse was all the clone needed to clobber him in the head and sweep his feet out from underneath him, throwing Mamoru to the ground. Winded and slightly dazed, he struggled on the ground while Lunette went in search of her Tier, a scant few meters away.
Once the black-haired Prince could see straight again, the first thing that came into his vision was the blonde, poised and ready to strike with her weapon. Mamoru rolled out of the way just in time to dodge yet another impalement by the sparkly toy. Bits of the floor went flying as the narrow end of the Tier crashed into it, leaving a sizeable dent in its wake.
Using his momentum, Mamoru rolled himself up into a crouching position, and sprung up like a jack-in-the-box to tackle Lunette as soon as she made a move towards him. They both collapsed on the ground in a heap, Lunette pinned under the prince's much greater body mass, arms conveniently pressed behind her back and impossible to move. She growled and struggled, trying to maneuver her feet to kick him away, but he pressed hard with his arm on her collarbone, and she winced at the pressure.
But just as he was going to punch her straight in the face, perhaps dealing the blow that would knock her out cold and leave her vulnerable to one last blast of energy, she looked up at him, sapphire blue eyes quickly filling with tears. "Mamochan," she whispered - all she could manage, as he was pressing most of the air out of her lungs. "Mamochan, please...please don't...I love you..."
He shook his head violently, as though sheer force could stop her. But try as he might, he suddenly felt heavier, as though he couldn't support his own weight. The force holding Lunette down was weakening; how could he be so cruel to this girl? True, she had done some awful things to him, but it wasn't right to--
"Would you die for me, Mamochan?"
"In a heartbeat."
"Do you promise?"
SNAP! Mamoru came back to himself as though someone had clubbed him in the head. This was not a girl to be pitied. This was a killing machine, after his blood, who had hurt his friends and tarnished his Usako's name. And she would not get mercy; not this time.
"Mamochan..." the girl squeaked, her face contorted in pain, "please... I... I'm sorry..."
The black-haired man growled, pressing down with all his might and willing himself not to hear her voice, not to see the helplessness in her eyes, not to feel her tiny, frail body beneath his. But when he once again moved his hand to strike her, he found that it refused to obey him, that his whole arm had turned to lead at his side and he was physically unable to harm her. The clone flailed frantically beneath him as what was left of her oxygen was quickly being depleted beneath the heavy arm on her windpipe. If he just stayed here... if he just remained as he was, all he needed to do was wait, and that would be the end of it. It could be as easy as that. The girl--no, the clone, he reminded himself--was making choking sounds, and though Mamoru tried his best not to look at her, all he could see in his mind's eye was wave upon wave of golden curls and sparkling blue eyes brimming with tears.
He jumped up suddenly, releasing her from his grasp. He couldn't do it--not like that.
Lunette choked and coughed, clutching her Tier to her chest like a lifeline. She sat up cautiously, her chest heaving beneath the shredded remains of her fuku, only to come face-to-face with the pointed end of Mamoru's cane. "Get up," he growled. "We're finishing this."
"But Mamochan--"
The sharp end of his cane was only a hair's breadth from the end of Lunette's nose. "I said get up," Mamoru said, the edge in his voice so cold and sharp that it sounded just as damaging as his weapon.
Without a second thought, Lunette was on her feet, Tier at the ready for an attack as her tears - legitimate, for once - began to dry. "Starlight Honeymoon Therapy Kiss!"
But the attack sailed away harmlessly as Mamoru threw himself to the ground, and he listened to the sound of crumpling marble as yet another support pillar was destroyed. Absently, he considered the possibility of dying not by the clone's hands, but a cave-in, and the thought was so absurd that he had to fight back a giggle that threatened to percolate. All this work, just to have a Dark Kingdom lair collapse on him?
"Starlight Honeymoon--"
"Tuxedo Mirage!" Clearly, Lunette was as focused on the battle's end as he was. But Mamoru would not allow her the opportunity of kicking him while he was down. The flare of golden light knocked her own power up into the ceiling, and the clone shrieked as a huge piece burned away and came crashing down, mere inches from her shoes. Charred dirt clattered loudly to the floor, echoing in the near silence of their strategic stalemate.
Mamoru sat up carefully, watching Lunette glare down at him with an intensity and hatred that he matched, if not outshone. There had to be a way to end this battle quickly, before the base came down around them. They clearly weren't getting anywhere with this "smash-deflect-smash again" strategy, but Lunette had something he didn't - the power to manipulate. Or didn't he...?
It was a long shot. He was a terrible liar, and if she saw through his ruse, she'd be at just the right range to blow his head off. But if he was right, if he could manage it, it was he who would gain the close advantage.
Man, I'll need eight billion showers after this battle is over.
"Lunette..." To Mamoru's benefit, his voice broke - maybe he was more exhausted than he thought. "Lunette, please...no more..."
He sagged, trying to look defeated, and then got to his feet with a deliberate quaver. He hoped he looked convincingly pitiful. The prince fought back the disgust and hatred that boiled as soon as he looked into the clone's face; focusing on the searing pain that hid just below the surface of his innumerable burns, he found his eyes watering out of instinct. "I surrender. Just...Please, just stop. I can't take any more pain."
For a moment, Lunette looked genuinely perplexed. But the surprise quickly disappeared into a mean, devilish grin, and a chorus of laughter echoed all around the chamber; so arrogant and cocky was its sound that Mamoru had a hard time resisting the urge to punch her in the face. "Oh, Mamochan, I knew you'd see how fruitless your efforts were. I can make it all better for you, Mamochan; would you like that?"
Not the time to vomit, not the time to vomit... "Yes," he said meekly, keeping his revulsion at bay with all of his self-control. He pretended to lose the support of his legs and crumpled forward, just barely managing to break his fall with his hands and not his nose.
Mamoru allowed himself to lay panting on the floor for a moment, not daring to look at Lunette again, for fear of allowing her to see through the ruse. It rather disgusted him how easy it was to look helpless right now--the pain, the exhaustion, the fatigue, were all infuriatingly close to the truth. The only part that was not real was his willingness to give in so easily.
"Poor Mamochan," the clone gloated, white boots delicately stepping over debris as she neared him. "You really never had a chance, did you?" Mamoru instinctively flinched when he felt her glove lightly rest on his back, and it was only by much mental screaming that he could force his body to relax, and not shudder at every touch he received from her. Lunette knelt down by his side, pulled the black-haired prince gently into her arms. Mamoru lay like a rag-doll in her grasp, obedient to her every movement, and loathing every second of it. "It's okay now, Mamochan. I'll make it all better." She pulled his head down against her shoulder, holding him as though comforting a child, and Mamoru hid his face in what was left of her tattered fuku, resisting the urge to gag at her once-sweet scent, now mingled with the smells of burnt fabric and burnt flesh.
When this is all over, I'm bathing in disinfectant. And I'm going to burn these clothes.
Lunette was rubbing her hand up and down his back, a feeling which made his skin crawl. But rather than pull away from her, as he desperately wished to do, Mamoru wrapped his arms around the clone's back, clinging to her in an iron-clad bear hug. The blonde grinned down at the back of his head in triumph, the dangerous flash in her blue eyes temporarily giving way to foolish pride. "You've finally come to understand the truth, haven't you, Mamochan? You're mine now, aren't you?"
He would have been willing to wait a little longer, but this final insult was too much to sit through. With his face turned away as it was, she could not see the sudden flash of hot gold in his eyes, and in her arrogance, could not feel the sudden explosion of released power in his chest. But even the sightless clone could not miss the abrupt golden glow that wrapped around him so suddenly that it began to burn her exposed flesh before she took notice. A scream erupted from her throat, followed by a string of jumbled and un-ladylike curses, but struggle as she might, Mamoru already had Lunette pinned between his arms.
"Let me go, you... you... big mean person!" She thrashed against Mamoru's arms, tried to punch or claw his face, but he remained rigid as ever, squeezing the girl against his chest, as the golden light that surrounded him seared her flesh.
"I'm not yours, Lunette," he whispered viciously. "I never will be."
More angry than frightened now, and somehow managing to ignore what must have been incredible pain, the clone growled furiously, and thrust her knee into his groin. Mamoru just barely had the presence of mind not to yelp in pain, but not to maintain his hold on the fiesty woman. His grip now slackened, Lunette wormed her way out of his arms, and scrambled out of arm's reach before even daring to stand up. Now looking like a long-lost extra from Night of the Living Dead--charred skin, singed hair, and all, the clone wobbled unsteadily for a moment before finding her bearings. "You filthy little..." Failing to find an adequately insulting noun, she left the remainder of that phrase to the imagination.
"I'm hardly the person to be called filthy. You make a living out of manipulating people. I merely mimic the sins of the sinner." Mamoru's face twitched into something between a wince and mild disgust. His cheesy hero dialogue gland was acting up again. And he'd done such a good job of burying it all through the ordeal.
The look on Lunette's face - or what remained of it - would have made any horror movie fan scream. "All sinners go to Hell, Mamochan. If I go, you're coming with me."
Mamoru sure had been showering a long time. That was the general consensus of the Shitennou that were currently awake. Malachi's only say in the matter was the sound of deep, even breathing that accompanies a good nap, with the occasional buzz of snoring as he inhaled part of his pillow. The jury was still out on him, but as Zory walked the path of the dingy, beer-stained carpet, he had to think that their leader would agree.
Mamoru was not exactly the kind of person who struck him as overly concerned with hygiene, to the point of being in the shower for longer than half an hour. Admittedly, he probably hadn't showered since being flung out a fifth story window, and probably needed all the warm water and soap he could get. On the other hand, he had the vaguest feeling of worry - no alarm bells were ringing, no klaxons were going off, but his intuition was sitting wrong, and it felt kind of like the heartburn he always got after eating Neff's 'famous' chili. And he was pretty sure there weren't any jalapeños in his coffee.
Pink light erupted out of the end of her Tier, slamming him against the ground. If he were not already enveloped by his own golden light, this might have been far more painful than it was. Mamoru raised a hand to shield his face, struggling to sit up against the force of the hurricane, while all around him bits of rock crumbled, the pieces scattering in every direction. He couldn't see Lunette beyond the blinding energy, but even over the force of the blast he could hear her furious snarl as the light surged in a sudden wave of power and picked him right off the ground, tossing him like a leaf against the far wall.
"Think he got lost on the way from the door to the shower? I mean, it is a huge bathroom. It takes like, two whole steps to get anywhere."
Zory paused long enough in his pacing to sigh at Neff, who was currently lounging on the couch, drinking a mug of what was a compromise between his taste buds and his aching throat, in the form of lukewarm coffee.
Jed was sprawled out in the chair by Malachi's desk, looking like he might very well fall asleep in it. "Maybe we should send Malachi in on a rescue mission. Much as I love the Prince, I'm not too keen on seeing him in the buff."
"And what makes you think Malachi would appreciate being woken up for such a task?"
The blonde grinned. "Oh, he'd appreciate it. I'm sure he'd thank us for it later."
The wall seemed to explode upon impact, the rock shattering like porcelain. Mamoru slid to the ground amidst piles of rubble, the light surrounding him somehow dimmer and less lustrous than it was before. Something hot trickled down the side of his head, and he had the sinking feeling that it was not just sweat. When the dust cleared from his vision, the clone stood over him, Tier pointed hazardously close to his chest, its immaculate shimmer the only part about her that still held its original brilliance. "No mistakes this time," she muttered grimly.
Unfortunately for Mamoru, the most recent encounter with the wall had done some serious damage to his eardrums - not only was the impact freaking loud and rather painful, but he'd managed to do a somersault in the air and hit the wall cheek first. As a result, he thought the clone had said "a fish cake decline," which didn't make much sense, and didn't quite strike fear into his heart. However, the Tier did a mighty fine job of that on its own.
"Well, Mamochan? Any last words?"
The Prince tried to focus on her face, in an attempt to lip read. The brilliant stars of pain that flicked in the corners of his eyes made it very hard to make out any discernable shapes, except the one really sparkly one less than six inches from his nose.
"I hate you," Mamoru said conversationally, as though Lunette had asked him what he thought of the weather, and not for a pithy quotation that she could put on his gravestone. He lifted his hand, which was a monumental undertaking, his palm facing off against the happy pink heart at the end of her very unhappy death stick.
"Tuxedo--"
Before the battle could begin anew, something flashed across his consciousness. It was hot and cold against the back of his mind, bitter and burned in his mouth, and it made him shriek in surprise and pain. The vaguely minty aftertaste meant only one thing: Malachi. Malachi was--what? He wasn't in physical danger - Mamoru picked up the faint outlines of a bed when he tried to reach out. A nightmare. Malachi was having a nightmare.
Calling it 'a doozy' did not even begin to describe it.
Malachi was completely, utterly lost. The landscape looked, in not so many words, like someone had thrown up on a Dali painting. He -had- been enjoying a nice dream about Neff, an iguana, and six pints of strawberry ice cream (he blamed the drugs), but some time after the snail races and Zory trying to patch the Liberty Bell with bathroom caulk, the reverie had been broken. It had sounded like every car alarm in the Bay Area had been set off at once.
Mamoru was in danger, and he was somewhere in this mess of toppling towers, cars floating in the air, and very unhappy contortionist horses. As he stumbled, shirt caught on a thorn bush muttering in Portuguese, Malachi made a mental note to never, ever get into a fight with the Prince again. He definitely did not like painkillers.
"Prince?" he shouted, and even his voice sounded distorted, as though he was a recording. "Prince, are you out here?"
His concentration shattered, the clone found no difficulty in smashing the Tier across his face, sending explosions of stars dancing into his vision. Everything went dark for a few moments while he tried to come to terms with the throbbing in his head and the sharp flashes of panic being transmitted from Malachi's mind. He wanted desperately to rush to his friend's aid, knowing that he had not been in the best shape when he had left him, but Mamoru sort of had other important things to worry about right now, like not getting killed.
His vision was still shot all to hell, but that did not stop him from feeling another oncoming blow from the dreaded Tier. If he could have stopped to think for a few seconds, he may have wondered why Lunette had not blasted him into ten million pieces by now, but he was far more preoccupied by blocking her weapon's vicious swings. He blocked with his elbow, using the moment of recovery to kick the blonde clone in the vicinity of her stomach. With an indignant grunt she fell back, giving him enough time to attack. Without a word, golden light erupted from his hand, blasting in Lunette's general direction. It was not as powerful as his "Tuxedo Mirage", but he could not bring himself to focus enough to summon it, and a series of thumps told him that he had at least knocked the pretty girl down.
He knew he was here somewhere, in need of Malachi's help. He needed to find Mamoru, to help him before - before what? He couldn't say, but he also could not shake off this feeling of dread that something terrible was about to happen.
He tore at his cape, which had been in the process of being slowly devoured by the Portuguese thornbush, now turned into a heap of rabid doorknobs, and frantically scanned the fish-infested horizon. Somewhere beyond the man-eating bunny, a wall of marshmallow dissolved into freshly-crumbled rock, as a figure slumped against it materialized into existence. Blood was smeared on his face and matted with dust in his black hair. His tuxedo hung from his frame in tatters, singed at the edges. One eye was swollen nearly shut, but the other glared vehemently at something beyond the purple porcupine playing hopscotch, although Malachi had a feeling that that was not quite what he was looking at. He looked tired, but the white-haired man could detect a faint glow surrounding his body, shimmering with its everlasting warmth. He had not given up yet.
Malachi raced forward. Their concern for one another was bringing down the barriers between their minds, letting him see where his Prince was and how he could help. If he could only get there--"Prince!"
Mamoru squinted in his attempt to glare at Lunette as she struggled to get to her feet, but flashes of gnomes playing with hula hoops and Hello Kitty skipping down the lane kept disrupting his concentration, which was disconcerting at best. He really needed to take care of this clone before he worried about what sorts of horrible things were happening in Malachi's mind (green foxes singing The Star Spangled Banner notwithstanding), but at this rate, he would be lucky if he could see her long enough to throw an attack. It did not help that, in the back of his mind, he knew that it was only a matter of time before these antics forced Malachi awake and the Shitennou came running to his rescue. And that, he realized, would go against the whole "sneaking off to make sure the Shitennou don't get hurt" idea.
He needed to get Malachi out of his head. And he needed to do it in such a way that he would not wake up.
The figure turned at the sound of his name, and regarded the white-haired man directly. Somehow, Malachi was certain that this part was not a dream, even with the dancing flowers hovering above him. Those blue eyes were too sharp to be anything but reality.
But as soon as their eyes had locked, Mamoru vanished behind a herd of cherry cough drops, distressing Malachi to no end. "Prince! Prince, can you hear me?"
"Malachi." He whipped around, welcoming his prince's voice like a breath of fresh air. It was no longer the real image of Mamoru's bruised and beaten body, which he could only tell because the black-haired man now stood on the lima bean street without so much as a scratch on him. Malachi found himself mildly thankful for that, even if he knew it was not true. It should have occurred to him what exactly this change meant--that he had shifted from being able to access Mamoru's reality to Mamoru manipulating his own. It may have clued him in that he should be on his guard, but at the moment, all that the white-haired man could think about was getting to his Prince.
"Prince..." he started forward.
...And a ten-foot brick wall shot up between them.
Malachi stared wildly. Why was this happening? "Prince!" He banged on the wall with his fists, but it was completely solid. Malachi was beginning to panic now. It was like those dreams where you tried to get somewhere, but no matter how much you willed yourself, your body would not move. Well he could still move, dagnabbit, and he was not giving up just yet. He began to charge to one side, hoping to find the end of the wall and run around it.
Only for a second to spring up in his path.
The other two did not wait for him to run. Before he could consider moving, he was enclosed on all sides by hard, solid, brick. "What the fuck!" he finally shouted, not caring for eloquence or prudence at this point.
The bricks directly across from him shifted, splitting until they took the form of a crude mouth. "I'm sorry, Malachi. I can't let you interfere."
"What the hell does that mean? Interfere with what!" Malachi pounded on the brick wall; no matter how raw his knuckles got, or how hard he punched, the wall did not budge. "Prince! What's going on?"
"Nothing. Nothing's going on."
"I find that hard to believe, since I just saw--"
"What you just saw was your imagination working overtime, Malachi. Or did you forget the purple polka dot alligators already?"
Well, frustratingly enough, the Mamoru-mouth on the wall had a point. But still-- "Prince, I -felt- something. You can't blame that on my imagination. If you're hurt--"
"You can't help, Malachi. You just need to stay out of it."
"Can't help with what! Prince! Tell me what's happening!"
But with a brief shudder, the mouth vanished back into the average, ordinary bricks, leaving Malachi alone and extremely confused. And angry, definitely angry.
"Prince! Goddammit, Prince, don't do this!" Malachi hadn't stopped punching at the walls yet; he did not intend to, until they gave way. His knuckles had become nothing more than raw muscle and bone, leaving enormous red smears all over the previously immaculate walls. The crunching of bone echoed over the landscape (though the term was being used loosely). "Prince!"
Malachi's anger was visible in every line and muscle on his body. He had to get out, had to knock down the fortress that Mamoru had built around him, preventing his interference in--in what? He would know soon enough. He would know, and then he could help. But the bricks would not give, and every time he let a punch fly, he shouted and growled wordlessly, a tiger in a cage that was far too small.
And then, for a moment, his eyes flickered. Then again, from green to grey and back, like static on an old television. For what seemed like the hundredth time, he swung at the wall--
fight fight destroy break free break the walls get OUT
And then he couldn't remember exactly what he was doing, why he wanted to get out, that there was a Prince somewhere getting his ass seriously kicked. He just wanted out. He was angry, and he wanted something to fight. His fist went through the wall as though he had just stuck it into butter, not bricks. There was a hole now, in the walls that had held him in. It was barely larger than his head, but he had succeeded. He was almost free.
Malachi whooped in animal excitement at his moment of triumph, and then looked down at his hand; an instinct he could not describe, especially in his feral state. In a moment that seemed to last forever, all of the flesh on Malachi's hand, the tendons and muscles and skin, began to rot. As though watching a time elapse film, it all fell away, turning from tan and red to green to black. He could hear it hit the ground; the wet 'plop' sounded foreign and awkward, like someone was trudging through a muddy field. All that remained of his instrument of fury was bone, clean and stripped and as white as snow.
Somewhere across the landscape, Kunzite - the terrible, fearless, heartless lord of the Dark Kingdom - laughed.
Malachi's scream not only echoed around in his head, but inside his bedroom, as loud and as piercing as an air raid siren. He screamed and screamed until there was no oxygen in his lungs, and only then did he realize that he had snapped himself out of his dream.
Across the house, somebody wondered if those four crazy guys were watching a horror movie. When the screaming stopped, they picked up their beers, and immediately forgot about it.
Mamoru pulled out of Malachi's dream, erecting his own mental equivalent of brick walls around himself. He felt a sinking of guilt as he did so; he hated messing with anyone's mind like this, least of all those of his friends', but he simply could not allow Malachi to come leading the other Shitennou into battle in their condition. Maybe it was residual hatred of Lunette still running through him, but Mamoru was feeling particularly unsympathetic just now, and intentionally manipulating someone else's subconscious did not seem to be quite the unthinkable act that he normally considered it.
But then, he really did not have time to dwell on the matter, as Lunette was currently shooting explosive beams of energy at him.
The wall behind him took another beating as he ducked, barely dodging a few shards of rock bigger than his head. He growled in frustration as Lunette belted out an unfeminine cackle. "Why aren't you dead yet?" he shouted in irritation. Not even the frilly glaive-welding goth girl had been this persistent.
"I should be asking you the same question, Mamochan! Honestly, why can't you just take my attacks like a man?"
Mamoru glared at her as he tried to get to his feet. Then he wished he had not, as she was so burned and battered that no human being in her condition should have still been breathing, let alone standing. It was a mighty unsettling sight, even for the aspiring doctor.
As for himself, standing was a more difficult proposition than he gave it credit for. Either he had hit his head harder than he realized, or the room was doing some mighty interesting flipflops. It likely did not help that he had lost more blood than he cared to estimate, mere hours after being gored through the stomach. And his head, quite frankly, was taking a beating today.
"Aww, can't poor widdle Mamochan stand up all by himself?" The clone taunted in her most sickening baby voice, as Mamoru got himself upright and propped against the wall. It was not a much better position than the floor, really, but at least he did not have to endure the indignity of looking up at his opponent.
I can't fight this way, he thought morosely. She injured me too badly. But dammit, I'm stronger than her! I know I am! And he would not be beaten by some inhuman short-skirted teenager who spoke baby talk!
But the clone was not wasting time with gloating anymore, and had lifted her Tier again. "Starlight Honeymoon Therapy Kiss!" White and pink energy erupted from the shimmering object, blasting towards its target with surgeon's precision. It hurled itself across the cavern aiming directly for the black-haired prince's chest. Golden light suddenly sprang up around Mamoru, surrounding him like a spherical shell. White struck gold and exploded on impact, beams of energy ricocheting off in random directions. A splinter of white and gold light shot into the center of the Beryl statue, shattering what remained of it. An enormous crack sounded as it split, pieces of the giant replica of the dark queen tumbling dangerously close to the black-haired man. There was a flicker, as the purple glow of the statue began to fade, then slowly die out. The single light source now destroyed, the underground room was plunged into darkness.
All went silent for a few minutes, save the crumbling and rolling of a few stray bits of rock. "Hmph," Lunette sniffed, listening for signs of movement from her opponent. "Over so soon?"
As though in response, a new light began to glow, but it was not purple. It was gold. Where her questioning eyes searched for a beaten and bloody university student, she found instead the ominous form of an ancient prince, fully-armoured and pissed as hell. And he was unsheathing his sword.
"Over?" Endymion smirked mildly, though it was not a friendly one. "I thought we were just getting started. Let's step up the pace, hmm?"
"Malachi?" The voice sounded incredibly soft and timid after the blood-curdling scream that had erupted from his own throat. He knew that it had been his scream, and that it had not been only apart of the dream, if only from the rawness in his throat and the mild ringing in his ears. He took a deep breath, and let it out slowly, struggling slightly to keep it steady. Somehow, he had ended up sitting up in his bed. The sharp throbbing above his sling indicated that he had wrenched his shoulder in the process. He had not looked at anyone just yet, but a brief glance out of the corners of his eyes told him that everything was just as it had been before he went to sleep--Zory stood nearby with his hair hastily tied back and a worried expression on his face, Neff was sitting on the edge of the couch, a cup of coffee in hand and rumpled hair indicating that he had recently been laying on it, and Jed was sprawled in his chair, face bruised and eyes wide. But the very important difference here was that, other than the sound of the shower running in the adjoining bathroom, there was no royal prince to be found.
He turned abruptly towards Zory, which rather seemed to startle the blonde since, until now, he had made no acknowledgement of anyone else in the room. "Where is he?" His voice was calm but sharp and commanding, and more than a little cold.
"He's... he's just in the shower, Malachi, he's fine..."
"Go check on him."
"What?"
Malachi did not say anything more. He -looked- at them, which was in itself motivation enough. Neff was already on his feet and halfway across the room before the other two could act.
The white-haired man remained where he was, silently trying to compose himself as much internally as he was projecting externally. He ran his fingers through sweaty strands of silver hair, but stopped when he realized how much his hand was shaking. He tried not to think about the twisted, medication-induced nightmare, though shattered images of a rotting hand and haunting peals of laughter lingered on the edges of his senses. Instead, he tried to focus on what was far more important--Mamoru. Where was Mamoru? What could he be doing? Were the visions real, or was it just one more cracked-out twist of his nightmare that could be owed entirely to pain killers?
Zory was watching him with concern. Malachi had the feeling that he wanted to offer comfort, but the leader of the Shitennou was in no mood to be spilling out his heart just now. He refused to meet the blonde's gaze.
"He's not answering," Neff reported dully, somewhat stating the obvious, as anyone in the room could hear his knocking on the door and the subsequent lack of reply.
"Then what are you waiting for?" Malachi asked softly, in that same icy tone he had taken on. "Go in and check on him."
The audible click and subsequent muttered curse was good indication that the door was, in fact, locked.
Malachi turned to Jed, and the blonde quite visibly shivered at the look in his eyes. "I hope you still know how to pick locks."
Jed looked like he wanted to say any number of things; he tried to form at least three sentences, but all of them failed. Finally, he turned away from Malachi, and toward the less intimidating Zory. "I'm, uh, gonna need one of your hair clips."
Normally, this would have caused an endless string of jokes and accompanying complaints, but everyone felt uncomfortable around this serious, downright -chilly- Malachi. And they couldn't help but wonder if something was afoot. Mamoru had been in the shower an awfully long time. Zory nodded and left for his own bathroom without a word.
"Maybe he couldn't tell up from down after all," Neff muttered, turning back toward the bathroom door. If anyone heard him, they didn't acknowledge it.
"Dammit! Why couldn't you just -die-, like you were supposed to!" Lunette blocked the giant, deadly sword with her dinky toy Tier for what seemed like the three hundredth time. Swing, block; swing, slice. It had been five minutes of non-stop swinging. Any time the clone thought she had enough time to whip out an attack, that sword would swipe dangerously close to her wrist, or her ankle, and she'd frantically hop backwards and away from the pointy thing.
"I wouldn't dream of giving you the satisfaction." Endymion was on fire - and, for once, not literally. He matched every single one of her moves; if she moved left, he followed. If she raised her Tier, he blocked it. And if she tried to run, she'd certainly regret it. His blue eyes, once clouded over and unfocused in pain, were sharp as nails. They took in everything. He could tell that she was running out of energy, and running out of moves. Unlike the real Usako, she didn't have a Ginzuishou to rely on when she was tired. No, when the clone was finished, she was finished.
For the first time in the entire ordeal, Endymion knew he wasn't going to lose.
"Jed, could you possibly move any slower?"
"Son of a... Neff, either stop breathing down my neck, or come down here and do it yourself." Jed peered at the lock two inches from his nose, hoping that by sheer will he could force it open in place of his hands. His fingers, normally swift and nimble, felt clumsy around the hairclip which was currently in the process of being bent out of shape. It did not help that the tension in the room was frustrating him to no end. Malachi's "ice king" side was working on overdrive, and any questions posed to him were met with either curt answers or brooding silence. And his anxiety about the prince must have been catching, because everyone was suddenly worried as all heck. What confused Jed was that nothing felt "wrong," exactly. Not really. Things had felt wrong when Mamoru had dreamt they were all dead. That, certainly, felt wrong. But right now, other than the fact that Malachi had gone on this "obey me or face my wrath" kick, the worst that Jed could describe it as was... off. Things were not quite the way they should be, somehow, and he could not put his finger on what it was. "Just a little... dammit! Zory, you need to invest in some better fucking hairclips."
Malachi sat on the edge of his bed, having somehow disentangled himself from the nest of sheets and blankets that had somehow wrapped around his knees. He did not watch Jed work, because the blonde's struggles only frustrated him further, and the last thing he needed was for something to set him off right now. Instead, he gazed at the wall opposite, allowing his eyes to lose focus as his mind again attempted to connect with his prince.
He must have been blocking Malachi out. That was the only explanation. If he were unconscious or worse... no. He would be able to feel it. He knew Mamoru was out there, somewhere, but somehow he was keeping himself below Malachi's radar.
"Fuck! These buildings are 50 years old. You wouldn't think they'd invest in state of the art, military grade locks." Jed wiped his brow, a futile attempt at mopping up some sweat. To say he was feeling the pressure was an understatement. He was worried for the Prince, too, which certainly wasn't steadying his nerves. He wanted to know what was going on in that bathroom. He had the sinking feeling that the answer was 'nothing' - that their prince had run off to do something remarkably stupid. He had a knack for that kind of thing.
He picked up the hairclip again, and with an almost comical look of concentration, went back to his task. Tongue stuck out, eyebrows knitted, body crouched, tense and ready to pounce as soon as the door opened. Left, right, left went the little hairclip, dancing around the mechanisms and looking for just the right spot.
Finally, after a long, awkward silence, he heard it. The hairclip hit the center of the lock; weakened, the rest followed suit, and Jed recognized the telltale "click" of a successfully picked lock.
"God -damn-, took me long enough. Finally." Before Jed even considered reaching for the doorknob, Malachi had walked the length of the room - still dragging a blanket wrapped around his leg - and brushed him aside. No, brushed was not the right word. He shoved Jed aside, clearly agitated, seeking confirmation to what he was fearing. Startled, Jed couldn't regain his balance, and with an indignant "whoa!" he toppled over, missing a floor lamp by mere inches. Not especially concerned for his friend at that moment, Malachi didn't even seem to notice. He wrenched the knob and flung it open, stepping over Jed like the blonde was a throw rug.
"You're welcome, asshole," he muttered, mostly to the carpet. He rolled on his side and got quickly to his feet; by the time he'd done so, the other two Shitennou had crowded around the door, straining past Malachi's tall and unmoving frame to see what on earth was going on.
As Jed had predicted - nothing. There was no Prince. The door to the shower was open, and the water was still running, but there was definitely no Prince to be found. There were no traces of his borrowed clothes, so he had probably put them on before he'd disappeared. And the window was partly open, which was definitely not Malachi's doing.
They had, for lack of a better term, a jailbreak on their hands. Jed hit his head on the doorframe, groaning. Neff muttered some choice words, the least of them being, "I will kill that royal dumbass." Zory looked for all the world like he was about to cry - the look on his face shouted 'betrayal' and 'shock' in no uncertain terms.
Malachi, on the other hand, was completely impassive. It wasn't as though he was surprised - Mamoru was not getting his ass kicked anywhere in the frathouse. However, that was where the secure knowledge ended. Was he on the campus? Had the enemy found their way in through the bathroom, taken him back to their lair (or some equally nefarious-sounding hideout)? The dream had given him no hints. It just figured; the one time he needed the Mam-o-meter the most, Mamoru had learned to cloak himself.
If he wasn't dead when the Shitennou got there, Malachi would make certain he was going to wish otherwise.
Endymion swung sharply, his sword ringing as it struck the slightly-battered Tier. Self-preservation was the only thing on Lunette's mind, now. She desperately tried to defend herself, blocking as fast as he could swipe at her, but anyone could see that she was crumbling. The once-powerful clone who believed she had him in her grasp was little more than a frightened little girl. Every blow from his sword made her stumble, every advance he took forced her back, until it was clear that if she did not think fast, she would be pressed against the wall.
"Mamochan... please..." she pleaded between blocks.
"No, Lunette, you don't get off that easily," he replied conversationally, as though lifting and swinging the heavy sword were no effort at all. The helpless clone was no threat to him, now. She was a pathetic creature that had dared try to ensnare the Prince of the Earth in her trap. She deserved death, most certainly. But he was taking his time in bringing the final blow. He wanted her to feel just how futile her efforts had been. He wanted her to feel the same pain that she had been inflicting on him and his friends.
A swift strike ripped the Tier from the blonde's hands, and she slammed against the wall. He had her now. Face impassive, Endymion lifted his blade so that it was level with her throat, his prey cornered at last. His eyes smoldered like sapphires in flame, blue laced with gold, and she whimpered at the touch of the blade, so close to her racing pulse. She stared at him, not even pleading anymore, her skin pale beneath the burns and the cuts.
In the darkness of the underground cave, the only source of light was Endymion's brilliance, a softly shimmering gold that surrounded the two of them, fading into darkness as it approached the opposite walls. Lunette positively trembled at the close proximity to such pure light, as though the very presence of it seared through her skin. Empty silence echoed through the room, punctuated by Lunette's panting and Mamoru's own calm breaths. The person in the shadows, whoever it was, was long forgotten.
Lunette watched, eyes wide, as the sword was drawn away from her throat again, just far enough that she felt confident enough to exhale. Though he was raging mad, furious beyond belief, and hated Lunette with a cold malice that burned ice blue in his golden eyes, somehow Endymion still had the presence of mind to know that he did not want to be killing in cold blood. It would be a heated move in the midst of battle, or nothing at all. Otherwise, he would regret sinking to her level for the rest of his life.
His eyes flicked significantly in the direction of where her Tier had fallen, the message clear. Lunette did not think twice. She lunged for the item as though her life depended on it--as, indeed, it did--and gathered it up into her trembling hands, turning to face him with what was left of her pride.
Endymion faced her, his sword outstretched in preparation to attack again. It was time to finish this.
"Search the area," Malachi said flatly, kicking off the blanket that had trailed behind his ankles and turning away from the abandoned bathroom. "He might not have gone far." Before anyone could respond, he stormed past three baffled Shitennou and through the door, all but slamming it behind him.
He knew that searching the immediate area would not do any good. If Mamoru was fighting as violently as the images in his dream had seemed--and he had a good suspicion that he was--then they would have seen or felt it by now. But he needed to feel like -something- useful was being done, because he was set so on edge at the moment that he felt like he would soon snap and start throwing things through the walls. He barely noticed the party raging in the livingroom, the kitchen, and much of the stairs (a safety hazard if he had ever seen one). Nor did he care to notice the curious glances that were thrown his way at the sight of his arm in a sling and the fact that he looked like he had just caught his girlfriend making out with another man and was about to go on a killing rampage (although they all knew this was not true, as it was common knowledge that in all his two years at Epsilon Xi, he had not had a single date, though not for want of many a college girl who was trying to get in his pants). He left them to think whatever they liked, and spread whatever rumors they deemed necessary to add to the already growing pile of shit that was his life, and stomped outside.
Although the rain had dwindled to little more than a light sprinkle, the front porch was currently deserted, which served him just fine. He leaned on the damp wood railing, green eyes scanning the darkness outside as though his Prince would somehow turn up right in front of him, the way that he had turned up the night his dorm burned down, and Malachi had not wanted to admit how concerned he was about this borderline stranger as he watched the flashing lights of the fire engines. How long ago that seemed to be, even though it was just--what? Two nights? Three? And now here he was back in this spot on the porch, an entirely different person on a very different night, still looking for the same man to emerge from the darkness.
He tried once again to pick up a signal from his Prince, but his efforts were once again deflected. He spat a curse at the ground, gripping the railing with his one good hand until his knuckles popped with the effort, and the wood twisted beneath his grip. The crisp rain splattering just beyond his face was not enough to cool his frustration. Every beat of the music blasting inside, every jarring bark of laughter and clink of an empty bottle made him want to start screaming and breaking things into kindling. He could take out the whole porch, if he wanted to. He'd start with the railing he was holding onto, and then he'd take out the support beams, one by one. He would snap them in half like they were nothing, and then the whole roof would come crashing down, shattering the boards beneath him...
God, what was wrong with him? He never used to think like this. He was always the calm one, always the one in control. Now he felt like he was always on the brink of destroying something, always trying desperately to hold himself together before he did something he'd regret. The dream he had so recently come out of flashed through his mind, and he felt a sickening twist in his stomach.
The others had recovered so quickly from their glut of memories. But every time Malachi turned around - if he went to sleep, if he spent too long considering the situation at hand, hell, if he even stopped fighting for five seconds - everything went to hell. Jed wasn't choking people. Neff wasn't screaming himself awake. Zory wasn't considering heavy property damage. What was going on?
Of course, he knew the answer to this question. While none of them could call the Dark Kingdom a good experience, the others had come out the other side relatively unscathed - emphasis on 'relatively.' There was no doubt that all of them carried some sort of emotional trauma, on top of the guilt and misery of betraying the Prince in the first place (not that they'd have much choice in the matter, as they had technically been dead at the time; it wasn't one of those "raise your hand if you want to join the Dark Kingdom!" kind of deals).
But there was something different about Kunzite's Dark Kingdom memories. Maybe it was because he was, as he always had been, the leader of the Shitennou, so when they failed, he was punished for their inadequacies. Though the Sailor Senshi had been hibernating for hundreds of years before the Dark Kingdom faced them in the modern day, there had been other minor - and less minor - threats. The Shitennou had spent this time collecting energy for Metallia in various ways; some succeeded, but many were thwarted by the people whose territory they secretly lorded over. When a scheme failed, it was Kunzite's head that had often come under fire. The others simply weren't experienced enough, didn't know better.
Maybe it was because, while the others had allowed themselves the potentially fatal luxury of mourning, that they had freely shared their emotions with everyone in the vicinity, which he could not afford. After a century or two, Kunzite had forgotten what emotions were even like; he had suppressed them so ruthlessly that, by the time he had a moment to take stock of them, they'd ceased to exist. He learned to live without them, but couldn't help feeling that the other Shitennou, though young and naive and foolish, had something that he needed.
And then, there were memories that were...well, there was no sense beating around the bush. Disgusting. Completely and utterly disgusting. He had learned the way to earn Beryl's favor, and he had learned it quickly. Oh, it had started off innocently enough. He would smile at her, touch her hand, squeeze her shoulders. But simple flirtation was not enough for her. In her youth, before Metallia discovered her, she had been beautiful, desirable, and men had flocked to her, in the hopes of courting her, or at least in the hopes of having a good time. Now she was the queen of a kingdom of monsters, and few men - or man-like creatures - could be found. Kunzite was one of them. And it didn't take her long before she began demanding other favors. Sexual favors. Strange, animal lovemaking that involve the tearing of flesh, biting and scratching and...
Malachi stared at his hand, taking in every little detail of it, so as to push the revulsion away. It simply would not do to throw up on the deck, not now. His knuckles, strained white against the railing, purple from bruises and off red from a smear of blood that he could not begin to guess the origin of. Short, stubby fingers, with squared off fingertips. The palm he could feel, but not see, calloused and rough, but still a bit soft. Not as delicate as Zory's, nor as gritty and worn as Neff's. Just, well, a hand.
For a moment, he caught a flash of bare bone, white as snow, a mirage left over from his painkiller nightmare. He sighed, a hiss of air through his teeth, and shook his head. No matter how much he would like to deny it, pretend that Mamoru simply went to the cafeteria for some sort of substance resembling food, he knew how much of that dream had been real. Kunzite could separate the hallucinations from the honest to goodness distress call that the Prince had been putting out.
Mamoru had not looked good. He looked like he'd been fighting a long time; or perhaps no time at all, and his foe was simply more powerful, and was handing him his ass on a platter. Either way, he simply wouldn't last, at the rate he was going. They had to find him, before--
"Malachi! Malachi, I think I know where he is!"
The white-haired man spun on his heel in a split second, facing the doorway from whence the strained baritone voice had come. Neff was standing at the doorway, looking a little winded from his across-the-house dash, with an uncertain smile on his face - proud that he had made a breakthrough, but still somewhat wary of Malachi's sharp mood.
Crack! Sword and Tier collided in the middle, throwing splinters of pink and gold light away from both weapons. Endymion threw his weight into his sword and shoved Lunette back, sending her stumbling away from him. She turned, clutching her Tier between charred fingers with what he assumed was meant to be a dainty smile on her face.
"Do you want to know why you're fighting alone, Mamochan? I can tell you why."
He swung his sword fiercely, not particularly interested in her mind games.
Lunette dodged between phrases, apparently not quite as fearful as she was before. "Because, Mamochan, deep down inside, that's how you like it. You like not being tied to anyone. You like not having anyone throw themselves in the path of danger for you. Why do you think you came to a school halfway around the world? Why do you think you came down here without telling anyone? When it comes right down to it, Mamochan, you never wanted the Shitennou or your princess in the first place."
In a blur of steel and light, Endymion's sword swung in one powerful arc and shattered the Tier in a burst of shimmering pink glass. Lunette slammed against the wall behind her, weaponless, powerless, and with a very large sword bearing down on her.
"That's where you're wrong," he said softly, his sword just short of impaling his opponent. "I'm here because I do still want them to be there tomorrow."
Lunette smiled, in her strange, Lunette sort of way. "I see. I never could convince you of anything, could I Mamochan?" She glanced past him, in the direction of the shadows behind what was left of the Beryl statue. "And I see that our time has run short, and I have outlived my usefulness." She took the blade of the sword with both hands, heedless of the razor-sharp edges, and turned her eyes, still crystal blue like Usako's, up toward his. "Goodbye, Mamochan." Before he could react, she pulled the blade against his will towards her, and plunged it into her chest.
The sword stopped only partway in, because not even a clone of her strength could push it past all the bone and other important bits before she began to weaken. Endymion could hardly swallow his disgust at the sight of the clone, bleeding and dying with his own sword through her, and he could not even hate her enough to enjoy the idea of her suffering in that way. He gripped the hilt in both hands, tried not to see the place where her flesh met the steel of his sword, and with one hard shove, pushed it through until it clashed against the stone wall behind. At last, in a burst of golden light, the former Usagi clone vanished.
Mamoru backed away from the wall where Lunette had been, feeling just the slightest bit squeamish, but quelling those feelings immediately. It was just a clone. It wasn't Usako, and it wasn't even human.
Instinctively, he inspected his blade, finding it clean and untarnished by that creature's blood. Yep, just a clone. Humans never cleaned up so nicely after they were gone.
He was not sure what it was that made him turn suddenly and hold his sword at ready. Perhaps it was pure instinct. Or perhaps, he had just remembered the figure that had been watching from the darkness. The shadows were even darker now, with only the illumination from his own aura lighting the place. He turned up the intensity a bit, watched the shadows recede from the scarred floor and the shards of crystal Beryl statue. The figure came into view, somehow managing to stand just beyond his light, so that his features remained obscured.
"Who are you?" Endymion asked in what was his most commanding voice. The sword remained outstretched before him.
He had to resist the urge to go running in to fight at that moment. Because his only response was laughter.
Malachi stared, uncomprehending, at Neff for several, rather agonizing, seconds. Transitioning from internal turmoil into normal communication was a more difficult task than he gave it credit for. His good hand still gripped the handrail like he intended to tear it up by the nails and start swinging at things.
Okay, Malachi, the Prince is in danger you're about two seconds away from giving yourself an aneurysm. I'm going to take over, and you are taking a rest.
I'm so glad you consider me so capable, Kunzite, he answered dryly.
Capable, nothing. We can talk about how capable you are when you're not considering heavy property damage while our Prince is getting beaten up somewhere. Now step aside.
There was a shift in consciousness, Malachi slipping back and Kunzite taking his place. It was still Malachi's body that stood on the porch, in his t-shirt and beat up jeans, but it was Kunzite's stance, Kunzite's controlled movements and sharp green eyes. Neff was still watching him in confusion, feeling that some sort of change had gone on in the past three seconds, but not sure of what it meant.
"Well?" Kunzite said sharply. "Out with it."
"He's, um," Neff attempted to regain his thoughts. "The old base. Don't ask me how I know, but something big is going down there. I'm sure it's gotta be him."
Kunzite immediately cursed his carelessness for not checking there immediately. The statue in the base was a decoy, but that did not mean Mamoru would not go wandering directly into their trap. Sometimes, he gave his Prince too much credit.
"Go get the others and head straight over. I'm going ahead." Neff nodded and ran back inside the house, as Kunzite leapt off the porch and took off across the campus. The moment he was out of view of the house, he discarded Malachi's normal clothes in favor of his uniform, enjoying the added strength that it gave him. The sling bothered him, though--it made his movements awkward, and he would need all the mobility he could get if he was going into battle. He pulled it off as he ran, letting it fall where it would, and hissed in pain as the arm fell free of its support. He may have been able to handle the damages of a partially-healed broken shoulder better as Kunzite, but it still did not entirely cancel out the effects of the pain it caused. He would just have to endure it, though. He had a Prince to save.
Endymion's defensive stance didn't waver for a second. He shook his sword a little, menacing, as if to remind this newcomer that he'd just destroyed the last of his clones, and was still in a fighting mood. "I'm done playing games," he warned. "Answer my question."
"And spoil the mystery? All the dramatic buildup I've been working on for days?" The figure laughed again, shaking his still featureless head. "Please, Mamoru, you have -no- appreciation for a good entrance."
"I have been frozen, burned, thrown out a window, electrocuted, sliced to pieces, and groped by your thrift-store attempt at Usako." Endymion dug his feet in. If this guy didn't get the 'hi, I'm an villain, here's my Evil Plan' speech started, and soon, he would take the liberty of starting a fight first. "On top of that, I've been through emotional hell, I've probably been blacklisted by half of my professors, -and- I haven't eaten. I am way past appreciating a good entrance."
The figure clucked his tongue. "And what I am I supposed to do? -Pity- you? That wouldn't be very nefarious of me. I put you through all of that for a reason, you know. I spent quite a lot of time figuring out all of your weaknesses, and just how to exploit them. You've really got to work on the Usako thing. That's going to get you in a world of trouble someday."
He seemed to consider that last statement for a moment. "If you live that long," he added thoughtfully.
"I am about five seconds from the end of my patience. Either tell me who you are--" Endymion held up his sword, which reflected a blinding golden glare. "--or I just start swinging."
"Have it your way." The figure shrugged, and then stepped beyond the edge of the light.
No.
"You're..."
He was seeing things.
"You're..."
It couldn't be.
"It's been a long time, Mamoru."
His worst nightmare.
...ahem
So. Uh.
Hi.
Apologies to all the fans who've been waiting forever and a day for this to get posted. We blame school. If we could smite school in the face, we totally would. And if it wasn't school, it was creative block. Anne sat on this fic for MONTHS with no idea where it was going. Eventually, the block was gone, the fic was worked on...
...and it had been six months since we'd promised an update.
Oops. Big oops.
So hey, to make up for our extended absence, how about we answer some of those pressing questions that people have been asking recently?
Helios. Helios is a priest, not a warrior. He isn't neglecting his job by not being around to protect Mamoru in battle--he is in the shrine where he is supposed to be. His duty is to remain in Elysion and do whatever it is that priests do, just as he has done for thousands of years. It's the Shitennou's job to do the guardian thing.
While most of you lovely readers enjoy the angst (which is good, because so do we), a few of you think we need to 'change it up a little' and lighten the mood of the fic. However, we've categorized it as Angst/Drama for a reason. Bleed is not a happy fic, and has never tried to masquerade as such. It has happy -moments-, but at the end of the day, it's angsty. It's dramatic. It's sad. That's what it's here to be. And we hate to say it (except, uh, not), but it doesn't get much better from here. Though it has a happy ending.
Maybe.
Mamoru shouldn't be able to heal himself that often without intaking a ton of energy. Mamoru also has the equivalent of the world's most sparkly battery sitting in his chest. Technically, he could probably go a long time without -any- food (although I doubt that would be especially healthy).
Why does no one at Stanford see weird battles taking place in their hallways? Stanford is indeed a crowded place--though no more than downtown Tokyo is. It's a fun little thing called "magic," which makes sparkly Senshi battles disappear from public memory, or at least important details of them like what said Senshi look like. Leftover damages like destroyed utility closets can be chalked up to natural disasters.
One of the most ... interesting critiques/issues we've come across can be described as "Mamoru is Usagi's dildo and emotional tampon." Trust us, guys, check out the other reviews. We can't make this up. It's a criticism we've seen before, though, and worth discussing. Yes, Mamoru is male. (We're pretty sure, anyway. Can't be too damn sure with those tricksy bishounen.) And yet, we don't seem to want to give him "balls" or make him "manly."
However, unless we've been reading different manga, or watching different anime and musicals, Mamoru isn't exactly that way. He's cool and removed, independent, sometimes a little goofy and fun loving. But how many times did he 'make a stand for himself' as he's apparently supposed to do? Also, he's been put through a lot of crap in this fic. To all the men out there - c'mon. You can't tell me that, after three straight days of unrivaled physical abuse, you wouldn't want to curl up in a ball and cry a little bit. You can't fool us. We've got you all figured out. We also know you like 'chick flicks.' We've known it all along! AHAHAHA...ha...yeah.
And to those of you who are so eager to find out about the sexual orientation of one character or another, we'll let you work that one out on your own. You didn't think you'd get an answer out of us that easily, did you?
In conclusion, we'd just like to say: we're so glad you missed us. Even if you're reconsidering it now. Just remember, if you want to find out how it ends, you can't kill us. Until next time!
AngelAnne and Spirit-hime
