Author's Note: Hey guys! Sorry it's been so long since my last update. Traveling for the holidays and then trying to manage all my year-end projects at work has been super time consuming! Hopefully I'm back on track :) Enjoy!
Usagi
At first, I couldn't believe what I was seeing.
From my chest, a spindle of light twisted in the air, weaving out and around the bars of the jail cell. They folded and tied themselves to the cold metal before going taut. A crack ripped through them and they tumbled to the floor, clanging as they rolled along the cobblestone.
I touched my chest to see if somehow my crystal had magically appeared on its own. Instead, I was met by the soft fabric of my blouse. Underneath, though, the warmth still brewed, pulling through my shirt and onto my fingertips with a calming warmth, and from it, mesmerizing beams of light. The gold spindles bobbed and weaved from me, slicing down each bar until the entire door had been dismantled.
I waited a beat before walking through it. While it appeared my powers were back even without my crystal, it was also possible this light was another one of Pitre's tricks. He had proven himself a master manipulator and I was done falling for each trap he had laid out for me. My entire body was shaking as I approached the now open gap that separated my bleak cell to potential freedom.
Seeing myself in that dark space had put a fire in my soul. Being consumed with fear and sadness no longer served me. To be strong meant to overcome and free my mind of doubt, to stop feeling sorry for myself and move forward. Pity only lasts so long. My well was dried up.
When my foot crested over the threshold that once held metal bars, I expected to feel some sort of jolt—magic perhaps—that would surge me backward. That's what Pitre would do, I thought. Anything he could do to play with people, mess with their heads by using deception to lull them into a false sense of security. Nothing happened, though, and I let out a sigh of relief.
Slowly, I examined the hallway. Out here there was a much better view of Pitre's looming dungeon. There were several rows of cells, though I had been the only prisoner, and the light pouring in from above was the result of small skylights cut out of the hallway ceiling. The hallway was long, stationed by jagged pieces of rock on one side and the bars of a jail on the other. To my left, there was a landing and a small glimpse of the lip of a stair.
Unlike the hallway, the stairwell was completely dark. I moved toward it and into the darkness, the light surrounding me acting as a dull guide, not quite bright enough to illuminate every crook and corner. A bitter, rotting smell punched my nose and I felt my stomach churn. It was as if something had died in this hallway. Or possibly, something that died from up above. Using my fingers, I traced the side of the wall, realizing this staircased spiraled upward, and as I followed it, I felt a dampness coat my skin.
It was too viscous to be simply water, thick like syrup and as dark as tar. Black, inky blood. I had smelled it a few times before, but in this tight, enclosed space it was suffocating. My fingertips continued to graze the stone, trolling in thick and heavy patches of wet trickling from above.
Saliva poured into my mouth and I felt myself lurch. When I went to press my hand over my lips, the bitter smell of hellhound blood filled my nostrils. Everything about this castle, everything about this dungeon, made every nerve on my body feel as if it had been lit aflame, and not in a good way. I pushed back bile coating my throat.
Despite how far I had made it, the thought of giving up was viciously intoxicating. That was Pitre's power, I thought, his ability to claw into your mind and make you feel some semblance of sympathy for him so that you give him a piece of you to take. He threw me into the darkness because he knew I would be scared and alone. He knew without my crystal, I would question my strength and allow myself to wither away in his cell.
Beads of sweat formed on my forehead and I wiped them away, careful to use the back of my hand. What was it the younger version of me had said? That despite being shrouded in darkness, the light was still burning inside my heart. Even in this cavernous dungeon devoid of life, I closed my eyes and beckoned the light to me, willing it to wrap itself around me in comfort.
Inside, something stirred. Fighting back tears and vomit, I continued to ascend. No, surrendering now was not an option, not when I was so close. Each step up was one closer to my friends, one step closer to fixing a crisis of my own making. If I stopped now, I would be allowing Pitre to win.
There was another landing at the top, but all I could see was stone. There was no door out. I canvassed the edge of the wall, looking for any clues or maybe a loose piece in the facade, but nothing. Perhaps one needed magic to use this exit. That's what Pitre had done, after all, he could move in and out of places simply by using his magic to transport himself there.
Suddenly, a giant droplet splashed directly onto my cheek. More blood. I swallowed hard, wiping my face once more before tracing a line with my eyes to find the drop's source. And there it was: A wooden trap door with a rope that if I jumped high enough, I just might be able to reach.
Before my feet left the ground, my spindles were coming to my aid, pulling the rope to reveal the cavernous ceiling of the ballroom. I listened closely to see if I could hear anything, but before I could protest the spindles were pushing me up and out, gently placing me on my feet amid a sea of dead hellhounds.
The scouts. Mamoru. Dimande. My eyes scanned, praying their lifeless bodies would not be strewn among those of these monsters, and when I did not see them I let out a sigh of relief. They had advanced into the castle. They had made it this far. I had to believe they were still fighting.
From behind me, a crack and a boom roared behind a closed set of doors that loomed. Another shock croaked through followed by the faint whisper of a scream, one I did not recognize. Could it possibly be Pitre?
I rushed to the door and my fists collided with it, throwing my entire weight in a feeble effort to make it move. Pushing had no effect. There were no door handles, at least, none that I could see. I dug my feet into the marble floor and braced myself again for another push. My shoulders pressed in and I used every muscle I could, but my feet began to slip beneath the marble floor.
"Damn it!" I pounded on the door.
Catching my breath, I heard another roar followed by the door violently shaking. That's when I heard it. That's when I heard the scream—his scream—and my breath hitched. It rang in my ears and my vision went white. He needed me.
Light burst from me, my spindles growing three times in size. As the rage beat in my heart, the brightness flickered in time. I shoved my shoulder in once more and this time I could feel the bottom lip of the door budge forward and a crack of wood from the otherside. Pieces of debris fell from the door as the frame around it buckled, my light becoming a battering ram shored by my small frame.
A gap appeared and the sound grew louder. Rumbles of small explosions coupled with shouts and heavy breathing. I had to make my way in, I had to save my friends. I kept pushing, pushing, pushing until there was enough room to wiggle through. When my eyes finally adjusted, I was shocked to see the tent of a circus. Even more shocking, though, were the giant hellhounds lying dormant in the ring, along with several of the sailor scouts, all bloodied and bruised.
Mamoru was lying on the ground clutching his chest with Sailor Saturn standing over him, her eyes fixated on Pitre. Bright, red blood was splashed across his amused face. That is, until he saw me. His eyes bulged and his smile fell flat.
"How did you get out?" He snarled. The scouts turned, their eyes equally as wide. Without thinking, I rushed to Mamoru, kneeling down so our eyes could meet, my back to Pitre. I hadn't mean to do it, but in hindsight it was the perfect affront. Despite all his power, Pitre was not worthy to look at. Instead, I focused on those I loved—those I fought for.
Mamoru's skin was so pale and his breathing so strained. A large gash had been carved out of his tuxedo shirt, a peek of crimson red running down his side.
"How badly are you hurt?" I ran my hand across his cheek. All of the pain he felt was written on his face.
"You didn't answer my question!" Pitre screamed, but I ignored him.
"Usagi," Mamoru hissed through his teeth, trying to hide the agony. "You have to get out of here."
All of this time I had harbored such anger toward him, thinking he could never love me as much as I loved him. Seeing him now, blood trickling down his face and body battered by a hard fought battle, it was all I could do not to cry. Of course Mamoru had always loved me. Of course he cared. If he didn't, he wouldn't be here fighting to save me.
Passion fueled the hot embers of love, but true love—the kind that lasts forever, the kind that follows you in both joy and sorrow—is a slow burning flame. Mamoru was who I belonged with. Dimande's love was needed because it freed me from putting others before myself, but in the light of day I knew it was only meant to end. Looking at Mamoru battered and bruised gave me the sense of peace I had been looking for so long.
"I won't leave you, not again." I meant it.
"Sailor Moon!" Sailor Saturn's voice forced me to turn and look. Her vision was still fixated on Pitre. In the light above the ring, the Silence Glaive glistened. "Mamoru is right—you must leave!"
I let my hand fall from Mamoru's cheek and stood up straight. Slowly, I turned on my heel, looking past Sailor Saturn and straight at Pitre.
"I can't let him win, Sailor Saturn," My voice was commanding and firm. "He has caused enough pain, we must end this."
"He's strong," she warned. "So strong that even I can't hold him back without destroying this entire dimension."
"It's okay, Hotaru," I smiled at her gently. A quizzical look came across her face. "I know what I must do."
In truth, I wasn't sure whatever power brewing inside me was strong enough to overtake him. Maybe I was hoping he wouldn't call my bluff, or perhaps I had a sixth sense about just what I was capable of. Looking at him, though, an overwhelming sense of clarity struck. Whatever I had to do, I could do.
"You wrongly assumed I was powerless without my crystal," I tried to sound calm. "You're wrong."
My spindles of light shot out and wrapped around Pitre, binding him so tightly his face turned red. He coughed and sputtered before one of them wrapped around his thigh, and then into his pocket. Out it pulled my brooch, still gleaming under the glittering lights of the ring, and tossed it over to me.
In my hands it burned, but not like accidentally brushing your hand across a red hot stove. It was warm, the heat from a fire on a cold winter's day, a soothing hot spring late at night. It was a hot meal nourishing both stomach and soul, filling me with strength and hope and love.
The spindles turned to ribbons and wrapped around my entire body, and as light pierced my skin to form my familiar suit, my mind was the clearest it had been in years. This was my purpose. This was who I was.
Pitre didn't still for long. Whipping his hand, he threw a black bolt of energy straight at my head. As it drew closer, it stopped just short of my eyes, frozen by the glowing aura that had replaced the opaque ribbons of light. It was acting as a forcefield. Underneath its power, I felt both completely at ease and also as if I was wearing chainmail over every inch of skin.
"You won't win!" Pitre screamed. "I will kill you and I'll make all of them watch!"
He sprinted forward with a fury in his eye. His hands were outstretched, his fingers curled in anticipation, ready to snake around my throat, but I remained stoic. Bolt after bolt came flying at me only to be stopped by the forcefield of light pulsating around. My transformation was complete and I could feel the power surging through my body.
His hands slapped against the forcefield and when they bounced off, he slapped again, this time digging his nails into the surface and pouring black smoke into it. Color drained from his skin and the strange clown makeup began to appear. He was using all his power to try and crack my forcefield, so much so he was reverting back to his former self.
His jaw flexed, his teeth grinding against one another as he threw his body against the light. The harder his hands pressed, the more the forcefield refracted around him. Veins popped on his neck and his eyes grew glassy as painful tears started to escape.
Until then, my power seemed impenetrable. He had no effect on the forcefield or me. I wrongly assumed he would tire and retreat, or be blown back by it when his attempt to break it failed. The harder he pushed, I could feel the ebb of it in my spirit, like by pressing the light he was pressing my soul, and as his desire to rob me of life grew, he inched closer and closer to breaking me.
I tried my hardest not to wince, but he was just too strong, and when my face shifted and fear finally took hold, Pitre reveled in it. In mere seconds the tables had turned. No longer did I have the upper hand and I had let Pitre know. His eyes grew wide, bloodshot and dilated and focused directly on me. His jaw relaxed just slightly, enough to curve his lips upward into a wicked smile as he pressed against one more.
His hands dipped into the light and my heart pounded against my chest. I tried to find something in me to continue to push, but the fight was like rope slipping through my hands. A chill broke through first, squelching the warmth that blanketed the bubble. A small crack ran through the top of the dome before ripping in each direction, originating all from Pitre's palms.
I steadied my breath to fight it, but it was too late. His power was greater than mine. My shoulders slumped and the light receded. His hands flew at my face and I waited for them to find my neck.
Just then, I felt a crash from my left side. Someone collided with my shoulder, sending me flying across the ring until I skidded along the floor. When my head stopped spinning I looked up.
Dimande had rammed me out of Pitre's path, and as he replaced me, Pitre's hand pierced his chest. In response, Dimande pressed his palm against Pitre's chest and sent a jolt of black energy right through him. Pitre retreated his hand before stumbling back.
It was almost in slow motion. Whatever shock Dimande had sent damaged Pitre in irrevocable ways. He clutched his chest, his expression blank and haunting. All around us the lights shifted and splintered, flickering on and off as howls pierced the air from unseen hellhounds. In the center of the ring, Pitre collapsed.