It's been a while . . .
[Curtain pulls up to reveal]
Doctor Megalomania: [gets megaphone] Hey-o, and welcome to my Lil' World of Weirdness!! [grins widely and shrugs] I'm back, Ladies and Gentlemen. [bows] It's been a long while, but I tell you I feel GOOD! How are you? I don't know if many of you are still here, I hope so because it will be great to hear from you. [takes a deep breath and sits in the lotus position] and yes . . . I am better than the flamers . . . no, they can't bring me down . . . yes, I am even more crazy than usual . . . no, you may not sue me because . . . I state for the record that I don't own Gundam Wing, or the wonderful characters that will be gracing this story. . . I only own Faye Bloom, Chang Xiao Fao Lan and the Angels. You know the pairings, but just in case . . . You've got 1x2x1, 3x4x3, 5xMeirin, a dash of 6x9, a sprinkle of 13xUne, half a teaspoon of OdinxHelen . . . and may just a hint of DxR and Dr.JxProf.G . . . [grins] what can I say? I'm evil. [rubs hands together] what else have we got? Ah yes, mandatory thank you to Bluegoo, even though she is still my primary betareader, she won't be putting in as much of an appearance for this next year . . . yeah, I plan on keeping on and on for a while . . . anyway, Blue's off at OXFORD UNIVERSITY, which is BRILLIANT! But means she won't have enough time to beta for me . . . but does that mean that I will go down hill? That my terrible typos and grammar will get out of hand?! [laughs] Oh ho, HO! No way . . . [holds up hand and falls silent] ladies and gentlemen, yaoi fan girls and guys – I know you're out there - . . . there's a new Beta reader in town. My gracious thanks go out to CLOW'D9 of Cardcaptor Sakura Fanfiction Fame, for her time and her patience in this . . . everyone, my new beta reader is Clow'd9, I'd like to thank her for the many hours she's put up with me . . . Blue may be the one I call at odd hours but Clow'd9's the Big Beta. Clow'd9, some words if you please . . .
Clow'd9: Hamster. Spoon. Bean-bag. Pizza . . . Will that do? Oh, and CORNPORN!!!!!! SAY IT WITH ME DOC! COOOOOOOOOOOOOORRRRRNNNNNN POOOOOOOOOORN!!!!!
DrM: COOOOORN POOOOOORN!! [giggles] As you can tell, she's as nutty as I am . . . Perfect! Well, I know most of you stopped reading after 'a while . . .' so, that's the legal mumbo-jumbo out of the way . . . Please Enjoy and don't forget to R&R!! Thanking you very much!!
//Thinking//
"Speaking"
*Stress/Emphasis*
Writing/Dream sequence
Telepathic thoughts
:: Lyrics ::
~*~
For The Grace Of Knights And Angels
By Doctor Megalomania
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Refrain of the Soul
Once upon a time there was a man, a man who wanted nothing more than to take care of people, and guide them along to the word of god. To show them the true path, and to lead them to salvation. He held no manner of grandeur, he knew he was no second reincarnation of the lord savour, nor did he believe he could change the world for all the better. All he believed was that he and his youngest cousin could try. He believed they could try, even if they only made a difference to a few lives, the fact that they had tried would have remained, and that maybe, just maybe, one of the lives they changed might have gone on to save the world. Gone on to become a priest in the footsteps of this small man who held no manner of grandeur. To achieve this, this small man recognised that sacrifices had to be made. He sacrificed his chance to have a true son, instead swearing his loyalty to The Father, The Son, and the Holy Ghost. He sacrificed the relative comfort and wealth of the Earth to live on one of the poorest colonies. He sacrificed and sacrificed and sacrificed and sacrificed until his family disowned him for fear of him sucking their wealth dry, until he found joy in preaching to a congregation of no more than a few children, until he was reduced to giving his own clothes, his food, his every living breath to the children in his care.
To this small man, he had sacrificed until he wept tears of blood, and slept on beds of nails.
And yet, one life that he'd been so hopeful for . . . one insignificant, disobedient life which he had devoted his waking hours to, that he'd sacrificed the most for, one little life, one little child . . . all his sacrifices had been in vain.
The boy he'd come to love as a son, treat as a son, almost come to believe was his son, had betrayed him in the worst possible manner. The boy had grown up to be selfish and vain, angry and greedy, too slothful to make the sacrifices needed to follow in this small man's footsteps, had lusted after far too much power, and had named himself god of all the dead.
His son had betrayed him and now the father was going to wreak his fury upon his treacherous son.
Father Rowan Maxwell spun from the window, turned away from the beauty of the ignorant Earth as she continued her blissful rotations. He fumed as he walked past the window that showed him the Sesshou, a Japanese word meaning 'Destroyer of Life', if he could have his way, they would launch their attack now on Earth. He cared very little for the other life upon that little glass marble of existence, he craved merely to carry his fury out, not on the mercenaries that had lead the Federation to his small church, not the Federation Captain who'd forgotten the tenants of War, but upon the boy in which he'd invested all his hopes for the future . . . in the deceitful, vain, gluttonous, slothful, vengeful, manipulative brat that had tricked him, and become all that he found evil in the world.
And may the Devil have mercy on his pathetic soul.
The Balji, one of the finest advances in space warfare, went down with all but eight hands on board. The blame lay squarely with the commanding chief at the time, a man who had provoked the unstable fury of Milliardo Peacecraft and the insatiable power of Eypon Gundam. The massive battle station had been sliced neatly in two, and all aboard were lost. Eight survived, due to loyalty to His Excellency, Trieze Krushrenada. To him, they delivered the comatose Lady Une and failed to die honourably with their crewmates. They had escaped on a shuttle capable of saving twice their number, had it not been for the amount of medical equipment needed to sustain the frail life of Lady Une.
This information was meaningless to Trowa Barton.
But what was interesting to him was the events upon the Balji before the foolish commander ordered the Balji cannon fire upon a defenceless colony, before Tubarov shot Lady Une in an attempt to stop her from freeing the prisoners, before the Gundam Scientists had perfected the Mercuries and the Vayette, the events when a young colony student impressed and amazed the OZ recruiters with his skills, and entered into Lady Une's private circle of advisers under the name of 'Trowa Barton'.
The exemplary student was a brilliant pilot, and a trusted solider almost instantly. His doleful expression, his lack of apparent drive to overcome and be promoted was refreshing unchallenging, and a relief to the superiors sick of OZ soldiers who only considered their next promotion. His quick wit, and quiet intelligence had secured him places and trusts that would take any other solder years to earn.
This boy, who seemed far too young for his stated age of eighteen, claimed to be Trowa Barton despite the fact that he looked wildly different from the real Trowa Barton. Where Barton was loud, brash and impulsive, this name-stealing boy was silent, tactful, and ingratiating. Barton was hardily built; blonde and relaxed in the centre of everyone's attention . . . the name-stealer was worryingly thin, brunette and content to stay in the shadows until needed.
Barton's eyes narrowed as he stared at the Sesshou.
Nanashi.
The nameless German boy who'd they picked up from the ruins of a mercenary brigade. His smoky dark green eyes and soft brunette hair were a lure; his soft tones as he answered in German were sensual. Barton had taken a liking to him; his ability to learn was amazing, it was clear the boy understood almost every language he was ever faced with, yet he could only speak in German. Yet even that was temporary, merely a month after construction on Gundam Heavyarms had started, the nameless boy spoke in tease, clipped English.
Barton's lip curled with distaste as he remembered the one fumbled and drunken night, when he'd stumbled across the nameless boy exiting the crew's shower area, with little more than a towel wrapped about his slim frame. The boy used his slight frame, his ingrained sensuality, his sheer un-resistance to curry favour, the fact the boy was an amazing engineer, his ability to adapt and remember a process in mere seconds had nothing to do with it. The boy knew that, and he used it.
Even Barton had fallen under the spell, had treated the boy almost like he would a lover, but now . . . now he had broken free, his death had provided him with enlightenment.
Revenge would taste so sweet, ice cold and refreshing, as he wrung the life from Doktor S. . . but it would be infinitely sweeter when he took the little nameless boy and broke him, and his consistently expressionless, jade green eyes.
//Not deserving?//
The words rung about his mind, deafeningly loud, so thunderous that even the Pisces exploding around him had been drowned out. The roar of the water tussling with the fire had meant nothing to him, as the Lightning Baron's voice bellowed from the dying speakers.
//Unworthy?//
He drew a knee up, and stared at the Sesshou. He had been trained by Lieutenant Noin, the OZ specialist teacher. How could *he* be unworthy of her? Zechs Marquise had no right to question him, particularly as it was widely known had Noin actually shown her true capabilities she would have come out top of her league, rather than allowing Zechs best her. For this, Alex Holloman had always felt a bitter resentment. The best should always come out top, and all that could not achieve it should be stripped of their rank and pushed out of the service, maybe even life if they were not tough enough to live in this new era. Only the strong should survive, Alex knew this; it was a widely accepted theory from the Pre-Colony days and still rang true for this revolutionary time. Alex was not a fool, nor was he an idiot. He knew that the theory generally applied to natural selection. But in this avant-garde era, this ever-changing pace of human evolution wasn't it now necessary to 'trim the fat' as it were? Rid the populace of the sub-humans who would did nothing but water down the gene pool with their idiosyncratic notions that all were created to be equal?
Of course all were not created equal, or there would be any need for war, war upon those who didn't understand the ways of the right, on those who didn't trust the power and decisions of those who were responsible enough for authority, on those who couldn't understand the god-given right of OZ to control the world and rid the human gene pool of those would make it a cesspit of idiocy and weakness.
//Unworthy?//
He stared at his best friend, the only other who shared his passion for the cleansing of the human soul. Swahalia Mueller was directing some of the cretins they had to work with. Mueller understood, he understood that the weak needed to be exterminated; he understood all of Alex's theories and even helped to shape new ones. Mueller may not have been as intellectual as Alex, but he was learning, he was willing to improve himself to become as good as Alex. He was also the only one who shared his willingness to assist humanity, to save it from the weaker genes. Mueller was the only one not afraid to follow Alex and unleash the dogs of war upon the idiots and the fools of their age. He and Mueller would prove their worth together, Alex knew this, they would do it by taking on the most feared of the Gundams. The fifth pilot, the fifth Gundam. Chang Wufei would fall, trembling, before Alex and Mueller.
Mueller glanced up at Alex, and smiled warmly. He raised a podgy; dirt smudged hand and waved, mouthing a question of concern. Alex smiled at this, and rested his chin on his knee, pulling his goggles from his face to push back his hair. He nodded, and mouth back, 'I'm fine'. Mueller nodded and returned to his work, Alex continued to watch over all of them, his mind fixing solely on the victory he and Mueller would soon enjoy as they slaughtered the fifth Gundam pilot, and the rest of the weak, brain dead humanity.
//I'll make them understand who is unworthy, and who is not.//
The control deck was all too familiar. It wasn't unlike the control deck on the Libra and he found himself much at home here. He pulled his jacket up a little tighter, perhaps it was because the temperature regulators were not in place yet, or perhaps – he smirked to himself – because he was dead and therefore was incapable of pushing the blood at a faster pace, as he was use to in life. Being dead had its advantages, of course, it meant he was able to survive a little longer in the vacuum of space than before, and the added bonus was he couldn't be killed because he was already dead.
The only drawback was, of course, that he was dead.
As in not alive.
As in dead.
Quinze scowled at the videoscreen, as various minions around him – mindless and silent aside from the occasional utterance about how many days there were until they attacked Earth – worked on the control panels. The video screen flickered into life, showing the object of every person's hate on this small colony. Everyone who'd come from Space hated Earth as they did in life, and everyone who'd originated on Earth had come to hate their motherland for its betrayal of them. The living had gone on living . . . while they . . . he stared at his pale hand, he'd never been much of a pretty face in life, but with the added knowledge that he was slowly moulding away, festering under the pallid skin . . .
Quinze looked up at the screen, resisting the urge to spit at the image.
He – like any of the others that had become a makeshift commanding group – wanted revenge, it wasn't just the single-minded revenge against the Earth. No. It was the single-minded urge to kill one of the Gundam pilots; it was becoming common knowledge now that the Gundam Pilots were the Knights of Earth. Quinze didn't doubt the urge, the bitter hatred he had of the fourth pilot had been planted. After all he'd never met the boy face to face, all he knew was that the boy was responsible for defeating the mobile dolls. He glanced over at Tubarov as he continued his experiments, a mindless cretin with half his skull missing jerkily moved around the area. Tubarov, still dressed in his Romafellor finery, strutted around the place with the remote controls. The man was clearly insane, still proclaiming cheerfully to the human mobile doll, that yes, yes, this would get him back into Romafellor's graces, and that yes, this new type of Mobile Doll, this human machine hybrid would crush OZ once and for all.
Quinze shook his head, and continued to concentrate on the images of the Sesshou. It was nearing completion. He drew a deep breath, not that he needed to but there were some pretences of living he had to keep to prevent himself from join Tubarov. The Sesshou was even more powerful than Libra and the Balji. This time the Darkness would triumph, this time the Earth would fall. And that yes, yes this would get him back in the Barton Foundation's graces again, and that yes, this new type of weapon would crush the Earth . . . once and for all . . .
. . . One hundred and fifty five days remain . . . the Judgement draws near . . .
"I understand . . . the beginning of the end in sight . . ."
The blue-eyed Urami nodded as he stared at the Sesshou. The Destroyer of Life was indeed a formidable weapon, something indeed to be feared. He smiled, pale lips pressing into a thin line, and quirking only in the corners. He turned away from the stars, away from the outside, and closed his eyes. He could hear his boots on the steel walkway, loud and thunderous to his own ears. He had very little do now that the final battle was drawing near. He looked at the weapons the Other had provided, and knew that unlike the Knights of the Earth, his army had no need to train. The Angels relied on the archaic; the Other knew that man's own suicidal advances in weaponry were the key to victory.
Stepping down into his own resting quarters, Urami began to disrobe. He pulled off the gloves that hid his skin, the once golden brown, now a pale imitation of his skin. He shrugged off his long black jacket, something the Other had provided. A range of clothing had been offered, and soon Urami knew that he would have to don the proper uniform of Urami. The black cloak, with its ominous blood red and silver trim, its heavy hood and the tarnished black sword that whispered of handlers through out the ages, sent chills even up his spine.
Urami sank on to his bed with a heavy sigh, and toed off his heavy black boots, their steel caps thunking heavily on the metal floor. Laying back, Urami stared at the ceiling and thought.
He thought of his past . . . as a young boy, he looked now to be that age of his middle twenties. No, he thought of a time when he was a young boy, of a mere fourteen years of age. When he ran the streets, wild and free, with only concerns of what he was going to eat the next meal, what the other kids would eat the next day . . . and how to keep his kid out of the way of trouble. Urami smiled, memories of the younger boy, a kid he'd taken care of from the day he found the little tyke, hiding, snivelling, to the day he'd been forced to leave, falling foul of the L2 Plague. He was sure the kid was still alive, that somewhere out there a young man with the name of 'Duo' still ran about the L2 colony, worrying about what he was going to eat the next day. . . or better he hoped, running about taking care of other kids, like Urami . . .
. . . Urami closed his eyes tightly, and forced his own name to come to the surface, tried to force – just for a brief while – to make the given name of Urami under for a few moments while he remembered his past. . .
. . . like Solo had done.
. . . The sound of rain . . . pitter-pattering against the broken and cracked windows of their hideout . . .
"Please, please don't close your eyes!!"
"Shhh . . ." One eye opened sluggishly, "Ya'll wake the others."
"But, but. . ."
"Quiet."
". . . I don't wan'yer to."
"I know that, kid."
"Then why?! Why must you?!"
"Because . . . aw, hell I don't know why, but I just. . ."
"What?"
"Just gotta, I guess . . ."
He brushed the little kid's face slowly, as if he was afraid he'd break. The kid was so small, so weak looking. A small frown, a little moisture gathered around his eye, another thing he guessed was that the kid would be following him soon. The kid screwed up his nose, tears uncontained, and flowing freely.
"I don't want that!!"
He sighed slightly, the illness taking more out of him that he expected. . . so quickly, it was becoming so hard to breathe. "Kid, ya gotta. . ."
". . . take what yer got givin'." The kid recited flawlessly. He was a quick learner, maybe, he hoped, just maybe the kid would make it a little longer before he followed. He reached up his hand, forcing himself to at least to prop on to one elbow, and look the kid in the eye, "That's damn right, kid . . . listen." He muttered darkly, "Yer gotta take it and run, 'cause people, they'll just take anything they can from ya." He coughed, feeling blood slur his speech, "And ya never give anyone anything ya got, never let 'em see what you got deep down, 'cause they'll take that from ya too . . ." he paused to look at the watery eyes, and scowled, he rubbed the kid's face harshly, wiping away the tears, "An' sure as hell itself, quit crying! Boys don't cry, okay?"
". . . 'kay . . ."
"Now, quit ya whining an' get lost."
"But—"
"Get. Lost." He spat, "I mean it . . . I wanna sleep some."
"No, don't. . ." the tears threatened again.
"Kid, I mean it, boys don't cry . . . unless yer been lying to me, and that pretty hair of yers really does mean ya a girly."
"I never lie!"
"That's good, kid . . ." he nodded, as the kid helped him lie down again, he stared at the leaking ceiling, and thought. The rain pounded the roof, like it knew the creaking wreck was going to give any time soon. He closed his eyes and dragged a grimy, bloody hand over his brow, pushing some of his limped black locks out off his face. "That's pretty good. . ."
"What 'bout the others?"
"Ya gonna take care of 'em for me?"
"Der I hav' to?"
"Yup, can't let 'em get caught by the Feds, can ya?"
"Guess not . . ."
"And ya the only one I know who can make sure it don't happen, kay?"
". . . 'kay . . ."
He closed his eyes, and just breathed, hearing the kid fidget and move some. "Hey, kid?"
"Yeah?"
"Never did get ya a name, did we?"
"Nope. An' I don't want one." The kid spoke quickly, in a rush. He smiled at this, knowing why. They had argued, fought, spat at each other over this, every name he had chosen for the kid was always too girly, too stupid, too long, too short. The kid never took any name he suggested, but never once even listen to the other kids when they suggested names. He was the only one the kid ever asked for a name from, and he knew, the kid would never get one unless he chose one now.
"How about---?"
"Too girly."
He smirked, "It never even left my lips! Then how about---"
"Yuck, too icky!"
He rolled his eyes, his dark blue eyes blood shot in the darkness. He was proud of his eyes, his hair was always matted and tangled, and his clothes always stank, but his eyes . . . he could just look into the shards of mirror they kept around, his eyes were a good colour, nice and blue. Just like the Kid, the Kid had really nice, violet eyes . . . he smiled, they were like two of a kind. "How about 'Duo' then?"
". . . huh?"
"Duo, it is then."
"No, I never—Ack! What does it mean?!"
"Figure it out when you're older, Duo. . ."
"But, but . . ."
"Another thing, Duo . . . remember your past with your heart, okay? Never forget anything, or anyone . . . 'cause without it . . . you're . . . you're . . . without. . ."
"It's okay, Solo . . ." Duo's voice floated in the dark haze, it had matured all too suddenly, a deep seriousness sinking in to the small kid's manner, "You sleep . . . I'll be here when you wake up . . ."
The rain . . . its constant drone . . . so soothing and chilling . . .
Solo opened his dark blue eyes and stared at the ceiling, the Other was silent, not even the pressing weight of its presence touched upon Solo's mind. His soul rejoiced. He blinked and realised that maybe he didn't have to destroy the world . . . not because it had killed him, but because it had separated him from a kid he knew he would one day come to love very much. Maybe, all he would do was seek out his little love, and live happily ev--
He heard a bellowing wail . . . and winced, his body bucking uncontrollably as Urami resurfaced and threw Solo back into the cage within his mind. Urami snarled and snapped his eyes open. Find his little love. He smirked at the idea, perhaps, find his little love and tear him limb from limb. What had his 'little love' promised?
He'd promised to be there when he woke up . . . when Urami had awoken here in his own hell, Urami saw no sign of the little boy named Duo . . . no, Duo was on Earth . . . once Urami had finished with his allotted foe, the Knight of Mercy, Urami would certainly seek out his little love . . . and drag him back to the gates of hell by his long auburn hair.
Urami got up, and walked over to the closet of clothes the Other had so kindly provided for him.
Harshly, with a sneer, he pulled on a smaller jacket than before, its cuffs flaring at his wrist, while the hem of the jacket ceased just under his hips. He picked up the silver handled brush and swept it twice through his unruly hair. Picking up a dark burgundy ribbon, he tossed his shoulder length hair, and tied its chocolate brown locks back in a loose pony tail. He brushed his hands down his front again, pulling on his glove before he raised his eyes to stare at himself in the mirror.
"It's time . . ."
He raised his head slowly, his dark blue eyes were a slight bit mad, wild almost as he spoke.
". . . to meet my army."
The cretins stopped working.
They stopped, dropped their work tools, and their weapons and turned en masse toward the upper platform on the lower observation deck. Barton, Mueller and Father Maxwell glanced at each other, before following the workers to the deck. Alex jumped down from his perch, landing on the metal deck as Quinze walked past him. Tubarov looked distantly upset at having been disturbed at his work but other than that, the command group made their way to the front. They looked up as the Urami stepped out of the shadows, and walked forward. The stars his back drops, the deck his stage, Urami glared at each of them with some semblance of disgust from under his hood. "Who amongst you has mind enough to speak?"
Barton climbed up, "You are the almighty Urami?"
Alex elbowed Mueller, as the other man snickered. "Shh!"
Urami glared in their direction for a moment before nodding slowly, "I am Urami. I am the Knight of the Darkness." He stepped forward again, "And you are?"
"I am Trowa Barton, the pilot originally meant for the Third Gundam." The dark blonde man met Urami's gaze evenly, "My foe is the boy who dares to keep my name as he lives."
"Your foe is the Knight of Beasts." Urami closed his eyes as the Other spoke, whispered this information in his mind. He turned away, "Who else here has mind enough to fight?"
"I do." Alex nodded, and motioned his best friend Mueller, "We both do. We are Alex and Mueller, Noin's class of After Colony 194, passing with first class honour and distinctions. We claim the fifth pilot as our foe."
Urami nodded, as he walked forward and crouched by the edge of the deck, he pressed two gloved fingers against his temple, "The Knight of Warriors and his wife will be your foe, the cosmic balance has decreed this." He stood, once again surveying the mass. "Who else?"
The group of worker drones parted, as a priest moved forward. The man's grey hair was still tinted with dried blood, and his hands shook, looking like sharp talons. "I am Father Maxwell, of the L2 Maxwell Church . . . I claim Duo Maxwell, the second pilot of Gundam as my foe. Shinigami shall fall by my hand and my hand alone."
At this Urami jumped down, and stalked toward him. "Shinigami may yet become our ally . . ." the young man paused, "I will speak with you later . . ." he turned away, "Who claims the forth pilot?"
"I do. I am Quinze, leader of White Fang." The white haired man moved forward, "When do we launch our attack?"
Urami shook his head, "You take this too lightly." He stretched out a hand, and pointed at the Earth. "The Fourth pilot of Gundam is the Knight of Time. . . he is the most powerful . . ." he glared at Quinze, "Will you be ready?"
Quinze drew a breath and looked around him, he nodded, "We shall."
Urami stared at him for a moment longer, "We shall see . . ." he hauled himself back on to the platform, and looked down on the group again, "One hundred and fifty five days remain until we descend on the Earth . . . use this time wisely, prepare yourselves for the invasion . . . I have heard that this has been compared to something called Operation Meteor . . . it has failed twice because no one sought to destroy . . . merely to control . . ." he looked up, and removed his hood. Quinze gasped as he stared at the young man who was their leader.
"You're the first Gundam pilot!"
The dark haired, blue-eyed man turned his head and glared at the man, "I died years before any of you . . . I died in the L2 plague. I am not the first Gundam pilot . . ."
The man who once was Solo glared at the hundred of thousands of soldiers with contempt.
"I am the Knight of Mercy's nemesis!" His features twisted with fury, sending thrills of excitement through the ranks of dead soldiers. "And we will make the Earth pay for what it has done to us!! Operation Meteor was merely a trial run, this Judgement day shall be the last, we have the advantage . . ." he pointed out the window behind him, "There are thousand of us . . . and there are five knights that can protect Earth!!"
Urami dragged a ragged breath as the soldiers of the Darkness roared their agreement. His eyes met with Father Maxwell, who stared at him silently. His thoughts clear for everyone to see, blood and murder, murder and blood was all he craved. Barton was stood on the stage, his hands raised as he called out to the soldiers, prompting more roars of bloodlust. Alex stood leering next to Mueller as the darker man tipped his head back and brayed with insane laughter. Alex met Urami's gaze, his grin like one of a child in a candy store, filled with the innocence of greed. Quinze got up onto the stage and stood by Barton, a slow, cold smile stretched over his lips as he watched the army before him, his mind already planning ahead to the on coming battle.
Urami turned, and stared out the window. The messily haired, young man, with piercing blue eyes stared back. He stared out coldly, tipping his head back until he could see the Sesshou's cannon muzzle.
"One hundred . . . and fifty-five days . . ." he span and roared out to the crowd, "UNTIL THE DESTRUCTION OF THAT BASTARD EARTH!!"
After colony Two-Zero-Zero . . . The year passed too slowly for some, for others it passed entirely too quickly. . . The former Gundam Pilots were called upon once more to save the Earth Sphere, this time not from itself and its inhabitants . . . but from a threat far greater then they could ever have imagined.
The Future and the Past were to collide in a fashion not seen for centuries . . .
Once more five young men were being trained to face a foe that seemed far too great for them, and this time they would not be able to rely upon the great war machines known as Gundams to aid their mission. They had merely one another, and their families to help them . . . else where in the world, the Preventers were desperately preparing for the worst case scenario, should the Gundam Knights fail to save the Earth.
Unknown to them, not only did their enemy have superior firepower and forces, they were also prepared to use the Sesshou. In the tradition of Operation Meteor – the plan to massively devastate the Earth with a terrible force – The Sesshou, a destroyer of life not only in name but in power, was being built far above the Earth sphere and the colonies that surrounded it.
The Commanding Squadron of the Darkness were poised to use whatever force they could, not only to destroy the Earth but wreak revenge on all who stood on her fertile grounds.
Their Leader, Urami, was determined to succeed where others could not. . . and his ice cold heart held the passion enough to see it through.
-------------------------
And Now It's Time To LEAVE IT TO DOCTOR MEGALOMANIA!!!
DrM: [grins] KONNICHIWA!! Am I hyperactive?! Am I too bouncy right now?! I've got ever reason to be! I'm back, I'm posting! I bloody love writing! It's [censored] brilliant!
Wing: [laughs] Someone's happy!
DrM: You better believe it! Whoever said that not taking time off wasn't the way to happiness is bloody wrong! I feel great! I've been writing, I've been moving. I've even started my own original story which I hope to one day get published. I'm really, really, really, really happy. And bloody hyper!
Wing: [looks around] Well, you've been away for about two months . . . think anyone missed you?
DrM: [shrugs] We'll see . . . Please R&R and thank you as always for reading and hopefully reviewing!!