Author's Note: From this point on, it's just going to keep on going downhill. New players are constantly being added to the game but just who exactly is going to wind up on top? While you're contemplating that, here's another battle for you. While I'm at it, I'd like to give a big thank you out to shinigamiinochi who has so generously donated a number of her OCs into this story. Been holding onto them since Project, about the same time she lent me Yun, actually. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing or shinigamiinochi's Michael, Metatron, Seraphiel, Astaroth, and Abaddon.

Warning: language, violence

Beauty is only Skin Deep

Sylvia found herself staring out through one of the main windows in the mansion, the one she was looking through in particular showing a view of the luscious gardens that were the pride of the Noventa family. From this perch, she could see her grandfather casually strolling through the colorful grounds accompanied by that braided boy who was acting just like a little kid even though he looked nothing like one.

While on that topic, his personality also confused the young Noventa heiress. At times he would be just like a kid but other times he would show a more cynical and mature side that usually let loose some sort of insult, one typically aimed at Kisari who had come up to her side just now. The other blonde was taking in the view the window provided and Sylvia took a moment to pause and wonder what her dear friend was thinking about.

Whenever Kisari was insulted, usually by a boy, she would hold a grudge against them and plan some sort of payback scheme of some sort. Such schemes were never put into motion since usually the male insulter would find himself deep in hard times and when he came to her for charity, she would throw their insults right back into their face.

But, as Sylvia contemplated her best friend's typical behavior, she noticed something, a particular sparkle in her eye that usually showed up whenever she was plotting something. It seemed like she was just watching that kid, Duo, wonder about the gardens and ask her grandfather all sorts of questions which he would answer without hesitation.

Curiosity threatening to overwhelm her, she asked, "So what are you planning this time? Castration? Facial mutilation? The usual stuff?"

Kisari blinked, taken out of some stupor that had descended on her and was broken by Sylvia's voice. "No," she finally answered, sounding contemplative. When she made no move to continue, Sylvia decided to prompt her.

"Then what are you thinking about?" she asked.

"He has a sexy body," Kisari replied, speaking as if such a thing was normal for her to say. Sylvia, through personal experience, knew that this wasn't something that Kisari said. The word "sexy" and Kisari didn't go with one another, they just didn't.

"Wh-what?" she said, flabbergasted.

Kisari blinked again then widened her eyes, figuring out just what was freaking her friend out. "Did I say that out loud?" she asked. When Sylvia nodded the affirmative, Kisari swore with a "Shit!"

Her voice cracking, Sylvia asked, "Why did you say that?"

"No reason," Kisari said quickly, a bit too quickly.

Sylvia just leveled a look at her friend, keeping that up until the other girl finally cracked.

"I walked in on him when he was in the bathroom," Kisari muttered. Sylvia just raised an eyebrow, as if asking if that was all. "He was coming out of the shower," she admitted. "He looked surprised to see me too and I could have sworn for a second that his eyes were red…"

"And why were you in that bathroom when you always use mine?" Sylvia asked in a deadpan voice.

When Kisari only blushed and looked away, Sylvia knew. So she was going to try and put one of her usual schemes into action. That had to be one good looking body if it was enough to make Kisari freeze in her tracks. She looked back out of the window and watched the braided boy who dashed to and fro energetically, studying him to see if any of that "sexy body" was evident.

She couldn't tell but that may have been due to the clothes that hung loosely on his body and the fact that he was quite a distance away from the window in which she was looking through. She would admit that he was good-looking in the looks department but other than that, she wasn't about to make any sort of assumptions until she had more to work with.

She was deep enough in her thoughts when she felt two strong arms suddenly wrap around her and under her arms, a strong and firm torso pressing up against her back and hot breath coating her left ear as a voice said, "Surprise…"

"Quatre!" she nearly shrieked as she squirmed her way out of the laughing blond's arms. She glared at the Winner lad until a sudden thought occurred to her. "Hey, what are you doing here?"

"Is it wrong for me to want to come a visit my closest friend?" Quatre asked in an innocent tone even though Sylvia knew for a fact that the boy was anything but.

"It would have been nice if you had called first to say you were going to stop by," she huffed, crossing her arms.

Quatre chuckled. "Stop being such a spoilsport," he teased.

She stamped her foot childishly and exclaimed, "I am not a spoilsport!"

"Don't I know that," Quatre growled as he embraced her again, his hold more sensual than it was friendly.

"Not so fast buster," Sylvia said, pushing him back. "You already had your chance and the train's already left the station."

"Not even for old times' sake?" Quatre mock pouted then turned his attention towards Kisari who had yet to remove her attention from the window and what laid beyond it. "Maybe I can rely on you, dear Kisari. Kisari? Are you listening?"

Kisari was off in her own little fantasy world and Sylvia had a good idea as to what little fantasy might be going through her head…either that or she was too zoned out or something. When failing to get the blonde's attention, a frowning Quatre stepped up to her side and looked to where she was looking, laying eyes on the eldest Noventa and the braided boy that was prancing around him.

"Who's the girl?" Quatre asked, confused, narrowing his eyes to try and get a better look. "She looks very manish; I almost thought for a second she was a guy."

"He is a guy," Sylvia replied, smirking at the look of horror that had crossed the Winner heir's face for a brief second before vanishing in the next.

"I never would've guessed…" the blond said thoughtfully. "I guess they do come in all sizes."

"Don't tell me the playboy bachelor Quatre Winner is considering hitting for the other team," Sylvia teased, delighting in the turnabout.

"One hundred percent hetero," Quatre replied cheerfully. "Doesn't mean I can't look, does it?"

"I think you're in denial," she said.

"Maybe," Quatre laughed, turning back towards her. "But maybe I'm too hung up on you to do anything about it."

This time it was Sylvia's turn to blush. Oh she remembered what it was that he was referring to. Hot lips, molten touches, sensations so powerful that she had trouble breathing, and then the piece de resistance when they were brought together—

No! That was in the past and it was just a fling, a one time thing. Now, Quatre knew his way around a female's anatomy, there was no doubt about that, but it was only physical and she, like every other woman in the country, wanted more than just that. Though it was with regret, she chose to break it off as soon as she could before anything, like wrong ideas, could crop up and make things unbearable. Whether or not Quatre's feelings went deeper, she preferred not to find out, not in this life or the next.

"I'd take that more seriously if I didn't know how hung up you are on yourself," she retorted.

Placing both hands over his head, he mock swooned, "Oh cruel lover of mine! How your words pierce through my flesh and bone and into my heart!"

"Yep, still full of yourself," Sylvia nodded to herself.

"I really hurt you didn't I?" Quatre suddenly asked, all show of playfulness gone from his demeanor. This change in attitude was enough to capture Kisari's attention, said girl managing to pry her eyes away from the window long enough to watch the unfolding drama with interest.

"It's in the past," she sighed, just wanting not to talk about it anymore.

"You don't know how sorry—" Quatre began, a glimpse of his kind nature, his true nature that was usually covered up in playboy bravado, peeking out.

"And as I just said," she interrupted, "it's in the past. Why don't you go say hi to Grandfather? You know how much he loves you."

"Very well then," Quatre said. "I'll see you later then."

"Not if I see you first," she replied, getting a chuckle from the blond.

---

Not even at the church had Duo ever seen so much beauty in one place, and Nathan was being so nice to him! He didn't know how to take this all, not even his darker self knew, so he did all he could to distract himself from it. He asked constant questions and listened to all patient answer Nathan gave him, the old man who felt like Father Maxwell but looked nothing like him always giving him a smile.

He was beginning to fall in love with this place, he didn't know why, and it worried him to no end. He had liked it back at the church too but this place, wherever it was, was just so…so…

"Good day Admiral! Fine weather we're having, yes?"

The bright and perky voice immediately caught his attention and he looked up to see an unfamiliar blond boy walking towards him and Nathan with this happy look on his face. What did he have to be happy about? And who was Admiral? He knew no one by that name.

"Ah, Quatre! What a pleasant surprise," Nathan greeted, walking towards the short haired blond and shaking his outstretched hand heartily. "What brings you to these parts, boy?"

"Just happened to be in the neighborhood and thought I'd stop by," the now-named Quatre answered cheerfully.

As was his nature, Duo was wary, wondering who this boy was and why he had dared to intrude into his small world. However, all potentially hostile thoughts he had vanished as the blond haired, blue eyed Quatre looked over at him. By God…if he hadn't have seen Sister Helen, the very paragon of beauty in his opinion, he would have thought this boy was an angel. He was ethereal looking and had this aura of confidence around him, like he could do anything he wanted and succeed at it. He swallowed involuntarily and shifted uncomfortably under that gaze.

"So who's this little guy and why haven't I seen him around before? Have you been hiding things from me again Admiral?" Quatre asked, looking sternly at Nathan, something that just didn't sit right with the braided boy.

"No, he just arrived here a couple of days ago," Nathan answered, smiling down at Duo and making him blush slightly in embarrassment from all the attention he was receiving. "We were just taking a tour of the gardens, isn't that right Duo?"

"Uh huh," he nodded, shifting his weight from one foot to the other uncomfortable, his inner alarms shrieking inside his head as Quatre approached him and showed him just how much taller he was and how much older he looked now that distance was becoming less of a factor.

Why, he had to be older than Trowa! He was sure of it.

"Duo, that's an unusual name," Quatre commented as he bent down to get a closer look at him.

"At least it's not weird like Cattra!" he retorted, his response automatic.

Instead of being affronted by it, Quatre laughed out loud in amusement. "Quite right," he agreed, "and it's pronounced Quat-tre, not Cattra. You got close but no cigar."

"Cigar?" he asked, frowning in confusion.

Quatre seemed to ignore this as he placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You're cute, you know that?" he asked, continuing without letting Duo get a word in edgewise. "How old are you? Ten? Eleven?"

Puffing his chest out in pride, he answered, "I'm fifteen!"

Quatre actually blinked in surprised, obviously not expecting that. But by now, Duo was used to such reactions. Why were people always surprised by how old he was? He could feel amusement radiating from his darker side but he ignored it as best as he could.

For a moment, though, he could have sworn he saw a frown on that handsome face of Quatre's but, as quickly as it came, it was gone by the time he blinked to make sure it wasn't an illusion. After that redhead at the circus, you couldn't be sure about what was real and what was not.

"Fifteen, you say," Quatre said. "You don't act like a fifteen year old."

"Solo's seventeen an' he don't act like it either," Duo defended.

"Solo?" Quatre repeated, looking up at Nathan who just shrugged his shoulders as if to say "your guess is as good as mine." Choosing to ignore it, the blond said, "Sorry then. Shouldn't judge a book by its cover, huh?"

"Huh?" Duo blinked and stared at the blond, confused. What did a book have to do with this anyway?

"It's a figure of speech," Quatre said, as if that clarified everything, which it didn't. Removing his hand and standing straight up, he turned towards Nathan. "You know where this little guy came from?"

While bristling at the unintended insult, he ignored whatever it was that Nathan said next, preferring to glare daggers at Quatre instead for the slight at his height. He was still growing, damn it! He was going to be taller than this asshole someday and when he was, he'd show him who the little guy was! Oh yes he would!

"Seems like I offended Duo here," Quatre chuckled, scratching the back of his head boyishly. "Is there someplace we can talk privately, Admiral? There's something I want to speak with you about."

"As long as it doesn't involve politics or business," Nathan jested. "I'll be back in a little bit, Duo," he told the braided boy. "Just stick around here for a little bit unless you want to go back inside."

"'Kay," he said as he slowly distanced himself from Quatre warily. He was going to keep an eye on this guy. For some reason, there was something about him…

---

"Wonder what Quatre has to say to your grandfather?" Kisari mused aloud, watching as Noventa and Quatre headed away from a wandering Duo who didn't seem to have had enough of exploring the garden yet.

"Who cares?" Sylvia shrugged, her eyes focused on Duo.

Noticing this, Kisari smirked.

---

Solo was not a happy camper, no sirree.

After freezing his ass off during the night (and surviving), it would be his luck to find a few boys watching over the three of them, all of them dressed in familiar black uniforms.

"Ya know, it's rude ta watch someone sleep," he said as soon as he was fully awake. "There somethin' you guys ain't tellin' me?"

By his voice alone, he woke up Trowa and Ms. Eyebrows, but because he had a headstart at opening his mouth that morning, the damage had already been done.

It was the one in the center of the new group of five that spoke first. Solo didn't know what it was about this guy, whether it was the fact that he was almost if not as tall as him, long straight red hair that could almost rival his own hair length, or maybe it was the icy blue eyes that seemed to glare at him with self-assurance. Whatever it was, Solo liked him even less as he said, "It's even more rude when you don't come back home like the dog you are, Solo."

Okay, that settled it, he hated this guy's guts. "A dog I might be," he growled, "but at least I ain't a bitch."

The redhead's eyes flashed with anger but a monotone voice cut him off. "There's no need for that Michael," a short, dark skinned boy with short, curly, brown hair and black eyes that held a deadness in them that was just plain chilling to look at. "They are outnumbered three to five and it would be a futile effort for them to fight their way out."

Though not liking being told to stand down, Michael instead sneered back at Solo and the others. "Hear that? Metatron here is offering you a way out of getting pulverized. I'd take it if I were you."

"Hasn't stopped me before," Solo shrugged and he looked back at Trowa and got confirmation that the unibanged young man was ready to rumble at a moment's notice.

"Are you stupid or something?" a tall, pale boy demanded, his long, curly, blond hair giving him the appearance of an angel even though his golden eyes kinda spoiled the effect. Even one knew that all angels had blond hair and blue eyes! This guy overstepped his bounds somewhere or something.

"If he wants to get his ass handed to him, let him Seraphiel," a short boy with long auburn hair and green eyes retorted to the enemy blond.

"Not you're speaking my language Astaroth!" Michael crowed.

"This is absolutely unnecessary," Metatron interrupted.

"Bullshit!" Astaroth replied he extended the fingers of one of his hands, a long, sharp tipped spike emerging from the skin of his palm with a sickening sound of slowly tearing skin accompanying it. Trowa frowned at this sight and did his eyes deceive him? With his eyes narrowed, it looked like this "Astaroth" had skin made of scales.

"I'm not participating," an apathetic voice spoke up, surprising everyone. Solo nearly slapped himself at that. There were five here and he had only really taken notice of four. Had to see the bigger picture here he told himself.

The boy that had spoken was pale, a paleness that rivaled that of the acidic tentacled Yun but unlike Yun, this guy was more of an average height. Short violet hair framed a narrow head and slanted black eyes looked at everything in distaste, as if their owner was above all this. The boy had settled himself on an outcropped rock, leaning back on his arms and crossing his legs, giving the impression that he wasn't going to do anything.

"You go right ahead Abaddon," Michael said. "That just means there's more for us then."

"Perhaps," Abaddon replied, "but someone is going to die here."

It would be a lie if Abaddon didn't get weird looks from everyone because he did and from both from the renegades and the boy's allies.

Picking up from what Abaddone had just said, Michael declared, "You're right, somebody is going to die. Those two lackeys of Solo, that's who!"

Abaddon just continued to look bored. "Two people will die here," he acknowledged.

"You heard the man," Michael said, looking back over at Solo and the others. "Looks like you guys gotta die. Shoulda picked your friends better."

Michael was unable to continue at this point mainly due to the fact that he had a fist imbedded into his face and his body was sent flying away. This fist in question belonged to Solo who said, "'Bout time somebody shut your trap up."

He felt something stab at him and break and when he looked down, he saw Astaroth staring at his broken blade, stunned that it could break so easily. Rolling his eyes, Solo uppercutted the offender in the chest and sent him flying into an outcropping of rocks where he landed with an ominous thunk. Then it was Solo's turn to go flying as he was impacted from the side by something big.

Everything in his head scrambled, as if some shrieking, nails-on-a-chalkboard noise had gotten into his skull and was screwing everything up. When he came to, he picked his head up off the ground just in time to see Metatron close his mouth and lean casually out of the way as Trowa slashed his root sword at him. However, Solo's attention was soon diverted as he heard heavy footstep pounding against the ground, heading straight for him. Turning to look, he saw an enraged Michael charging at him like a bull.

Jumping back onto his feet, he braced himself for impact and caught hold of Michael, their hands and fingers intertwining as they pushed against one another in an attempt to conquer the other. As Solo pushed back, he could see that irritating look on Michael's face and it just seemed to piss him off more for some reason. He couldn't explain it really but he needed to get over it, quick. He was straining against this guy, like the redhead was some other superstrong guy like Sigmund. He could feel a couple muscles begin to cramp but that was when he stopped all resistance and let Michael plow straight towards him.

He spun out of the way, letting go of one of Michael's hands but keeping his hold on the other, letting a surprised Michael go past him. Still holding on to Michael's hand, he pulled the redhead back him and pulled up on his arm, getting him into a lock that Michael tried to break by throwing the elbow of his free arm at him. Unfazed by the attack, he grabbed the wrist of the free arm, twisted down and up, trapping both of Michael's arms behind his back as he stood behind the other, bringing him to his knees.

Solo snorted. "Mobias gave me a harder time than that, asshole. Gonna have ta do better than that."

Michael gave out a loud cry and threw his head back to butt against his head. Momentarily stunned by the unexpected blow, Solo lightened his grip on the other's arms long enough for Michael to be able to pull away. However, Solo got a hold of himself at the last second and tightened his hands, grabbed the ends of Michael's sleeves. Michael, though, was still plowing forth and with a tearing sound, his sleeves ripped off and dangled helplessly in Solo's hand.

"Bastard," Michael swore as he shook his hands and wrists to get feeling back into them, the muscles in his muscular arms wiggling like jello due to the vibrations running up them.

"Like I haven't heard that one before," Solo retorted, discarding the ripped-off sleeves.

"You ought to appreciate it," Michael threw back at him tauntingly, pissing Solo off more, "you won't be called anything else after this, bitch."

Solo clenched his teeth in uncharacteristic anger. There was just something about this guy that made him want to beat the living shit out of him, maybe even tear him a new asshole while he was at it. At this display, Michael seemed to be reveling and was that his imagination or were the muscles in his arms tightening and bulking up somewhat?

With a speed he hadn't demonstrated before, Michael was suddenly up in his face and delivering a haymaker with enough force that Solo actually spat out a bit of blood, something that hadn't happened in years. His toughened body bent over itself as a fist slammed into his gut, just under his diaphragm, and a knee caught him in his chin, causing his head to snap back.

As he stumbled back, he wasn't given a chance to recover as one and then two punches landed on his chest, followed by a right hook on his cheek and a jackhammer right in the middle of his back. Needless to say, he was eating dirt again, a habit he had sworn to break a while ago.

"Ooh, what's wrong?" Michael taunted as he stepped unsportsmanlike onto his back, exactly where he had jackhammered him previously. "Not so tough now are you?"

"Gonna beat the livin' shit out of ya," Solo growled as he slowly lifted his head up to glare furiously at Michael. He blinked as he saw a prominent vein pop out of Michael's right bicep and the guy seemed to have grown a few inches in the past few minutes. What was going on?

"He feeds off your emotion," the voice of Seraphiel spoke from behind, the blond standing casually.

"What da fuck are you talkin' 'bout?" Solo asked plainly, giving the other a look that he thought he was crazy.

"Powers anyone?" Seraphiel said mockingly. "Michael here can increase a person's emotional state, specifically anger and aggression. Not only that, he can feed off of them to grow stronger."

"Why are ya tellin' me this?" Solo growled.

He felt his head yank upwards, soon followed by his head and the rest of his body. Looking straight into the smug eyes of Michael, the redhead replied, "'Cause you're gonna need all the help you can get, pretty boy." With that, Solo found a fist in his face and the sensation of air passing all around him.

And you wondered why he wasn't a happy camper.