Sailor Moon and associated characters/background were created by Naoko Takeuchi. No disrespect is intended in their use.
In a change of direction in this chapter on, v\v/v will denote Crystal Tokyo era Senshi journals/recording. Normal Emerald journals will be shown as usual( -#- )
This chapter was originally published as chapter 6a - it has now been split into chapter 6 and 7 and had a couple of the journal entries moved around to maintain story flow. Minor changes were also made to the tv scene at the very end of the chapter. Only chapter 8 onwards will be material that has not been published before.
-#-
There's only one thing worse than centuries of enduring hate.
And that's a single moment of shared concern.
Crystal Tokyo had sunk into a somnambic peace. The last conqueror that I knew of had come and gone over one hundred and fifty years ago. My own forays into the city since then had mostly been minor scout missions: I didn't even get into a fight with the Senshi on the last two.
Obviously, it was only a matter of time before the metaphorical dam broke.
The fight between Mars and I was phenomenal. Our mutual frustration finally overcame us, and we pulled out all stops for a victory; after all, we had been clashing on and off for six hundred years and we were sick of it. All of our best insults were long since used up, we'd slept through each other's speeches and justifications a hundred times before, neither of us was in the mood for the usual dance, and so we FOUGHT.
Firestorms, energy clouds, mystical attacks and defences, the air literally crackled with mana. I don't know why, but no other Senshi interfered, nor the Royal Guard. I forgot about going after Serenity, and the need for conserving myself, she forgot about the fact that it was her city we were quite inadvertently destroying. For once we fought to our potential.
And we had a lot of potential.
At last, we faced each other across a too-clean street, after almost an half-hour's worth of dodging, swearing, fighting, and hurting.
Along with a broken wrist and some fractured ribs, Mars had also suffered energy burns on her right side, from torso to thigh. Her suit had burned half away, the harsh blisters an ugly sight against her semi-pale skin.
I had been forced to throw off my supposedly fireproof cloak and my shirt, leaving me in a set of charred trousers. At least a third of me was covered in the worst of burns. My goggles had melted onto my face, and I had to rely on my mystic senses over my hampered eyesight. Perhaps that was fortunate, because it meant that I couldn't look at the charred ruin that was my left arm.
We could heal from these wounds; as horrible as they would sound to a normal person, we are immortal. That means more than a long life span, it also indicates a will to live that goes beyond the normal, and it meant that we had means to repair our damaged bodies. If we disengaged, given time, the next encounter we had would find us as we always were.
If we disengaged. Something was different; the centuries had finally pushed our patience beyond the breaking point. For once, I would not retreat, and for once, it appeared that there would be no backup for Mars.
When we were young and inexperienced, we required gestures and phrases - incantations to gather the mana for our attacks. 'Mars Hot Pants', 'Light of a Thousand Candles', or whatever silly things it was she said as a teen; those sorts of things. But we got better. We got a lot better, and we grew beyond that. Attacks that used to take seconds to release now hurtled from you within a blink of an eye. If you didn't pay attention to your attacker, you would die. Inattention was death, and so we stared at each other, preparing ourselves for whatever came next.
Her next attack, a white hot lance of plasma, was deflected by a beam of my own energy, and we continued to stare, shutting out all else, our lives depending on reading what our opponent was going to do next. We didn't even waste energy on taunts; all there was in our worlds, at that moment, was the other.
One scream broke through it all.
The child shouldn't have been there. Even the cattle in Crystal Tokyo knew better than to remain near one of these sort of fights - hells, from what I'd overseen, it was part of their education system: 'Sailor Safety says seek sanctuary!'
But he WAS there, spying on us, underneath a building that had just been hit by our combined energy. And even the strongest crystal grown by the ginzuisho couldn't stand up to that sort of intertwined magic.
Mars ran forward; it had to be her, I had no shadows to teleport with, and she was always slightly faster than me, slight enough to make a difference. She never hesitated, never seemed worried that I would blast her in the back. I could have killed her in that moment.
I could have...
But for a moment, just that moment, there was reason enough to forget about the hate. I can't explain it, I really can't: somehow, all the knowledge we had of each other, our battle-experiences, the awareness of the other that brought us through our fights, our shared enmity clicked, and we acted as one.
I gave her the extra seconds she needed. For that moment, they weren't a Crystal Tokyo zombie and my most enthusiastic enemy. For that moment, as trite as it sounds now, they were just a boy and the woman who was trying to save him. I cast a shield over the child and Mars, long enough for the Senshi to grab him out of harm's way.
Was it heroic? Certainly, in the same way that, say, bandaging a man you'd just beaten unconscious could be considered humanitarian. To be honest, when I think back on it, it was all oh-so very cliche. And we were, after all, the ones to put the boy's life in danger - although the silly little anklebiter shouldn't have been there.
Still, it was a child's life. And for that one strange instant, all I know is that Mars and I had a bond that was more than just hate. Just for an instant.
When I looked at Mars through my damaged goggles, as she held the child to her, I found that I couldn't read her at all. A woman who, like Jupiter, was always content to wear her anger and most other emotions openly, and I had no idea what she was feeling. And then she spoke, in a tone so calm that for a brief second I wondered if it was Mars at all. "It has to end."
I left without a word.
I would never have expected her to say that. And yet... she was right. It did have to end. It couldn't go on like this, meaningless fight after meaningless fight, with the only casualties being onlookers and the 'hired help' such as the Royal Guard. Survival was not enough, not any more. It had to end.
But it would never end. I couldn't just give up; there was no-one else left to stand up to the Senshi. Most of the conquerors didn't count, the majority of them were as selfish in their grand plans as the Senshi were. If I gave up, then it would be as if I was saying 'Yes, you were right, I was wrong. And Serenity was wrong. She might have done it for what she thought were all the right reasons, but she was wrong.
Who knows? Maybe so am I. But as long as Serenity was wrong, did it matter? Because at times, that is all I can see that seems to be left to me: to be an eternal reminder to Serenity, to always be there to show her, to never, ever let her forget... she had blood on her hands, and dirt on her soul. And that while she had saved her people, she was not a saviour.
If only it would end, but it can't. For I would not surrender, I REFUSED to die until Serenity did, or until the mistake that was Crystal Tokyo was erased.
And therein, I suppose, lies the entire problem. We immortals are too set in our ways, too disparate in opinions for a compromise to ever work. I couldn't trust Serenity as far as I could throw her city, and I know I'm viewed no differently.
If only there was a way to set things right, to erase the mistakes, to write the log anew, a way to stop it all from happening in the first place...
A way to reset the clock, so to speak...
- First entry in a small diary that was found by scavengers near
Crystal Tokyo, in the year 2911 AD. When this entry was written, and by whom remains unknown.
-- What do you mean unknown? It's obvious!
--- Remember, you said you wanted these footnotes to be impartial. After all, it could have been someone else who wrote the
entries down, from conversations with him.
---- All right. Fine, fine Ami, do it your way then.
-#-
Sunlight sifted through crystal spires, casting a faceted glow over Crystal Tokyo.
"I'm telling you it's been too long."
"Mars..."
"Well, it has!"
"You're obsessing again, aren't you?"
"It's not an obsession! And I... hey, wait a minute! Me? Obsessing? What about you, Miss 'I'm going to go do some scientific research, call me in ten years'?"
"That's not obsessing, that's a search for knowledge."
"Mercury...!"
"All right; how long has it been since you've last had a report on his location?"
"Forty-two years."
"You're right, it's been far too long."
"Is that your scientific opinion?"
"If you're going to be like that, I'm going to go back to my project."
Mars looked over at the 'project', which sat in one corner of the spacious lab. 'Thing', that's all you could truly call it, it was such a menagerie of cables, metal and crystals that it was too hard to pin it down with a better name. "What exactly is that supposed to do anyway?"
Mercury looked at the hideously complex amalgam of Crystal Tokyo, Silver Millennium, and other technologies gleaned from some of the would-be conquerors. "Do you have a year free for me to tell you?" she asked.
"It's starting to look like I'll have several, unless another alien invasion happens before the Nemesis clan return."
"You do realise that sometimes it seems like that man can't walk across a room without making enemies of everyone present. Most of the youma fear and hate him more than anyone in this city ever could. Perhaps he just ran into something he couldn't kill, talk or run his way out of. Or perhaps whatever method that crystal of his uses to keep him young finally failed."
"What about that entry we got our hands on recently? The one that made allusions to him trying time travel?"
"If there was any danger of him creating time pollution, wouldn't Pluto have warned us?"
There was a very, very short pause. "I have to speak to Pluto."
"Good idea."
It was a bleak, featureless dimension. Light grey skies stretched so far in every direction that they seemed to distort the landscape - which was only slightly different in colour to the sky, and was just as boring. Large, morose grey clouds hung in the sky, casting dull shadows over the ground.
It was dull. Gods, the place was really, truly dull.
There were no god-like energy beings here, no race of sadistic monsters, no delusional rulers bent on conquest. No plants, no hills or valleys, no life; as far as interesting went, this place wasn't.
He sat there, crosslegged, his small crystal floating before him. His eyes were closed, his hands cupped on his lap. Self-neglect had left the fair beginnings of a beard, and dust covered what skin the clothes and hair did not.
The rage had consumed him; had he not left Mars when he had, she would have been dead by his hand. Of that, her skills withstanding, he had no doubt. He'd come so close; so close to killing everyone, killing anything in his path. He hadn't been so angry, so furious, so trembling with rage since... since...
He couldn't remember since when. Probably not since right after the Ice, at the moment that he had seen Serenity worshiped... if even then. The fury had bubbled in him like... well, like nothing, really. Comparisons were useless - boiling water, sulfur, lava, they were not adequate descriptions. His fury had seethed, yes, just seethed, that was the best way to put it.
Worse, he had killed sentient beings, seven youma, in an attempt to exorcise the anger-lust. He had killed like a petty, mewling child! Like a spoilt brat, breaking things in some attention-seeking tantrum! No remorse, no forgiveness, NO REGRETS, he had killed for NO better reason than to try and break free of the fury!
And it hadn't worked. The anger had only welled after that, seething through him like ice-hot energy. Hate had given him a power rush greater than even his most enervated moments throughout the centuries.
But that was not his way. He was the calm one. Grim. Silent. Soulless. CALM...Cold. These were the words used to describe him in the annals of Crystal Tokyo's libraries. 'Hate rode at his left hand, Anger at his right, while Death sat on his shoulder, riding him all the way to hell'.
...Who had said that of him? It can't have been the Crystal Tokyoites, there was no way they would use such aggressive words. The Senshi? Probably not, it was a bit too flowery for them. Perhaps one of the conquerors, or one of the smarter youma he had faced? Well, someone had probably said it once, somewhere, somewhen; somehow he remembered the quote still.
What mattered was that anger had been his constant companion for centuries; no one could imagine the levels of hate and fury reached for them to so overwhelm him. Except, perhaps ironically, the ones such as those he had killed in his rage - ones such as the youma. They might have understood.
Such levels of hate were literally self-destroying. He had seen fools come and go, so wrapped in petty anger that they could not see the Senshi for the opponents that they were. Their anger blinded them, their hate clouded their judgement, their mistakes killed or 'purified' them in the end. He had spent too long not dying from such stupid mistakes to start now.
Besides, if Serenity was to die at his hands, then it would be at the hands of someone of reason, of thought, not at the hands of some berserker animal that was living off some sort of blood lust. To die like an animal was to be killed by one; his respect for life might not be the greatest, but there were WAYS. And there were ways not to kill.
In the end, there had been little choice. Being around anyone, even youma, would have only prolonged the rage. He had needed to regain his centre of being, his will that had carried him through centuries. So he had enacted a backup plan - to survive centuries of opposition to the Senshi, he always had to have a backup plan - and came here.
A boring little dimension that had nothing going for it except nothing at all. No distractions, nothing to focus the hate on except himself. And best of all, it took superhuman concentration and a stone-calm application of knowledge to get out. Here, for however long it had been, he had sat with no choice but to regain his emotional centre.
His eyes snapped open, the differing shades of green in the orbs shifting as his pupils dilated against the muted light.
He was calm. He was in control. He was ready. And he knew what to do. The time for observing was over. It was time to get out of this dimension, and be a little... proactive.
He paused, halfway through the act of standing, as he searched through his time-misted mind. How did you get out of this dimension?
"Damnation."
He walked between the empty Eternal Sleep crystals, his eyes scanning the dusted remains of the insane he had 'freed'. Occasionally, he would reach down and pull something from a pile. Here, a set of boots. There, some pants. More than a few of the trapped had been humanics, ones who felt the need for clothes for modesty or survival reasons.
It was funny, but he'd always found it easier to loot a dustpile than a corpse. He wondered how much of a hypocrite that made him; after all, whether it took minutes or months for a body to decay, it was still all sentient life. Theft from a dead youma should be no different than theft from a dead human. It was just one of the psychological quirks involved with grave robbing, he guessed.
Idly, he dusted his hands against his grimy shirt. He had to absolutely ascertain that Moon was Serenity, and if she was not, then he would still need the pseudo-trust he received from the Senshi to find the real girl. Waiting for another 'appearance' from Serenity would be unwise; he couldn't afford to let her gain mastery of the ginzuisho. So he needed a disguise for the inevitable confrontation.
Glamours and disguise magic were out; he had a fairly diverse range of skills, but such spells simply fell outside his abilities. No-one, not even Serenity, could do everything after all.
So it was all in the clothes; in the nine hundred and fifty years he'd known the Senshi, he remembered each cycling through maybe three or four different costumes - each only a slight variation on the same theme. While that probably made deciding what to wear in the morning an easy chore, it also hinted at the mindset of his enemies, a mindset that was probably already developing within them. Quite likely, all he needed was a radical enough change in clothing and general appearance, and they'd never recognise him.
He turned his nascent plan around in his mind, his eyes narrowing as he considered the rags he had gathered. There was still something missing.
The man held his right hand before his gaze. His eyes glinted, and the air around his fingers shimmered with viridian light. Slowly the light built up, mote by mote, the glow seeming to gain physical mass. Finally the energy dimmed to nothing, leaving everything on his hand but the finger joints encased in green crystalline armour. He smiled as he flexed his fingers; he'd almost thought that he had forgotten that old trick.
His smile faded, his will allowing the crystal gauntlet to disintegrate. Now, if he could only do something about his eyes.
A handful of youma hid behind a sleep crystal, looking at their saviour as he tried on a set of trousers. It was hard to know what to do; he'd freed them from the Eternal Sleep. He'd given release - of one sort or another - to them.
In all, nine had survived with sanity intact; or intact enough to pretend, anyway. Nine out of just under five hundred.
You had to admire Queen Beryl. She really went to that extra little bit of effort for her people.
It was a mixed blessing. Free they might be, but they were outcasts in their own society. Each and every youma owed its power to Metallia - literally. Since having youma draining each other in a cannibalistic search for energy would have meant a decimated invasion army, Metallia had ensured that when she created her subjects, they could not drain each other. Or, to be more exact, while they could drain their fellows, they could not feed on that energy.
What energy they did not take from the humans, and from the natural mana of life, came from her presence in their world. She was truly their god; if she perished, those who relied on her would die.
To be outcast meant to be powerless, lower than low. No power, and no hope in this dimension of gathering any. And if any of their fellow youma saw them, then they'd probably experience the joy of being guinea-pigs in Beryl's experiments to find a punishment worse than the Eternal Sleep.
The Sleep had left them drained of energy, weak of body, and with emotional scars which would, quite literally, leave the average youma screaming. In their state, they couldn't fight off a child - a human one at that. Food, not anywhere near as important for youma as for humans, was actually becoming a pressing concern as well, a real indication of how desperate their situation was becoming.
The two forays they had made to get supplies had failed, and almost got them caught. In the end, they'd had no real choice but to remain here, at the very site of their torture, simply because it was the one place in the Dark Kingdom that youma avoided.
The green-eyed man may have saved them, only to leave them to a slow death, starving of food and energy in the place they hated more than any other. Really, what sort of saviour was that?
"Those girls had it easy," he muttered as he struggled to pull a boot on. "A quick twirl of a magic stick, an activation phrase the braindead could remember, and voila, instant clothing and aura change. What do I have? Too tight boots, far too grimy pants, and a jacket a dead man was wearing not that long ago."
Finally, after five minutes of hopping around, he managed to get the boot on. He glanced over at the second boot, which was still sitting in a dustpile, and softly cursed.
A soft, agonised growl sounded from behind one of the more distant crystals. Emerald's head turned, his eyes narrowed. There were faint, very faint auras over there. Surely some of this dimension's native beasts, its equivalents to birds or whatever?
It was best to be sure. He walked over to the area, tensed for attack, his eyes scanning the area the growl came from as he kept his other senses alert for dangers from other areas. Finally, he saw what had made the growl, and he cursed again, but this time he cursed himself.
He looked at the emaciated youma as they looked at him. Oh hells; he'd forgotten about them. Finding out that you've been tricked for the past six hundred and fifty years tended to make your mind gloss over everything else.
He had known these creatures had been weakened when he freed them; if they hadn't been, then he would have probably glutted on the incredible energy high of draining hundreds of youma, instead of just killing them outright. It was his fault they were dying here like this; he had meant to come back to make sure they survived. After all, he had only left to get away from the grim feelings of death for a little while. Going to Sailor Mars was supposed to have been a feel-good diversion of innuendo and insults, but then life had turned, and he'd had to deal with the consequences.
"If you did not free us as a form of torture," a youngish, female youma with ursine features and yellowish fur growled, "then at least kill us like you did the rest. If we cannot be strong, then why live?"
He looked at them, resisting the urge to sigh. Most of the monster races valued strength and power above everything else. To be drained as much as these creatures were, to be as weak and helpless as a newborn was to them probably a horrible torture in itself, and that was quite probably a deliberate part of the Eternal Sleep punishment. His crystal had been vague in its reasons for hating Beryl, but if that woman was capable of creating a punishment like this... well, it was starting to look like he wouldn't need to oppose Beryl just to satisfy his crystalline friend.
He rubbed his stubbled chin as he thought. He didn't go to the effort of saving these creatures just to have them die a slow, horrible death. A quick and relatively painless death would be better, but... he looked over at the empty crystals that lay in the sand like empty tombs.
But there had been enough... too much death here, even if it had been as a final release to the mad. To kill the ones still sane would be a victory for Beryl. The gods knew that his crystal would never let him hear the end of it if he allowed that woman to get anything easy.
He looked down at his right hand, and this time didn't resist the urge to sigh. Lately, it always seemed like one step forwards, two steps back with his power reserves.
He offered the hand to the youma. "I assure you, you will never get this offer from me again, so I certainly suggest you take me up on it... Alive, you are a spit in the eye of the creator of such a torture as the Sleep. Partake of my energy, and live."
The enervated youma looked at the man as he hopped around, putting on the second boot. There was hunger in their eyes; he'd given them all energy, and was still standing without any outward sign of the drain. If he could do that, then what if they drained him of all his energy? How powerful could they become?
Some of them glanced over at the sleep crystals, the others getting the point from these looks. Fear did what common sense or honour should have, and told them that someone who could so easily break through such a powerful enchantment as the Sleep was to be handled very, very carefully.
"You freed us," one of the survivors, a purple insectoid-like youma of indeterminate sex, hissed after some hesitation. It struggled a bit with a concept, before it spoke again. "You saved us. We owe you. What would you have us do?"
The others looked at the creature, slightly shocked that it was admitting to the weakness of owing anybody anything. There was only one thing a Dark Kingdom youma was taught to owe, and that was payback.
Emerald looked up, having finally wrenched the matching boot on. He blinked, and looked at them. These youma were hardly cannon fodder; they were the ones who had survived the worst punishment their culture had to offer, after all. With a bit of rest, some food and some more energy, they would make for a formidable strike force.
It was actually tempting. It was very tempting.
No. No, if he had them fight, then they'd be doing it out of a sense of obligation. The thought of having someone risk their life just because they felt they owed you something left a bad taste in his mouth. It was one thing to kill them, maim them, drain them of their energy. But to have them fight his battles? Where was the justness in that?
"Do? Whatever you want to, you're quite free to decide."
Besides, he knew youma and other such creatures. He'd been friends with some; hells, he'd even loved one or two. But trust them? Sure, he'd trust them; trust them to betray him with the first chance they got. While a few youma had high honour codes, or other such ideals, a great deal of them were crafty, vicious, sly backstabbers who were only out for themselves. Maybe that's why he could get on with them when he wanted to; in the future, they were more human than most of the humans.
Not to mention the fact that he wasn't really much of a team player.
Anyway, this was not the future. The Senshi had no idea just how far they still had to go in their climb to power. Even at his low energy ebb, he'd be able to give them the shock of their lives. There was no ice or flamestorms here, no experienced hand to guide the ginzuisho. And he had one of the most effective powers of all: experience. Centuries of experience.
He didn't need an army, nor did he want one. Not in this timeline, anyway.
He swept his hair back, and looked at the youma as he considered exactly what to do next. "Wait, there is one thing you can help me with, if you are willing. I need a guide."
Prince Endymion paced around his spacious room, one arm set on the hilt of his sword to stop it from swinging. He'd never admit it out loud; not even to Queen Beryl, and certainly not to that fool, Kunzite, but he felt disquieted.
He had returned, defeated, from yet another foray to Earth. The only problem was that no matter how he dressed it up for his queen, it shouldn't have been a defeat. The ginzuisho could have been his, if he had just let Kunzite's youma do its job and kill Sailor Moon. He was probably lucky that Queen Beryl found his honourable streak 'stimulating', he doubted that she would be so kind to Kunzite if their positions were reversed.
What was it about Sailor Moon? Why did she persist in her fantasies? Could she really believe that he, a warrior of the Dark Kingdom, would succumb to love!?
And what were those twinges, those uncertain flashes of something he felt when he was near her? There was something more about her, more than her being his enemy. If only he could think of what...
Without preamble, or warning, the door swung open. Endymion turned, to see a young man there, dressed in black trousers and a grimy white shirt - fairly unusual attire for the Kingdom. The man blinked his multi-hued green eyes, the only outward sign Endymion could see of a youma heritage, before he smiled somewhat mirthlessly.
"You're a hard man to find," the badly clad man noted. "Oh, I always did like that armour. So less pretentious, so much more practical than that foppish gear you usually prance around in."
"Who are you? What are you doing here, these are the Queen's personal quarters!"
"Why Endy-chan, dear brother-in-arms, I thought it obvious. I've come to rescue you."
"Rescue me?"
Ah. It was going to be one of those ones. Emerald resisted the urge to let his smile slip into a snarl. There was an energy taint to Endymion's aura that gave him a sneaking suspicion on what was wrong here.
Brainwashing. Gods, why does everyone have to use brainwashing?
It presented somewhat of a moral dilemma. He hated, he loathed any sort of mind-control. Once, just once he had even willingly allied with the Senshi against a conqueror who had enslaved the minds and wills of his soldiers. The alliance had lasted less than an hour and ended, quite predictably, in disaster, but still, the thought had been there.
On the other hand, he didn't like Prince Charmless here either. Surely, just once, the man could have held onto his own will? He was beginning to wonder if Endymion wanted to be brainwashed by 'dark and evil forces. Trying out the other side of the sheets, so to speak, without any of those niggling moral worries you got with free choice.
He bit back an almost reflexive insult, and concentrated on a mantra. Diplomacy. Diplomacy. Diplomacy. "Yes, rescue you. You know, take you back to the loving embrace of the Senshi?" Gods know they're welcome to you.
"You're with the Senshi? And you're here, in the heart of our kingdom." Endymion's eyes narrowed as he drew his sword. "You were that spy that the youma have been after!"
"Spy? Well, I suppose it's better than being labelled an assassin," the man noted, before he muttered, "yet again." He grimaced in an almost-smile. "I don't know, I think I'd like to be called a saboteur, just once, for originality's sake. Or perhaps a vandal, I can't remember ever being called a vandal."
"You're very flippant, but I'm not finding you all that funny. If you think you can challenge the Dark Kingdom with impunity, then I will be very glad to show you how wrong you are."
"Oh, I see, so that's how it is." The man turned slightly to eye the large bed that dominated the room, before returning his gaze to the prince. The gaze was starting to lose the thin veneer of friendliness he had maintained since walking into the room.
"That's a rather large bed for one. Sleeping your way to the top yet again, hmm? I must say, this is very amusing. I'm trying to help you, and you're still set against me. You're going to have the cleanest brain in the universe, Endymion, from all these washings. Now, you are coming back to Earth. I believe I must insist."
"I'm going nowhere with you, except straight to Queen Beryl. She will definitely want to speak to you."
"You mean speak at me. Typical ruler, it's all her, her, her."
Endymion felt the slightest cracks in his calm pose. "I have better things to do than to put up with this in my own room." The sword tip quivered slightly as Endymion pointed it at the man. "You ARE coming with me, or I will kill you and spare my Queen the effort."
The man looked down at the sword. "You know, I almost like you this way. So less... condescendingly righteous. But the thing we should remember here is that I don't like you. Scum, just like cream, rises to the top. You're a toadying worm with an inflated sense of your own self-worth, sleeping your way to power no matter which side you find yourself on. Let's face it, Endy, the Senshi may deserve a modicum of respect, but you just--"
The sword flicked forward in angry response with a light, probing blow.
Hmm...
Well now, this was VERY interesting. Who knew that a simple aimless stroll could bring such interesting spectacles?
Kunzite remained in the shadows, looking through the open doorway at the two fighting men. Endymion might have the armour, a sword and the talent to use it, but the other one still seemed to be the more dangerous of the pair.
He blinked as the man sidestepped a sword blow, and put his fist through the wall right next to Endymion's head. When the man deflected Endymion's riposte with the other arm, which was momentarily wrapped in some sort of energy shield, Kunzite narrowed his eyes. Oh yes, this new man definitely seemed the more dangerous of the two.
He considered his options. If Endymion won with his help, it wouldn't matter. His position was getting too tenuous; helping Endymion would be seen as a sign of weakness, a sign of an inferior helping a superior. If the prince won whatever this fight was about without his help, then it would just be another point the upstart would use against him; just one of many the annoying Earther had used.
But if the other man won - and it looked like he might very well do that - well, wouldn't that be just a huge pity? Losing Endymion would be so heartbreaking. He wasn't sure how he could live with the prospect.
He smiled, turned, and left to make sure he was seen by several underlings somewhere else. After all, he had to spend some time recovering from the devastating prospect of Endymion dying.
His smile widened into an almost-grin as he quickly walked away.
Endymion wiped the sweat from his brow, careful not to impede his vision. His dark-born arrogance was taking a beating: for a man who claimed to be here to 'rescue' him, the green-eyed man certainly didn't mind using crippling attacks.
And the worst of it was, he wasn't completely sure the man wasn't holding back. What had started out as an attempt to knock the spy out had quickly degenerated into a fight for survival... his survival.
He fingered a black rose, his eyes narrowing slightly. He couldn't lose. For his queen, for himself, and mostly for the snide comments Kunzite would give him if he did, he could not lose.
Emerald swayed, letting the thrust of Endymion's sword pass through where he had been, before he dropped into a leg sweep, which the prince managed to avoid by leaping back.
This was no fun. He'd never really liked Endymion. The man had always seemed like an opportunist to him; clinging to those with more power like... like... like those things that clung to sharks. Mercury had so much of his respect that it sent chills through him. Mars, Venus, Jupiter, even Serenity, in a way, he could admire. But Endymion...? No, no he didn't respect Endymion.
Unfortunately, he'd never really had a good shot at him; Mr Swank was usually hanging off Serenity's arm, and whenever he got that close to Serenity, he had a far more important target in view than the queen's consort. Having the chance to pummel Endymion was a rare and pleasant opportunity indeed. But this was no fun, there was no joy in this; sword-boy simply didn't have the power to make this fight interesting.
That hurt, in more ways than one. He didn't like getting reminders of how the Senshi probably viewed him, for starters. And for seconds, he wanted to enjoy beating Endymion around a little - but truly, what joy was there in beating a half-wit with a brainwash-clouded mind?
He twisted, catching Endymion's swordarm, before he used his other arm to drive down on the prince's left shoulder armour, buckling it and sending the man to his knees. With a small smile, the green-eyed man spun out of range, ready for the next attack.
Endymion was undeniably skilled with his weapon, true. But against someone with his fighting experience, the prince would have to do something more than wave around a fancy kitchen knife to win. Well, that wasn't completely fair. Endymion had tried some sort of trick with one of his black roses, something involving charging energy through it. That had been fairly impressive - and it had drained a disturbing amount from his energy. Still and all, this fight was definitely his to take.
Yes, he didn't like Endymion. He didn't like his posturing, his annoying speeches, even his pretentious clothes. He didn't like what he had seen of the man over the years, didn't like his leeching, and to tell the truth, he didn't even like the way he had led Mars on, while doing his macho protector thing with Moon. Even if Moon DID turn out to be Serenity, that was only one less mark against him; so what if he didn't, in fact, betray Sailor Moon with Serenity? It wouldn't change the fact that Emerald didn't at all like him. In fact, he...
The sword slid into him, impaling just below the heart.
After the din of such cramped fighting, the sudden hush that enveloped the room seemed deafening. For an almost eternal second, the silence stretched. Both of the fighters looked down at the blade, before they looked up into each other's eyes.
Endymion let go of the sword, his gaze locking down onto the buried blade. Emotions warred with Metallia's taint, horror at killing his opponent warring against the dark pride of victory. A sudden urge to vomit clashed against a rising tide of sated blood lust. His soul cried out, threatening to tear apart from the internal war.
The blonde girl hunkered down, avoiding her teacher's gaze as the sensei asked another question. Finally, the academic danger past, the girl returned to her drawing - a man with a top hat, who was staring at a girl with twin ponytails. She started, realising that the picture had smudged somehow, leaving the man half-formed and blurry.
The girl blinked, puzzled, and touched her fingertip to her eyes, bringing it away to stare at the single teardrop that lay there, glistening.
After a moment, his arm trembling, Emerald slowly reached down with his left hand, and pulled the blade out, his palm bleeding as the edges sliced at it. The sword made a slight shlupping sound as it exited.
They both gazed at the blood smeared blade, dripping red liquid filled with green motes of energy, before it slipped out of his nerveless hand and clattered to the ground.
The green-moted blood didn't spurt, Endymion noted with detached curiosity. Oh, it flowed alright, but wasn't spurting how it was supposed to go when you pulled a sword out?
He looked back up into his enemy's eyes.
Fury smoked in the returning gaze, in an intensity that pierced through even the prince's dark-given arrogance. The anger broke against him like a tsunami. Compared to the hate in those eyes, he realised, Kunzite was a close and warm friend.
"I... will not... I refuse to die... at your hands, you wormy little leech." Emerald clenched his fists, squinting his eyes as he fought against the pain. "You, 'friend', are a lot better," he gritted his teeth for a moment, before continuing, "than you should be this... this young in life."
He concentrated, closing the skin over his wound. It was all show; there was still a nigh-fatal hole inside him, and the wound would probably reopen in a few minutes, but for now it was the best way to shock Endymion into thinking that he was unbeatable.
He wiped the blood away, to show the unblemished skin underneath, before he looked up at his opponent, steeling his will so that he could act unaffected. "Mindwiping really does agree with you, it appears you're tapping talents you shouldn't have developed yet. Now, I admit I could have introduced myself better, but was stabbing me truly very nice?"
Endymion closed his mouth as he glanced at his blade to confirm that it really was covered in the man's blood. He looked into the man's odd eyes, and shook his head. "You're more than you appear. That should have been a mortal wound!"
"I don't recall claiming to be mortal." A booted toe kicked out, and the sword skittered underneath the bed. Emerald smiled grimly. "I do appreciate your lesson in the dangers of growing cocky, Endymion."
The slightest sheen of sweat formed on his brow as he dropped back into a fighting stance; it was taking a real effort to pretend that his wound was gone, and he couldn't afford to have the fight drag on again. It was time to treat Endymion like fighting the future's Mars or Jupiter or Venus. And if that meant that Serenity got back a corpse for a boyfriend, well, that would be just too bad. "Allow me to show you just how much I appreciate it..."
Queen Beryl leaned back in her throne, idly tossing thoughts of torturing Princess Serenity around in her head. Did that child think that she had any hopes with Prince Endymion, when he had a real woman who could offer him real power? What was a childish puppy love compared to the dark desire of passion between two near-equals?
The voice of Queen Metallia slashed through her, jolting the queen out of her reverie.
SOMETHING IS WRONG. SOMETHING IS GOING WRONG WITH ENDYMION.
A moment later, the throne was empty.
Emerald leaped out of the shadows, skidding to a halt amongst the sleep crystals. He was breathing hard, the unconscious Endymion over his shoulder. There had been a spy on his fight with the prince, so it surely wouldn't be long before Beryl interceded. It was time to show the wiser part of valour.
One of the freed youma looked up from a sack he had his muzzle in, a puzzled look on his face. "Bring him," he pointed at Endymion, "for us?"
"No." He looked at the sack. "What's that?"
"Food," the youma replied with a grunt. "Easy to get when you not weak." Most of the survivors of the sleep had endured through the active use of their intellect. However, there was always one...
Emerald snatched the sack, ignoring the youma's annoyed look. "Fine, fine." He then crouched, picking up a bundle of clothes he had left ready. The green haired man stepped back to the shadows cast by some of the crystals, and turned to face the motley group of youma. "Come on, we have to get out of here. Link your teleport magic with mine."
"Why should we?" another of the youma waved dismissively. "With our power back, we don't have to--"
The fur, hair, and in some cases cartilage on the backs of their necks prickled. Seething over the plain came a voice that terrified the youma - youma that had survived the worst in terror punishment their culture had.
WHAT IS THIS? WHO SULLIES MY DOMAIN? WHO DEFIES ME?
Emerald winced. The youma's energy goddess, he presumed. So far he'd been
lucky; his aura hiding abilities had probably shielded him from her gaze.
Endymion, unfortunately, was not possessed of such talents.
It didn't take more than a moment to consider his options. He was not anywhere near enervated or stupid enough to take on something like that. The green eyed man looked at the youma, and shrugged. "Goodbye."
The youma didn't hesitate. They leapt at him, desperately linking their powers to his, teleporting out as he did. Even the insane courage of the Dark Kingdom had limits, after all.
v\v/v
CTIS broadcast, 13 January 2409, 18:03:
Reporting for the Crystal Tokyo Information Service, this is Aino Minako. I'm here at the Crystal Tokyo Auditorium where tonight horror stalked one of our greatest stars.
- Greatest star? It was someone in a damn rabbit suit!
-- Shh! Jupiter! We're in the shot, they might hear us!
- Don't worry, Mars, you need those microphones or something to pick up conversations for the camera. See, Minako's using one.
-- I can't believe we agreed to stand here for her like glorified cardboard cutouts.
Ah... yes. Yes as most of the good people of our fair city are already aware, tonight the vile villain most know as the Outsider infiltrated these fine walls and ripped the hopes and joys out of the hearts of a million people, forever blackening the name... of Mr Fluffy the Friendly Bunny.
- She's lost it. Mina-chan's getting more eccentric than Ami.
-- It's the entertainment industry, I think she's been in it a little too long. And the rabbit show was her brainchild - you know how she was about it.
KNOWN as the lovable star of Mr Fluffy's Friendship Frolics, Mr Fluffy was kidnapped just before he was due to play the special Thousandth episode of his show. In his place, the dastardly Outsider pretended to be Mr Fluffy, shocking viewers with his evil vitriol.
-- I think we have to talk to Minako after this. Her word choices are leaving a little something to be desired.
- Have you figured out why he did it yet?
-- Either to strike a blow against a show he thought was brainwashing children into conformity, or to annoy us. Probably both.
Luckily, the two... fine Senshi behind me, the Ladys Jupiter and Mars, along with Lady Venus, capably stopped the man without injury to the hostage audience, once and for all.
- It's a real pity about those two that were helping him. They were just kids!
-- So were we, once. They chose their path. Still, I saw his eyes before he escaped. He won't bring the defenceless to a fight ever again.
- Again? You saw the damage Venus did to him. It's just like half our other foes. He left to die somewhere, alone.
-- No. I saw his eyes. He won't die. He's different to the rest; his fight is personal, and he won't fold.
Regretfully, Sailor Venus announced earlier that there were no plans to continue with the Mr Fluffy series. His name, along with his lovable companions, has been forever darkened by the evil of one man's selfishness. Mr Fluffy... is cancelled.
- At least something good has come of this. Oh God, Fluffy's companions. They were obviously modelled on us.
-- At least you got 'Poko the Protective Palomino'. What did I get? 'Rachel the Rascally Raven'!
- I'm just thankful Saturn isn't still alive to see 'Hako the Health-Conscious Hamster'.
-- I would have handed her the glaive myself if she was.
And so, we here at Crystal Tokyo would like to give Mr Fluffy a heartfelt goodbye, and remember him for what he truly was...
- A man in a bunny suit?
-- Shh! She'll hear us!
Ahem. Remember him for what he truly was, and not what one man turned him into. Mr Fluffy, we salute you, friendly bunny. And so, as the last of the unfortunate live audience are escorted from the Auditorium, we only have time for a few more words...
-- ...Okay, Jupiter, I admit it. This time, he won.
- Yeah. But they all get to win one. Most of them don't last long enough to win two, though. Hey, why is the cameraman looking at us like that?
Join me next time, when I'll give a detailed report on new magic being used in the holographic recording arena, which allows one to do away with microphones except as a prop.
- Oh.
-- Ah... Don't fret citizens, this was merely a trap laid to snare the Outsider.
- No-one would believe th--
This is Aino Minako saying goodnight, and happy dreams.
v\v/v