__________________________________________________
Do You Yahoo!?
Try FREE Yahoo! Mail - the world's greatest free email!
http://mail.yahoo.com/

-- Attached file included as plaintext by Ecartis --
-- File: LXA.txt
-- Desc: LXA.txt

Notes on the Continuity:

This is an altverse, meaning I have changed whatever aspect of the canon
I wanted to. It is also a crossover with H. P. Lovecraft's Cthulhu
mythos. I had originally intended for this chapter to be far longer,
however, writer's block and typical teen angst have kept me from
finishing this chapter. The reaction to this "snippet" will most likely
determine the speed with which Protectorate: Day 1 (Part B) is released.

This fic contains strong language.

***

   Queen Serenity was a very pretty woman. She had pretty blue eyes and
pretty platinum hair that turned a pretty shade of grey when it got wet.
She wore a pretty white dress with pretty gold trim, made even more
pretty by the spreading blotch of brilliant crimson erupting from her
pretty, perfect chest.

   The Queen had a gift for a commanding presence. Even now, in the
destroyed throne room, with its tapestries shredded and its immaculate
white tile black with blood, the Queen remained regal and dignified as
she clutched at her breast, hoping to slow the blood loss, trying for
the time needed to do what she had to do. She was the queen of her
people to the last. Death, however, cares little for alliegances.

   The Senshi were murdered, her own daughter crucified and borne as the
Half-Breed's standard. The corpses of the Zodiac were still warm as the
serpent warriors set upon them in a carnivorous frenzy. Her armies were
laid to waste, as the traitorous Generals led the writhing death to her
Palace. All that was left of the great Lunar Empire was herself and
Velious, Captain of the Guard, Guardian Aires. Velious tried to console
her. It is not easy to console someone with the stump of a freshly
severed hand.

   The serpent warriors were in the banquet hall... Serenity could hear
them. They dared not come in; the task of executing the Queen was
Beryl's, and Beryl's alone. Serenity fancied she could hear Beryl's
footsteps over the incessant writhing and hissing. The massive hinges
creaked, as if the door itself was resisting Beryl's presence.

   With a great CRACK the doors finally swung open, shilouetting the
twisted form of that half-serpent hellspawn, Queen Beryl. Blinding light
poured from the open door, shrouding Beryl's features and casting a
long, black shadow over the entire throne room. In strode the dark
Queen, like a dagger into the very heart of the Silver Milennium.

   She had won.

   Velious leapt into her path, knife in his one remaining hand. "HALT!
If you dare to challenge the Queen, you'll do so over my battered cor--"
Beryl cut him in half with her khopesh effortlessly, not looking at him,
not breaking her stride. Her eyes remained locked on Serenity as she
came to the throne and kneeled, mocking her.

   "My great Queen! How good of you to grant me this audience! I'm sorry
I had to let myself in, but your palace guards were... indisposed!" The
half-serpent monstrosity cackled, as if she had just uttered the world's
best punchline. Serenity shuddered involuntarily. She grew paler by the
minute. "Oh, this is almost too priceless to be true! It's almost enough
to keep me from killing you... almost. I suppose the fun will have to
wait."

   Serenity stared at the dark form before her. The woman who had laid
waste to her empire. The woman who had gleefuly slaughtered her only
daughter. The woman who waged war on all that was good and sane. The
woman who brought chaos and corruption to all she touched. She was
laughing.

   She. Was. LAUGHING!

   And for a moment, Serenity howled. And for a moment, she leapt upon
Beryl like a wild thing. And for a moment, they struggled. And for a
moment, the Queen struck with a savage fury one would think her
incapable of. And for a moment, Serenity lost all that separated her
from the beasts. And for a moment, she was not human. And for a moment,
blood sprayed with startling force.

   But the moment passed, as all moments do.

   She stood. Thick black blood, blood that was not her own, ran down
her arm like a mighty stream. Beryl laid dead before her, nearly
decapitated, face frozen in a grim mask of hate. Serenity picked up the
corpse, spat upon it, and walked out of the throne room.

   The warriors stopped their obscene reveling as Serenity walked
through the ornate double doors into the banquet hall. They were utterly
silent as she held forth the corpse of their god-queen. They retreated
with every step she took. They watched on as she strode into the lunar
night.

   The palace grounds were ruined. The ornate marble and pearl towers
crumbled. The plazas were shattered. Rifts cracked the surface if
Serenity's beloved Moon. Not uttering a word, she strode to the nearest
of there rifts and dropped the corpse in. Though Serenity's time
remaining on this mortal coil could be measured in minutes, she dared
not look away or even move until she saw the bloodied form pass beyond
her sight into the yawning abyss.

   She shuddered. Memories of gentler times flitted past her eyes, an
overlay to the scene of ruin and death before her. She relaxed, ever so
slightly, entranced by her desperate halluncinations. Her coronation.
The construction of the Palace. The peaceful merging of her Kingdom with
that of Mars's. The birth of--

   Her daughter.

   Snapped from the shock-induced hallucinations, she cursed herself for
not realizing sooner that she could not give up, not now. Her child, so
young and innocent, must be given a second chance. It couldn't end like
this. Half her life, the child had lived with the spectre of Beryl's
evil over her. One could argue she never knew true happiness. Such a
life was not befitting a Princess of the Silver Milennium. But how could
she rectify this grave, grave injustice? And then it occured to her--

   The Imperium Crystal. She hadn't dared use it, for fear of the dark
powers it would attract-- but now, with nothing to lose, she had no
other option. Her fingers crackled with otherworldy energy as she
summoned the Scepter into being-- she expected the pain of summoning the
object in her weakened state to be unbearable, but her massive blood
loss had apparently dulled her to all pain. Thanking whatever higher
power may exist, then damning it for forcing her into this position, she
held the Crystal-bearing rod aloft and incanted the words of power she
had hoped would never pass her lips.

   The spell worked, and she fancied she could see the bodies of her
daughter and the Senshi floating on ethereal bubbles from the ground to
the damnable Earth above her-- but she knew that these were
hallucinations borne of massive trauma and system shock.

   The Palace doors spilled open, revealing a sight that gave her pause.
Satiated, and having overcome their fear, the writhing mass of
serpentine warriors flowed from the wrecked building like a living river
of corruption, brandishing sharpened, bloodstained scimitars, and in
their mouths--

   Chunks of gore and shards of steel. They had devoured the Palace
Guard.

   And it dawned upon her, that while her beloved daughter had spent
half her life in fear of Beryl's wrath, the Guard, long-dismissed as
purely ceremonial, had spent their entire lives quaking in fear of the
half-bred monstrosity. And despite it all, they had stood fast in the
banquet hall, gripping their inadequate weapons with trembling hands,
defending the Queen because they had no other choice.

   She pitied them. They didn't deserve what she had foisted upon them,
noone did. By simply adding twelve names to the end of her incantation,
she could ensure that they had a chance at a life devoid of conflict and
terror, a life they deserved for their loyal service.

   As soon as she finished, she realized that the damned serpent-
warriors were upon her. "Stay back!" she yelled with hoarse voice,
waving the Scepter with her grey, trembling hands. "I'll show no mercy!"

   They advanced further.

   "Do you think I fear you? I'll destroy you all, damned hellbeasts!"
She held the Scepter straight out in front of her, ready to wipe them
out at a moment's notice.

   But her oxygen-deprived fingers slipped their hold.

   And the Crystal shattered.

***

   There are not many places left in this world that are as conductive
to secrets as the gleaming steel-and-concrete city of Tokyo. Beneath its
neon-lined exterior of drab tradition and crass commercialism, of
salarymen and idol singers, of tea ceremonies and Pocket Monsters, there
lies a vast network of "under-Tokyos", shrouded from each other and the
city at large. Most of these under-Tokyos are harmless, merely societies
of men who dislike the overculture, and wish to forge their own amongst
themselves.

   Yet there are some societies within the city of Tokyo that are wholly
dangerous and abhorrhent to the body of humanity. These groups, hidden
in the ancient and dripping back-alleys that existed long before the
city was called Edo, plot sinister machinations in service to dark
nameless gods utterly abhorrent to the human consciousness. Few know of
these black cults, for cults they are, and fewer still try to act on
their knowledge. It would be impolite, after all, to expose their
blasphemous rituals and human sacrifice.

   And for reasons not wholly seperate from this, something was
definitely wrong with the city of Tokyo that morning, April first, 1996.
None could deny that the unseasonably cold temperature had something to
do with it, but that was certainly not the only reason.

   No, there was a definite sadness in the air at 5:25 AM. One could
literally feel it saturating the thin mist that draped itself over the
concrete and metal spires of civilization, like a shroud of mourning.
One could easily mistake the salty sea air for tears, and walking
anywhere would yeild a sensation of cobwebs breaking across one's face.
It was here, under these conditions, that the guardians of human
civilization would assemble.

   The weeks prior to this day had held their share of occurences, but
nothing especially of note. Life had gone on, as it always had.
Unearthly forces, believing to serve a greater evil power, had attempted
to lay waste to the city, as they always had. A group of singular women
had repulsed their efforts to undermine the works mankind had wrought,
as they always had. The populace, at large, was blissfully unaware of
the war being waged, as it always had been.

   What set this day apart from those that had preceded it, and would
indeed change the course of the normal events for the city, was the
group of twelve Americans standing atop an otherwise ordinary four-story
building overlooking the Aubuza district of Tokyo. Some leaned on the
guardrail to watch the scene unfolding below them, some, confident of
their abilities and not seeing a need to familiarize themselves with the
enemy, lounged about the area and spoke of trivial matters.

   The sight that they were observing was no more than two blocks away,
at the intersection of two otherwise ordinary thoroughfares. Upon the
street, five young girls, who could not be more than 17 years old, were
locked in mortal combat with a malformed creature with thousands of ropy
strands of thick black hair. The creature was attempting, with limited
success, to ensnare the girls in its hair. This was made somewhat
difficult by the girls' propensity to use elemental magics on the
creature.

   Those that did watch the struggle, watched in rapt attention. They
made no sound, and the only motion that could be witnessed was that of
the thin stream of cigarette smoke coming from the gloved hand of one
Jean-Paul Delacroix. Their eyes were fixated on the spectacle.

   After a time, it ended, as all struggles inevitably must. The girls,
slightly worse for wear but bearing no serious injuries, dusted
themselves off, checked on the welfare of their compatriots, and
summarily dashed off to the next area of crisis. It was time to confer
on the spectacle.

   "Well, there you have it. Not much to look at, but you know what they
say--"

   "--Never take anyone seriously who buys their combat fatigues from
gay-pride festivals?"

   Delacroix, quite perturbed at the interruption, cast a withering
glare at Janice Polito. "They say, 'when in Rome, do as the Romans do.'"

   "Fuck the Romans. That was the most fucked-up, pathetic thing I've
seen in my life."

   Delacroix took a lengthy drag from his cigarette, but said nothing.

   "I'm serious, Del. And I've seen some pathetic shit in my life. I've
seen a team of blind people try and play arena football. And I can
honestly say, without exaggerating, that this is a million times worse."

   Delacroix gave an unimpressed sigh as he ran his fingers through his
platinum-white hair. "You aren't earning points with me, Polito. Drop
it."

   She snorted, not one to give up so easily. Standing, arms akimbo, she
began a tirade. "Points? Oh, forgive me, Mr. Big Scorekeeper, give me
more 'points', I EVER so wanted the 2000-point plush bear! I swear to
Christ, you tell me one--" She was cut off by the sensation of a
massive, muscular hand on her shoulder, and the deep baritone voice of
Adrian Freeman continued from where he had stopped her.

   "If he tells you one more time to shut up, you'll quit this team, and
go somewhere where you can get a little more respect while we die
without you. We know, we know, it's only the fourth time in as many
weeks you've said it. Now..." he leaned in close to her face and smiled,
"shut the fuck up before I shut you the fuck up."

   "Good, I'm glad we have that settled. Now, it's time to get this
operation started. August, drop that Game Boy, it's time we met the
family."



   "Look out Sailor Venus, he's coming in from the right!"

   CRASH!

   Sailor Venus, caught completely off-guard, was sent careening into a
wall laden with pachinko machines, resulting in a spray of ball bearings
and a shower of dull orange sparks. Undaunted, the Senshi of Love had
vaulted back to her feet before the steel spheres could hit the ground,
diving over an overturned Street Fighter 2 machine, executing a
somersault, and leaping at the creature which had no more than two
seconds ago tossed her aside like a rag doll.

   "Crescent Beam SHOWER!" she howled, unleashing from her fingertips a
storm of pure magical energy. The burning yellow beam shot toward the
grinning face of the youma and split into several separate finger-thin
beams, which traveled around its head to the back of its skull before
impacting with tremendous force. The blast was powerful enough to
stagger the youma forward several steps, but its body colliding with
Sailor Venus was also more than enough to vault her once again into the
air. Ricocheting like a pinball, she collided with the glass entrance
door, instantly reducing it to a cobweb of shatter-marks, then skidded
to a halt facedown on the dirty, thin carpet.

   But the Sailor Senshi had not defended the city of Tokyo for four
years by being easily disracted. Heedless to the plight of her
companion, Sailor Jupiter prepared to hurl a sphere of pure electricity
at the rampaging titan, who had by now turned his attention to the
struggling Sailor Jupiter. "Supreme Thunder Dragon!" she invoked, and
prepared to--

   Ding-ding.

   Sailor Jupiter's instincts immediately kicked in to overdrive. Not
that the sound was loud, to the contrary, it was barely audible. It was,
however, unexpected-- that was the bell the proprietor had hung over the
arcade's front door. It was supposed to signal the entry or exit of a
customer whenever the door hit the bells. But no-one was left in the
arcade, and that meant...

   It meant that someone was either stupid or suicidal. Perhaps both.

   She chanced a quick glance at the doorway, and could not honestly say
she was surprised. A tall man, with short white hair, wearing a light
winter coat, and extendig from his right hand a silver revolver. Just
another normal man who thought the fact he could tote and aim two pounds
of steel somehow placed him equal to-- or above-- the sworn defenders of
all that was right.

   Just another man she'd have to rescue.

   Pathetic.

   Sure enough, the man leveled the pistol and shot the youma square in
the face. Already knocked off-balance by Venus's attack, the lumbering
brute toppled to the floor. As self-assured as if he had been Jet Li's
coolness tutor, he spun the revolver and placed it into his hip holster,
an action doubtlessly rehearsed thousands of times in front of his
bathroom mirror. And as Jupiter had expected, he immediately began to
indtroduce himself, no doubt trying to curry favor from the women he had
endlessly fantasized about.

   "My name is Jean-Paul Delacroix," he said with a nasal French accent,
"And I'm from Canada. I don't have time to get into the particulars, but
suffice--"

   "You can't do that," Jupiter said flatly. By this point, a group of
foreigners garbed in similar attire began to stride in. Of course, he'd
expect her to be immediately impressed by their utter lack of skill.

   He turned to face Jupiter, and with a half-bow, said, "I know it may
seem harsh, but these will be trying times, and we can't afford--"

   "No. I mean, you can't do that."

   The slender girl with the green ponytail poked at the toppled form of
the creature with her foot, then spoke up. "Uh, Del? He ain't dead yet,
you might wanna do something about that."

   In a flash, the one who called himself Delacroix made a quarter-turn
on one heel, snapped the pistol from its holser, and unloaded the
remaing five slugs directly into the monster's face. To make sure, the
green-tressed woman took a gun from her jacket-- were they all armed?
How stupid could they be? Were they even aware of the laws here?-- and
squeezed what must have been at least 20 rounds into the youma's head
and chest area.

   It groaned, and began to rise.

   Now, to his credit, the stranger didn't panic. Quite the opposite, in
fact. Taking it in stride, he gestured to one of his companions, a
gargantuan man with faded red hair and biceps the size of garbage cans.
The giant nodded, and twisted a small silver ring on his right hand.

   What happened next was completely unexpected.

   He rose a half-meter into the air, arms draped at his sides, and
issued forth a squeal of pure glee. He then threw his arms above him,
and was immediately enveloped in a opaque white sphere of... Sailor
Jupiter was not quite sure what it was. It crackled with energy--
perhaps it was energy itself.

   The sphere contracted near its top, as if pressed by an unseen
stylus. The depression then quickly traced across the man's body,
outlining his rough shape, with several arcane sigils overlaid upon it.
The sphere then, as suddenly as it appeared, vanished, revealing the
man, clad head-to-toe in masterfully wrought interlocking metal plates,
and toting a titanic obsidian axe, at least a meter long.

   He held the implement above his head, and with no fanfare, dropped
it, cleaving the creature below him into two blood-soaked halves which
slid across the floor as if they had been greased. He whooped with glee
and said, "Jesus FUCK I love that! That is NEVER gonna get old!"

   Though it appeared as if he had carelessly dropped the weapon, he
applied enough force to it not only to hack through the youma's body,
but also to embed it at least 30cm into the ground, sundering the
store's concrete foundation.

   Jupiter could not imagine the destruction that would ensue, should
the monolith of muscle have cause to bring the full brunt of his
strength down on something. Even in trying to envision it, she was
rendered dumbstruck.

   Delacroix was not. His tone clearly indicated that, after such a
display of the power he commanded-- or at least, was a part of-- he had
no need to be diplomatic. "Now, I am going to talk, and you are going to
listen, and you are going to listen to me very, very carefully." he
intoned evenly.

   The Senshi had no other choice.

   "Good." He flicked some grey ash from his cigarette and continued.
"Now that we have that nasty affair settled, it's time we got down to
business."

   "Ooh, business," said the green-haired one, moving her hands
mockingly.

   "Shut up you sassy fucking cunt," snapped the one called Delcaroix,
who then whirled to face Usagi. "My business is as follows: For the next
fifteen days, I am your golden fucking god. You got that? My every word
is engraved on a tablet to be brought down by Charlton Motherfucking
Heston. You're going to follow my every directive, and in doing so you
will survive. But if you DARE to defy me, I'm going to shoot you myself.
And," he turned again, once more facing the green-tressed one, "that
goes for ALL of you. We clear? Good! You have five minutes to get
acquainted while I go get a pack of smokes." With that, he stepped
smartly out the door, sliding his emptied pistol into the inside of his
jacket.

   Both groups stood in mute shock for several seconds. Furtive glances
were exchanged, between the Senshi, between the newcomers, and finally
between both groups. After about fifteen seconds, the silence was broken
by one of the newcomers, a short, blue-haired man in a grey hooded
sweatshirt.

   "Hoo boy," he said in accented Japanese, "That guy needs to get
laid."

   After such a conversational failure, it would be a while before
anyone spoke again.




   Kaioh Michiru had an appointment. She briskly walked through the
misty streets of downtown Tokyo to her destination, hoping she wasn't
too late. She had only a half an hour to pick up her child from
preschool before they were to go to see a movie and pick up some
Mexican, and Michiru simply hated to be
late.

   Michiru had changed, changed much since adopting her first child. She
was far more orderly, far more involved with the world, less with
herself. She couldn't remember the last time she played her violin, or
the last time she and Haruka had sex, she was so busy.

   Not that she would complain, no, far from it.  Little Setsuna was the
best thing to ever happen to Michiru, and if that meant giving up sex,
then so be it. Michiru was willing to give up anything for her little
angel, anything.

   She finally arrived at her intended destination, Standing Stones
Child Care. Checking her watch - ahead by five minutes! - she pushed
open the door and walked in.

   The mist that hung over Tokyo was heavier in here. More oppressive,
too. The large woman behind the counter gestured to the sign-out sheet
on the desk, then toward the play area in the back where the children
were.  Michiru dutifully signed her name and child's name, the same way
she had every day for four years, and walked to the back room.

   The day's activities had obviously included "Arts and Crafts,"
because there were eleven children running about the area in suits of
"Armor" made of abandoned VCR boxes and aluminum foil. They ran back and
forth, fighting, trying to gain an upper hand over what small, pointless
territory they had. A boy with bright red hair and a girl with a green
ponytail stood out the most, shouting as they "shot" each other with
their fingers.

   "I hit you! I hit you!"

   "Did not!"

   "Did so, cumsucker!"

   "Did not, assfucker!"

   "Fuck off, monkeyraper!"

   "Blow me, you dirty cockholster!"

   They were totally out of control, to be certain. Little children
using such language was just about the worst thing she could think of,
and she just had to stop it. That group of kids in the tinfoil armor
were little more than thugs, even though they were only five years old,
and Michiru would have withdrawn Setsuna from the care center if it
wasn't the only one anywhere near her apartment. She had to settle for
silencing their profanity for now.

   She found the white-haired boy--Delacroix, his name was--that the
gang seemed to look up to. He was sitting by an old radio, guarding it
and taking his "job" very seriously. Michiru kneeled down to his level
and asked him, "Aren't you supposed to be the boss of those kids?" She
gestured toward the two fighting ones in particular.

   "Yeah, I am."

   "Could you tell them to behave, please?"

   "They are. I told 'em not to touch the radio, so they don't touch the
radio." He gestured toward the radio with his shoulder. She picked it
up, and placed it to her ear.

   The quality of sound was awful, but she could still make out the
lyrics of the song being played. It sounded like the singer was far away
and deep, deep under water, but she could still understand,

o/` I watched with glee
o/` While your kings and queens
o/` Fought for ten decades
o/` For the gods they made.

   For some reason, Michiru was very disturbed by this, and cranked the
dial to some harmless J-pop before placing it back down on the low
plastic table where it belonged. She then asked him, "Could you tell
them to stop swearing?'

   "Come on, Sessy's mom, I'm a god, not the God."

   "Could you at least try?"

   Delacroix sighed, and cupped his hands to his lips. "If you two
fuckwads don't stop swearing right this cuntflaming nanosecond, I'm
gonna rip your fucking heads off!"

   Michiru would have scolded the boy outright, had her attention not
been diverted. A small, blue-haired, grey-eyed boy was tugging on her
dress to get her attention, his cardboard armor clunking as it collided
with his arms. She made a note to herself to scold Derlacroix later,
then smiled at the tugging child. "What do you want?"

   "Mrs. Sessy's mom? Could you do me a big favor?"

   "Oh? What is that?" Michiru really didn't want to help him, but she
felt it was rude to deny a child.

   "Could you give this..." He began to whisper, "Could you give this to
Ami? She's sitting right over there." He then placed a crumpled piece of
red paper into her palm. She unfurled it to see what it said.

   "I THINK I MIGHT LIEK YOU.
   MAYBE.
      --AUGUST"

   Michiru almost scoffed at such half-hearted platitudes, but decided
against it. If August and Ami had to find out the hard way that their
love was nothing, so be it. Michiru would not interfere. The other
children, however...

   "Oh, now you're in love with Sessy's mom!"

   "I am not, you dirty bastard!"

   "YOU TWO JUST BOTH SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

   Michiru sighed and walked over to where Ami and Makoto were sitting.

   Ami and Makoto were about the same age as the... thug children, but
other than that they were like night and day. Ami and Makoto, along with
their friends Rei, Minako, and Usagi, were nice, well-behaved children.
Still not capable of really doing anything for themselves, but they did
have potential.

   The two children each had a stenographer's notebook, and seemed to be
writing things of great importance. Makoto turned to face Michiru, and
called to her, "Hiya, Missy Hiru!"

   "Hi, Mako! Whatcha doin?"

   Ami looked up from her notepad and said, "We're writing down
everything we know, so we won't forget any of it."

   Michiru cocked an eyebrow. "Really? Why don't you let me see?"

   "Sure." Ami then handed her the notebook, which only had four words
written on it, in meticulous hiragana.

   IA. IA. CTHULHU FTAGHN.

   Michiru gave the book back. "Is that all you know? You're pretty
smart, I'm sure you know more than that."

   "Oh, I know lotsa stuff. But it all means the same thing. Like how
emotions are nothing but chemical stimulation, so that drugs can change
our souls. I know that the gods we worship care nothing for us, and that
our perception of the gods was made because we are too weak to see the
world on our own terms. I know that the universe is so fundamentally
lawless that any rule of physics could be repealed at any moment. But it
all means the same thing."

   She said it with no bitterness or sorrow, in fact she said it as if
she was relating the baseball scores. This, as much as the content of
what she said, chilled Michiru. She quickly turned to Makoto, to see
what she had written.

   I LIKE MY OLD SEMPAI.

   Michiru was immediately reminded of why she had come to Ami. She
placed the "love" note into her hand. "Here. August told me to give it
to you."

   Ami's face suddenly turned very bitter, and she ripped the note in
half without even looking at it. "Why don't you go pick up your kid?"

   Oh no, Ami was right! Michiru had wasted a whole four minutes! She
dashed off to the far corner where Setsuna sat.

   Her daughter didn't seem to mind the delay, in fact her daughter did
not at first register her presence. Setsuna was engrossed in an origami
frog, meticulously working every crease and corner. It was perfect,
utterly flawless, just like Setsuna. Michiru watched the girl work for a
few seconds before saying, "Okay, honey, it's time to go."

    Setsuna did not look up. She continued to work on her frog, but she
did ask, "Do you like it?"

   "Yes, yes I do. Now, honey, it's time to go."

   "You know, when you think about it, paper is really nothing," she
continued. "Just a vast expanse of emptiness. But without changing that
fact, I've made it seem like a frog."

   "Honey, that's very interesting, but-"

   "I bet this frog likes to be a frog. I bet he likes nothing more. I
bet he would hate to be, say, a crane." With that, she pulled on two
small flaps of paper, and like magic, the paper frog became a paper
crane. "I bet now, he likes being a crane. I bet now, he'll hate to be a
frog. He doesn't know how easy it is to change him."

   "Honey, is something wrong?"

   "How would you like to be changed? Not how you look, that's too easy.
How about if I change who you are?"

   Michiru was taken aback. He child still had not looked at her, was
still playing with her origami. "Is there something I did wrong?"

   "I've already started to pull on you. You don't know, you can't feel
it, but it's happening. When it is done, you will like what you have
become. But now, it would horrify you."

   Michiru was horrified, she was scared too much to even talk. What was
going on? What was happening?

   Setsuna turned to her, eyes burning with an otherworldly blue flame.
She held the crane forward and spoke, "But don't be afraid. If you lose
your life, your soul, you haven't lost much. What you have to remember,
Kaioh Michiru..." Here she pulled on a seemingly inconsequential spot on
the crane's wing, causing it to revert to a flat piece of paper in one
fluid motion, "Is that you, too, are borne of the void."

   Michiru took a staggering step backward, away from her beloved child.
She was no more than three feet tall, yet she loomed over the entire
room like a towering monolith of insanity. Michiru despreately searched
for words, but nothing escaped her lips save confused babbling. Setsuna
smiled--

   Michiru was aroused by the feeling of elbow gently colliding with her
ribs. She looked around in panic, ready to be attacked at any instant,
expecting to be surrounded by monstrous horrors and weeping stone
monuments.

   All she saw was the cozy interior of an All Nippon Airways plane.
Every seat was filled with a placid passenger, some sleeping, some
whispering to their seatmates, some contentedly reading the five-year-
old issues of "Newsweek" provided by the airline. A beverage service
cart rolled lazily by, propelled by a typically too-courteous
stewardess.

   "Get your stuff together, honey," whispered Haruka upon seeing that
her lover was awake. "We're landing."

   Michiru nodded in mute acknowledgement and began to gather her carry-
on luggage with trembling, sweaty hands. Haruka looked at her for
several seconds and flatly asked, "It was the dream again, wasn't it?"

   Michiru nodded. "Gets worse every time... that smile, sweet Kami-
sama, that smile. It sends chills down my spine. And that's not all of
it-- I feel like I should know what it means, but I don't. Why was
Setsuna a child? Who were those other children? What... What does it all
mean?"

   Haruka put her hand on Michiru's thigh to reassure her. "Don't worry.
That's what we came here to find out."

***

Additonal Notes: All comments and criticism are greatly appreciated. The
new characters, while appearing to be the centerpiece of the fic, are
not so and are in no way Mary Sues. I also find it a sad state of
affairs that, when prompted with new characters, the reader's first
reaction is "Pfft, another self-insertion" rather than "Boy, I wonder
what the author has planned for these clownboats."


             .---Anime/Manga Fanfiction Mailing List----.
             | Administrators - ffml-admins@anifics.com |
             | Unsubscribing - ffml-request@anifics.com |
             |     Put 'unsubscribe' in the subject     |
             `---- http://ffml.anifics.com/faq.txt -----'