Sailormoon, its characters, struggles and story, are copyright and 
the children of Naoko Takeuchi. No recognition to this tale can be 
given without properly paying honour to her first. They are 
rightfully hers and I respect how she has raised them all. May what 
I have written here, the dark and the light, be considered worthy 
as a token of my appreciation for the world she has created.


His lordship Chaos / Angel Electric 
04 - The Swords of the Seraphim

Rated PG13.


*****

"There must always remain something that is 
 antagonistic to good."

	--Plato

*****


	It was Sailor Mars who showed Endymion the way to where 
Halcyon waited to meet with him. Much to Endymion's surprise, he 
was not brought to another garden, or to some chamber with a 
spectacular view of the palace or the Moon. The double doors 
opening up before him showed an enormous theatre hidden within the 
palace. 
	He stood at the top of the mezzanine, and over the edge of 
the balcony some twenty sloping rows in front of him he could see 
the distant stage. There were private balconies flanking the stage, 
but Halcyon was not in any of them. The curtains had been raised, 
and Endymion could see all of the backstage, though Halcyon was not 
there either.
	She sat in the front row of the mezzanine, content to stare 
over the railing and at the empty stage. Wordlessly, Sailor Mars 
gestured for Endymion to traverse the aisle and join the Queen. She 
did not go with him through the doors, and as she left the doors 
closed behind Endymion.
	"I like to come here when I feel as if things have become too 
complicated and are spiralling out of my control," Halcyon told him 
as he settled down in the seat next to hers. She spoke Lunarian. He 
didn't object.  "When the theatre is empty like this, the great and 
open silence helps remind me."
	Halcyon did not look at him, but out at the stage below. 
Endymion joined her, and together they talked and watched the 
stage.
	"This reminds you of what?" he asked in her tongue.
	"Of potential," Halcyon answered. She closed her eyes and 
tipped her chin up to the curved ceiling. "Listen...what do you 
hear?"
	Endymion took a moment to let his ears carry on the 
conversation. "Just us," he said. "Aside from that, there is only 
silence."
	"Exactly," Halcyon said. Her eyes opened, and with a knowing 
smile she turned to Endymion. "This room is quiet. All the noise 
and confusion that comes with any and every production has been 
silenced. It is dormant, resting, regaining its strength. It is in 
silence that one finds potential. Look out to that empty stage, and 
you see nothing more than a raised floor set against black 
backdrops. Everything has been stripped away to its truest of 
essentials. Everything has been brought back to its origins, its 
potential."
	She settled back in her chair. "No matter how chaotic or 
frenetic things get," she said to Endymion, "there will always be a 
point where everything returns to this state: one of rest, of 
silence, of restoration and a renewal of potential. Right now, 
dreams are given the chance to dance upon the stage. Right now, 
there is everything to gain and nothing to lose. Coming here 
reminds me that there is always hope."
	Endymion nodded, but did not saying anything. He digested her 
words, a part of him still lost in dark, brooding intimations. Each 
worry and fear remained different, and they all shared the same 
name: Seraphim.
	"Your thoughts are troubled," Halcyon said. 
	With a wry smirk Endymion said, "That's one way of phrasing 
it."
	"What troubles you?"
	"Nothing. Everything."
	Halcyon chuckled, and in her laughter came empathy and 
understanding. For as different as their roles might have been on 
their respective worlds, there were many worries they both shared.
	"Then let's start with something," she said to Endymion, "and 
work our way from there. What do you think of my daughter?"
	Endymion nearly choked on the air he was breathing. "Excuse 
me?" 
	A very coy smile decorated Halcyon's face, and she remarked, 
"I didn't know she was a touchy subject."
	"She's not!" Endymion said hastily, and then realized just 
how hard it was for Halcyon to feign ignorance while wearing that 
smile. "You're incorrigible," he sighed at her. "You know that?"
	"Very much so," Halcyon agreed, "and I quite enjoy it. One of 
the perks of being Queen is that sometimes you can get away with 
displaying some vices everyone else would as soon try to drill out 
of you through countless etiquette lessons." 
	Endymion laughed and shook his head at her. "I know the 
feeling. You're not going to propose a marriage between us, are 
you?"
	Halcyon's smile saddened, and she took to staring out at the 
empty stage again. "A union between Lunaria and the Earth may very 
well bring us one step closer to a solid, long-standing peace," she 
said. "However, I will not abide by those who would marry for 
convenience, even with so many lives hanging in the balance. If you 
were to marry Serenity, it must be for love above all else. 
Anything else that comes out of such a union is gratefully 
accepted, but still secondary."
	She turned back to Endymion, her unwavering, melancholy eyes 
meeting his gaze. "I will not let her repeat my mistake."
	"Is that why Serenity does not know her father?" Endymion 
asked.
	Halcyon bit her lower lip and contemplated an answer. "That 
matter is... complicated," she said finally. "Much more than she 
knows. But yes, it was not for love that I slept with her father."
	"Sometimes you have to work at love," Endymion said.
	"And sometimes," Halcyon said, "love is needed before 
anything else can work."
	She had a point, a dark but valid point, and Endymion had to 
concede to that. He sat in silence, wondering what to say next, or 
how to change topics if the current one was proving too painful for 
Halcyon.
	Halcyon made the decision for him, and told him her secrets. 
"He was an emissary, a prophet of sorts," she said. "He came to our 
system knowing that soon the Sailor Soldiers would arise once more. 
But he could only stay a short time, to deliver that message and 
nothing more. I was afraid, Endymion. I was raised with the stories 
of horror. My tutors frightened me day after day with terrible 
accounts of the Darkstorm, and how it must never be allowed to 
happen again."
	Her eyes grew more haunted by the past, and Endymion felt 
uncomfortable having to see her look the way she did in that 
moment. 
	"What are you to say when you are but a young queen," she 
said, "and discover that the Sailor Soldiers are about to be 
reborn? I was afraid when the first of the henshin disappeared, but 
when he arrived a few years later, I was terrified. What are you to 
do when you alone suddenly learn that a great evil will arise 
during your reign, and there is no guarantee you can stop it?
	"He said all he came to do was to tell me that yes, evil was 
coming, as were the Soldiers who would fight against it. He said 
since the henshin were awakening and choosing new Soldiers, it was 
my duty, my destiny, to find them and train them. He would have 
left immediately after saying those words, leaving me to wonder how 
I could only hope to accomplish such an impossible task.  He said 
that nothing bound him to our system. There was no reason to stay. 
And so I asked him to marry me, to be king."
	Endymion let out a long, thoughtful breath. He was not about 
to criticize her, not after she had taken such a risk and placed so 
much trust in him with this ghost of her past. If it was one thing 
he had learned from his father, it was that rulers and leaders 
could never get too close anyone and show weakness. Showing 
weakness to the wrong person always brought about betrayal.
	"Why haven't you told Serenity about this?" he asked the 
Queen.
	It took Halcyon some time before she could find the words.
	"I brought him into my chambers," she said, "and for as 
reluctant as he was, I tried to seduce him with my body, to entice 
him to stay. It was not making love. It was an empty, desperate 
act. I pretended it was something more, even though we both knew 
otherwise, but it did not matter. He tried to comfort me as best he 
could in those hours--that much I believe. But the next morning, I 
awoke alone; he had vanished sometime during the night. A few weeks 
later, I discovered I was pregnant with Serenity." 
	Endymion blinked upon realizing that he had never heard 
anything about this before. For as mysterious as Lunaria was to 
most of Earth, even something like this would have made news in his 
homeland.
	"What does Lunaria say about it?" he asked.
	"They don't know about him," Halcyon stated. The firmness in 
her voice was a good indication of how intent she was on keeping it 
that way. "I had not the heart to tell them the truth, especially 
when the rumours grew so much that many believed it was a divine 
conception. To this day, most of Lunaria thinks that Serenity was 
conceived by supernatural means, and that is why so many of them 
worship and adore her as some kind of saviour.
	"I love my little girl, Endymion, but she was brought about 
by a union without love. I look at her, and wonder how it is I can 
still regret having done what I did that night. How can I hate that 
night, when something as beautiful as my Serenity came out of it?" 
	She looked at Endymion then with the hope that she might find 
some answers in him, even if that hope was subdued and distant. She 
was not expecting he would have any to give, but there was still 
hope. 
	Endymion suddenly understood the significance of the empty 
stage.
	"We all have our own regrets and scars," he said finally, 
"but sometimes what matters are not the mistakes we make, but the 
lessons we learn after making them. Those who do not learn from 
their mistakes are doomed to repeat them." 
	He could give her no answers, no easy ideas of what to do. It 
was her life, and she knew it better than he did. It was her 
choice, and he was in no position to dictate to her. Yet he gave 
her what he could, and for that Halcyon smiled.
	"Should I tell her?" she asked him.
	Endymion shook his head. "Not yet. She deserves to know, but 
there are other matters that must first be settled."
	Halcyon surprised him then as she reached out one of her 
hands, and gently cupped his face in her palm. "I meant what I said 
earlier, Endymion," she told him softly, "and you have just proved 
my words. Your father would be proud of you today."
	For hours they talked at length there on the theatre 
mezzanine, about things crucial and trivial, about likes and 
dislikes and ideals about the future, about things Lunarian and 
Terran-Nihongo, about friends, about love. But most importantly of 
all, they talked, and listened.



			Are you dancing?


			ANGEL ELECTRIC



	The Seraphim guard had appeared out of nowhere, somehow 
having become the shape and colour of the walls themselves and then 
deciding for himself when to suddenly manifest. He had been 
waiting, Zoicite realized, his jaw clenching in anger and 
frustration--the bastard had been simply waiting. But who could 
have known about this? He and Garnet were the only ones who had 
pursued the search this far. Who else had anticipated them?
	"Halcyon Queen told me that someone might try to break into 
our archives," the Seraphim said. His voice was not friendly. He 
glanced down at Zoicite's sword. "The penalty has always been 
death. If you have nothing to confess to me now, then you both will 
die before the blade of your sword is drawn."
	Zoicite stiffened.
	The Queen herself had sent the soldier here? That made no 
sense, no matter how many ways Zoicite's mind raced to try and find 
any logic behind it. Any reasons became somewhat irrelevant against 
the Seraphim's casual threat. Even those on Earth knew the 
reputation of the once feared and revered Seraphim; there was a 
good chance this confrontation would end with the spilling of 
blood. 
	Probably his.
	Zoicite wasn't too fond of that ending.
	"You're making a mistake," he told the Seraphim guard. "You 
don't want it to end like this."
	The Seraphim guard tipped his head to one side, amused and 
perplexed by either Zoicite's tenacity or audacity. "Oh, I 
disagree," he said. "You are bringing further dishonour to us by 
violating the secrecy of our archive. I cannot stand aside and let 
this transgression pass by unpunished."
	He scowled and momentarily dropped his gaze to the floor. 
"The Seraphim have endured too much dishonour as it is."
	In that moment, Zoicite realized there was only one course of 
action, one chance at getting out of this with both he and Garnet 
staying alive. He only hoped Endymion wouldn't kill him later on 
for what he was about to do.
	"And what about the dishonour you'll face if you kill me," 
Zoicite snapped, "and one of your own murders the Terran ambassador 
in cold blood?"
	Stunned by his words, the Seraphim guard stiffened. "What?"
	"What?" Garnet exclaimed. She stepped back and stared at 
Zoicite in disbelief.
	"That's why I needed you to bring me here," Zoicite told 
Garnet. He turned to the Seraphim guard. "A rogue faction belonging 
to the Seraphim Order disappeared roughly twelve years ago. 
Yesterday they resurfaced. They may be planning to assassinate my 
lord, Endymion, while he's here at the palace. Maybe even tonight 
during the masque."
	Out of the corner of his eye, Zoicite could see Garnet 
putting all the pieces together and finding illumination. Her eyes 
widened, as did her mouth, but she seemed at a loss to say 
anything.
	"Those are serious charges," the Seraphim guard stated, and 
took a step closer to Zoicite.
	Zoicite held his ground, but his fingers tightened around the 
hilt of his katana. "But you're not considering them to be pure 
lies, since I'm still standing here," he said. "If you doubt me, 
talk to Halcyon Queen. She can verify that the weapon used to 
murder Endymion's father was a dagger belonging to one of your 
own."
	It was amazing to see someone as lethal the Seraphim before 
them reel a second time from a mere verbal attack. He had the look 
of a man who had just begun to rebuild a life that had come 
crashing down once already, only to have the fragile blocks be 
shattered once more.
	"One of our own killed so great a man as he?" the Seraphim 
guard whispered, and his heart was seized with dread. He looked up 
and stared at Zoicite. "I cannot bring myself to consider it."
	"Well, consider it, and consider it fast," Zoicite said. "If 
I am wrong and nothing even remotely wrong happens during our time 
here, then at its end I will willingly place my life in your hands. 
You can do with me then as you see fit--you have my solemn vow upon 
that. But if I am right...if I am right, then nothing you can say or 
do will be able to redeem your Order if Endymion is killed by 
Spinel of the Seraphim."
	The Seraphim guard was still poised to strike, but now he was 
deeply considering what Zoicite had said. Those were among the 
tensest seconds of Zoicite's life, an impressive thing given all 
the front-line battles he had fought in the past. At last the 
Seraphim guard relaxed, taking a step back and crossing his arms 
over his chest.
	Garnet let out an audible sight of relief and muttered, "Oh 
thank Serenity!" 
	Zoicite released his grip on his sword, and moved his hand 
away. He felt as if he had suddenly aged ten years.
	"You are a man who fears death," the Seraphim guard said to 
Zoicite, "and yet you're willing to lay upon its altar for a cause 
greater than yourself. Such courage is a rare and noble thing. Were 
you in our Order, you would have been among the most celebrated of 
Seraphim."
	His praises were quickly followed by the darkest of potential 
vengeance. 
	"I shall hold you to your word, and spare both your life and 
hers. If nothing indeed happens, I shall deal with you at my 
discretion, and my judgement will be in a place where neither your 
country nor Lunaria can interfere. And if you should prove a coward 
and try to escape, I will send the Order itself after you. You will 
never know rest."
	"I won't have to worry about that," Zoicite said, "and 
neither will you. I am bound by my word and honour. If I am wrong 
and to be handed over to you, I will ensure that my lord and his 
people will not interfere."
	The Seraphim guard smirked and asked his name. Zoicite gave 
it, and asked if he might also know the guard's name.
	"Cioran," the man said. He turned his back to them. "I shall 
retrieve the records of the missing Seraphim you are wishing to 
view," he said, and set about opening one of the chests. 
	Garnet took the opportunity to turn Zoicite around and ask, 
"Is that what Bushido is all about?"
	"Partially," Zoicite admitted.
	"Well, whatever it partially was, it just saved our butts. 
Thanks."
	Garnet then punched Zoicite in the face. Caught off-guard, 
Zoicite was sent stumbling into the table. "And that," Garnet said 
pleasantly, "is for nearly getting me killed."
	"You're welcome," Zoicite mumbled as he felt his jaw.
	Cioran let out a bark of laughter.


				*	*	*
	Jadeite was pleased to discover that Zoicite had been right: 
Sailor Mercury, whose name he quickly learned was Ami, was in fact 
smarter than him. But what he enjoyed most about her company was 
that her razor-sharp intelligence was complimented by an equally 
razor-sharp wit. Sometimes she was downright acerbic when it came 
to palace matters that she didn't particularly like or agree with. 
He found it both refreshing and endearing.
	Unfortunately, when Serenity and Endymion had to part ways, 
Ami went with Serenity. Jadeite made a few good-natured jests at 
Endymion's expense, and it amused him even more to see Endymion 
torn between floundering for explanations or just denying nothing. 
The way Endymion acted around Serenity was much different from most 
of the other women Jadeite had seen him with, Setsuna being the 
most recent among them. It was interesting to watch.  
	As expected, another Sailor Soldier appeared to escort 
Endymion to his meeting with Halcyon. Much to Jadeite's further 
intrigue, and the Sailor Soldier's obvious disliking, it happened 
to be Rei. He followed after the two as Rei brought them to a set 
of double doors.
	Endymion went in alone.
	That left Jadeite and Rei to stare at each other from 
opposites sides of the hall. She spent most of her time eyeing the 
floor or shooting furtive glances in his direction. He spent most 
of his time staring directly at her.
	The silence between them grew suffocating.
	"If you are in fact a priestess," Jadeite abruptly asked her, 
"then what or who are you a priestess for?"
	Rei opened her mouth to answer, hesitated and closed it, and 
then decided to say something else. "Sometimes I don't know," she 
said. There was chagrin in her voice for admitting such a thing, 
but Jadeite detected something else. 
	Fear. 
	She was afraid not of admitting it, but of thinking it in the 
first place.
	"We look to our guardian deities to watch over us, to protect 
us," she said, and then shook her head. "And yet where were they 
when life on my planet was destroyed? When the Darkstorm ravaged 
each planet in turn and turn them into lifeless worlds, the 
survivors fled here and rebuilt their kingdoms with the land that 
the Queen set aside for them. Lunaria was always there for us, but 
what out our guardians?"
	"Who's to say your guardian deities weren't acting on your 
behalf through Lunaria, and the Sailor Soldiers of that time?" 
Jadeite said. 
	Rei seemed surprised as how casually he spoke such heavy 
words. 
	"What are you seeking?" Jadeite asked her. "Answers or 
guidance?"
	Rei failed to differentiate the two, and said so.
	Jadeite was tempted to smile at her. "There's a big 
difference," he stated. "You'll never find answers; most of the 
questions we have will forever remain unanswered. At least that's 
my thought on the matter. But guidance, that's something you can 
get from anywhere or anyone. You can always consider it and discard 
it later, but unlike definitive answers, you can find guidance if 
you make the effort to look. It's the looking that counts, since 
eventually you'll come across something that makes sense to you, 
even if you don't have the full picture. Faith is based on trusting 
that you're following the right guide, not in desperately searching 
to find all the perfect answers."
	"What do you believe in?" Rei asked, after a moment or two of 
quiet introspection.
	"That there's more to this galaxy than we have even dared 
imagine," replied Jadeite. "I'll remain dubious of what people 
claim is out there until I've carefully considered it, but I try to 
keep an open mind never the less." 
	He looked up at some of the large, stately murals over Rei's 
head.
	"You never did answer my question," he said. "What are you a 
priestess of?"
	Rei answered, "I am a maiden of the Fire."
	That was not exactly near anything Jadeite had expected. 
"The...Fire?" he repeated, wanting to make sure he had heard her 
correctly.
	"It's a sacred flame," Rei explained. "One that has been 
burning since before my homeworld was destroyed centuries ago. My 
ancestors barely escaped with it when Mars was laid to waste. That 
is where I have sought answers and failed to find any."
	Jadeite did not find it as complex a problem as she did. 
	"It's just fire," he said. "Something may speak through it, 
but in the end it's just fire."
	Rei gave him a sardonic smile. "You make everything sound so 
simple," she said, and it sounded as if she was now scolding him 
for trying to intrude on something he did not understand.
	"Everything is simple," Jadeite said, "when you stop for a 
moment and break it down piece by piece. Simplicity is found in 
purpose, Rei. Be it a lifelong dream or a short-term goal, it is 
purpose that drives us and purpose that gives us means and reason. 
When you seek anything, seek to discover purpose: it's purpose, 
your purpose, whichever. I am constantly surprised by how much 
clearer the world becomes when you start to look at everything in 
terms of what drives them, what their purpose is."
	"And what is your purpose?" Rei asked him.
	Jadeite had thought about such things for years, 
contemplating and doubting, renewing and changing. It came easily 
to him to give Rei his answer.
	"As a General," he said, "my purpose is to follow my lord, 
Endymion. As ruler of Kyushu, my purpose is to serve and protect 
the lands over which I preside. As an ambassador here at your 
palace, my purpose is to ensure Endymion's personal safety, and to 
see that his goals are given the chance to be fulfilled. As the 
simple Terran-Nihonjin man named Jadeite, my purpose...."
	His voice drifted off suddenly, and an old pain he had almost 
forgotten stabbed at his heart once more. He was unable to finish 
his sentence, and it hung horribly unfinished in the air between 
them.
	"My purpose is," he said again. "My purpose is something that 
remains with me alone."
	He could see the hurt in her eyes. She was wounded by the 
fact that while she had risked sharing her darkness and doubts, he 
could not trust her enough. Jadeite wondered why she had even 
bothered exposing such vulnerabilities in the first place. It 
wasn't like they were close. They barely knew each other. Even 
then, Jadeite felt obligated to say something.
	"I'm sorry," he said.
	Rei heard the sincerity, and tried to understand, but he 
could see that she would trust him with no more of her life.
	The silence they now shared came at too high a price, and 
neither of them enjoyed it. As a result, Nephrite's appearance was 
a welcomed chance at forgetting it all.
	"What is it?" Jadeite asked, straightening up.
	"I have something that Endymion needs to see," Nephrite said, 
and waved a folder. "It's urgent."


				*	*	*
	When the adrenaline from their sparring match left him, 
Kunzite was more than a little alarmed in how difficult it was to 
breath. Inhaling alone proved a painful ordeal, and his chest was 
horribly sore. The fresh taste of blood in his mouth did not help 
him feel any better, and he grew acutely aware of blood trickling 
somewhere down his back. When he tried to reach around with his 
right hand, he discovered his right hand was somewhat unresponsive. 
He could barely rotate his wrist without a notable stabbing pain.
	He'd suffered worse in the past, of course, and was ever 
mindful that he'd suffered worse. There had been one battle against 
a horde of invaders where he had taken a spear to the back of his 
leg, and the tip of a sword in his left arm. To make matters worse, 
he'd lain in a darkened battlefield all night long before he was 
found and brought back to his army. It was a wonder he'd survived 
at all. It had taken him a year before he could walk properly 
again. Some, Endymion's father included, had feared he might never 
walk again without needing the use of a staff or crutch.
	That still didn't mean Kunzite was feeling particularly 
cheerful about his injuries. Minako panicking and practically 
dragging him through the palace at breakneck speed didn't help 
either. 
	"I can't help it," Minako said as they cut sharply around a 
corner. She yanked him aside before he would have stumbled right 
into a statue. "I'm the reason you're like this! And I am so 
sorry."
	"At this rate, you're going to kill me before you can help 
me," Kunzite said, and ducked his head before he would have been 
clothes-lined by the statue's outstretched arm. "You're not exactly 
in pristine condition either."
	Minako glanced at the thin line of blood across her arm. 
Kunzite had torn a non-essential part of his uniform and wrapped 
the wound. By his reasoning, she shouldn't trouble the cleaning 
staff by dripping blood all over the floor behind them.
	"And what about the cut across your back?" she had retorted.
	"My uniform is soaking up the worst of that."
	"Well...well what about your mouth?"
	Kunzite had already wiped his chin clean. "I'll swallow."
	Their argument ended with Minako rolling her eyes and 
muttering something about, "Boys and their pride."
	She led him down the corridor and said more to herself than 
anyone else, "Why do they have our healer's chambers so far away 
from the sparring arena? This is ridiculous."
	Much to Kunzite's great relief, they quickly arrived at the 
healer's chambers. A set of double doors swung open for them, and 
Kunzite looked around a very sterile, white room. The floor was 
white, the pillars were white, even the walls were white. At the 
far end of the room stood a set of sliding doors, equally as white 
as everything else. Upon them, the Lunarian rune for 'doctor' was 
written in violet tones.
	All of his unpleasant memories about having to endure medical 
triages and treatments came back to Kunzite as he stared at the 
rune and recognized it. "Look, we don't need to do this," he told 
her.
	Minako gave him a pointed, don't-argue-with-me look. "Yes we 
do."
	"I'm perfectly fine," Kunzite insisted. "A little rest and I 
will be okay."
	"And what about the bleeding? Or your inability to breathe 
right?"
	"Barely even worth calling a wound. And I'll recover."
	"Oh, stop it with the bravado!" Minako exclaimed, and pointed 
to the sliding door. "Now shut up, go in there, and get yourself 
healed."
	She had the look of a woman not to be trifled with.
	Kunzite sighed and said, "Yes, Ma'am" before shuffling 
through the doorway.
	The paper-screen door opened up without him needing to grasp 
the frame and push it aside (and in the process, wince in pain). He 
was presented with a room whose walls were decorated in soft shades 
of blue, indigo and snow. The chamber was circular, the floor 
sunken and cushioned with something resembling his country's tatami 
mats. The scent of incense and vanilla filled Kunzite's nostrils, 
and he quickly felt at ease.
	A woman seated before a low-standing table looked up from the 
calligraphy she was writing. "I don't believe we've met," she said 
to Kunzite.
	Her beauty was surprisingly breathtaking, and she almost 
resembled a life-sized porcelain doll. Her skin was smooth, the 
colour of alabaster, and her face was framed with long, black hair 
draped down around her shoulders. Her eyes were deep and violet, 
and she wore long, flowing robes with alternating layers of black 
and amethyst.
	Kunzite found him at a loss for words; this woman looked more 
the part of a courtesan or artist than a doctor. Not to mention she 
looked at best a year or two older than the Sailor Soldiers 
themselves.
	Minako came in behind Kunzite and waved at the healer. "Hey, 
Hotaru. We've got a few new casualties for you to treat."
	"One of the Earth ambassadors at that," Hotaru added, "if I 
recognize the uniform correctly. Remove your armour, please."
	She shifted her gaze to Minako. "You should best wait 
outside."
	Minako glanced over to Kunzite, who was already stripping, 
and with a sulking look about her she reluctantly left the room. 
Hotaru chuckled as she watched Minako depart.
	"Please, sit," she said, and gestured to the depression in 
the floor.
	Kunzite sat cross-legged. As Hotaru set about preparing for 
her ministrations, he quietly meditated to help ease his own pain 
and discomfort. There were not a lot of medical supplies or tools 
in the chamber, as far as he could discern, and he wondered what 
she would be using to stitch him back together. For that matter, he 
wondered why a doctor would wear such elaborate gowns that could 
easily get bloodstains all over them.
	Hotaru shed her flowing robes; beneath the layers was a 
slender, sleeveless and form-fitting gown of amethyst. When he saw 
her, Kunzite felt the need to look elsewhere. Hotaru glided up 
behind him. She first examined his shoulder blades, and while she 
was gentle, Kunzite winced at the unexpected surge of pain.
	"Let me see," Hotaru said. "A solid kick, more in terms of 
placement than power. Upwards angle, given the shape, probably from 
a spinning kick. 
	"How--ouch--do you know that?" Kunzite said, trying to crane 
his neck over his shoulder. "It takes a good half a day before 
bruising shows."
	Hotaru's smirk was mysterious and more than a little 
unnerving. "You'd be surprised at what my eyes can see," she told 
him. "And I see that an agile young lady did all this damage. Was 
it Minako?"
	Kunzite straightened up and tried turning his head. An effort 
that proved rather painful, and he quickly returned to looking 
straight ahead. "How'd you know?" he asked.
	Hotaru's lips were turned into a knowing smile. "When you 
have to mend broken bones, restore pulled ligaments and ensure that 
no cuts leave a lasting scar," she said, "you become rather well-
versed in which Sailor Soldier does what sort of damage."
	"That, and she was the one who came in with me," Kunzite 
added.
	"Simply because she came in with you," Hotaru countered, 
"doesn't necessarily mean she was your sparring opponent."
	She swung around and had him straighten up just enough, so 
she could examine his chest.
	"Been with them long, have you?" Kunzite asked.
	Hotaru smiled and nodded, and then moved around to examine 
his wrist. "You could call me their personal physician and healer. 
While I also attend Halcyon Queen, her daughter, and a number of 
the royal dignitaries within the palace, the Sailor Soldiers and 
their training tends to keep me rather busy."
	"Do they train a lot?"
	"Daily. Though with the arrival of your envoy, that has 
thrown their training regimen into a bit of a chaotic array. 
Usually they train against each other. I've come to know a great 
deal about their fighting styles based on the injuries they give 
each other."
	Hotaru sat back; now they faced each other in casual 
conversation.
	"Take your injuries for example," she said. "The marks upon 
your throat, back and ribs are from powerful kicks--"
	"I don't see anything."
	"But I do, and unless you want everyone to see those marks by 
tomorrow, you will let me continue."
	Kunzite lowered his head. "Please do."
	"As I was explaining," Hotaru continued, "Minako is the only 
one who prefers using kicks as a part of her primary offensive. The 
other Soldiers will kick, but only if the need arises. Minako 
enjoys showing off, and she has the agility and finesse to deliver 
some rather debilitating blows."
	"Tell me about it," Kunzite groaned. "So what's the damage?" 
	"Your windpipe is severely bruised, as are your ribs. She 
might even have fractured one or two of them. Your shoulders are 
bruised, which would have severely limited your mobility had you 
not been brought here."
	Hotaru swung around him, and began to gingerly probe the 
surface of his back with her fingertips. Kunzite winced once or 
twice. "Now this makes your opponent rather obvious," Hotaru said. 
"The cuts across your back indicate Minako used that whip-like 
chain of hers on you. None of the other Soldiers have an attack 
that can cut with such precision. Most of their attacks are 
broader, like being hit with a runaway carriage. The marks on your 
wrist also match the heart motif of her chain.
	"Incidentally, she managed to wrench it quite well," Hotaru 
added, and pushed down on his tendons with her fingertips. "Is this 
your sword hand?"
	Kunzite grimaced. "Ow. Yes."
	"Thought as much," and Hotaru nodded to herself, "Your jaw 
doesn't seem to be bruising a lot, though it otherwise would 
probably be swollen tomorrow. Open wide."
	Kunzite opened his mouth, and Hotaru made a face at the blood 
pooling inside.
	"You cut your tongue deeper than you let on, General," she 
chided him. "That must have been one impressive kick."
	"Sure felt that way," he agreed.
	"Did you at least manage to hold your own?"
	"Somewhat." 
	It was difficult to enunciate Lunarian syllables properly 
when someone else kept your jaws wide open.
	"She actually had me a few times," Kunzite said, "but she let 
me go so we could continue the match. Had we been fighting without 
anything to hold us back, I suspect she would have won. She has a 
few minor injuries, as far as I am aware. You'll want to look at 
her next."
	Hotaru let out a somewhat dark laugh. "Managed to get enough 
in to lick your wounded pride?" she asked.
	"Pride had nothing to do with this," Kunzite said evenly. "It 
was a sparring match, pure and simple; we were simply testing each 
other's skills. It's the first time we both have had an opportunity 
to face such a unique opponent. Even if they have not seen all the 
battles I have, the Sailor Soldiers are still impressive warriors 
considering how young they are."
	Something about the integrity of his response made Hotaru 
smile.
	"I think I've learned all I need to know," she told him. 
"Thank you for being so honest, General."
	She moved herself nearer, and nearer still, until their faces 
were so close they could have leaned forward and rested against 
each other's forehead. With great care Hotaru brought her hands to 
rest upon Kunzite's chest.
	He looked at her in confusion.
	"Close your eyes and try not to think about what you're 
feeling," she said, and in an apologetic tone added, "This will 
sting quite a bit."
	Heeding her orders and advice, Kunzite closed and eyes and 
braced himself for whatever was going to happen next. This was one 
of the strangest sessions with a doctor he had ever experienced. He 
resumed his meditation. That came to an abrupt end with the feeling 
of a hundred tiny pins sticking into his chest.
	Kunzite grunted and forced himself not to open his eyes. His 
chest started to burn, enveloped from the inside out with an 
incredible heat that seemed to be coursing through the very veins 
in his body. Wherever the burning sensation traveled, the prickling 
followed after it. Soon Kunzite's entire body was being subjected 
to it, and he opened his mouth only to have nothing able to come 
out.
	As abruptly as it had begun, it was mercifully over.
	The heat subsided, the prickling ceased, and the only thing 
Kunzite became aware of was the cool touch of Hotaru's hands on his 
bare chest. He collapsed on the floor and let himself fall against 
the mats. It was easier to breath again, and Kunzite could move his 
wrist freely. The taste of blood was but a distant sensation in his 
mouth.
	He was quite content to stare up at the ceiling. "Does being 
healed always feel like that?" he asked.
	"The Sailor Soldiers have a higher threshold for pain than 
any normal person," Hotaru explained. She seemed a little amused by 
his reaction. "They would feel only mild discomfort. Had your 
wounds not been so numerous and severe, you probably would have 
felt only mild discomfort yourself."
	She leaned back alongside Kunzite, and braced her arms 
against the floor mats. "You handled the experience admirably, 
especially for a foreigner contending with it for the first time."
	"Thanks," Kunzite mumbled. "How many people have that power?"
	"What, the gift to heal?" Hotaru said, and brushed a stray 
hair away from her face. "Not many. Even here on Lunaria, most 
physicians use the tools that you would on Earth. There are perhaps 
a dozen or so of us who have been given this ability to heal by 
touch alone."
	As she spoke, Kunzite could feel his strength coming back to 
him. He sat up. "What about the others like you?" he asked. "Where 
are they?"
	Hotaru sighed and looked up at the ceiling. "Some of them 
have established themselves in highly-profitable jobs," she said, 
"tending exclusively to the rich and elite. Others have set about 
doing what they can to heal whomever they come across; they travel 
from district to district, and kingdom to kingdom, denying no one."
	"Is it draining?" he asked.
	She turned her head towards him.
	"Your gift," Kunzite said. "Does it exhaust you whenever you 
renew someone else's body?"
	Hotaru hesitated, as if the answer grieved her more than she 
cared to admit to. "Yes," she said. "Not many people ask that 
question, General. A healer essentially is pushing their own 
strength into someone else's body. Because I am among the strongest 
of the healers, it has become my duty to look over the Sailor 
Soldiers. I can handle the daily drain on my body."
	"You look about as young as the Sailor Soldiers," Kunzite 
said.
	Hotaru shook her head. "My powers can be directed both 
outwardly to others and inwardly to myself. I am older than I look, 
General. I might even be your elder." 
 	She called Minako in, and asked her to strip down.
	Naturally it was Kunzite's turn to leave the room, though 
Minako didn't seem to hold any objections if he had stayed. Kunzite 
preferred to remain outside.
	As it turned out, Minako's collarbone and septum were bruised 
from his punches, and Hotaru was impressed by the cut across her 
left arm from Kunzite's sword. "Any deeper," Hotaru said once she 
had finished, and allowed Kunzite back inside, "and you would have 
given me true cause for concern."
	"Anything I can do to help," Kunzite glibly replied.
	Hotaru redressed into her robes saw them to the front doors 
of her chambers. Her form was a stunning contrast to the whitened 
room. She expressed her desire to see them again soon, though only 
as visiting guests and not patients needing treatment.
	"How are you feeling?" Minako asked as they left.
	"Better," Kunzite said. "Definitely not as sore, though a 
little tired."
	Minako rewarded him with an empathetic laugh. "The healing 
process can do that, especially if you have not grown accustomed to 
it," she said. "I'll show you to your room, and you can recover a 
little before dinner."


				*	*	*
	When Endymion returned to their guest quarters and assembled 
his Generals, only missing was Zoicite. Nephrite and Jadeite were 
with him to begin with, and fortunately they found Kunzite already 
relaxing in the common room. 
	"What happened to you?" Nephrite asked, and closed the door 
behind them.
	"I discovered just what a Sailor Soldier is capable of," 
Kunzite said.
	Jadeite smirked as he claimed a chair for himself. "I can 
only hope you were more eloquent than Nephrite over here."
	"Hey, she hasn't tried to kill me yet, so I'm not a part of 
this conversation," Nephrite snorted, and sat down on the settee.
	Kunzite's gaze moved to the folder held in Endymion's hand. 
"Is that what I think it is?"
	"Compliments of Zoicite," Endymion said. He dropped the file 
onto the table, and then sat himself down on a chaise. "From what 
Nephrite's told me, this is all Zoicite has been able to find on 
the Seraphim thus far. He's still working on digging up whatever 
else he can before the masque."
	"From what I heard," Nephrite said, "if Zoicite wants to get 
anything substantial, he's going to have to crack open the Seraphim 
Order's personal archive. Let's hope he doesn't create an inter-
planetary incident in the process."
	They spent a little bit of time reviewing the files. Time was 
short already, with their dinner appointment drawing closer and 
closer. Fortunately and unfortunately, the information Zoicite had 
managed to collect was sparse, so they did not require great 
lengths of time looking it over.
	"Damn, we're still practically fighting blind," Jadeite 
sighed. He threw down the paper in his hands, and leaned back in 
his chair. "Some spotty theories and references to the Seraphim 
being able to disguise themselves as walls here."
	"I've got a few eye-witness accounts that seem to be unable 
to agree over whether the Seraphim can fly or just leap unnaturally 
high," Kunzite said. "What about you, milord?"
 	Endymion shook his head as he thumbed through a small group 
of papers. "Analyses of their hierarchy structure, nothing more. 
Positions, statuses, duties; no names listed."
	"Nothing new or overly impressive on my end either," Nephrite 
said, and tossed his papers on top of Jadeite's. "At least we've 
got time between dinner and the masque. Zoicite may turn up 
something between then."
	Kunzite glanced over to the chronometer on the wall. "Zoicite 
has roughly half an hour before dinner. After that we've a short 
break between the meal and the dance, so he has two hours at best 
before we walk into a possible war."
	"Let's hope if he's late, nothing happens," Jadeite said.
	Nephrite's brow furrowed, and as much as he hated to speak, 
he stated, "It's going to happen tonight." 
	He suddenly had everyone else's full attention.
	"You tried to farsee again," Endymion said, understanding why 
Nephrite could be so confident without being so pessimistic. "What 
did you find?"
	"Not sure," Nephrite answered. "I found...something. More 
specifically, I found someone."
	Kunzite asked, "Who?"
	"I don't know," Nephrite said, for as much as he disliked the 
answer, and he shook his head. "She had red hair and a voice that 
raised the hairs on the back of my neck. Elegant and chilling all 
at once. I stumbled into some part of her mind, and she noticed 
immediately. I got the boot before I could find out anything else."
	Endymion grew tense, and memories of a voice from his 
childhood capable of instilling such cold fear returned to haunt 
him. "What can you say about her?" he asked Nephrite.
	The General took a moment to think over his encounter. "She's 
intelligent," he said. "She's patient, and worst of all she's 
treating this like it's a game she's already won."
	"This could be the one Spinel answers to," Jadeite said.
	"There's no way of knowing for certain unless she makes an 
appearance," Kunzite countered, "but I'm inclined to agree that 
she's probably our source. We find her, we find the answers we're 
looking for."
	He turned to Endymion. "All of them."


				*	*	*
	For as relaxed as Cioran was, Zoicite found it very 
uncomfortable being around a Seraphim. He constantly had to fight 
back the paranoia that Cioran was simply waiting for them to lower 
their guards before killing him and Garnet.
	"So, you seek Spinel, is it?" Cioran remarked. 
	He rummaged through the papers from one of the archival 
chests. His eyes rapidly scanned each page, and thus far he had 
set three-quarters of the stack aside, finding nothing of value.
	"What do you know about him?" Zoicite asked. 
	"I did not train Spinel," Cioran said, "nor did I mentor him 
once he became a member of the Order. I know only his reputation."
	"That can help."
	Cioran set down the paper in his hands, and ventured down the 
memories in his mind. "Spinel was very quiet, and very determined. 
He came to us very young, and even then showed the potential to 
become a great master. He was relentless and ruthless in carrying 
out his missions, and he completed them all to the utmost 
satisfaction of our council.
	"He and others disappeared two years before the Seraphim were 
officially dissolved by Halcyon Queen. Already there were rumours 
of the Sailor Soldiers being reborn, and people were debating our 
fate without even asking us. At the time, I thought they were just 
anticipating what came to pass. Spinel vanished, and in a sense 
avoided the dishonour of being stripped of all that made him a 
Seraphim."
	He glanced over at Zoicite. "You have a similar name for such 
warriors who find themselves dishonoured and masterless: ronin."
	Zoicite grudgingly nodded his head, and focused more on the 
stacks of papers he had to sort through. Happily the Seraphim were 
very meticulous about organizing their archives. The hardest part 
about locating Spinel's information was trying to calculate what 
year he became a member of the Order. All the dossiers and reports 
of each member, from oldest to most recent, were put in a file that 
was sorted by the chronological date of when the member was first 
initiated into the Order. In short: they could only locate Spinel 
by first figuring out what day, month and year he had been inducted 
into the Seraphim Order.
	Garnet worked tirelessly as she mowed through the contents of 
each chest, which often contained up to a hundred files, or else a 
daunting stack of papers. Zoicite was impressed that Garnet made a 
point of skimming through each file to see if there was even a 
random mention of Spinel or the others, and she was going faster 
than Zoicite could ever hope to move.
	"Well," she said finally, and removed her reading glasses. 
"The good news is that thanks to Cioran here I've been able to get 
a list of actual names of all the Seraphim who vanished twelve 
years ago."
	Zoicite and Cioran exchanged optimistic looks.
	"That's definitely good," Zoicite said. "I've been able to 
find a great deal of nothing, unfortunately."
	Garnet did not share in his optimism, however, and went on. 
"Now for the bad news: as far as this Spinel character is 
concerned...I can find nothing on him."
	Zoicite stared blankly at her. "You're kidding me. Nothing?"
	"General," Cioran said from behind another stack of papers, 
"You have examined almost every chest in this archive that holds 
the personal records of our membership." 
	"You can't just lose files like that, though," Zoicite 
protested.
 	"I would consider it impossible myself," Cioran agreed, "but 
all of his personal records, save for the generic report stating 
only that he passed his entrance exam and became a part of the 
Seraphim Order, are gone."
	Zoicite blatantly swore in Terran-Nihongo, and slammed his 
fist onto the table. 
	"Not just him," Garnet said grimly, "but all these other 
Seraphim guards too." She glanced over at Cioran. "That list you 
gave me with the names of the group that vanished--their personal 
records and evaluations are missing too."
	Cioran scowled and studied the floor. "Someone else has been 
in here, it would appear," he said, and his voice was as friendly 
as a wild wolf. 
	The three of them lapsed into brooding, uncomfortable 
silence. Zoicite leaned against the table with his arms crossed 
over his chest, and his mind went through the worst possible 
scenarios his imagination could conceive. They all ended with 
Endymion dying, and two worlds going to war.
	Judging by the look on Cioran's face, his thoughts were the 
same.
	Garnet continued staring at papers. She shuffled through one 
or two files, then opened one up and started reading its contents. 
Abruptly her brow unfurrowed and she sat up. "Wait a minute!" she 
said. "Cioran, do you have any records here about candidate lists? 
Files on Lunarians who were being considered for joining the 
Seraphim Order?"
	"We already looked at those in the other archives," Zoicite 
said. "They gave nothing more than a lists of names. We've already 
got names. We need skills and faces now."
	"But the Seraphim must have more detailed files on potential 
candidates than this," Garnet said, turning to Cioran. "You guys 
keep track of anyone who displays strange talents and powers that 
might make them adept Seraphim guards. They might be old and 
outdated, but you would still have them." 
	Cioran's face went from stoic to smirking. "We do," he 
stated.
	He made great strides across the archive to the opposite end, 
and brought a total of four chests to the worktable. "From most 
recent to least recent," he stated. "Many of these are the original 
assessments of any candidates, plus one or two follow-up reports if 
they seemed to be showing more potential." 
	Already armed with the dates that Spinel had first been 
targeted as a candidate, Garnet wasted no time digging through the 
stacks and pulling out his file. Zoicite did not bother hiding his 
open relief in seeing that there was one seemingly insignificant 
document that Spinel (or whomever had been in the archives) had 
forgotten about.
	 "A preliminary report says that he can teleport," she 
announced after reading through part of the file. "His range is 
limited, and he can only do it two or three times before he 
exhausts himself." 
	She looked from Zoicite to Cioran, they could tell she was 
worried. "Regardless, he could pop up right behind you and kill you 
before you even knew he was there. And this was dated roughly 
seventeen years ago; he's probably improved since then."
	"Sometimes the battle can be won by simply knowing what to 
expect," Zoicite said, and he laughed at the thought that they 
might just stand a chance if it came to battle. "Garnet, darling, 
you're beautiful. Don't change."
	Garnet let shine a victorious grin, and then held up the file 
for them to see. "And," she added, "we've got pictures. Old 
pictures, but I can use the archival orbs to age them and find a 
match."
	Zoicite studied the picture, and recognized Spinel's eyes. 
The waiter from last night had worn those same eyes. He wondered 
how driven Spinel must have been by his thirst for vengeance to 
take such a risk, to go out in public where someone might notice 
him or his glares. Zoicite considered himself lucky that he had 
been disenchanted enough with the masque to have been even looking 
in the first place.
	"Though," Garnet added regarding the images, "it may take 
anywhere up to an hour. Dinner will be over by then."
	"At least the masquerade starts later," Zoicite said.
	"Yes, but not by much," Garnet said. "Tonight's dinner is a 
private, formal how'd-you-do between your envoy and the Lunarian 
officials. Once the meal's done, there's about half an hour of 
amicable chatting, and then everyone goes dancing in the next 
room."
	Zoicite grimaced. "That's going to be cutting it tight."
	"Trust me: I should know," Garnet said. She was already 
looking at the candidate files. "As it is, I'm leaving my spot 
noticeably vacant at the banqueting table for this." 
	Zoicite fought back the urge to swear yet again. Why was it 
that whenever something went wrong, everything else had to go wrong 
just to compliment it? He could only hope that Spinel was either 
waiting for another night, or else running late himself.
	Zoicite looked up as he noticed Cioran heading towards the 
door of the archive. 
	"I shall leave this to you both," Cioran said. "In the 
meantime, I have other preparations that must be accomplished if I 
am to meet you properly at the masque."
	"What are you going to do?" Zoicite asked.
	Cioran grinned, and it was a grin Zoicite did not entirely 
like. "It's a surprise," Cioran replied.


				*	*	*
	Endymion flexed the muscles of his arm, and listened to the 
sound of cloth, leather and armour being pulled taut. The Soul 
Constellation was sheathed at his side, and sheathed beneath that 
was an equally exquisite and equally deadly ceremonial katana. His 
left arm was covered in elaborate kote: armguards adorned with rows 
of small, metal plates running up along his forearm, leaving his 
hand free to grip or grasp whatever might come his way during an 
attack.
	As he stared at his reflection in the mirror of his 
bedchambers, he found himself glad that for a dinner as formal as 
this, he could get away with wearing this sort of armour. Everyone 
would probably believe it was for ceremonial reasons. Wearing what 
he was, he felt like he was going to war again instead of 
socialising with nobles.
	He glanced at the chronometer on his wall. 
	"It's time," he muttered.
	Endymion drew in a long, unhurried breath, held it, and 
exhaled.
	The calming act softened the churning in his stomach.
	He opened his chamber doors and stepped out into the common 
room. The three Generals were already present and dressed in 
similar armour. The colouring of their armour differed, however, 
indicating their respective islands.
	"Now this is how to dress for dinner," Nephrite said, 
grinning as he checked on a small dagger hidden behind one of his 
shin guards. 
	No one cared to tell him to get his foot off the coffee 
table.
	"No other visible weapons save for our swords, remember 
that," Endymion stated. "I can still see the hilt."
	"That's because you know how to look and what to look for," 
Nephrite replied, almost dismissively. He still complied and tucked 
the sheath in behind his shin guard a little better.
	Kunzite glanced down at the two swords at Endymion's side.  
"Shall we follow in suit with you and wear two?" he asked. He 
remained doubtful of hearing "yes" as an answer.
	Endymion shook his head. "I think even Lunarians will 
understand that my stature allows me the freedom to wear two. It 
will distinguish me from the rest of you."
	"You could just paint a giant target on yourself," Nephrite 
said. "That'll get you noticed just as easily."
	"If these rogue Seraphim have been tracking our movements 
since we arrived," Jadeite said from where he stood against one of 
the pillars, "they'll already know what Endymion looks like."
	Nephrite frowned and glanced back over his shoulder at 
Jadeite.  "What is it with you and destroying any glib witticism I 
try to make?"
	"I delight in being antagonistic?" Jadeite ventured.
	Nephrite stared at him blankly, then sighed and said, "Can't 
argue with that."
	Jadeite smirked and began to watch the door with more 
attentiveness than was necessary. Kunzite quietly stepped around 
the common room furniture and joined him.
	"What is it?"
	Jadeite continued to scowl at the front doors. "I dislike 
having my naginata here, and being unable to wield it for this 
battle. The bladed staff is my specialty."
	"I somehow doubt we can smuggle it into the masque," Kunzite 
said, apologetic. He turned to Endymion. "Milord, if I may be so 
bold."
	"I always welcome your counsel, Kunzite," Endymion said.
	Kunzite nodded. "These Seraphim may be more than we can 
handle. If it comes to it, you should use your abilities. At least 
then, you can level the playing field against Spinel."
	Endymion's expression hardened. "You were always the one who 
told me to never reveal more than necessary, Kunzite. You drilled 
into my mind the need to conceal my powers even more than my father 
did."
	"I think out of everyone who knows about your gift," Kunzite 
countered, "I'm the most qualified to tell you when to use it."
	"And what about you, General?" Endymion challenged.
	Kunzite's face revealed nothing. "We shall see. But out of us 
all, you are the one they want to kill. The rest of us are 
collateral damage. You may not like it, but you will in all 
likelihood need it."
	At that, Endymion scowled and looked at the floor. "I do not 
like the thought of Lunaria finding out about my powers before my 
homeland," he said. 
	"Look at it this way," Nephrite offered. "Everyone here will 
see you in a whole new light. They might actually think more highly 
of you if you dared to exhibit some of the powers that are normally 
exclusive to here."
	"Of course, that may lead to rumours of Endymion having 
Lunarian lineage," Jadeite countered. "Not to mention some 
Lunarians may denounce your abilities, Endymion; they'd be jealous 
thinking that Terrans could possess the same powers they otherwise 
hoard."
	Endymion studied the floor, mulling over the possibilities. 
"What about you, General?" he asked, turning his gaze to Kunzite.
	Kunzite shook his head. "You're royalty; people won't be 
entirely surprised if you must reveal your powers. For me, it's 
more complicated." 
	"Complicated?" Nephrite said incredulously. "Kunzite, you're 
the one who taught him how to use his powers once we discovered he 
had them. His father delegated that task to you alone."
	Again Kunzite shook his head. "One Terran delegate possessing 
a power with Lunarian echoes, that can be excused and easily 
explained away. But two? If we're lucky, only one side will think 
something suspicious is happening." Kunzite evenly met Endymion's 
gaze. "You have the freedom to use the gifts you have, milord. But 
I will not. Not this time."
	"Even if it means your life?" Jadeite said.
	"I enjoy my life just the way it is," Kunzite countered. "If 
I must to survive, then I will. However, I do not intend for any of 
my fights to become that desperate." 
	There came a knock at the doors.
	Everyone's heads snapped up.
	"I trust I am not interrupting you," came Setsuna's voice. 
"It is time to attend the formal dinner, unless you require more 
time to prepare. If that is the case, I can inform Halcyon Queen 
for you." 
	Jadeite and Kunzite glanced back at Endymion. 
	He nodded to them, and Jadeite stepped forward to open the 
double doors.
	Setsuna stood at the threshold before them, adored in flowing 
robes of amethyst and long, pristine feathers. With her mask on, 
its long beak sloping down far beyond her nose, she resembled a 
dark and beautiful stork or crane. Her dress also happened to give 
the Generals a good view of her ample cleavage.
	Nephrite whistled when he saw how she was dressed, and 
Kunzite could scarcely hide how impressed he was.
	"I take it by your expressions that you approve of my look," 
Setsuna said, not the least bit abashed or blushing. If anything 
she seemed to take their reactions in stride and enjoyed the 
attention. She gave their common room a sweeping glance. "Where's 
the fifth member of your entourage?"
	"Sick," Kunzite said, keeping his answer brief and exact. "We 
shall convey our regrets to Halcyon Queen for his absence when we 
see her."
	"I see," Setsuna said, nodding her head. However, when 
Kunzite looked into her eyes, he felt certain she did not fully 
believe him. "Problems adjusting to the change of atmospheres?" she 
inquired.
	Kunzite nodded, pleased to have her give them a simple 
explanation.
	"It's more common than everyone thinks for travelers to feel 
adverse effects from their journey," Setsuna said. "I shall have 
some tea and herbal breads sent to him later on. They will help 
settle his stomach."
	"I think General Zoicite will appreciate that," Kunzite 
agreed. "I'd also recommend you just to leave it in the common room 
when you do, though. Best not to disturb his recovery if he's still 
sleeping."
	Setsuna dutifully bowed her head. "Of course. Now, if the 
rest of you will come with me." 
	The Generals waited until Endymion tightened the last of his 
leather straps. He strode across the common room and became the 
very image of the future lord of all Japan. Setsuna waited until he 
was beside her before she turned and walked alongside him down the 
halls. Jadeite and Nephrite took up step behind them, and two steps 
behind them, Kunzite closed their doors and paid careful attention 
to the shadows and backgrounds of the halls.
	Endymion idly glanced at Setsuna's breasts and marvelled at 
how dark and tanned her skin was. Not many other Lunarians seemed 
to possess such tanned skin, he noted. He also noted that Setsuna 
was stealing more than her fair share of glances at his armour, 
which had been moulded to fit his body like a second skin. 
	"Enjoying the view?" Endymion asked her.
	Setsuna smiled wolfishly at him. "I enjoy seeing a man in 
uniform," she said.
	"I don't imagine you see a lot of that around here," Nephrite 
remarked as he glanced over his shoulder at a harmless amphora 
vase.
	"Actually, I do," Setsuna said, "though the Lunarian Royal 
Guard tends to resemble large kettles with arms and legs. Yours 
certainly...gives much detail to your physical attributes."
	Her eyes roamed up and down Endymion's body again.
	"What about females in uniform?" Jadeite asked. It was a very 
pointed question, not matter how dismissively he had asked it.
	Setsuna's eyes turned to his direction. "The Sailor Soldiers, 
you mean," she said. "I'm not entirely sure I would call what they 
wear 'uniforms'. Comparatively speaking, what you wear bears more 
resemblance to what I believe a uniform should be: decorative, 
distinctive and offering protection."
	In a wry voice, she added, "And I prefer men, though that's 
not a proposition."
	Jadeite was somewhat taken aback by that last remark, and 
nearly stopped. Nephrite brushed past him and chuckled, "Ouch." 
	Even Endymion and Kunzite smirked.
	Setsuna's barb, for as cold as it had been, was merely in 
jest. They all knew it, and yet Jadeite found himself talking it 
more personally than he knew he should have. "Damn it," he hissed 
at himself, and quickened his step to keep up with them. He could 
feel his usually cool composure unravelling. The last thing he 
needed was to walk into a battle without a heart of ice. That would 
only mean a faster spiral into a frightening creature he did not 
want Lunaria to see.
	Their journey was longer than any of them had expected, and 
it seemed to take them further and further down into the palace as 
they worked their way along enormous spiral staircases, and down 
corridors that echoed haunting silence.
	They were at last led into a chamber that was almost as 
enormous as the ballroom from last night. High above their heads, 
rows upon rows of candles encircled a domed ceiling that showed 
only stars. The far wall stood a great, towering sculpture: eleven 
Sailor Senshi of old holding aloft each of their respective 
planets.
	Endymion, as did the others, noted how the Inner Soldiers of 
today looked nothing like their ancient predecessors. 
	And then: eleven?
	Endymion had his suspicions about a Sailor Soldier of Earth, 
though the historical records were very vague when it came to the 
Darkstorm, and one had yet to appear in this age at all. But an 
eleventh? That made no sense. Endymion had no time to think 
further, or even ask someone about it; they were constantly moving, 
with new faces and new greetings.
	Next to the sculpture, placed by the corner, was an 
extravagant Lunarian piano. Shaped like a ring, it floated 
leisurely in the air, the keys stretching around its entire length. 
Endymion could have rolled right underneath it and stood up in the 
middle if he'd wanted to. The other walls were lined with exotic 
palm fronds and plants, specially trimmed and cut to allow easy 
access to the various double doors scattered around the room. There 
were no signs of servants, or a meal for that matter.
	"Think they'll try to kill us with the food?" Nephrite 
muttered to Jadeite. He spoke Terran-Nihongo.
	"They do that, and they'd wipe out the upper echelons of 
Lunaria in the process," Jadeite replied. "No, I'm betting they'll 
wait until the masque--more room to get in and out."
	"The masque also makes for a more brutal, public display," 
Nephrite added.
	At the centre of the room stood the banqueting table, and 
most of the places were already occupied. Like the piano, the table 
was an enormous, marble ring floating in the air without requiring 
the use of any legs. No one was seated inside the ring; all the 
chairs lined the outer rim. Silver utensils and plates with hand-
painted Lunarian designs were laid out before each place, as well 
as three glasses of different sizes.
	Much to Endymion's surprise, Setsuna joined them at the 
table, though she sat directly across from the Sailor Soldiers and 
the Terran-Nihongo delegates. It appeared they were following a 
designated seating arrangement.
	Everyone at the banqueting table was dressed for the masque 
to follow, though the costumes were not as elaborate as they had 
been on the previous night. Everyone's masks were also removed for 
the duration of dinner.
	Not surprisingly, Halcyon and Serenity were not in costume. 
The four Inner Soldiers, however, were all dressed up as one of the 
four seasons: Minako was spring, her costume dancing in layers of 
green and blue; Rei was summer, dressed in yellows and reds; Makoto 
was autumn, and her dress was of gold, and cloth leaves had been 
woven into the braids of her hair; Ami was winter, her gown as 
white as snow, her hair shimmering with small bits of silver.
	"They certainly do dress for the occasion," Nephrite murmured 
to Jadeite.
	"And here I thought we might have been overdressed," Jadeite 
added.
	Halcyon warmly greeted Endymion with a formal bow, and then a 
kiss to his right cheek as he approached her seat. Serenity stood 
from her chair, and mimicked her mother's bow to Endymion and his 
Generals. She then leaned forward, hesitated, blushed, and finally 
kissed him on right cheek.
	Endymion tried not to smile so obviously.
	He then heard what sounded like Kunzite clearing his throat 
in a poor attempt to hide his amusement. Endymion glanced back at 
Kunzite. Kunzite was attempting to conceal his grin behind a 
nonchalant fist placed in front of his chin. 
	"Shut up," Endymion muttered good-naturedly in Terran-
Nihongo.
	"I trust you will not have a problem dining with your 
weapons," Halcyon said.
	Endymion glanced at the chairs, and saw they had no armrests. 
There would be very little means to get their scabbards entangled. 
"We'll be fine," he replied.
	Endymion sat on Halcyon's left, with Serenity seated at her 
mother's right side. Next to Endymion sat Kunzite, and next to 
Kunzite was Minako. Kunzite briefly entertained himself by guessing 
how long it would take for Minako to start running her bare feet up 
his legs again. 
	He was off by two and a half minutes.
	Zoicite would have been sitting next to Minako, but that 
chair was empty. Next to the vacancy sat Ami.
	On Serenity's end sat Jadeite, and beside him Rei, then 
Nephrite, then Makoto. Rei seemed to share uneasy eye contact with 
Jadeite. Jadeite, on the other hand, was indifferent and showed no 
ill ease on his part. Nephrite and Makoto didn't even bother trying 
to hide their growing animosity.
	"I see there is one missing from your party," Halcyon said 
quietly to Endymion.
	"General Zoicite was feeling somewhat ill after lunch," he 
replied. "It appears severe enough to have left him unable to 
attend the masque. He asked me to express his regrets to you."
	Halcyon bowed her head slightly. "When you next see him, 
please give him my kindest personal regards in the hopes that he 
will recover quickly."
	"I will," Endymion agreed.
	Their dinner did not come quickly. First Halcyon stood, and 
gestured for Endymion and his Generals to stand. The Inner Soldiers 
stood with them.
	"May I present to you all," Halcyon said in a loud, clear 
voice, speaking Lunarian, "the envoys from Earth: Lord Endymion, 
and his most trusted friends, advisors and Generals."
	There was a mixture of polite and energetic applause.
	Halcyon proceeded to name the Generals in turn, and added 
that the vacant seat would have otherwise been filled by General 
Zoicite.
	"These are the men who have journeyed from Earth to be here 
at our request," Halcyon told her gathered assembly. "They have put 
aside centuries-old mistrust and suspicion, and following in his 
father's footsteps, Endymion has come here to begin the process of 
establishing an everlasting peace between the Earth and Lunaria. 
Despite recent tragedies--"
	Endymion kept a stoic expression, though he knew what she was 
referring to.
	Concerned, Serenity looked over at him, and gave him a 
reassuring smile.
	"--they believe, as I do, that unless we stand united, we 
will never truly be victorious. The Sailor Soldiers have been 
reborn, and danger is lurking on the horizon. It must be defeated. 
It must be destroyed. It can only be done if we stand side by side, 
and fight as a single force.
	"I am not saying it will be easy. I am not saying that all 
suspicions and doubts and hostility between our worlds will cease. 
But tonight, we stand before you, Terrans and Lunarians. We ask for 
your support. We ask for your guidance. We ask that you be willing 
to stand alongside us, to put aside your differences, and fight the 
darkness with us."
	Her speech ended with a whirlwind of applause, and all those 
seated at the table rose from their chairs as they clapped. Kunzite 
studied each face in turn, and realized that almost all of them 
were showing sincerity in their applause. A few held reservations, 
but still were ready to support their queen. He could find not 
enmity or grudging acquiescence.
	His eyes met with Hotaru, who was some ten seats away from 
him, and they politely nodded to each other.
	Everyone sat back down, though Halcyon remained standing. She 
began introducing Endymion and his Generals to the various guests, 
officials and dignitaries seated at the table. Most of them stood 
and bowed as best as they could to Endymion when they were called.
	Halcyon paused when she came to another empty chair. "And 
here you would meet our archivist, Garnet. However, she also sent 
word earlier this afternoon that she was feeling ill and might not 
be able to attend the dinner."
	"That's some virus running around, isn't it?" Endymion 
muttered aside to Kunzite in Terran-Nihongo.
	Kunzite bit down on his tongue to keep from laughing.
	There was another vacant seat, but Halcyon said no more than, 
"an old friend of mine, who had to leave on urgent business."
	When she came to Setsuna, Halcyon merely introduced her as, 
"Setsuna, my most trusted liaison."
	Once the introductions were over, Halcyon sat down, and 
smaller dialogues started up amidst all the diners. Through one of 
the double doors, servants appeared pushing elegant trays bearing 
covered platters and dishes. Halcyon, the Sailor Soldiers, and 
Endymion and his Generals were served first.
	As they ate, a pair of young women quietly took their places 
by the base of the sculpture. The taller of the two sat down in 
front of the Lunarian piano. She brushed aside her bangs of sandy-
blonde hair, and began to sweep the room away on the winds of a 
slow, ethereal melody.
	Her companion stood beside the piano and began to sing a 
melody to match the one coming from the piano. She almost seemed to 
dance as she sang, cascades of hair--a strange, almost azure 
colour--falling past her shoulders and down her back.
	Most of the conversations at the banqueting table ceased. 
Many found themselves lost in the melody being woven by the two 
women. Nephrite in particular perked up as he listened, more than 
anything because he saw that neither woman was performing with any 
sheets of music. Either they had memorized this melody already, or 
they were making it up as they went along, somehow anticipating 
each other's notes.
	"Who are they?" Nephrite remarked. His head wasn't turned in 
Makoto's direction as he asked it, and so Makoto was begrudged to 
make any sort of reply.
	Rei turned her head to Nephrite, then followed his gaze to 
the female musicians. "They're two of our more famous and adored 
performers," she answered. "More often than not, they can be found 
here in the palace, entertaining guests or playing for special 
functions."
	"The one singing is very pretty," Nephrite said in Lunarian.
	"That would be Michiru," Rei said, an amused smile on her 
face. "She's taken, by the way."
	Nephrite's brow creased; all the good ones were naturally 
taken. "By whom?"
	"Haruka."
	"And this Haruka guy is?"
	"The woman playing the piano."
	Nephrite blinked a few times before slowly turning his head 
towards Rei. Rei was unable to contain her laughter, and next to 
her, Jadeite chuckled as well. Makoto tried to smile, having 
listened to the entire conversation, but found it a difficult task 
after having been left out of everything.


				*	*	*
	Their deadline grew dangerously close, and by looking at the 
chronometer on Garnet's wall, Zoicite knew that the dinner was 
probably half-over by now. The process of aging all the pictures 
had, as Garnet warned, taken almost an hour. At first Zoicite tried 
to preoccupy himself by reading through the candidate files, but 
that proved disparaging as he learned of how one woman could summon 
illusions; and another could seemingly multiply herself; and how 
one man could in fact turn himself into some kind of monstrous 
wolf; and it was about then that Zoicite decided he'd be better off 
doing something else with his time.
	"You're going to drive me to the brink of insanity if you 
keep pacing like that," Garnet said somewhat irritably as she stood 
in front of another floating orb.
	"Would you rather go back to me fidgeting?" Zoicite asked.
	"I'd rather you did neither."
	They were in her private office overlooking the bird 
sanctuary. It was a large and spacious office, and covered mostly 
in papers, though there were five or six impressive-looking swords 
mounted on the wall. There was no actual desk; just another basin-
shaped pedestal for that orb she used. Apparently aging a 
photograph anywhere from twenty to twelve years was a lengthier 
process than Zoicite had expected.
	"It's extrapolating as best as it can," Garnet said. "I'm 
going for precision here. I could do some one-minute procedures, 
but the image generated may not be as exact as this, and we might 
miss it when we start cross-referencing."
	"It wouldn't worry me so much," Zoicite sighed, "if we didn't 
have a dozen or so faces to age."
	Garnet watched him stare down at the bird sanctuary, and 
shook her head. She was as stressed as he was, but she wore her 
tension better. Zoicite knew that his tension always reached its 
peak before a battle, and the battle itself was his outlet. 
	"You want something to do?" Garnet said. "Go to your quarters 
and grab some weapons. Maybe that'll help. The odds are I'll be 
done most of these by the time you get back."
	"I don't want to risk leaving you alone," Zoicite said. "Not 
with these stakes."
	Garnet snorted. "Please, General! Just because I'll be alone 
for a few minutes doesn't mean I'll be helpless. I may be a 
bookworm, but I have been trained since childhood in the art of 
swordsmanship."
	"Does everyone in the palace train?" Zoicite asked.
	"More or less," Garnet said. "Thing is, here it's viewed more 
as an elegant dance with blades, whereas on Earth it tends to be a 
means of saving one's life by ending another's."
	She gestured with her eyes to her swords on the wall. "I can 
handle myself well enough. Besides, if one of Spinel's Seraphim 
comes for me, there's no guarantee you would last any longer than 
me."
	"Welcome to the way of the world," Zoicite glibly remarked. 
He considered his options, and grudgingly admitted to himself that 
Garnet was right. He needed to arm himself and dress for the 
masque. He felt certain that Endymion and the other Generals would 
be in their light armour. At least he hoped they were dressed that 
way.
	Zoicite turned to Garnet. "I'll be back in fifteen, if I can 
help it."
	Against his better judgement, he left her alone in the 
archives and retraced the route to the guest quarters.
	The common room, not surprisingly, was empty. There was, 
however, a small tray on the table stacked with herbal cakes, tea 
and a kettle still steaming with hot water. Knowing that he would 
be doing this on an empty stomach, Zoicite grabbed one of the cakes 
as he passed by, and ate it as he suited himself up.
	A curious "myu?" came from behind him. Zoicite glanced back 
over his shoulder as Artemis poked his head into the doorway. 
"Hiding under the chairs, were you?" Zoicite remarked.
	Artemis bounded into his room and hopped onto the bed.
	Zoicite scratched him behind the ears, and Artemis purred 
affectionately. "I don't know if you've eaten already," he said 
quietly to the little cat, "but you'd best stay in here. Tonight's 
going to get very unpleasant."
	Artemis stared up at him with wide, blinking eyes.
	For a moment Zoicite could have sworn the cat had actually 
understood what he'd spoken. He quickly dismissed the notion, and 
shed his clothes in favour of armour.
	For as much as he wanted to take his time, and let each 
action of the suiting be a slow, ceremonial gesture designed to 
calm his nerves and his heart, Zoicite knew that time would not 
permit him the pleasure. He shed his robes, laced up his armour and 
hung his katana at his side. He then removed a small box from 
amidst his personal belongings, and drew out a dozen shuriken. One 
by one, the small throwing blades were hooked into special sheaths 
hidden by his armour. Most were at his waist. A few were hidden in 
his kote. The remaining ones were strapped to his legs.
	He considered briefly taking up his helmet, but intuition 
told him that the others probably had not brought theirs. Zoicite 
left it be. He drew out his katana, brandished it a few times and 
let it cut through the air. The blade seemed quite happy to be in 
use once more. Zoicite sheathed it back in its scabbard, and left 
the guest quarters.
	He grabbed two more cakes as he left. 
	Artemis followed him out into the halls and wasted no time 
wandering elsewhere.
	When Zoicite returned to the archives, Garnet had finished.
	"Here's the list of pictures of our missing rogues," she 
said, and gestured to a jumble of pictures spread across her desk. 
	Zoicite tossed her one of the herbal cakes, and Garnet caught 
it without missing a beat. "Thanks," she said, taking a bite of it 
as she stared down at the images. "Based on how old they were when 
they were first scouted, I've aged each of them accordingly. Now we 
know what faces to look for. I can try and cross-reference those 
faces with the guest list."
	Yet after a few minutes of effort from the orb, nothing came 
up.
	"I'll try attendants too," Garnet said, noting the grim 
expression on Zoicite's face. "Anyone serving during the masque."
	Again, after a few minutes, nothing was found.
	"Maybe they are waiting for another night," Garnet ventured.
	"Or maybe they were smart enough to anticipate we'd get this 
far," Zoicite said. "Cross-reference these face with every 
attendant and servant in the palace."
	Garnet stared at him. "That's a lot of faces."
	"Well, the faces we're looking for are from the Seraphim," 
Zoicite said. "They may not need direct access to the masque 
tonight to get in. They were trained to take down any authorized 
personnel and assume their identities. Hell, they may just slip in 
uninvited and lie in wait."
	"You think they're covering their asses, in other words?" 
Garnet said.
	Zoicite nodded. "One rogue Seraphim on the guest list or duty 
roster can be explained away easily. Twelve of them, on the other 
hand, would be noticed by almost anyone. I simply need to know if 
they're here in the palace."
	The wait required fifteen brutal minutes as hundreds of faces 
seemed to race past them, but one by one, the faces and names of 
the missing Seraphim were linked to registered personnel in the 
palace. As the final face appeared, Zoicite made a quick count. 
Eleven of the rogue Seraphim were listed, with Spinel being the 
notable exception.
	"They're here after all," Garnet said, trying not to sound 
triumphant. "Let's just hope they're trying to quietly reintegrate 
themselves back into society for noble purposes."
	She turned to Zoicite and grinned. "If not, we've got them."
	"Unfortunately," Zoicite said, "they might also have us. It's 
time we attended the masque. I think dinner may be close to ending 
as it is. The reception time between the meal and the masque will 
give me the chance to brief the others."
	Garnet took all the aged images and shuffled them into a 
folder, along with some other papers she had gathered from their 
work. "I'm just hoping to grab a bit of the food before it's all 
wheeled away," she said, and looked up at Zoicite. "Care to be my 
date?"
	"It is not my intention to draw you into any of the 
fighting," Zoicite sighed. He knew where the conversation was about 
to go, and more than that he felt certain he knew how it would end. 
"Can I still talk you out of attending the masque?"
	"I'm not going to sit here alone, where any of the Seraphim 
could just as easily get me," Garnet stated with a huff. She passed 
him by and pushed the folder into his chest. "Besides, a Terran-
Nihonjin General who disappears for dinner and shows up armed and 
paranoid for the masque is going to generate a lot of attention."
	"The two of us arriving together will stir up some 
interesting rumours," Zoicite said.
	Garnet arched her eyebrows as she headed to her private 
bathroom. "Sounds like fun to me. I'll be changed and ready in five 
minutes. If I don't see you here waiting for me when I come out, I 
will hunt you down with one of those swords on the wall."
	Zoicite could not begrudge her for it. He owed her too much.
	The door was pushed mostly closed. There was just enough 
space for Zoicite to see part of the bathroom. Garnet shuffled 
around inside, sliding out of clothes and zipping up other parts. 
When she emerged not long after, she wore a flowing gown of 
sparkling white and silver. White and silver glitter of some form 
also shimmered in her hair, and she had quickly applied some 
elegant designs upon her face in similar colours. More than 
anything, what caught Zoicite's attention were the large wings upon 
her back.
	"And just what are you supposed to be?" he asked.
	Garnet shuffled a bit awkwardly. In a quieter than usual 
voice, she said, "A Lunarian faerie. Do you like it?"
	"Yes, I do," he said, and was honest about it. He then 
sighed, "I'll never get used to this masque concept, though."
	"Oh, and what to you dress up as for these occasions?" Garnet 
retorted, amused at how out-of-place he acted.
	Zoicite rolled his eyes. "That's just it: we don't have this 
sort of occasion. Ever. Masquerades are unheard of in my culture." 
	"Your loss, then," Garnet remarked as she strolled past him, 
and nearly tripped over her shoes. "Ow! I hate heels."
	Zoicite laughed, and held out his hand. "Come on, let's go to 
the masque."
	Garnet nodded, and cast a glance at her swords. Then she 
looked down at her costume and scowled. "Damn it, I should have 
taken a costume that could have let me carry in a weapon. There's 
no place to hide any of my swords."
	"Do you have any daggers?" Zoicite asked.
	Garnet shook her head. "Not here."
	Zoicite took a step to one side, and evaluated Garnet's 
costume. His eyes fell upon the large pixie wings upon her back. 
The brace running down the centre to support both wings was not 
very wide, but it was a hollow cylinder, and long enough for their 
purposes. Zoicite quickly stepped to the wall, removed one of the 
more slender smallswords and slid it down through the cylinder. The 
hilt was not incredibly fancy, but it stuck out as the crossbars 
held the sword in place. 
	"You'll need to keep your hair down," Zoicite said to Garnet, 
and he adjusted how her hair flowed over the hilt of the 
smallsword. "Now you're an armed Lunarian faerie."
	Garnet smiled. "My hero." 
	Then she leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. 
	Zoicite was too tense to smirk. "We need to be going."


				*	*	*
	Spinel's final hour was one spent in solitude and shadow. 
	With candles aflame around his kneeling form, he drank from 
the neverending cup of bitterness and hatred lurking deep within 
his heart. Flickers of red and orange danced upon the walls, though 
he no longer read from the runes he had carved with his sword. 
	He would have carved them with his dagger from the royal 
guard, but months ago Beryl had approached him and asked to make 
use of his weapon. When he'd first asked, she had said only that 
when the task was done, he would delight in it, though he would 
never be able to hold his dagger again.
	Beryl had been right.
	When he learned that his dagger had been used to slay 
Endymion's father, and more than that, who had murdered Endymion's 
father, he'd laughed. Laughed so hard and furiously that his face 
was stained by scarlet tears. He delighted in Endymion's sadness 
and despair, but it wasn't enough. Endymion had yet to feel the 
wrath and pain that Spinel had been forced to endure. Now that 
moment was fast approaching, and Spinel found himself at peace as 
he accepted what was to happen next. What had taken eleven years of 
waiting was reaching its end.
	Beryl was his only messiah, and even then she had promised 
him nothing more than the chance to take his revenge. It was all 
Spinel ever wanted. All he had ever asked for. And so he did not 
care whatever she might be planning around him. He was a mere pawn, 
a puppet serving some greater, darker purpose he knew she would 
never reveal to him.
	He'd always known.
	And he did not care.
	Beryl's voice rang within his mind, her cold, methodical 
words lacking any pity, lacking any thrill or melancholy. 'You're 
not going to escape. You know that, don't you?'
	Spinel smiled to himself, and stood.
	He unsheathed his sword and stared at the reflections of the 
candlelight upon its blade. Unlike the dagger, which was a 
ceremonial treasure as much as it was a weapon. The swords of the 
Seraphim Order were blessed by the tears of the Lunarian Queen. 
When one of the Seraphim died, regardless of what the circumstances 
might have been, their blades would crumble into dust and vanish. 
No one else would ever be able to use their swords after they died.
	Spinel turned away from his family's shrine, and with one 
swift, decisive arc cut the air in half. The myriad of candles 
within his sanctum were all snuffed out at once. Spinel stalked 
towards the doors, and pushed them open. 
	He found, waiting on the other side, the other eleven 
Seraphim who had pledged their allegiance to him. Their loyalty was 
not blind: nearly twelve years spent as ghosts without pasts, 
without homes, and without peace had hardened them all. Their 
resolve was set. When word came down that Halcyon Queen was going 
to end their honour and cast the Order aside, they were willing to 
listen to the words Spinel had whispered their way.
	He promised them not glory. 
	He promised them not a chance at restoration.
	All he promised them was purpose, and they accepted. His 
vengeance had become their purpose. Beryl had helped, to be sure. 
She had infused within them all a dark flame, some monstrous, 
burning desire that could not be quenched. They were themselves, 
yet they were darkness without compassion and without remorse.
	The eleven Seraphim stood at rigid attention before their 
commander. 
	"We are set upon our course, and our journey nears its 
completion," Spinel told them all. "Freely you have followed me 
these long years. Freely you have given up everything, though 
everyone had already abandoned us. And so now I say one last time: 
freely you may leave, if you are having doubts. Live a new life. 
Disappear and do what you will. For I will die tonight, and any of 
you who follows where I walk shall die with me. I offer you nothing 
more than a culmination, an end, a fulfillment of purpose. 
	"I do not care if you turn your back. You will not be 
dishonoured by my mind or by my lips. Your memory and devotion up 
to this point shall be cherished. Choose what you will, but know 
this: tonight I shall have my vengeance, and there will be blood."
	His last words rolled off his tongue as the growl of a beast.
	Spinel looked to each of them in turn, and none turned away. 
One by one, they unsheathed their swords in one last act of 
allegiance.
	"For honour," one of the Seraphim said, "that once more 
Lunaria may hear the name of the Seraphim, and tremble in fear of 
it."
	"For the blood of your family that cries out still," said 
another, "that tonight we might put them to rest at long last."
	The last of the Seraphim gathered there cast his cold, 
hardened gaze at Spinel. Quietly he spoke: "For vengeance."
	Spinel nodded his head. "For vengeance."


				*	*	*
	Kunzite had eaten, though it had not been much. He'd eaten 
enough; consuming too much of the food would have left him feeling 
weighed down and sluggish. He'd not touched his wine beyond a sip. 
Even then, it had been a gesture performed so as not to bring 
insult to Halcyon. He was certainly not above drinking their fine 
wine, and wondered if he should have drunk more of it. If he 
happened to die tonight, it would have been a fine wine sadly 
wasted.
	Everyone had adjourned to an enormous drawing room that 
seemed to be the buffer space between the private banqueting hall 
and the ballroom. It was a room decorated not by windows, but by 
paintings of venerable sages and rulers who had long since passed 
on. As he studied the paintings, Kunzite noted how none of them 
depicted any soldiers--Sailor Soldier, Seraphim or otherwise.
	He weaved his way around the clusters of chairs and sofas, 
where many of the Lunarian dignitaries were engaged in small talk 
or blustering on about important affairs of state. It was such a 
strange thing to see, Kunzite thought: on Earth he was so used to 
everyone else around him knowing that a war was coming, mainly 
because he commanded armies. Yet here he knew that tonight there 
would be war, and no one else could have even guessed it was 
coming.
	Most probably would have laughed if he told them. 
	Dismissed it as paranoia, or just plain Terran war-mongering.
	Kunzite knew well enough to keep quiet; he talked with the 
other Generals through furtive, well-placed glances and exchanges 
of expressions. They were feeling the tension as well, though some 
had managed to push it aside better than others.
	Nephrite talked amicably with Sailor Mars. Having heard from 
Jadeite that she was a priestess of the Fire, he was curious to 
compare her prophetic rites and rituals to his farseeing. Jadeite 
chose a quiet corner to stand in and be forgotten by everyone else, 
though that proved a futile effort when Setsuna flagged him down. 
She made a point of personally introducing him to some of the 
palace officials.
	Endymion was earning himself many quick glances, though he 
seemed of such high and unattainable stature that no one dared talk 
with him, save for Halcyon and Serenity. Halcyon had stood back, 
chatting sociably with the two musicians from dinner, while 
Endymion and Serenity shared a sofa together. Endymion seemed to be 
doing most of the talking, and given how wide and entranced 
Serenity's eyes were, Kunzite guessed that Endymion was regaling 
her with tales of his childhood.
	Kunzite had to smirk when he saw how Endymion smiled back at 
her.
	Serenity's shy, quiet smile was contagious.
	Kunzite looked over his shoulder as he heard one of the doors 
open; it seemed too early for them to start the masque. He let out 
a silent sigh of relief when he saw Zoicite walking in, dressed and 
armed as they were. And then, much to Kunzite's surprise, he caught 
sight of Garnet with Zoicite.
	The two entered the drawing room, arm in arm. Their entrance, 
for as nonchalant as it was, sent up a series of whispers through 
the room. Garnet and Zoicite bowed to each other, and then went 
their separate ways to mingle with the masses.
	Kunzite looked over to Endymion, who nodded. They both 
excused themselves and met with Zoicite. Their sudden clustering 
garnered some attention and a bit of disdain from the others. 
Kunzite didn't really care; they all would learn soon enough.
	"You made it after all," Endymion said.
	Zoicite nodded, trying not to so obviously pant for breath. 
"Barely. They're here in the palace. No guarantee it'll be tonight, 
but if not tonight--" 
	"Nephrite believes it will be tonight," Kunzite cut in, "and 
I for one believe him." He glanced over at Garnet, who was now 
talking with Ami. "Is that the archivist?"
	Zoicite followed Kunzite's gaze. "Yeah."
	"How much does she know?"
	"Almost everything."
	That did not entirely surprise Kunzite, or anyone else.
	"And yet she still insisted on coming here with you," Kunzite 
said quietly. "When the battle begins, she will be your 
responsibility. Protect her as you would any of our vassals."
	"Thank you, General," Zoicite said. He turned to Endymion and 
handed him Garnet's newest file. "That is absolutely everything we 
could find. Spinel's friends cleaned out the Seraphim archives as 
well, but we have a few good indicators of what they're capable of. 
And what they look like."
	Endymion was already reading the first of the candidate 
reports. He glanced over at the estimated face next to it, and 
studied all the details. "I'll see to it that this is passed on to 
the others before the masquerade begins," he said. "We'll need to 
memorize these faces as best we can."
	Kunzite nodded. "You look at it first, as you are their 
primary target. I'll distract Serenity in the meantime."
	As Kunzite turned to leave, Endymion placed a hand upon his 
shoulder. "General," he said pleasantly, "Do bear in mind that I 
will be forced to hurt you if you tell her about the fishing boat 
incident."
	"Would I ever go and embarrass you like that, milord?" 
Kunzite replied, grinning.
	Twenty minutes passed before the ballroom doors were opened. 
Almost all of the Lunarians were quick to put on their masks or 
hold them up in front of their faces. With excited whispers, and 
most of them going in pairs or groups of three, they filed out into 
the masque, where an unseen string quartet could be heard playing.
	Not as eager to walk out into the ballroom, Endymion and his 
Generals lagged behind, as did Garnet. Halcyon and Serenity were, 
as custom dictated, the last to enter the ballroom.
	"This is one of our more private ballrooms," Halcyon was 
telling Endymion. "It may not boast such a dynamic view as our more 
public ones, but it makes up for that in other ways."
	The ballroom was hidden within the depths of the Sea of 
Tranquility. Haunting shimmers of blue danced across white walls 
that were carved into reliefs and statues of fish, dolphins and 
underwater oddities. Almost everywhere they looked, even above, 
they were surrounded by water. The sea itself was held at bay by 
towering and remarkably sturdy panes of glass. 
	For as beautiful as it was, it did nothing to make the 
Generals feel any better.
	"We have to fight in here?" Zoicite muttered in disbelief. He 
stared up at the flowing water high above their heads. "Great, just 
great. One wrong move, and we die by drowning instead of by sword."
	"You ever have that feeling that someone out there doesn't 
think you've got enough problems to contend with already?" Jadeite 
agreed sourly.
	Kunzite forced himself not to scowl as he surveyed the glass 
enclosure. Now they had to worry about all the spectators as well. 
From what he had read of Garnet and Zoicite's file, even the rogue 
Seraphim were trained to leave any innocents out of the fight, 
focusing solely on their targets--or anyone willing and insane 
enough to leap into the fray and challenge them. That had been an 
advantage.
	Emphasis on the 'had been'.
	"You don't like it?" Serenity asked Endymion, seeing his 
equally vexed expression.
	Endymion quickly changed his face. He laughed to himself, 
shook his head, and smiled down at Serenity. "No. It's beautiful. 
I'm just a little overwhelmed. We have nothing on Earth that could 
begin to compare with this."
	He caught sight of a series of vases and amphora of all 
sizes, each of them overflowing with roses. "I see you remembered."
	"I don't think I could forget," Serenity said softly, and her 
face became a little flushed. "Could you make the roses dance for 
me again?"
	Endymion shifted uncomfortably, and brought them to a stop 
before one of the amphora. "It's not something I like to show off, 
Serenity," he said.
	"Why?"
	"Terrans do not usually possess the strange abilities that 
Lunarians seem to so commonly have," Endymion said. "The people of 
Earth are afraid of it, because they do not understand it. Some 
would call it sorcery, and those who have it are considered 
possessed. There are those in my own homeland who would exile me if 
they learned."
	"Such things are never curses, Endymion," Serenity told him. 
He could hear the horror and pity in her voice. "They are gifts."
	"I know," he said. "It's what saved my life once, though I 
have never been able to fully duplicate what I did that time. 
Desperation probably had something to do with it."
	Endymion glided one of his fingertips along a rose's stem.
	The rose shivered, but did nothing more, and stayed unnoticed 
by anyone else.
	"My father always knew, though," Endymion continued, and he 
turned to Serenity. "He seemed proud of what I could do, but he 
never said exactly why. He never called me cursed, never denounced 
what I could do. He simply told me that not everyone would 
understand, and that it would be safer for me to conceal it. He was 
right."
	He could see the righteous anger burning in Serenity's eyes.
	It was a different look for her, and Endymion found himself 
liking it. 
	"That is unfair to you," she said, almost protesting. "To 
have to hide something so beautiful."
	"Life is unfair, Serenity," he answered. Long ago had he 
relegated himself to that fact. "It is our test in life to either 
fight to restore balance, or exploit those already being crushed. I 
have drawn my line, and the world knows where I stand, as do you." 
	Serenity smiled and nodded her head. "And I shall stand with 
you," she said. "Do you have any other gifts?"
	"A few, yes," Endymion said, downplaying those particular 
skills. A childhood of concealing them made it very easy for him to 
act as if they were very few and not very good. That necessary 
trait seemed to be very endearing to Serenity, though no doubt for 
different reasons.
	"I hope I am given the chance to see them," she said.
	Endymion's eyes were moving from face to face, and for a 
moment he thought he had caught sight of a face very similar to the 
ones in Zoicite's file. Adrenaline flooded his body, but the face 
had already disappeared and moved on.
	"Perhaps all too soon," he murmured, and led her away from 
the roses.
	Unexpectedly for him, Halcyon approached and very courteously 
blocked his path. He looked at her questioningly, and she rewarded 
him with a smile.
	"I would like you to share your first dance with my 
daughter," Halcyon said to him. "It would mean a lot to her."
	Caught by surprise, Endymion looked from mother to daughter. 
"Why me?"
	Halcyon could not help but chuckle as she watched Serenity's 
expression. "Because she asked to have the first dance with you."
	Endymion slowly turned his gaze to Serenity, who was now a 
bright shade of red. "And when exactly did you ask this?" 
	In a very quiet, very embarrassed voice, Serenity answered, 
"After you and I talked this afternoon?"
	Endymion laughed, though it was not a derisive laugh, and he 
hoped Serenity knew that. Her flushed expression made it impossible 
to tell either way. "I would be honoured to share the first dance 
with you, Serenity," Endymion said, extending his hand. "And the 
roses are beautiful, milady. Thank you." 
	The music began, and many of the masked officials took up a 
partner and made their way to the centre of the ballroom. They all 
waited as Endymion and Serenity weaved between the pairs and took 
up their place at the centre of the ballroom. Sapphire hues rippled 
over them like sunlight. Endymion bowed to Serenity, and she 
curtseyed to him. They never let go of each other's hands.
	They began to dance, and slowly grew oblivious to everyone 
else joining in suit. 
	Zoicite had to smile as he watched his lord and prince dance 
as if nothing could possibly be wrong with the night. At the very 
least, Endymion was enjoying himself before all levels of hell 
broke loose.
	And the Terran-Nihonjin religions all had a lot of hells.
	"How soon do you think it will be?" Garnet asked as she drew 
up beside him.
	Zoicite's eyes scanned for any familiar faces, and found 
none. "I don't know. They may wait until the last dance, when the 
night is late and we are tired. They may not wait at all." 
	He shifted his attention onto Garnet, and saw the worry in 
her face. "Listen," he told her, "I don't want you getting involved 
unless it is absolutely necessary."
	"I already am involved," Garnet stated.
	"Yes, you are," Zoicite agreed, "but you are not one of their 
targets. Wait until you know you are safe, and then judge for 
yourself when to enter the melee."
	Garnet looked impressed with him, if not a bit confused. 
"You're not going to forbid me to stay out of it," she asked, "even 
if it means me getting injured or killed?"
	Ruefully, Zoicite smirked. "I think that when the moment 
comes, I'll be a little too busy to haul you back to the 
sidelines."
	Their whispering did not go unnoticed.
	Minako and Kunzite stood at the edge of the ballroom dancers. 
	"What is all that about?" she asked.
	"It would appear General Zoicite has recovered," Kunzite 
replied.
	Minako cast a glance at Zoicite, and then at Garnet. "Or else 
he had another agenda. Garnet is quite the woman, if you get past 
her love of the archives." 
	"It's a little more complicated than that, I think," Kunzite 
said.
	His cryptic words caught Minako's curiosity.
	"Dance with me first," Kunzite said to her, taking her hand 
in his, "and then if time allows, I shall explain."
	As many of the other guests had already paired off, so too 
did they. Kunzite led, though he went slow as she walked him 
through the steps of a Lunarian waltz he had never before 
encountered.
	"So now you will tell me," she asked, "why you ate so little, 
and drank even less?"
	"I didn't realize you were paying so close attention," 
Kunzite said.
	A curious smile preyed upon Minako's face. "I pay close 
attention to those around me who matter."
	"I matter that much to you?"
	"Perhaps. Play your cards right tonight, and we shall see 
just where you stand."
	He almost had to laugh at her brazenness. "You do know there 
stands about five years between us," he told her.
	Minako's unflinching response showed that she had in fact 
considered the age difference, and thought very little of it in the 
end. "Love moves beyond the boundaries we would otherwise place 
upon it," she said.
	"Oh, so it's love that we share?" Kunzite said as he twirled 
her body beneath one of his arms.
	"A love, yes," Minako agreed. She was drawn close to him 
again, and they resumed their waltz. "Though whether or not it's a 
love for each other is questionable."
	They twirled once more, moving away only to be brought back 
against each other.
	"So what sort of love are we sharing?" Kunzite asked her.
	"A love of the game," Minako answered.
	"And what game are we playing?"
	"Trust."
	Kunzite traced his fingertips along her cheek, and then 
combed them through her long, golden hair. "Do you trust me then, 
Sailor Venus?"
	"Depends," Minako said. She then leaned closer to his ear and 
whispered, "If I invite you to my room afterwards, are you going to 
bring your sword to bed?"
	Kunzite was about to give her his answer, but his voice was 
silenced as the double doors leading into the undersea ballroom 
were pushed open. 
	Spinel did not pause in the doorway. He kept moving, stalking 
across the ballroom floor towards Endymion, the other rogue members 
of the Seraphim following behind him. His mere presence alone 
managed to end the music. The Lunarians stopped dancing and went 
silent.
	The air grew thick with malice, poisoned by Spinel's vengeful 
gaze.
	Endymion felt it upon his back, and stopped dancing. He 
slowly tuned around, surprised in how calm he was considering what 
was about to happen. 
	"Endymion?" Serenity asked him.
	Endymion gave her no answer; he stepped out and placed 
himself between her and Spinel. Serenity's eyes widened as Endymion 
grasped the hilt of the Soul Constellation. The warmth in his eyes 
from moments before was gone.
	Nephrite stiffened. Without excusing himself he walked away 
from Rei, and stood by Endymion's side. Jadeite and Zoicite emerged 
from amidst the masked dancers to join their prince. Kunzite saw 
the change in movement, and stopped his dancing. His eyes looked 
straight ahead, and beheld Spinel and his men marching towards 
Endymion.
	"Kunzite, what's going on?" Minako asked.
	As gently as he could, Kunzite pushed her away. His eyes 
never left the advancing Seraphim. "Minako," he said quietly. 
"Gather the other Sailor Soldiers. You're about to have that first 
battle."
	He knew she was staring at him in confusion and disbelief.
	"Do it now," he stated. 
	Minako turned to the Seraphim, scowled, and disappeared into 
the crowd behind them. Kunzite moved swiftly to stand alongside 
Endymion's ranks. The five of them were disturbingly casual as they 
waited for Spinel to come to them. None drew their swords. None 
leapt ahead of any of Endymion's commands. They understood the 
situation well enough.
	If Spinel was going to challenge them so openly, then it 
would save all the explanations they'd have to make in the bloody 
aftermath. 
	Spinel came to a stop roughly twenty paces from Endymion and 
his Generals. With great civility, he rested his elbow upon the 
hilt of his sword, allowing the crowd to move further and further 
back from the confrontation.
	"Unlike you Terrans," he stated, "I attack from the front, 
and not from behind like a coward."
	Endymion stiffened in recognizing Spinel's voice. "I know 
you," he hissed.
	Spinel's lips curled into a savage smile. He seemed almost 
proud of Endymion. "I was hoping you wouldn't forget, even after 
eleven years."
	Spinel drew his sword.
	Endymion and his Generals drew theirs.
	The other Seraphim unsheathed their weapons. One brandished a 
whipping chain with a barbed end. Another held a vicious double-
pronged sword. One held two blades in his hands. Most of the others 
simply stood without weapons, and they were the ones Endymion's 
Generals were immediately concerned with.
	The other guests in the masque looked on as if this might 
have been some curious staged display, or perhaps even a very 
macabre joke. Many of them still recognized the old Seraphim 
uniforms. They could not yet bring themselves to believe that they 
were witnessing two opposing forces more than ready to kill each 
other. Only Garnet seemed to understand. Her entire body had 
tensed, her fingers nervously wriggling as she debated when to 
grasp the smallsword hidden in her faerie wings.
	Serenity was unable to hide the fear and horror on her face.
	Halcyon stood by, lost in a grim expression. In her 
peripherals she saw a group of four women stand at the forefront of 
the crowd, and shook her head at them. This was not to be their 
fight, not yet at least.
	"It seems we've come full circle at last," Spinel said. "Now 
we are both orphans, our parents murdered--and their killers will 
never be brought to justice. There is nothing left for you and I, 
but to die avenging them."
	Endymion's eyes widened in fury.
	"Watch yourself," Nephrite muttered. "Don't let him goad 
you." 
	Spinel's grip around his Seraphim sword tightened. "We've 
both been expecting this, Endymion. Now we end it."
	The tension in the air crackled.
	The few seconds of silence were lethal enough.
	"Oh, this is so delightful," whispered Lapis to her twin 
sister. They stood amidst the gathered crowd, dressed like angels. 
"It's like the chess pieces on the board decided to stop with all 
those trifling special movements, and just kill each other all at 
once."
	"Indeed," Lazuli agreed. "A shame we're not allowed to play. 
It looks so fun."
	"We'll have enough fun just watching it," Lapis said. "After 
all, our little boy's all grown up now. Let's see if he still knows 
how to run like a wild horse." 
	Lazuli's mouth contorted into a maniacal grin. "If he still 
does, I want the pleasure of breaking him."
	"Shame on you, my dear sister," Lapis chided her. "Share, 
share alike."


				*	*	*
	At the forefront of the two factions, Endymion and Spinel 
locked gazes. The hatred burning in Endymion's eyes at his former 
captor began to mirror the cold, murderous flickers in Spinel's 
eyes. Spinel changed his stance, and prepared to strike. Endymion 
did the same.
	No one moved until they did.
	When Spinel lunged for Endymion, they became lost in blurs of 
light and raked their swords down upon each other. The blade of 
Spinel's own Seraphim sword struck against the blade of the Soul 
Constellation, and sparks rained down. Before the sparks could 
bounce off the marble floor of the ballroom, the Generals and the 
other Seraphim lunged for each other.
	Zoicite unleashed a volley of shuriken darts across the air, 
giving them time to cut through the distance before any of the 
rogue Seraphim could pull any surprises. It had been a magnificent 
ploy. It still failed. Three of the charging Seraphim dodged the 
shuriken without showing any signs of slowing down, and another 
caught two of the darts between his fingers.
	Their lines collided, and the sound of weapons screaming 
against each other echoed across the horrid silence engulfing the 
ballroom. The screams of the weapons were quickly drowned out by 
the screams of the masquerade guests as they realised this was no 
planned event or joke--both sides were fully intent on killing each 
other. Pandemonium rained down. Masked dignitaries and officials 
began running in all directions as they tried to seek out an exit.
	Jadeite found himself backing away frantically as his single 
blade was forced to defend his body from a Seraphim's twin swords. 
A slash across his arm drew blood, and another tore the chestplate 
of his armour in half, the rows of metal plates tumbling to his 
feet. He managed to return the favour by slashing the Seraphim 
across the wrist, forcing the woman to drop one of her swords.
	The blade of Nephrite's sword was caught between the two 
prongs of a Seraphim's sword, and snapped in half. Nephrite stared 
down at the broken hilt of his katana, then let out a shout of 
"That was my favourite katana!", and threw the useless piece at the 
offending Seraphim. 
 	Zoicite was kept more than busy dodging the one Seraphim's 
whipping chain. All but one of his shuriken were gone; the last 
volley he'd tried to throw at his opponent had been swatted aside 
by the Seraphim's chain. Zoicite was not about to waste his last 
one unless it really counted.
	"Should we be worried that the second row of Seraphim haven't 
even moved yet?" he shouted out over the noise.
	"Not unless we kill the first wave!" Jadeite retorted, 
jumping behind the safety of a pillar as his opponent's remaining 
sword neatly cut into the stone.
	The Seraphim standing against Nephrite raised his sword over 
his head and tried to deliver a vicious, finishing blow. Nephrite 
caught the man's wrists, and managed to hold the edge of the blade 
mere inches away from his face.
	"Oh, gee, make it sound easy," he muttered. In a louder 
voice, he shouted, "Sword!"
	Coming out of another frantic roll across the floor, Zoicite 
spotted one of the Seraphim's discarded swords a few steps away. 
"Nephrite, incoming!" he shouted, sliding the tip of his boot 
beneath the blade. The weapon was kicked into the air.
	His back to the spinning weapon, Nephrite could only gauge 
where it was coming from based on Zoicite's voice. In a near-insane 
motion, he let go of his opponent's wrists with one hand, punched 
the man in the face and twisted the Seraphim sideways. Nephrite 
spun around the Seraphim, stretching out his arm and snatching the 
approaching sword from the air.
	One of the rogue Seraphim was cut down. 
	Of those remaining, one stepped forward to take his place. 
The others had yet to move. 
	Nephrite invited his new opponent to step forward with the 
tip of his sword. "Might as well get this over with," he muttered 
to himself.


				*	*	*
	Elsewhere in the ballroom, Kunzite dealt with one Seraphim 
guard who had suddenly decided to become ten. He stood within a 
circle of dopplegangers, each one acting like its own individual 
entity, each one leering at the prospect of helping kill him. Two 
charged, brandishing their swords.
	Kunzite's training flooded his mind, and with an unnervingly 
calm, fluid motion he twirled between both doppelgangers and 
cleaved them apart. One lost his head. The other his sword arm.
	More doppelgangers charged. Kunzite was forced to keep 
constantly moving about, his peripherals nothing but flashes of 
sword and Seraphim. He slashed one across the chest, spilling out 
make-believe intestines that left no bloodstains when they hit the 
floor. He took off another's face. One lost a leg. And one dodged 
his attack and rammed the tip of his blade through Kunzite's thigh.
	Kunzite cried out as he dropped to one knee. He looked up and 
saw one of the last three doppelgangers readying a blow to 
decapitate him. Kunzite braced himself for a swift and momentarily 
painful death.
	Suddenly there was a shout of "Venus Love-Me Chain!" that was 
lifted up above the throngs of shouts and screams. Sailor Venus' 
heart-shaped chain shot across the ballroom and wrapped around the 
blade of the Seraphim's sword. With one strong yank, Sailor Venus 
tore the weapon from the man's grasp.
	The Seraphim was surprised by this new development, but his 
surprise did not slow him down very much. He still levelled a 
savage punch to Kunzite's face, drawing blood from Kunzite's nose.
	Kunzite hit the floor, but quickly pushed himself back up to 
his feet.
	The Seraphim moved with blinding speed, suddenly standing in 
front of Sailor Venus before she could crack her Love-Me Chain 
again. His hands wrapped around her throat and hoisted Venus off 
the ground. His face held no emotion as he applied pressure to his 
fingertips, and began to choke the life out of her.
	Seconds later his grip went slack. Sailor Venus was dropped 
instantly, and his limp body slumped forward into her chest. 
Nephrite's dagger was buried to the hilt in the back of his chest. 
As repulsed as she was upon realising she was holding a corpse, 
Sailor Venus tried to find Nephrite in the crowd.
	He was unable to give her even a passing glance as he 
defended himself from the punches and kicks of a Seraphim who 
somersaulted through the air without caring much for the laws of 
gravity. "Dammit!" Nephrite shouted. "Get your ass down here and 
fight me like a man!"
	Seconds later he threw himself out of the way as the Seraphim 
threw a punch that struck the marble floor and shattered its tiles.
	The rest of the Inner Soldiers joined the battle.
	Zoicite was able to scramble out of the path of an otherwise 
fatal strike from the one Seraphim's whipping chain, thanks to a 
series of burning rings that hurled through the air. The Seraphim 
commanding the chain tore all but one apart. The last, fiery ring 
managed to scorch the side of her face.
	She did not seem very impressed with Sailor Mars.
	It was then that the remaining members of the rogue Seraphim 
decided to join in. 


				*	*	*
	Spinel launched himself right at Endymion with his first 
attack, his feet leaving the floor as he shot across the distance 
between them. His sword smashed into the Soul Constellation's blade 
like a stampede, and despite keeping a rigid stance Endymion was 
pushed back across the floor from the force of the strike.
	Any other sword would have surely broken apart beneath the 
incredible pressure.
	The Soul Constellation was an ancient blade, bound with the 
blood and power of long-ago generations of Endymion's family. It 
was as old as the Darkstorm. The Soul Constellation had, in fact, 
seen battle against the malevolent evil responsible for the 
Darkstorm: it had been wielded alongside the Sailor Soldiers who 
had died protecting their system four hundred years before.
	And so now, despite its age and the force of Spinel's might, 
the Soul Constellation merely groaned. And then it growled; 
Endymion found the strength to push away, casting Spinel back. It 
was something Spinel had not entirely been expecting. Warily he 
regarded Endymion's blade. 
	Endymion drew his second katana.
	Spinel threw himself at Endymion with renewed flourish, and 
Endymion found himself frantic as he was put on the defensive 
despite wielding two swords. Spinel's speed was incredible; 
Endymion remained unable to get even a single offensive strike with 
either of his blades.
	Spinel ducked the Soul Constellation and then blocked a lunge 
from the spare katana. He whirled and as Endymion brought the Soul 
Constellation back down upon his head, Spinel reached out with his 
free hand and cracked the base of his palm against Endymion's 
wrist. The Soul Constellation was denied blood, Endymion's arm 
slapped away. Without any gleeful relish, Spinel turned again and 
brought his sword arcing upwards at Endymion's face. Endymion leapt 
back, the tip of Spinel's blade grazing his cheek. 
	Suddenly Spinel was standing beside him instead of in front 
of him. Endymion recoiled, but not before Spinel rammed his elbow 
into Endymion's ribs. Spinel spun around once more and slashed 
Endymion across the chest. Endymion's breastplate fell apart. 
Endymion swore under his breath; that was the best armour the top 
metalsmiths of his country had ever forged. Either Spinel's sword 
was that sharp, or Spinel had that much raw power. Or even worse: 
both.
	As he struggled to regain his balance, Endymion brought the 
blade of his other katana down. With very little effort, Spinel 
kicked the spare katana out from Endymion's hand. A second time 
Spinel vanished, and he reappeared directly behind Endymion, 
remaining there only long enough to bring the end of his sword's 
hilt down on the base of Endymion's neck. Endymion fell to the 
floor, barely managing to stay on all fours. Tenaciously he clung 
to the Soul Constellation. 
	"This is pathetic!" Spinel snarled, and kicked Endymion in 
the side. "Get up and fight, damn you!"
	Princess Serenity cried out as Endymion was lifted into the 
air by Spinel's boot, and raced towards him. She stopped short as 
Spinel levelled his blade with her head. "This is not your battle," 
he hissed at her.
	"Spinel!" roared Endymion's voice.
	Spinel turned away from the Lunarian princess, and saw 
Endymion rising to his feet. "Oh, so you're still conscious, are 
you?" he remarked.
	"You," Endymion stated between hoarse gasps for air, "will 
not," he gasped again, "touch her."
	With a nod of the head, Spinel twirled his sword away from 
Serenity's face, and turned to meet Endymion.
	Endymion stretched out his arm, his eyes focusing on the 
second katana lost on the ballroom floor. A pulse of warmth flooded 
his body. The power he had for so long kept tucked away and hidden 
was at last given some freedom. His katana rattled violently on the 
floor and then yanked itself into the air, spinning wildly towards 
Endymion. Effortlessly, Endymion twisted himself to avoid the blade 
and grabbed hold of the hilt. He continued to spin the katana 
around, and crossed his arms over his chest, letting the tips of 
his two swords point down at the floor.
	Spinel arched one of his eyebrows. 
	"So that's how you broke out of your little cell," he said. 
His expression melted into cold disdain. "Even then, you were 
living on borrowed time, just like your father."
	He charged and tried arcing his blade to cleave Endymion in 
half at the waist, but Endymion's reflexes were just as fast. 
Endymion parried Spinel's sword, and they glared at each other as 
their blades were held in a momentary stalemate.
	"What do you know about my father?" Endymion growled.
	Spinel leered at him, and in a quiet, vicious voice he 
whispered, "I know who murdered him, who took his eyes and left 
behind my dagger."
	Endymion faltered.
	Spinel began to laugh as he pushed against Endymion's blade. 
It was a laugh twisted by scorn and cruelty.  "Yes, Endymion. That 
dagger was left behind intentionally, for you to find. It was meant 
to bring you here--to me!"
	He abruptly vanished, the weight against the Soul 
Constellation vanishing with him. Endymion stumbled forward, 
suddenly aware of Spinel standing right behind him. Spinel slashed 
at Endymion's back, and his blade cut right through Endymion's 
armour.
	Endymion sucked in a breath as he felt blood being drawn 
across his back. He whirled and barely managed to parry another 
slash meant to take off his face. Spinel was relentless with his 
attacks, and Endymion was constantly forced back.
	Endymion scowled as he fended off another lunge. At the rate 
this was going, he was going to run out of space and hit either the 
dome, or a wall, or someone else. Being backed into a corner was 
exactly what Spinel wanted from him. 
	Spinel knocked aside his spare katana once again.
	Options were running out.
	Endymion braced himself for what he had been both longing for 
and dreading. His hand was being forced; it was time to loose the 
power he knew he possessed. For one brief moment, Endymion closed 
his eyes. He unbound all the guards within his heart and soul. 
Every last seal holding back the power within his bloodline was 
torn down. In a surge of adrenaline, that raw power was unleashed.
	Spinel moved in, raising one of his legs to deliver a vicious 
kick to the side of Endymion's face.
	Endymion's eyes flew open, and with his free hand he caught 
the heel of Spinel's boot. Spinel was more than a little surprised, 
and gaped at how casually Endymion now held him at bay.
	"You've had your fun," Endymion said.
	"On the contrary," Spinel said, regaining his composure. He 
wrenched his boot out from Endymion's grasp. "This is merely 
beginning. I've been holding back, Endymion, as have you, I see. 
Now we fight without limitations."
	Spinel turned into another blur of light and colour.
	He moved even faster now, and kicked Endymion square in the 
chest before Endymion could blink. Endymion was sent hurling into 
the air, over the heads of everyone else fighting and running 
below. He only stopped when his back crashed against the height of 
one of the columns. 
	Gravity seized his body, and Endymion plummeted to the 
ground. He spun himself around and let the power flowing through 
his body help control his descent. He landed as if he had only 
dropped a few feet, bending at the knees and standing up 
immediately afterwards.
	With frantic eyes he tried to search for Spinel in the crowd. 
	He quickly found Spinel--right above his head. Spinel looked 
as if he were flying as he fell upon Endymion, his sword aimed down 
at the floor. 
	Endymion vaulted sideways into the air, somersaulting out of 
the way as Spinel rammed the tip of his sword where Endymion's head 
was a moment before. The blade sank into the floor and imploded the 
marble tiles around it. Spinel became lost in a cloud of dust and 
debris.
	Clear of the smoke and dust, Endymion rolled to his feet. He 
kicked away from the floor and soared through the air like one of 
the Seraphim. With a shout he raked the Soul Constellation through 
the heart of the dust.
	Spinel erupted from the cloud, and their swords crashed 
against each other once more. The force from their blows sent 
Endymion tumbling across the ballroom. He clipped the side of a 
pillar and crashed to the floor. With a snarl, Endymion spat out a 
mouthful of blood onto the floor and rose to his feet. The Soul 
Constellation was taking a beating from Spinel's attacks, but it 
was still strong and far from ready to give up. Endymion could feel 
its determination through his fingertips.
	Then he heard Serenity's voice behind him: "Endymion!"
	Alarmed, Endymion spun around and saw her standing not two 
steps away. His eyes widened as he felt the winds shift; Spinel was 
lunging right for both of them. Endymion raced past Serenity and 
wrapped his free hand around her waist, lifting her off the ground.
	Without the chance to tell her to hang on, Endymion took 
another leap into the air, the tresses of Serenity's white gown 
flowing behind him. Seconds later, Spinel drove his blade into the 
ground where they had both been standing, and turned the floor into 
an explosion of marble and dust.
	Serenity stared down in amazement as they almost grazed the 
heads of the people in the ballroom. "I didn't know you could do 
this!" she exclaimed.
	"Neither did I," Endymion said. He glanced back over his 
shoulder and saw Spinel bounding between the pillars, gaining more 
height each time. Unfortunately, Spinel seemed more adept at it 
than he was.
	They landed back on the ground, and Endymion stepped away 
from Serenity.
	Sailor Mars raced up to them. "Are you all right?" she called 
out.
	Serenity coughed and nodded her head.
	Sailor Mars glanced back over her shoulder. Spinel was in the 
air once more, coming for them. She turned to Endymion. "I'll keep 
her safe. You keep him away from Serenity."
	"Done," Endymion agreed, though he grimly noted how neither 
he nor Sailor Mars had said anything about actually finding a way 
to take Spinel down.
	Endymion leapt into the air, putting as much distance as he 
could between himself, and Sailor Mars and Serenity. Ignoring the 
two young women, Spinel gave chase, and tried to cut Endymion's 
legs apart before Endymion could land back on the ground.


				*	*	*
	"This is not the way I want to be remembered," Zoicite 
growled through clenched teeth. 
	He hid behind a pillar, hoping against hope that the Seraphim 
woman with the whipping chain wouldn't see him. In fact, he seemed 
to be the only real opponent she was interested in. What the hell 
had he done to her to deserve being marked like this?
	Zoicite looked around at what he could see of the ballroom. 
People still moved about, though many of them were cowering in fear 
and ran only when the skirmishes seemed to start heading their way. 
His gaze then caught sight of Halcyon, and that caused Zoicite to 
straighten up.
	"What is she still doing here?" he muttered.
	Of all people, the Queen of Lunaria should have been one of 
the first removed from any battle, especially one proving to be as 
fierce as this.
	Zoicite scanned the faces nearest Halcyon, and realised that 
they were familiar to him. He recognized Setsuna, and it didn't 
surprise him to see her standing guard close to Halcyon. What did 
surprise him was also seeing a young girl with pale skin and raven-
black hair, and the two women who had apparently entertained the 
dinner patrons with their music. He only recognized the musicians 
because Nephrite had pointed them out in the drawing room, and 
grumbled about them being taken by each other.
	Over the din, Zoicite's ears could vaguely pick up their 
voices. At best, he could read only half of what their lips were 
saying.
	"My queen," Setsuna was shouting. "We need to get you and 
your daughter out of here!"
	"No," Halcyon countered evenly. "Serenity and I stay."
	"This is not up for debate!" Haruka snapped. "People are 
trampling each other trying to reach the exits." 
	"The Seraphim are only after Endymion and his Generals, and 
anyone else who would directly interfere with their revenge," 
Halcyon stated. "They are attacking for personal reasons, not 
political."
	The young woman with the pale skin and dark hair shook her 
head. "That still does not mean it's safe for you or Serenity to be 
here. You need to--"
	Zoicite had little time to hear anything else, or ask why 
musicians of all people would be acting like Halcyon's personal 
bodyguards. The Seraphim with the whipping chain had found him 
again. Zoicite dove out of the way as the chain tore right through 
the pillar, just above his head, and then ripped up the floor 
behind him.
	"This is getting ridiculous!" Zoicite hissed, and raced 
somewhere else.
	Anywhere else, so long as it got that damned Seraphim woman 
off his trail.


				*	*	*
	Being pushed and shoved by the panicking crowd, Garnet was 
barely able to keep standing on her heels, let alone draw her 
smallsword and help out. She tried to make her way to Zoicite, 
racking her brain to think of ways to stop or even slow down a 
Seraphim Guard armed with a whipping chain. 
	Someone shoved her from behind and Garnet tripped over her 
shoes. She fell into the edge of the dessert table, her head 
narrowly missing two platters of pastries and chocolate. Grumbling 
to herself about mob mentalities, Garnet lifted her head and looked 
around. Not twenty paces away on the other side of the dessert 
table was the back of one of the Seraphim--and right in front of 
that woman was Zoicite, still fending off her whipping chain.
	Garnet swore.
	She didn't swear often, and made the moments when she did 
mean something of particular importance. Her mind worked furiously. 
There was no way that she could help even with her smallsword; the 
Seraphim's whipping chain had an incredible reach and could deflect 
almost anything sent her way. Garnet's hopes sank when she came to 
the conclusion she could not kill the Seraphim.
	That hope rose again when she then realised all she needed 
was to give Zoicite a window of opportunity. Garnet looked down at 
the table, and liberated one of the platters. The pastries covering 
it were flung aside, and Garnet sent the platter spinning through 
the air like a Frisbee.
	The Seraphim sensed the spinning platter, and whirled, 
cracking her chain. The platter was ripped in half by its barbed 
tip, but in doing so the Seraphim had lost her focus and opened 
herself up. 
	Zoicite had watched the platter soar through the air. He 
launched his final shuriken just as the Seraphim turned away. The 
whipping chain was not there to deflect the small, lethal blade. It 
buried itself in the back of the woman's skull. She went down 
instantly, and never got back up.
	Zoicite bowed his head in gratitude towards Garnet.
	It was all he could manage before another one of the Seraphim 
fell upon him.


				*	*	*
	The air inside the ballroom had quickly become saturated with 
sweat, blood and flashes of light as the Sailor Soldiers unleashed 
their attacks. Many of the Seraphim were too fast and agile to let 
themselves be hit, but they were still forced to do a lot of 
dodging, suddenly put on the defensive.
	Sailor Jupiter took over for Jadeite in his fight, and she 
took very little time in yanking away the Seraphim's remaining 
sword and kicking him so hard in the crotch that he didn't even try 
coming back up after going down.
	In the corners of his vision, Jadeite saw Endymion bouncing 
through the air like he was a frog. Spinel was giving chase, and 
looked to be winning the fight.
	Jadeite readjusted his grip on his sword, and raced towards 
his lord and prince. He skidded to a stop as the waves of people in 
front of him parted to reveal one of the Seraphim calmly waiting 
for him. Jadeite braced himself for another physical fight, but one 
never came.
	She wove an illusion before his eyes, and the undersea 
ballroom vanished.
	Jadeite saw a village.
	It was burning, the walls and road decorated in bodies and 
blood.
	He saw a wooden sword, loyal but now useless, laying next to 
its owner.
	His eyes widened and his heart began to beat faster in his 
chest. He wanted to whisper something, so many things of disbelief 
and guilt and apologies that would never be heard. He began to 
tremble. 
	To anyone else standing in the ballroom, it would have 
appeared that Jadeite had froze. He stood there, transfixed with a 
look of terror on his face. He was oblivious to the war raging on 
around him. He was deaf to the cries of the people trying to flee 
and escape.
	Jadeite didn't see the Seraphim woman appear behind him. But 
he did feel her blade as she drove it through the right side of his 
back. 
	Jadeite convulsed and coughed up blood. He fell to his knees 
and tilted his head down to the floor as blood began to run down 
his chest and stain his uniform. The Seraphim started to giggle, 
and delayed pulling out her blade to deliver the final blow. She 
was delighting in his pain.
	Her delight came to an abrupt stop when a small, white cat 
leapt onto her face. Letting out a yowl, Artemis clawed at her 
eyes. For as heroic an effort as it looked, one small cat daring to 
fight an armed Seraphim soldier, it made little difference. With an 
aggravated growl, the woman grabbed Artemis by the scruff of his 
neck and flung him into a cluster of terrified onlookers.
	Jadeite still knelt on the floor, the Seraphim's blade 
sticking out from his chest. The Seraphim turned back to Jadeite, 
and let her fingers wrap back around the grip of her weapon. 
Jadeite barely even flinched as the blade shifted in his chest. His 
eyes still beheld the fires and the blood. 
	The village.
	The sword.
	The madness...
	And the roar of a demon echoed inside Jadeite's mind.
	Scarlet tears abruptly ran down Jadeite's cheeks. It took the 
Seraphim a moment to realise he was crying blood.
	"Hi...ka..ri," he whispered. Then his mouth was contorted into 
a smile altogether inhuman, and Jadeite began to laugh. It was a 
low, guttural laugh, sadistic and violent, void of conscience.
	His knuckles tightened around the grip of his katana.
	The Seraphim woman pulled her out her bloodstained blade, and 
held it aloft over Jadeite's head. "If that is the way you want to 
meet death," she stated, "then so be it."
	She began to bring her sword down.
	Seconds later she was lost in an explosive cloud of blood and 
gore. Bits and pieces of her rained down, crimson splattering 
everywhere. As the red mist settled, it revealed Jadeite slowly 
rising to his feet. He was still laughing as his boots marched over 
the tattered remains of the Seraphim woman. His face and sword were 
covered with droplets of her blood.
	His tongue snaked out from his mouth and licked what blood it 
could find off his lips. A foreboding growl escaped his throat, and 
Jadeite slowly lifted his head to survey the terrified faces of the 
people around him. His eyes were a crimson to match the colour of 
the blood he wore.
	They were demon eyes.


				*	*	*
	Kunzite sensed a change in the air.
	It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
	He was propped up against a pillar, his wounded leg beginning 
to fail him. Kunzite turned his head towards the source. He was 
just in time to see the Seraphim woman vanish in a storm of her own 
blood. For an instant he was chilled to think that one of the 
Sailor Soldiers could possess such a gruesome attack--and then he 
saw Jadeite walking through the gore.
	He saw Jadeite's eyes.
	"Shit," Kunzite hissed. He caught Sailor Mercury's eye, and 
pointed at Jadeite. "Take him out now!"
	Sailor Mercury stared dumbfounded at Kunzite. "But he's an 
ally!"
	Another rogue Seraphim lunged through the air at Jadeite. 
Jadeite casually glanced back over his shoulder, and suddenly 
vanished. A split second later the Seraphim was nothing more than 
pieces raining down upon the floor. Jadeite landed on the ground as 
the blood still fell. His smile never faltered, never changed.
	Sailor Mercury almost jumped back when she saw it, and made 
some sort of gesture across her chest. 
	"He's not going to stop!" Kunzite shouted at her. "Take him 
down, before he starts killing everyone in sight!"
	Mercury pushed her way through the throngs towards Jadeite. A 
shiver ran down her spine as she caught a glimpse of Jadeite's 
eyes, and she suddenly understood the urgency of Kunzite's command. 
Already Jadeite was advancing towards some of the panicked 
spectators, his walk unhurried. He seemed perfectly calm and 
rational save for the twisted smirk on his face. The tip of his 
katana blade was being leisurely dragged along the floor, a thin 
trail of red left behind it.
	He was going to start killing the others in the masque unless 
he was stopped.
	Sailor Mercury held out her arms and summoned her powers. As 
far as the strengths of the Inner Soldiers went, she was better 
defensively than offensively. That still made her a force to be 
reckoned with. She let out a cry of "Shavon Spray!" and bathed the 
area around Jadeite in a thick blanket of fog.
	Jadeite paused momentarily and looked around. All his scarlet 
eyes could see were pulsing mists of silver and grey. He didn't 
need to rely much on his eyes; he could smell the terror of those 
nearest him. Jadeite began to raise his sword and followed the 
scent. 
	Three more steps were taken before he sensed a presence 
behind him. This scent was different in the others, and it acted 
like a perfume luring him away from the scrambling Lunarian 
officials. A growl was purged from Jadeite's throat and he turned 
around. His lips curled into another savage smile as he perceived 
Sailor Mercury standing somewhere before him in the fog.
	Mercury could only see a faint, dark outline of where Jadeite 
stood, but his red eyes pierced the blurry mists. She forgot to 
breathe and took a step away from him. Jadeite began to advance, 
his cruel, inhuman laughter echoing across the fog. Sailor Mercury 
clenched her jaw and raised her palms towards him.
	"I'm sorry," she told him. Then she called out, "Shining Aqua 
Illusion!"
	A rampaging storm of snow and ice fell upon Jadeite, swarming 
around him and biting at his skin. He watched it engulf his body 
with little protest or surprise. His demon eyes continued to watch 
Sailor Mercury even after the ice froze him entirely, and put him 
to sleep.

 
				*	*	*
	Kunzite flinched momentarily as a spray of blood struck the 
side of his face. What made it worse was knowing that the blood had 
been his. He slid away from the pillar and fell to his knees, 
cradling his right arm close to his chest. Being a left-handed 
swordsman had proven his saving grace, otherwise the attacking 
blade might have also ripped into his heart. 
	"I shouldn't have gotten out of bed today," he hissed through 
clenched jaws. 
	Seeing Jadeite had distracted him from an oncoming Seraphim 
guard. Already he was an easy target; he had been practically 
defenceless against a single slash across his chest.
	"A shame, really," the voice of his opponent said amidst the 
throes of chaotic cries. The Seraphim stepped into sight, and ran 
his fingers through his brown hair. "You would have been a much 
better opponent were you not limping so hideously." 
	Kunzite's fingers tightened around his katana. If he was 
going to die here and now, then let it be gripping his weapon 
instead of begging for mercy. He only hoped that the others were 
doing better. He could no longer fight. Jadeite was also out of the 
battle now. And if the fireballs and clouds of smoke and mist 
rising in every direction were any indication, it looked as if the 
deadliest of the Seraphim were still left. By his estimates, there 
were still easily six or seven remaining.
	Kunzite lifted his eyes to the Seraphim, and the Lunarian 
stared coldly down at him. The Seraphim's sword was being swung 
idly around, eagerly awaiting to deliver the fatal blow. "So much 
for Earth," he said coldly.
	With whatever remaining strength he could gather, Kunzite 
lunged for the man and raked his katana upwards. Startled, the 
Seraphim leapt back, but not fast enough. The edge of Kunzite's 
blade tore a long, slender wound across the man's right eye.
	The Seraphim swore and wiped away the trickling blood on his 
cheek. 
	Unable to do anything else, Kunzite collapsed to the floor, 
grimacing through the pain. He still was able to look up defiantly 
at the bleeding Seraphim, and laugh.
	"Now that," the Seraphim said with a dark smile, "is how a 
man should meet his end. You would have been among the greatest of 
the Seraphim, had you only been born on the moon. I will do you a 
great honour, General: I will let you die with such honour the 
likes of which no Terran has ever before seen. When Lunaria looks 
back, they will think you gave me such a fight that I had to resort 
to my most powerful technique."
	"That's very kind of you," Kunzite murmured.
	He could feel himself slipping into delirium from the shock 
and blood loss. Everything was growing vastly amusing, even the 
carnage, and he could sense his grip on reality fading away. He was 
starting to hallucinate. He must have been hallucinating.
	There was no other way to explain how the Seraphim standing 
over him could have suddenly changed into an enormous, razor-backed 
wolf. 
	A burst of hot, moist breath struck Kunzite in the face, 
startling him back into the battle. He remembered one of the files 
Zoicite had found. The giant, menacing beast growling overtop of 
him was no hallucination.
	Kunzite slowly lifted his head and stared up at the enormous 
wolf head. "This can't be good," he stated.
	Screams echoed across the ballroom as others saw the wolf-
beast manifest. It lifted its head to the glass dome above and 
unleashed a terrifying bellow that shook the entire room. Then it 
looked down at Kunzite, and licked its lips.
	Kunzite watched as the wolf lowered its head and opened its 
mouth. Dozens of sharp fangs clicked together, ready to tear his 
flesh apart. "I hope you choke," he muttered.
	A burst of light exploded in front of Kunzite, and before he 
knew what was happening, the wolf had turned away. Part of its 
furry hide was smouldering, barely singed. But whatever had struck 
it had managed to get the wolf's attention.
	Sailor Jupiter stood there, defiantly glaring up at the wolf. 
Her eyes narrowed in seeing how mobile the beast still was. "Let's 
try that again. Supreme--"
	The wolf roared and was upon her before she could blink.
	"Get out of the way!" Nephrite exclaimed, grabbing Sailor 
Jupiter by the shoulders as he dove through the air. He dragged 
them both down the floor, the wolf's immense paw cleaving the air 
about their heads. The end of Jupiter's braid of long, brown hair 
was cut apart by its claws.
	Nephrite scrambled back up to his feet, dragging Jupiter by 
the shoulders up with him. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?" 
he snapped. "That thing was impervious to your first attack, what 
made you think a second one might work?"
	Under his glare, Sailor Jupiter started to panic. "I...I," she 
stammered.
	Nephrite was ready to mutter something about leaving the 
fighting to the soldiers with actual experience, but his words were 
cut short by a blast of hot air from the wolf-beast's muzzle. He 
slowly turned around, and came face to fangs with the wolf's gaping 
maw.
	Jupiter let out a shout in Lunarian, jumping back.
	It wasn't hard to see how much higher the wolf towered over 
him. And its speed was as frightening as its claws. Nephrite 
scowled; there was no way of fighting this monster and coming out 
of it alive. He readied his sword. If he was fortunate enough, he 
could slash open its throat as it ripped him in half.
	The wolf growled, and seemed oddly impressed that Nephrite 
was still going to stand against it. It raised a forepaw and 
unsheathed claws that were longer and sharper than Nephrite's 
katana. Nephrite assumed a stance and raised his sword. Behind him, 
Sailor Jupiter was looking on in stunned, mute horror.
	"Well, come on," Nephrite told the wolf. "Let's see you work 
for your meal."
	The wolf-beast fell upon Nephrite.
	Nephrite lunged forward, hoping to impale his sword in one of 
the beast's eyes.
	Suddenly Nephrite's sword and the wolf-beast's paw came to an 
abrupt and complete stop. 
	Stunned, Nephrite looked away from the wolf. "What the?"
	Cioran stood between them, casually holding the wolf's paw at 
bay with one arm, and the edge of Nephrite's blade with the 
armguard of his other hand. "I trust I'm not interrupting," he 
remarked in a pleasant tone of voice. "And like I promised your 
comrade, Zoicite, I brought a little surprise."
	It began to rain down soldiers in the ballroom. 
	They landed in the middle of the most heated battles, where 
Terran Generals and Inner Soldiers fought to stay alive. There were 
eight in total, and they were all dressed like the rogue Seraphim 
already in the ballroom. Yet the newcomers proudly wore upon their 
backs the crest of Lunaria.
	The true remnants of the Seraphim Guard had arrived. 
	For the first time all day, Zoicite let out an excited laugh. 
He quickly looked around, searching for Cioran. The rogue Seraphim 
he was otherwise fighting now stared in disbelief at the Seraphim 
guard menacingly brandishing a double-ended trident.
	"Did you bring everyone?" Zoicite shouted over the noise.
	Cioran shook his head, still holding the now irate wolf in a 
stalemate. "No. Only those who could arrive in time are here. The 
others will appear as soon as they can."
	He let go of Nephrite's katana and turned his gaze to the 
wolf, and the wolf recognized him.
	Fear crept into its otherwise leering face.
	"As for you, Kiran," Cioran said coldly, "it appears you 
still haven't learned that size does not always matter."
	He threw the wolf without even needing to adjust his stance. 
The wolf-beast crashed up against a pillar but landed on all fours, 
still conscious and more enraged than ever before. It came at 
Cioran with renewed vigour and savageness. Cioran was forced to 
duck and dodge its lethal claws, but the wolf remained unable to 
touch him.
	"Come on, Kiran," he sighed, shaking his head. His hands were 
being clasped behind his back. "You were my pupil. You should be 
doing better than this." 
	Upon hearing that, the wolf-beast roared and reared up on its 
hind legs. Cioran gracefully leapt out of the way before the 
monster crushed him beneath its immense weight.
	"Okay," Nephrite sighed between laboured breaths for air. 
"The Seraphim officially have my respect."
	He turned to seek another battle out, leaving the wolf to 
Cioran. However, he stopped short when he saw Sailor Jupiter 
stepping forward and priming herself for another attack.
	"You can't be serious," Nephrite said to her. He gestured 
back at the wolf with his head. "Let the Seraphim take care of 
that. They're better equipped--"
	"His underbelly is his weak spot," Jupiter stated. "And I've 
got something new for him to try on: Sparkling Wide Pressure!"
	Her attack was an explosive sphere of lightning and blinding 
light she launched from her fist. It roared across the ballroom and 
mercilessly smashed into the wolf-beast's chest. Already off-
balance, the wolf howled in agony as it was lifted off the floor 
and driven back by the sheer power of the attack. 
	It only stopped when it was crushed between Sailor Jupiter's 
attack, and the glass dome at the far end of the ballroom. The wolf 
howled and thrashed, its paws repeatedly beating against the glass. 
The Sparkling Wide Pressure continued to push forward, until the 
wolf's ribcage let out a horrid series of snaps, and the beast went 
limp. It slumped down to the floor, Jupiter's attack crackling its 
last.
	Behind it, the dome had become infected with a series of 
spiderwebs.
	The glass began to crack.
	A jagged shard of glass popped out and slid across the floor, 
coming to rest at Sailor Mercury's feet. 
	The spider's web now marring the dome began to spread, the 
sickening cracks of glass echoing across the ballroom. Veins 
dribbled water. The ballroom began to heave with a loud, deathly 
groan.
	No matter who they were--Lunarian or Terran, soldier or 
Seraphim--everyone slowly turned towards the splintering glass, and 
forgot about the battle. They forgot about their opponents. They 
forgot about death and glory and vengeance, save for Endymion and 
Spinel, who still pushed the blades of their swords against each 
other.
	"It would appear I have the pleasure of dying with you," 
Spinel hissed.
	Endymion glared at Spinel. 
	Zoicite was not rooted in shock like so many of the others 
were. He dodged another erupting chunk of glass as it soared past 
his head, his mind racing as he considered just how much time they 
had left.
	"Get these people out of here!" he shouted at Cioran.
	Cioran turned to Zoicite, his face grim. "Too late."
	With a horrific sound, the glass above and around their heads 
exploded into a thousand shards, and torrents of salt water came 
gushing down upon them in a dizzying flood of foam and churning 
waves. 





	The dance continues soon with the calm and the storm...





Sailormoon, its characters, struggles and story, are copyright and 
the children of Naoko Takeuchi. No recognition of my story can be 
made without giving her proper recognition first. There are 
original characters in my story (currently Garnet, Cioran, Spinel & 
the Seraphim Order, and the twins at this moment), and if you wish 
to make use of them I'd rather you asked first rather than after 
the fact.


Close, personal thanks goes out to: Mel, who reassured me that 50 
pages was an acceptable length for this chapter, so long as it 
ended on a horrible cliffhanger; the Fic Bitch, who pointed out 
where numerous parts bordered on the outlandish, and is probably 
wondering why a few bits of them are still around; and to Sandra 
(Luna the Sage), who still puts up with me despite having to wait 
weeks for any return Emails to her. Next time I'll be quicker, I 
promise!


My sincerest appreciations to Andrea & George for creating, 
updating, maintaining and revising 'A Sailormoon Romance.' 
(www.moonromance.net) It is good to know that so many wonderful 
stories will always have a home at ASMR, and it is a good home I 
will always enjoy coming back to.


Email Chaos at: hislordshipchaos@hotmail.com






	ON FARSEERS

The art of farsensing is both ancient and mostly forgotten. Those 
who can make use of such a skill are few, and more often than not 
masters at it In the ages before the Darkstorm, the people who 
could farsense were numerous--a situation that proved to have its 
advantages and its problems.

Farsensing involves a expanding the limits of one's senses, and 
psychically bridging both the physical and psychical gap between 
the minds of two people. A farseer (one who has this ability) is 
able to go beyond the consciousness of their own mind and penetrate 
into the minds of others. As a result, a farseer can glimpse into 
the minds of both friends and enemies, discovering their memories, 
secrets and strategies. In short, a farseer can spy on the thoughts 
of almost anyone they want, usually without the other person 
knowing was is happening.

There are ways to defend against such an attack. However, such a 
defence can only be successful provided the defender is a farseer. 
While being taught to seek out and farsense into the minds of 
others, a farseer can create mental barriers within their own 
minds. This makes an attempt to farsense into their mind even 
harder, akin to a soldier running into a brick wall that they 
cannot climb or walk around, and usually results in the farseer 
realizing that someone is trying to attack them.

More often than not, if two skilled farseers become locked in a 
battle within their minds, victory will be determined by the 
strength of their wills. The stronger the will, the more ferocious 
their attacks and tenacious their defences will be. Once one falls, 
their mind is left wide open for the stronger farseer to examine 
and exploit.

On Earth, farseers were of key importance during times of war. 
Rulers and kings used farseers to ascertain who in their courts was 
trustworthy, and who was plotting against them. Commanders of 
armies would employ as many farseers as they could to discover what 
sort of capabilities, strategies and bluffs their opponents planned 
on employing. On more than one occasion, a single farseer proved 
the key to a military victory even when the odds were significantly 
against the army he or she served. 

However, if the farseer was greedy or lusted for power, the power 
they possessed made them almost unstoppable. History before the 
Darkstorm holds records of countless farseers corrupted by their 
own power. Not only could they discover the secrets of their 
enemies, but could even alter the mind of someone they attacked--
changing or erasing memories, altering personalities and ideals, 
and changing loyalties. Once the victim's mind was altered beyond 
repair, the victim became no more than a puppet, a willing zombie 
who would obey whatever their farseer master told them to do.

Such dark farseers all but vanished in the wake of Darkstorm: 
consumed by their lust for power, these farseers allied themselves 
with the evil forces serving the Darkstorm. Many times they led the 
first wave, terrorizing whatever kingdom or planet tried to defend 
against them. With the end of the Darkstorm came an end not only to 
the terrifying armies of monsters and demons created by the 
Darkstorm, but of also these farseers. It is believed they were all 
swallowed up into the belly of the Darkstorm, doomed to exist in 
darkness and in hell for the rest of eternity.

By the same token, most of the farseers who chose to ally 
themselves with the resistance also died in battle against the 
Darkstorm. When the Darkstorm was finally defeated and perhaps 
destroyed, there were at best a handful of farseer masters left 
upon the planet. These survivors went into hiding and exile. These 
masters also chose to quietly teach and pass on what they had 
learned to only one student at a time, with the intent that the 
farseers they taught would use their powers to protect the weak, 
and serve noble ideals and philosophies.

And so it has been. Many on Earth, and even Lunaria, continue to 
believe that the art of farsensing is all but lost. With each new 
generation, farseer masters select one or two acolytes who are 
discovered to have the gift. One at a time, these students are 
taught the skills of farsensing. Once they have achieved a level of 
mastery, they are charged with the task of using their abilities 
for the safety and betterment of humanity. In turn, they are to 
teach this power to one, perhaps two other students. From master to 
student; from student into new master; and from new master to 
student. 

As a result, the number of farseers across the world has never 
risen to more than fifty.