How would you cope if the world decided to make you suffer for all that you were?
How could you dance if no one was watching and you couldn't even get off the floor?
What would you do if you couldn't even feel, not even pitiful pain?
How would you deal with the empty decisions eating away at the days?
-The Naked and Famous, "Girls Like You"

She watched mutely.

She watched in horror.

She watched unable to move.

Ultimately, she watched, transfixed by the scene she witnessed with her very own eyes. It was easier for her mind simply just to watch, more so after the horrors of everything that had occurred.

In reality she knew all of this had actually happened. She just did not want to acknowledge it, not yet. It was easier to just pretend in a fashion that this wasn't going on. That she wasn't here. That none of them were here for that matter. That even better, she was still in her bed at the Temple. She could make it one better than that, her grandfather was still alive. If she was going to wish a reprieve from reality, she might as well wish big, no limits, no restrictions. It was so much easier to live in denial, to ignore the truth of the matter. For the truth was painfully cold and a lie could be a comforting warmth. Especially right now.

The laughter of the man tore through her mind. That was her acknowledgement of reality, freed from the bonds of fantasy for the weight of the world to come crashing back down on her.

"You shall watch as I take away those most precious to you. You shall watch as I bathe in their blood!" He sneered at her, the spear in his hand twirled abruptly, coming to life. It was raised up on high, ready to be thrust forward at her, down at her, to end her life.

Somehow she knew that it wouldn't land. He wouldn't strike her. Not yet. He would make far too good on his threat. She was needed by him for something; the question though was what exactly.

The spear came down, but not to claim her life. Its point tore through something yet it was not her flesh. Her clothes instead offered their mewing protest as they were rent asunder. Across her navel her skin lay exposed, a pale complexion that seemed luminescent against the dark and near black marble floor. Above her the man sneered, flicking the fabric away contentiously. "And after, I will fuck you in a pool of it," he hissed, eyes narrowing in lustful dominance.

The sound of a grugle stopped him, someone choking on blood while trying to breathe caused the man to pause and look back. Her own gaze looked as well even as she was scrambling back to put distance between everything that happened. She… the blonde…

She was here.

With far more elegant ease than she thought could ever be possible much less showcased, the blonde righted her form, the wizard laid out dead at her feet. From her falchion clung his blood, dripping down the length of it. Eyes of almost nightfall took her in to pick out details; her uniform was dirty. It was stained with blood and something more, but her armor was clean. Her eyes looked bloodshot, the redness forced the deepness of their blue nature to stand out even more so. Blood smeared her face; either she had tried at facepaint or … no. Faintly she could see a blackish powder across her features. She had tried to wipe it away; the smears said as much, and got no where in the process other than making a further mess of things. Her frantic gaze took it all in, adding to the disheveled yet alluring figure.

"Play time is over, fucker."

Her heart jumped at the voice, almost landing in her throat, feeling a firebird of hope spread instantly within her breast. Minako. Despite how raspy it sounded, she was here. Alive. She hadn't abandoned her, despite what she had done to her. The ends of her hair were singed, streaking through with blood and soot. Yet she still had that damnable piece of red cloth in her hair, the same one she had tied to her head when she first met her. When she had first avowed to her and promised. When she first spoke her oath.

"You must be the Lunarian emissary. I must admit, I was expecting something more … becoming." The man sneered, leaning back on his feet. He kept the spear however poised, she noticed. She… Minako was a threat to him. That her mind transitioned from calling her 'the blonde' to her name she didn't pay any mind to, watching instead.

"So did your bitch. If you breathe in deeply enough, you might still be able to smell her corpse where it's burning." The other replied back evenly. She was breathing hard, her hand kept relaxing and grasping her falchion. Something wasn't right, catching that much as her gaze flicked for a moment away from the man to land on her, but they left before she could read anything in her gaze.

The words took him aback slightly, looking at her with almost wariness before he shrugged with indifference. "She was disposable. She did what she needed to do and quite effectively, I might add."

She was going to fall over at any moment, and instead she had to bear witness to a talkative enemy. She wished for her gloves, wished that she had collected them. It would have stopped the bleeding, as with every flex of her hand she gave to keep herself awake and the movement reopened the scabbing sort of cover her palm had accomplished. It sent a new trail of blood down the length of her falchion, mingling with the one she had struck down here. But it kept her awake too, the little masochistic twinges of pain that otherwise would have delighted her. Not a full on masochist in the least, but she could appreciate pain for what it was.

She was still alive ultimately, and she had work to be done. Rest, as always, could come later.

She had crept quietly enough through the halls to arrive to this moment, having no idea what the layout of the palace was to begin with. Fortunately she had avoided running into anyone but really at what cost? Even if she had managed to capture a person she couldn't speak Martian for shit. Interrogating for ways around wouldn't have done her any good. Instead she relied on the Goddess for her blessing, until she arrived to the throne room.

There she had caught the tail end of a man … fuck that was a wizard … complete his spell. She caught the tail end of the man with the spear laugh, sending a shiver down her spine. Despite the fact she was burning up, her free hand left behind a fresh smear of blood as she tried to cool herself off, going so far as to fan her shirt that was held in place by her armor.

Her luck she'd be dead before she could do anything. She pushed herself to move on. There was always time for rest later, after all. That was the lie she believed in more than anything.

He did not lean against his spear, keeping it aloft and ready to strike. Though perhaps he would not need to, as the emissary seemed to be hanging on by a thread. Her features flickered between being pale and being flushed, the signs that Melinite had at least infected her before she died. For a moment his mind reached out but could not find her signature anywhere, proving that the emissary was telling the truth and not bluffing.

Not that Melinite was a combatant in any regard, but still. He would have preferred she linger on the mortal coil just a bit longer. His gaze narrowed, ignoring the fact his prey had ultimately scrambled away. He'd claim the life of the emissary in the name of his Great Queen, but after he had his fun. Blondes were always a treat, after all. He would kill her afterward however, as she was ultimately a Lunarian and therefore, worthless. She had no perceived value no matter how he might enjoy the abuse he could levy on her body, and he would take the Princess with him as his conquest when he told the Great Queen of his completed works. Mars would belong to the darkness, and planet by planet, all would be subjected to her great rule.

"Come, Lunarian. You have a name, don't you? Or are you just here to suck my cock before I kill you?"

She only moved because it jolted her back awake. With a wave of her arm, she sent an arc of blood before her in an artistic display. It tore her hand back open again; maybe if she was lucky she could just bleed the fire out all the same and then she'd have absolutely nothing more to worry about.

"My name, fucker, is Princess Minako of Venus. Embodiment of Love and Beauty, Essence of the Goddess, Commander of the Royal Princess Serenity's guards." That she nearly spit out each word couldn't be helped but she was tired. She needed to get him beyond his gloating so that she could kill him before she gave in to the fire burning away inside of her. Time wasn't a friend here, it reversed its stance to be yet another foe to overcome.

"A … Venusian? Here? You're a fucking Venusian?" He was, dare say, amazed at the notion that this dangerous Lunarian emissary that he heard so much of yet truly knew nothing about was nothing more than a whore playing at something serious. "You came all this way Venusian and for what? To witness my reign? Shouldn't you be in a brothel somewhere being paid to have your legs spread wide?" His tongue slithered across his lips, smirking at her. In the scheme of things a Venusian was even more worthless than a Lunarian, even with his hatred for them.

Minako is… she is … a Venusian? Doubts of before sprang up now demanding attention. Words that she had said, her mannerisms… it somehow all made sense and yet, despite the clarity she just offered, she realized the amount of gross injustice she had done to her. For too much of their travels she had openly expressed her disgust of Venusians and yet she never once spoke up to defend herself.

Could she be? That wasn't something someone would really lie about, especially given what everyone's perceptions of Venusians were in the first place. The blonde never corrected her, silently taking the verbal abuse without even blinking an eye. She adopted the role far too well, putting aside most of her personal feelings to instead act like … like … well like she had been. Professional despite her nature to be flirtatious. Solitary confinement instead of further interaction with her, with Phobos and Deimos.

She related to the two guards because that was what she had in common with them. Around her it was another story altogether. Her own safety was disregarded, along with her own comfort, for the sake of removing her from harm's way. Gods, Minako was the biggest contradiction that existed. The biggest faker in the expanse of the cosmos. What made it worse was how well she played the part.

"Shut up." Her voice sounded off; apparently he hit a nerve.

He laughed. His head was thrown back and he laughed, the mocking sound bellowed from his chest as he informed them all about what he thought of her and her threats. He soon stopped though in a choked fashion once her voice cut through his laughter, once she moved to attack.

"I came all this fucking way asshole, to bring the Priestess to the Kingdom of the Moon. I came all this fucking way asshole, to protect the Priestess from fuckwits like yourself. I came all this fucking way asshole, to put an end to you." The blonde hissed, her falchion, already stained with blood, was brought up to not guard, but strike instead.

His mind reached out, finding her own, stopping her dead in her tracks before she could reach him. He wasn't ready to fight her yet; it was far more enjoyable to have her suffer. For what it truly could have been for any reason. He revisited upon her the visions of before, the voices. The imagery he compounded ten fold, a hundredfold. Each was far more worse than the last, shattering wills and destroying sanity as he went.

Destruction, failure, betrayal, disgust; oh he could so very much by taking her fears so tightly kept and bound tightly within her and make her just feel them all. What it was like to exist beyond one's station. He weighed her fears, measured her doubts, and gave over to make it as painful as possible while the blonde whore was still alive to know exactly what she was going up against and how she would regret it, more than anything.

I am the lucid dream…

The monster in your nightmares…

The fiend of a thousand faces…

Cower before my true form…

BOW DOWN BEFORE THE GOD OF DEATH!

She screamed, one hand clutching her head tightly as she stumbled, the other her falchion. Both were brought up to hold her head, feeling her body weakening, knees buckling, wanting to lay down. Wanting to collapse, to just give in. Anything if it meant the voice would stop in her head. If the laughter would stop, the accusations. She knew her will was faltering; she felt like some outsider watching herself crumble and fall into pieces. Unceremoniously she sat on the marble floor, driven to be at his mercy.

In was pure anguish. Distantly she was aware she wasn't the only one screaming, was the only one experiencing the imagery that time and again was death. Over and over and over again, the scenes poured in her mind, drowning out all of her thoughts, her consciousness. The connection she had with her Goddess wavered, flaring in rebuttal, before it too shattered and broke. It stayed dark for a moment, a handful of heartbeats before it surged back to life within her.

"I. Am. Your. Fucking. DEATH!" She suddenly lurched back up to her feet, screaming. Across her forehead for a slight moment a flash of gold appeared in the form of a symbol, ignorant and apathetic of the blood that decorated her face. It lasted just for a second before it faded, yet it didn't seem to slow her down. Her voice rang out like a trumpet's call, echoing off of the walls of the room as she stood, brandishing the falchion before her as she sprung to attack.

… Minako…

The man barely brought his spear up in time to block the hazardly swung blade that should have taken off his head. In all technicality, when comparing fighting styles and weapons, a quarterstaff or pole arm should always win against a bladed weapon, like a sword. There are of course countless factors to take in account for, such as the skill of the fighter and environment. But generally, the weapon with the longer reach would hold the advantage and therefore, most importantly, the win.

These were all things that she knew, having trained extensively in such things. In mock combat she could hold her own against such a disadvantage levied to her, but only in mock combat. It was one of those occasions that she would give her best, but ultimately be met with defeat. She hadn't fought anyone for legitimate reasons who used a spear; most used a sword or an axe primarily because it was easier to train someone how to use. She was at the disadvantage and she was quite aware of that fact. She was at the disadvantage and she didn't care right now. Training she remembered, training she gave, and training she didn't care about.

She was instead, too far gone to her emotions that it was impossible for her to put them aside as she wisely should have. Letting go of the pain, how it linger or the fire that burned within her would have been wise, but she couldn't do that. She relied too heavily on them, needing the constant reminder that she hurt, that she was tired, that she was nauseated and sick. That she felt like her insides were liquifying to goo in a furnace, like at any moment her bones would just turn to a jelly spread and she would collapse without a further defined form.

However, she would not let this bastard take the Priestess, much less take the planet as he so intended. To which one she felt the most strongly about was a matter of debate; her heart warring with choices to make out of love and choices to make out of duty. The only fortunate aspect of it all was that for the moment, for the time being, they coincided with one another, easing the conflict away to something that she could think of later.

Later, just like when rest would come. Everything could always be later, after all.

Her falchion came to life in her hand as she moved like a whirlwind, a golden blur accented by the red ribbon in her hair. She spun, attacked, and spun again, her blows blocked and turned aside just as his own were parried and brushed aside. He hadn't taunted her at first, far too busy feeling her out, determining her skill. It wasn't just her falchion, it was the rest of her. It was punches and kicks, attempts to sweep him to the floor, attempts to bull rush him down. It was everything she had ever trained to do that would relate in combat, staying in a constant motion to not give an advantage to him even while she did.

Her injuries slowed her down, the spear point finding her flesh for superficial wounds at first before they became more telling. Like the additional one to her arm was near enough for her hand to spasm; the only thing she was thankful for was that it wasn't her sword arm. Fire raced anew along her arm from it; her luck of course that the spear head was just as tainted with whatever the dagger had been with. Her fatigue drug her down, being worn on her body as though it were fashionable weights, slowing her movements, adding to the realization that this was out of her league. Not at first did she start slowing down on fighting, but it was soon obvious. At the last moment she started turning aside blows; more often than not it was a case of tripping out of the way than it was a parry.

"You're weak." He hissed at her, turning aside another of her slashes, the sound of the two weapons meeting sounded wrong, a jarring shock sent through her hand. She couldn't afford to answer, trying instead to breathe, to ignore the creeping dread settling into her that was cooling the fire burning within far too quickly. All it afforded her was a fist to her face, which spun her around. Weakly she turned to face him again, doing all in her power to ignore the throbbing in her mouth. That she hadn't lost a tooth was a miracle within its own right, but vanity had no place here now.

"You're not only weak, you're worthless. You're far out of your league, you and your precious little bitch." His fist slammed into the side of her face yet again as she failed to block once more, introducing stars to the equation. Stars and blurriness, the world was taking on its hazy quality again that she had tried to ignore. Stumbling back her falchion dropped; it wasn't like she raised it up the first time. This wasn't happening. It shouldn't be happening yet dimly she knew it was. Her face burned, the skin above her eyebrow had been split open by his mailed fist. Blood half blinded her, but she was far too tired to even raise a hand and smear it away.

Pride or stubbornness, whichever it was raged through her as she pushed back to a fighting stance again, breathing heavily but weakly at the same time. It wasn't hyperventilation but it felt like it too, like she couldn't get enough air in her body and was going to choke. She wasn't going to let this bastard win though. She gave her oath, her vow. This fucker would not take the Priestess; she'd die first before she'd ever allow that to happen. Back to her feet she blocked another of the spear thrusts, feeling her confidence come back only for the weapon to spin, the shaft painfully slamming behind her knee.

Buckling it instantly went out and to her knees she went with a cry, her free hand barely keeping her from pitching over. It satisfied him greatly, his lips moved to a sneer. Even at her raised falchion, which all he did was knock it aside. He didn't even bother to follow with his gaze where the weapon went skidding across the marble flooring with a metallic protest. Her gaze didn't follow either, instead looking up with growing despair. She had nothing else. The short sword she had carried she had left in the hands of the Priestess. She didn't even have a knife or a dagger on her; she hadn't collected those. Just her falchion.

Just her falchion and it was clear across the room now.

The look she gave was something to be savoured, teeth flashing as he looked down at her. "This is where you belong bitch. On your knees before my greatness."

The despair that clung to the blonde egged him on, in time as he gave the last punch forward needed with the spear. It found purchase at last after toying with her for their short fight, piercing past her breastplate as she swayed on her knees. A hiss of metal on metal, the protesting sound was followed by a choked breath, and the exiting of its presence out of back. Time seemed to stand still for a moment, a passage ripped from the natural flow to just linger.

Three sets of wide eyes were riveted to the scene, two very wide pairs consisting of blue and violet, and one pair of gold that danced, quite bemused with madness.

A whisper doused in blood fell from the blonde's lips as she wavered, impaled. Absently her hands rose, closing mutely around the shaft as though she had the strength to push herself off. With a snarl he gave the spear a wrenching twist to the side, just for the sheer sake that he could. There was something so delightful in it, watching as the Venusian's eyes widened, gasping. Still not satisfied with the notion, he gave it a jerk, lips moving towards malicious, sadistic pleasure as one last scream at last was torn from her, flecked in blood.

Raising his foot, he gave her body a shove from the weapon. Her body slipped back, the muted thud of something encased partially in armor met with a hard marble floor followed after her, a belated herald who had fallen asleep in its duties. Nothing was offered to muffle the noise she made, instead it was loud and jarring, its own condolences at her fallen form. He laughed, watching as the blonde began to bleed out before him. There was something so appealing about watching the life fade away in such agonizing sweetness. He laughed, his voice ringing out in maddening triumph. It was better than anything he could hope for, to slay, to kill such an obstacle to his Great Queen.

"Minako!"

Something within her snapped at last.

It was always belatedly that she remembered her short sword at her waist. That's what happened though when you weren't a combatant. That the blonde's, that Minako's, was there as well, taken from her when it was meant to just be handed over for training. She had been instructing her, showing her how to fight with one, she had tried to show her how to fight with both, even though she couldn't understand the reason why for it. If Minako was carrying one, and she was carrying one, what was the likelihood she'd need both? What was the reason that she'd even have both of them?

She wasted no time now, drawing both with a cry of battle. She recalled the training, the fights that happened, the stubbornness. Her mind replayed each moment, from when the other had first arrived, to giving her the sword, the visions, to the realization that there was something wrong, to the laced innuendos, the flirting, all the communication that lacked words but was full of silent discussion just by each other's presence.

Minako…

With a viciousness that had welled within her from the moment she first learned her people were being taken to slavery if not killed, she fought. Both swords worked in tandem with the other, her knowledge the primality of the planet. Mars was known for war, and whether it was intentional or not, all the work spent corrupting the fires put her in tune with the very essence of her home.

Instilled, she fought, blocking with one short sword only to strike easily with the other. On the offense she went right from the start, refusing to bide her time as it was not an option in the first place. Defenses didn't matter, turning aside the jabs of the spear far easier than Minako had been able to accomplish. A clean, arcing slash with her right took his hand completely from his arm on one of his raised blocks. Brought back around it moved easily to press to his throat. Her left arced just as well, biting hard against the outside of his thigh, the tip traced a raking line from hip to just below his collarbone, the point resting with poised readiness.

Her mind remembered, recalled a variation of this moment. Minako had shown her that, when she had been startled by the other's appearance of moving about after her concussion. With her own falchion she had left a small scar to the blonde's skin, a thin patch of white to join the others on such perfection.

"You won't take them all from me. You won't take her." She hissed, plunging the short sword in deep without waiting another moment. It slid in easily, piercing through everything in its pathway.

"I. Already. Did." The words bubbled from his lips, much as his blood did, falling back. From her sword he slid, landing with an amused expression even in death. Warmth flooded her hand, blood staining it as it ran down the length of the blade and guard. Absently she looked at it, watching mutely as the red ran over a symbol. Her brow drew together, flicking the sword ineffectively before finally wiping it on her robes to take a better look.

The planetary symbol of Venus.

Always to the heart…

Her eyes rose, horrified as reality dawned back on her in a rush. Both swords were dropped, ignoring the clatter they made to land on the floor. She rushed to where the blonde, where Minako, laid unmoving on the black marble. Where her hair so much like a sunrise took to a sunset, the rays winking out to dusk as blood pooled around her.

Minako…

A/N: Cliffhangers are the best.