Hello once again! ^_^

Well, I know I said I was going to get this done a day or two ago, but there
was a small problem concerning my life that wound up taking a bit more time
away from DC than I had thought it would. As always, C&C would be greatly
appreciated, and even responded to! My muse lives on the stuff, as most of
my long-time readers probably know by now. ^_~

Of course, Latin D would likely smack me in the head if I forgot to mention
that previous chapters of my fic can be found on my webpage, 
http://dataraven_659.tripod.com/roninsummer.html 

And if I didn't mention Joy Lyn's amazing webpage, Crossover Corner, found
at 
http://www.geocities.com/Tokyo/Shores/5533/index.html 
I'd probably feel really guilty about it later. ^_^

Oh, well. On with the fic!






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-- Attached file included as plaintext by Listar --
-- File: Crusade15.txt

OBLIGATORY LEGAL DISCLAIMER : Some of these guys aren't mine. The 
Sailor Senshi belong to DIC and Kodansha, while the Yoroiden are owned
by Sunrise and Graz Entertainment. Okay? So don't bother suing me. I'm 
a student. 

                   RONIN SUMMER VI : DARK CRUSADE

         A Sailor Moon / Yoroiden Samurai Troopers cross-over

             by Morgan Hudson (dataraven_659@excite.com)

Chapter Fifteen : Turning Point

	Thunder boomed outside like a giant pounding on a bass drum, 
and Hotaru Tomoe flinched instinctively. Shivering slightly, the 
fragile raven-haired girl sank to the floor and hugged herself as the 
storm raged relentlessly beyond the thick double doors of the Keep. 
There were no windows for the furious gale to rattle, and indeed, the 
entire front hall had fallen eerily silent. The only sound was the 
faint and distant growling of the storm, as the torches flickered 
quietly in their rusted iron brackets. Dust muted the dark obsidian of 
the bare stone floor, and the suits of samurai armour that stood 
silent guard along the walls wore thick veils of cobwebs. Doors of 
solid mahogany sat on either side of the massive staircase against the 
far wall, with barred windows and massive iron locks. Hotaru craned 
her neck and tried to look up, but the omnipresent gloom of the place 
swallowed everything into nebulous shadows halfway up the stairs. The 
wavering torchlight was unable to combat the darkness any further, as 
their own smoke mixed with the swirling miasma of shadow, dust, and 
gloom that choked the air. All told, it was one of the least friendly 
places that young Hotaru had seen in a long time - although it did 
vaguely remind her of a strange cross between her old home and one of 
those haunted houses from the late night movies that she wasn't 
supposed to watch. She hoped there weren't any bats; she didn't really 
feel up to bats at the moment.

	Accompanied by the squealing cry of badly oiled hinges, one of 
the two gigantic doors leading outside slowly swung open a crack, 
allowing a gust of rain-filled wind to howl into the hall and chase its
tail around the multitude of torches, ruffling Hotaru's fine black hair
spitefully before flying up into the shadows and finding something near
the ceiling disturbing enough to chase it back out. His long silver 
hair swirling about his head in the gale, Jirougorou Kuroda slipped 
through the small opening and leaned his shoulder against the heavy 
oaken panelling, teeth grit as his feet slipped and skidded on the 
slick obsidian floor. The door cracked open a bit further, with a loud 
and painful shriek, and the wind roared lustily as it tugged and tore 
at the tall, slender man with the long silver hair. Hotaru leapt to 
her feet and raced over, placing her hands against the oak door and 
helping the Spider Masho push. 

	Nasuti Yagyu, coated in black mud and looking rather like a 
drowned mouse, struggled through the wider opening, straining and 
groaning as she dragged the equally drenched and muddy form of 
Naotoki Yamanouchi by the spiked shoulderplates of his emerald green 
armour. The Snake Masho's eyes were rolled back, and his head lolled 
from side to side as his body slid listlessly through the thick black 
slime outside. With a final tug, the auburn-haired woman managed to 
pull the green-haired man into the Keep. Jirougorou and Hotaru 
immediately reversed direction, grasping the door's edge in their hands
and pulling it shut with a resounding thud. 

	Hotaru sagged to the floor, gasping for air, and Jirougorou 
carefully readjusted the black patch he wore over his left eye before 
idly tossing aside the battered bamboo umbrella he had tucked under 
his arm. "As you no doubt noticed," he said breathlessly, "we have 
guests."

	Hotaru lifted her head and glanced over at the bedraggled pair.
Nasuti sat on the floor, bracing herself with one arm as she tucked 
a long lock of mud-slicked hair behind one ear and tried to catch her 
breath. Naotoki looked as though he had been killed, buried, dug up,
and beaten. His helmet was missing, and his face was already beginning 
to bruise as blood seeped out from under his motionless body.

	"Oh!" Hotaru clapped a hand over her mouth as she looked over 
at Jirougorou Kuroda. "Is he going to be okay?"

	"No," the Spider Masho replied, "I'M going to be okay. He, on 
the other hand, is going to die. If you look very closely at us, you 
might be able to tell the difference. Here's a hint - MY blood is on 
the INSIDE."

	"Your sense of humour never ceases to disgust me, Rajura," 
Nasuti growled angrily at the silver-haired Masho as she struggled to 
her feet. "Can't you find even a bit of sympathy for one of your own 
team-mates?"

	"Why bother?" Jirougorou asked rhetorically. "He's doomed. 
Fortunately, he's also unimportant." 

	Hotaru leaned over the unconscious Snake Masho, a faint purple 
light glowing in her eyes as she placed her hands on either side of 
his head. "He's badly injured," she said to herself as she slowly moved
her hands over his armoured chest. "Fractured skull, broken ribs, 
ruptured spleen, internal bleeding, cracked vertebrae... and his hand 
is so badly broken that the bones are practically powder." Raising one 
eyebrow curiously, the small girl turned and looked at Rajura as he 
stood nonchalantly in the corner. "What happened to him?"

	"He bit off more than he could chew and nearly choked on it," 
the Spider Masho explained, "as usual. He's something of an imbecile." 

	"He saved my life," Nasuti translated, with a dirty look in 
Rajura's direction. "Is there anything you can do to help him, Hotaru?"

	"I'm not sure." Hotaru chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully. "I 
mean, he's hurt pretty badly. I'm not strong enough to heal this much 
damage."  Noticing the concerned look on Nasuti's face, the young girl 
quickly amended her statement. "But, it feels like he's already trying 
to put himself back together - he's pretty resilient. Maybe if I just 
used my powers to support his own healing factor I could pull it 
off..."

	"There's a room downstairs," Rajura said off-handedly. "The 
tenth door on your left. It's quiet and secure. Feel free to do 
whatever you want - the manner in which you choose to waste your time 
is none of my affair." Straightening his black shirt with a sharp tug, 
the one-eyed Masho of Deception marched up the staircase, fading from 
view as he disappeared into the shadowy gloom.

*********

	Water dripped quietly from the overhanging branches of the 
massive pine tree, falling to the ground and tapping softly against 
the thick, soft bed of pine needles that littered the ground. A 
particularly fat droplet sluggishly pulled its way free and plummeted 
downwards, splashing right on the bridge of Vyne's nose. Snorting 
slightly, the youth shifted his shoulders and smacked his lips a few 
times before he continued snoring. His gigantic and impressive wings 
were wrapped about him like a feathered cocoon as he slumbered 
peacefully, oblivious to the world around him. 

	A hand slowly crept up from under the feathered cover, rubbing 
against the side of Vyne's face. The winged man shifted position 
slightly and twitched his nose as the hand slid over his lips. Blinking
wearily, he opened his emerald eyes and stared at the branches above 
his head in an unfocused fashion. He wondered why the tree wasn't 
under him before realising that he was, in fact, on the ground. And 
thus already having a bad day. Scratching his head and fighting the 
urge to yawn, he began to sit up.

	Halfway there, the hand resting on his face suddenly began 
pushing him back the other way with surprising force. Vyne flopped 
onto the ground and let out a muffled curse as he banged his head on 
a tree root. Something squirmed against him in a delightfully 
distracting manner and started breathing down his neck. Raising an 
eyebrow, Vyne looked down and slowly unfolded his wings. 

	Lying curled on top of him, his sister Holts shivered slightly 
and reached up, grabbing his right wing and tucking it back down around
her shoulders. The petite redhead had all four eyes closed and was 
mumbling something incoherent as she shifted her position slightly and 
began to nuzzle the side of his neck. Vyne scowled. He wasn't too sure 
Sun Tzu had ever covered this particular situation in The Art of War. 
Then again, Sun Tzu probably hadn't suffered from a narcoholic little 
sister, either. Hesitantly, he tried prodding the girl, who merely 
squirmed again and drowsily smacked him in the face. 

	"Ow!" Rubbing his sore jaw with one hand, he prodded her 
again. "Come on," he pleaded, "wake up!"

	"No," Holts mumbled, and wrapped her arms around his torso. 
"M'comfy. Go 'way."

	"But it's morning!"

	"Don't care."

	Vyne scowled again. There was no point in trying to wait the 
girl out; if she was comfortable, she could sleep for decades. "You 
lazy little sot," he snarled under his breath, and began trying 
fruitlessly to push or pull Holts from off his person. "We have a job 
to do!"

	"No," Holts argued, opening one eye a slit and glaring at him 
through the emerald orb, "YOU have a job to do. I did MY job last 
night, thank you very much! It's not my fault you went and disobeyed 
your orders before I could give them to you! Besides, we had a deal!" 

	"That deal had NOTHING to do with you using me like a damned 
mattress!" Vyne fumed, still struggling to pry his little sister off 
of him. 

	"It did the second the ground got all cold and lumpy!" Holts 
shot back, easily evading Vyne's strikes while maintaining her grip 
on him. "Besides, you were already asleep! I didn't think you'd mind!"

	"I mind NOW! It's time to get up!"

	"NO!" Holts shook her head furiously, her short mane of crimson
hair flying about her and batting Vyne's face in a way he found 
infinitely bothersome. "I'm still sleepy!" 

	"Worthless lump," Vyne seethed at the small redhead, grasping 
her by the scruff of her neck and peeling her off of him at last. He 
winced as he felt her fingernails tear grooves along his sides -it 
felt like she'd dug them in at least an inch- and held his little 
sister at arm's length as he rose to his feet. For her part, Holts 
began to shriek like an alarm siren, flailing her fists and kicking 
desperately at the empty air. 

	"Stop being childish," Vyne said sternly, and shook her until 
she began to sound like she was wailing into an electric fan. "We have 
a world to destroy, you know."

	Holts pouted. "But I'm sleepy," she said sulkily. It wasn't 
exactly an admission of surrender, Vyne knew - the trembling of her 
lower lip made it obvious that she was preparing to leap back into full
howl at any second. It was, however, a sign that she was open to 
negotiation. 

	"Listen," he said with a deep and heartfelt sigh, "I'm just 
asking you to stay with me for a few more minutes, and then we'll go 
straight home, like I promised. I mean, look at my wings!" He lifted 
one of the two extremities to demonstrate. "They're soaked, Sister. 
That means I'm stuck on the ground, and we aren't going anywhere 
until they dry. So why don't we just reconnoitre while we're waiting?"

	"Why don't we just nap until the rain stops, instead?"

	"Because," Vyne explained, "we're trying to follow those two 
people I dumped off a cliff yesterday, and if we wait too long, we'll 
lose all hope of finding them."

	"And...?" Holts asked pleadingly. 

	"And," Vyne continued, "because if we lose them, Pedri will be 
very angry. And he's ALWAYS kind of angry, so that would not be a good 
thing." Not, he added silently, at least, until he had more people to 
support him in his defiance of the overbearing, self-indulging tyrant.
Then it might be kind of fun to watch his brother Pedri blow his top...
before blowing it for him. 

	"And...?" Holts repeated, smiling lazily as she stretched her 
arms wide and smothered a yawn on the back of her hand.

	Vyne scowled. "You're not going to be happy until I agree to 
do it, are you?"

	The petite redhead shook her head furiously again. "Nope."

	Heaving another deep sigh, the winged man set his little sister
down on the ground and rubbed his brow with his fingertips. "Fine," he 
grumbled, rolling his eyes. "Whatever. Why not? I'll do it."

	"Really?" Holts opened one eye suspiciously. This was way too 
easy. Ever since Sister Tuls had caught them doing it, Vyne had refused
to even CONSIDER it again. There was no way she should have gotten his 
agreement without at least another hour of her 'brat' act. "And you'll 
do the voices, and everything?"

	"Yes," he groaned, "I may as well. I'm doing everything else by
now, aren't I? At this rate, you'll have me filling in for that stupid 
stuffed yak of yours by the time we get home."

	"Mr. Wimbles is not stupid! Stop making fun of him!" Holts 
scowled sleepily and folded her arms across her chest as she turned her
head away from him and lifted her chin defiantly. This, of course, 
almost made her able to look her much taller brother in the eye when 
he leaned over and looked down at her. 

	"Honestly, Holts," he said, as he stuck his tongue out at her, 
"you are SO immature at times."

	"I am not," she argued with a grin.

	"You are so," he retaliated with a grin of his own.

	"Am not!"

	"Are so!"
	
**********

	Pedri's ebony cape flared behind him as he stormed along the 
slick glass corridor, steel-toed boots clicking angrily with each step.
His body was as tense as the strings on a violin, with his fists 
clenched so tightly his leather gloves creaked under the strain. His 
face, however, was utterly composed, and it was this that somehow 
managed to chill his sister's blood as she jogged a few strides behind 
him.

	"Uh... Where exactly are we going, Brother Pedri?"

	"Where we need to be, Erdge," the raven-haired man replied 
curtly, without so much as turning his head in her direction. 

	Erdge swallowed loudly and clasped one hand around her graceful
neck. Why hadn't he called her his sister, like he always did? Was she 
in trouble?

	"Not yet." The young man glanced over his shoulder and met her 
gaze, his azure eyes flashing briefly. "Would you like to be?" Stopping
his march, Pedri lifted one arm and thrust two fingers into the 
seamless marble wall in front of him. After a brief pause, a circular 
hole formed around his wrist, expanding like a drop of oil in a pool of
water until it stretched from floor to ceiling. 

	For once, the tall, leather-clad woman's eyes widened from 
something other than avarice. "How did you-?"

	Pedri shrugged as he stepped through the portal he had created.
"I felt like a shortcut, so I put a door here." He met his sister's 
gaze and blinked innocently. "What? We're in a rush, and you need a 
door. It's not like there's one here usually." He beckoned with one 
hand, and Erdge stepped through the hole to join him. 

	The room beyond was something that she had never seen before, 
in all the countless years she had lived within the fortress. Curved 
walls and a circular floor gave the place a vaguely egg-like shape, 
and everything was coated in either pure silver or polished ivory. The 
floor had a narrow ridge running against the wall, then a sudden step 
down into an almost channel-like groove that was at least as wide as 
Erdge was tall. Long, ropy cables stretched across the channel to an 
ivory pedestal in the precise centre of the room, with what appeared 
to be some kind of symbol etched onto its surface. Looking up, she 
saw countless grooves and symbols etched into the ceiling, looking 
almost like an eldritch scrimshaw pattern. 

	"A little familiar, isn't it?" Pedri said with a smirk as he 
tugged off his black leather gauntlets and let the heavy gloves fall 
to the floor. "The design is vaguely like that of the bone room - there
are different patterns in the etchings, though, and of course the 
pedestal and cables are new to you." Running his fingers through his 
short, dark hair, Pedri stepped on the toe of one boot and drew his 
bare foot out of it, repeating the procedure with his other foot soon 
after. "It's smaller, too, and frankly smells better without all those 
skeletons and rotting flesh. Then, there's these." He gestured, and 
two large, globe-shaped crystals pushed their way free of the wall, 
seeming to curve and twine like eyes on the ends of stalks, as long 
tentacle-like sections of ivory and silver drooled out after them. 

	Pedri rubbed one wrist apprehensively and unclasped his cape, 
letting the black fabric pool around his ankles as he unbuttoned and 
removed his crimson jacket. The silver medals jangled softly as it 
joined the other garments on the floor, and he stepped away from them. 
He looked strange, without his usual trappings. Dressed only in his 
black slacks with their red stripes and a black short-sleeved shirt, 
he almost appeared non-threatening. "Watch closely," he said to Erdge. 
"It is important you know what to do." Turning to face the woman, he 
placed his spine flush against the wall and rested his hands on the 
two crystalline globes. "This part," he said calmly, as the globes 
began to glow, "isn't so bad." 

	Suddenly, the dark haired youth arched his back, banging his 
head against the wall and clenching his teeth as he closed his eyes and
grimaced in pain. "Now, this part?" he gasped. "This part HURTS!"

	Streams of energy flowed out of the flashing spheres and 
crawled over Pedri's form as the young man doubled over and cried out 
in pain. His eyes snapped open, and thick bolts of lightning burst 
from between his lids to bounce and swirl around the chamber. The 
smell of smoke and charred flesh filled the air as Erdge gasped and 
stared at Pedri's hands. As she watched, the flesh of his fingers 
actually melted and fused into the glowing crystal orbs, which began 
to glow even brighter as they strobed with a harsh white light. Looking
down, she saw that the man's feet had also merged with the room, 
buckling and melting at the edges until she was unable to say where he 
ended and the floor began. 

	Pedri's knees buckled, and he began to groan through his 
tightly clenched teeth, his short black hair falling forward over the 
pale skin of his forehead. Erdge clutched the long braid of blonde hair
that hung from the back of her leather cowl and began to wring it in 
her hands nervously. An eerie silence pervaded the chamber, with the 
only sounds being her brother's ragged breathing and the soft buzz and 
crackle of the strange white energy as it continued to lick at his 
body like a cat's tongue. The lighting of the chamber itself began to 
dim, growing ever darker until even Erdge was hard pressed to make out 
her own ebony-swathed hand in the shadows. Taking a step back, she 
turned to leave through the door that Pedri had formed, only to find 
that the wall was once again smooth and unmarred.

	There was a thick, slurping sound, and the black-clad woman 
looked up, squinting behind the shield of her heavy leather mask. 
Something was moving in the gloom of the ceiling, something blacker 
than night, darker than darkness itself. A sickly sweet smell reached 
her nostrils, and Erdge made a face. There was something familiar about
that scent, but it had never been so strong before. She fought the 
twisting sensation she could feel in her stomach; if she vomited, she'd
surely suffocate in her own mask. 

	Swaying delicately, the web of cables that Erdge had noticed 
earlier pulled free from the outer rim of the floor and rose upwards, 
brushing against the ceiling as they spun around themselves and each 
other, like the petals of a closing flower. Like a sudden avalanche, a
thick torrent of dark crimson slime drooled down into the centre of the
closing blossom, splattering loudly on the now-invisible ivory pedestal
as the syrupy fluid poured out and the cables -tentacles?- finished 
entwining and lay still. The final form was like some grotesque 
perversion of a sakura blossom, made from thick, ropy tentacles of 
silver that dripped dollops of rancid ooze as they trembled slightly. 

	Pedri groaned again and lifted his head, his vacant eyes still 
crackling with energy as a brilliant light poured from between his 
teeth. The groan slowly escalated in pitch as he grimaced and finally 
opened his mouth in a scream that vomited forth a pillar of light that 
slammed into the side of the... thing... in the middle of the room. 
Erdge blinked and shielded her eyes with one hand. Was it just her 
imagination, she wondered, or did she really see the writhing, 
incorporeal form that dragged itself free of Pedri's mouth and flew, 
shrieking, into the silver cocoon? She wasn't sure she wanted to know.

	In a rather anticlimactic moment, the intricate blossom of 
gleaming sliver simply wilted back down, the cables sliding back into 
place on the floor as what looked like a glistening red jellyfish the 
size of Erdge's bedroom quivered to itself in the middle of the 
chamber, engulfing the pedestal that had been there before. 

	Pedri looked drained, his ageless features drawn and peaked. 
His hair was mussed and wet, soaked with the perspiration that still 
rolled down the sides of his jaw and dripped from the tip of his nose 
as he gasped for air. Erdge stepped forward - timidly at first, but 
with growing certainty. He was weak; she could take the initiative, 
get him before he got her...

	But she didn't. Not even sure why, she found herself reaching 
for the fallen man, leaning his head on her shoulder as she peeled his 
hands loose from the smoking crystal balls that they still clung to 
stubbornly. The skin on his palms and fingers was gone, leaving only 
raw, bloody flesh that made her wince to look at. 

	"My gloves," Pedri murmured weakly, and Erdge nodded dutifully.
Resting her leader against the wall, she ran over to where the two 
leather gauntlets lay and retrieved them, carrying the gloves back to 
Pedri and pulling them on. He hissed in pain as they slid down his 
arms, rubbing harshly against his injured hands and replacing the raw 
flesh with seamless black leather. Closing his eyes, Pedri leaned his 
head back and concentrated on his breathing as Erdge quietly eased his 
arms into the sleeves of his jacket and rolled the crimson cuffs down 
over his long leather gauntlets.

	"Will they heal?" she asked in a soft tone, still avoiding his 
gaze as she slowly tugged on his steel-toed boots. 

	"My hands? In a few months, maybe. Mother's radiance is a 
dangerous thing, Erdge." Grunting, Pedri levered himself back onto his 
feet and stood, wavering back and forth slightly. "Come along. Brother 
Tytolung is hatching."

	Sure enough, the smooth and gelid surface of the crimson 
structure was beginning to quiver. Its sides began to cave inwards as a
large claw pierced the upper layer, followed quickly by its fellows. A 
hand the size of Erdge's entire head opened and closed, flexing its 
fingers before the entire arm snaked out into the air. A shoulder 
followed, and then the long, ponderous head of her biggest brother, 
the lizard-like creature worming his way free of the red covering that 
still clung to him like a second skin. His eyes were closed, and he 
looked like he was bit smaller than before. 

	"And that takes care of that," Pedri said with weary 
satisfaction. The pale youth gestured, and Tytolung slowly sank 
through the floor, the pedestal on which he lay retracting until he 
had faded from sight. "You may want to stay clear of his hunting 
grounds for a few days, Erdge; our brother Tytolung tends to be even 
fiercer when he's truly hungry. When he regains sentience, he'll be 
starved."

	"I will, Leader." Erdge nodded dutifully as she stood next to 
him. He was still standing, she noted, but not very well. As if on 
cue, the young man's knees bowed, and he sagged backwards. Erdge 
barely managed to grab him before he hit the floor, her arms snaking 
around his waist and halting his descent. "Leader, are you well?"

	"Don't call me that," Pedri mumbled, his eyes barely open as 
his head lolled against her shoulder. "Use my name... it's why She 
gave me one..."

	Erdge blinked. "Whatever you say... Pedri." Carefully securing 
her grip around his waist, she placed his one arm around her neck and 
rose to her feet, supporting her brother. "You seem pretty tired. Do 
you want me to take you to your quarters, or something?" 

	"Yes," Pedri said absent-mindedly, "I suppose I should freshen 
up a little. Wouldn't do to have our guests see me looking less than 
my best, now, would it?" 

**********

	"I'm sorry," Hotaru wheezed as she collapsed on top of Naotoki 
Yamanouchi's armoured form, panting for breath. "I really wanted to 
help, but I just can't give any more... There are just so many wounds, 
so much to repair... I don't have the energy to do any more."

	"It's all right," Nasuti quickly re-assured the young girl, 
reaching out to place a hand on Hotaru's shoulder. "You did your best, 
Hotaru. If nothing else, you were able to keep him alive for at least 
another few hours, right? That might have been long enough to make the 
difference."

	"Do you think so?" 

	"Samurai Troopers in general are pretty tough, honey." Nasuti 
forced herself to smile, and helped Hotaru to her feet. "And Naaza is 
probably the toughest one of them all. Why don't we go find some other 
room and let you get some rest? I'm sure he'll be fine by himself for 
a little while." 

	"I don't know." Hotaru bit one of her fingernails, glancing 
down at the battered form of the Doku Masho. "Are you sure I should? 
I mean, what if something happens?" 

	"Okay," the older woman said after a moment's thought, "I'll 
stay here and look over him while you're resting. If I think his 
condition is worsening, I can go and wake you up. Okay?" 

	"Okay," Hotaru relented, as the pair walked out of their 
makeshift clinic and headed down the hall. "But you have to change his 
bandages every few hours, and he'll need a fresh cloth for his head..."

	"I think I can do that much by myself," Nasuti chuckled, as 
she pulled experimentally on the handle of one door. Finding it locked,
they kept walking. 

	"...and make sure you keep an eye on his colour. He's lost a 
lot of blood, and he tried to go into shock a few times while I was 
treating him..."

	"Right," the auburn-haired woman said with a sigh as she tried 
another door. "Look out for possible signs of hypovolemic shock. 
Thready pulse, shallow breathing, pale skin, and excessive sweating. 
Gotcha." The door opened, albeit with the deafening squeal of hinges 
that were badly in need of oil, and Nasuti waved her young associate 
into the room beyond. "Don't worry, Hotaru. I've got it covered!" 

	The slight, raven-haired girl rubbed her hands against each 
other nervously. "You don't think there's... rats... in there, do 
you, Nasuti?" 

	"Hotaru," Nasuti replied dryly, "trust me. There's only one 
rat in this whole tower that we need to worry about, and he's 
upstairs. No other vermin could possibly be vile enough to last more 
than a few minutes in this place."

	"I don't think Rajura's really as bad as people think he is," 
Hotaru ventured as she stepped across the threshold and stared into 
the dark chamber. "I think he's kind of nice..."

	"Nice?" Nasuti laughed. "Hotaru, he's the Masho of Deception! 
If you ask me, he's more of a snake than Naaza could ever dream of 
being. It's not a matter of if he'll choose to turn on you, it's a 
matter of WHEN he'll DECIDE to! You can only trust him if you've got 
your eyes on him, and even then, you'd better not blink. How could 
you possibly think that he's nice?"

	"But if he's so sneaky and tricky," Hotaru asked curiously, 
"then why DON'T people like him? Couldn't he use his powers to make 
them think he was a better person? If I had the power to trick 
people, I think I'd use it to make them like me better, wouldn't you? 
And nobody seems to like Rajura much at all."

	"Well, you've seen the way he acts around people, haven't you? 
He either treats them like garbage, or ignores them completely. You 
heard the things he was saying about Naaza earlier, and you've seen 
the way he treated that Setsuna woman. He doesn't care about people. 
He's proud of how evil and cruel he is! Heck, if you asked him, he'd 
probably tell you how despicable he was himself!" 

	"Maybe," Hotaru admitted as she swung the door shut, "but if 
he's the Masho of Deception, wouldn't he just be telling you whatever 
you wanted to hear? Why would you believe him?"

	Nasuti blinked. "Uh..."

	"Anyway, it was just a thought." Hotaru sighed softly as she 
peered at Nasuti through the barred window of the door. "You better 
get back to Naaza, Nasuti. I'll just lie down for a while." 

	"Right," Nasuti mumbled, waving distractedly as she turned 
and headed back the way she had come. Hands in her pockets, the young 
woman wandered down the curving hallway, lost in thought. Poor Hotaru; 
the girl seemed to be a bit confused. Of course Rajura couldn't be 
trusted! He was Rajura! The only thing anybody could count on him for 
was not to be counted on at all. Without a doubt, he was the most 
cruel, despicable excuse for a...

	Shutendoji. The stray thought stopped Nasuti in her tracks, 
her eyes widening in shock. That was right - for everything that Rajura
was, Shutendoji had been even worse. The Masho of Cruelty's atrocities 
were literally the stuff of legend, but when he had showed up on her 
doorstep looking for a chance to redeem himself, she had accepted him 
at face value. He had certainly more than repaid her trust, rest his 
soul. Why was she suddenly so quick to condemn Jirougorou Kuroda, when 
she had been so willing to forgive Toshitada Koma? 

	Because, she answered herself as she continued down the 
hallway, Toshitada Koma had wanted to be forgiven. He had shown through
his words and actions that he was a changed man, and deserving of her 
trust and respect. Jirougorou Kuroda, on the other hand, was almost 
blatantly doing the opposite. With every deed the Spider Masho 
committed, he only reinforced his own reputation for ruthlessness and 
lethality. He couldn't be trusted, and took every opportunity to remind
people of that fact. Maybe Hotaru was right. Maybe he was doing it on 
purpose. After all, there were times when it paid to be feared; Nasuti 
supposed that a lot of would-be usurpers to Kayura's throne might think
twice about going up against someone as terrifying as the Spider Masho.
And if anybody could find a way to turn being hated to his advantage, 
it was probably Jirougorou Kuroda. 

	Not that it mattered. It wasn't like knowing any of that was 
going to help her if Rajura decided to do anything to her. He was a 
four-hundred and fifty year-old samurai with magical powers, and she 
was a fairly tall, slightly skinny, and depressingly average university
professor who was completely out of her league. Jun was right: it 
sucked being helpless. Of course, Jun was a whole different group of 
things to worry about, and she wasn't sure she had the energy for it. 
Making the Samurai Troopers -particularly Ryo Sanada- his role models 
had done a lot to help Jun develop self-confidence, courage, and 
integrity. Of course, given Ryo's habit of leaping INSTEAD of looking, 
emulating him hadn't done much for Jun's common sense. Nasuti sighed 
expressively, her shoulders slumping as she placed her hand on the 
door. Ryo had mystical armour to help him when he charged headfirst 
into trouble. Jun didn't seem to realise that he needed help at all. 
If he didn't start being more careful, he was going to get hurt...

	The door creaked, and swung open a crack at Nasuti's touch. 
Blinking in surprise, the auburn-haired woman looked down at the door 
handle. Hadn't she pulled it shut when they left? Maybe it hadn't 
caught, or something. With a curious frown, Nasuti pushed the door 
open the rest of the way and entered the room beyond. An instant 
later, she stepped back out into the hallway, a worried look in her 
emerald eyes as she glanced first up, and then down the corridor. 

	Naaza was nowhere to be seen. 
	
**********

	Kayura hated the rain. It lowered visibility, made footing 
insecure, and -worst of all- had a bad habit of pooling on her 
shoulderplates and sluicing down the back of her neck every time she 
moved. At least she had the helmet of her Oni yoroi to keep her head 
and face dry, loathe though she was to wear it. After all, it covered 
her lovely features, and one of the perks of being an Empress was 
being allowed to indulge in a bit of vanity every once in a while. With
her Masho and her Imperial Guard to protect her, it wasn't as though 
she usually needed to wear the yoroi at all. She much preferred her 
kimono - the silk was so smooth and comfortable against her skin, not 
like the iron shell currently clamped around her. 

	Her Masho. The petite empress scowled slightly, the dark cloud 
passing over her face unnoticed behind the crimson enamel of her 
mask. As if she knew where any of them were, now that she needed them. 
Naaza had disappeared almost two days ago, and Rajura vanished not 
long after him. Only Anubis, steadfast, dependable Anubis, had stayed 
by her side in her time of need. Her loyal Anu-kun. He was her knight, 
her strength, her conscience, her guide... Whatever she needed, he 
always provided for her. So long as Kujuurou Sasaki drew breath, she 
knew she would never have to face the world alone. 

	Which made it all the more terrifying to think he might die.

	Anubis moaned softly and turned his head, resting his face 
against her armoured thigh. Kayura let her fingers drift along his 
jaw, tracing the cross-shaped scar that graced his left cheek as it 
reached towards his nose and eye. The driving rain had at least served 
to wash some of the blood off of his features, making him look almost 
normal. His helmet was gone - smashed beyond recognition in his battle 
and left behind when they had been carried to the relative safety of 
the storm. She gently moved a forelock of his hair out of his eyes. 
That one lock always seemed to dangle there, no matter how hard dear 
Anu-kun tried to handle it. With a smile, she recalled the scowl he 
had given her when she finally told him how cute she thought he looked 
with it. 

	"The real problem," Setsuna Meioh muttered as she knelt down 
nest to Kayura, "is Uncle Kujuurou. We ourselves do not appear to be 
in immediate danger, but Anubis needs some kind of medical attention." 
With one gloved hand, Setsuna gestured towards the only nearby 
structure, a spire of obsidian that thrust out of the massive plain of 
black mire like a giant's lawn dart. "The Keep may still have some 
medicinal supplies, but I'm not sure we should be moving him." 

	"The Black Jackal is not meant to die in the mud like a common
dog," Kayura whispered, her voice barely audible over the hiss of 
falling rain. "Such an ending would be beneath him." Looking up from 
her contemplation of the man's features, Kayura met her friend's gaze. 
"We move him to the Keep," she said sternly. "He will survive."

	Setsuna frowned, her eerie red eyes staring deep into Kayura's 
own. "What makes you so sure?" 

	"He is Anubis. He wouldn't dare die without my permission." 
Grasping the ringed shakujo staff of her ancestors, Kayura waved it 
over the Wolf Masho's prone form and muttered something under her 
breath. Slowly, almost reluctantly at first, the golden rings began 
to stir, chiming against each other as the small wings at the end 
of the shakujo suddenly flexed and extended like living things. A 
soft light drifted from the staff, enveloping Kujuurou Sasaki and 
lifting him gently off of the ground to bob near Kayura's shoulder. 

	"I'm impressed," Setsuna admitted. "I wasn't aware you had 
such mastery over the shakujo."

	"Yes," Kayura replied, "it's amazing how much things can change
when you don't see someone for a few years." Imperiously, the slim 
girl turned on her heel and began slogging towards the Keep, Anubis 
trailing after her like a balloon on a string. 

	"Ouch," Setsuna muttered, and followed after the two Masho as 
best she could. The high-heeled boots of her Senshi uniform were most 
definitely not designed for the slippery, ankle-deep muck that she 
was in at the moment. After a bit of a struggle -and against all odds- 
the Senshi of Time somehow managed to reach the front doors of The 
Keep with both her balance and her dignity intact. Catching the thick 
oaken door just as it began to close behind Kayura, she slipped through
and let it slam behind her with a resounding thud. 

	"Well," she said, looking around the disused hall, "it seems 
we are to be here for a while, at least until the storm stops. We 
should probably check the supplies, and-"

	"MOMMY! MOMMY! MOMMY!" A small, raven-haired girl bolted 
down the staircase and brushed past Kayura and Anubis as she hurtled 
towards Setsuna, arms held wide. "Oh, Mommy! I missed you so much!" 

	"Sure you did," Setsuna hissed, catching the frail girl by 
her wrist and slamming her roughly against the wall. Hotaru gasped 
and looked up at the older woman with tears glistening in her violet 
eyes. 

	"What's the matter, Mommy?" she whimpered, cowering slightly 
as Setsuna loomed over her. "Did I make you mad? I just wanted you to 
know how much I love you..."

	"Right," the emerald-haired woman replied, as she reached into 
the girl's glove to draw out a rather long and wicked-looking dagger. 

	"Golly," the girl said quietly, looking at the weapon as though
she had never seen it before in her life, "how did THAT get in there, 
Mommy?" 

	"Give it up," Setsuna suggested, wrapping the fingers of her 
free hand around the small girl's throat, "you're not fooling me." 

	'Hotaru' smiled sweetly up at the older woman. "Well," she said
in a deep, masculine voice, "it's good to see your skills haven't 
completely atrophied in your time away from me, Setsuna dear." 

	"Where is my daughter, Rajura?" 

	The girl smiled. "What makes you sure she's still alive?" 

	"You don't impersonate dead people; you think it's bad luck." 
Setsuna narrowed her eyes and tightened her grip on the captive Masho's
neck. "My daughter. WHERE?"

	"Really, Setsuna. Where do you THINK I would put the little 
moppet? She's where YOU belong, of course..."

	Setsuna stepped back, her fingers suddenly going numb as the 
small girl tumbled from her grasp and landed on the floor. Shaking her 
head, the Senshi of Time looked down at the man who was wearing the 
form of her daughter. "You son of a bitch," she whispered, "you didn't.
You COULDN'T, not even you..." Without another word, the usually 
graceful and elegant Sailor Pluto spun on one heel and raced up the 
staircase as though the hounds of Hell were chasing after her.

	"Interesting choice," Rajura mused, rubbing her throat with 
one hand as she climbed back onto her feet. "I was actually referring 
to her cell downstairs." Turning to Kayura, the small girl bowed and 
smiled. "Empress," she said by way of greeting, before her eyes turned 
to the armoured figure floating next to the girl's shoulder. 

	"Gods," she muttered, "first Naaza and now Anubis, too. Am I 
the only Masho who doesn't go out picking fights the second your back 
is turned?"

	"Beats me," Kayura answered with a shrug, "I make it a habit 
to never turn my back on you."

	The girl grinned wickedly. "My Empress is truly wise," she 
said, nodding her head. 

	"Could you please turn back into one of my Masho? I find it a 
bit unnerving to hear your words come out of that mouth."

	"Certainly." As ordered, the fragile young girl's body shifted 
and flowed like soft wax, becoming taller and more masculine as her 
mane of raven hair grew shorter and turned green.

	"Better?" he asked, in Naaza's voice.

**********

	The trapdoor was carved from a solid block of mahogany, more 
than a foot thick and reinforced with iron straps. The lock was old 
but serviceable, and Setsuna knew from experience that the only key to 
fit it was hanging quite securely around a certain Spider Masho's 
neck. A quick push with her hand was all it took to ascertain that the 
panel was, indeed, still locked in place. Gauging the distance, 
Setsuna took a few steps down the staircase and lay down, her back 
pressing against the stone stairs as she brought her knees up under 
her chin and lashed out with both feet, aiming her kick at the lock 
itself. The door shuddered, and she tried again. 

	Rajura had always frowned on violent, inelegant solutions to 
problems. That did not, however, mean he was unwilling to resort to 
any, and it had certainly never stopped him from teaching them to her. 
Sometimes lock picks took too long.

	A third kick, and the door cracked loudly, the thinner wood of 
the frame splintering as the iron deadbolt smashed through it. Her 
fourth kick caused the door to fly open, and she quickly pulled herself
up through it.  

	The room beyond was cavernous - Arago had devoted the upper 
five floors of the entire tower to a single chamber. Even that much 
space had not quite been enough; the room was filled with a jungle-like
maze of platforms that divided the area into several layers. The 
"first floor" was larger than most gymnasiums, and contained much of 
the same equipment. Barbells gathered cobwebs in the corner, a thick 
layer of dust covered the vaulting horse, and sand drifted lazily 
from the split seam of a medicine ball. A set of uneven bars had been 
left out on the stone floor, and even though she was too far away to 
see it, Setsuna knew there was a circular race track running around 
the outer perimeter of the room, complete with hurdles. Training 
dummies were propped up at regular intervals, straw still hanging 
desolately from the cuts in their necks.

	Setsuna walked further into the room, and smirked as she 
noticed the closest platform. It was at waist-height, and held a large 
table with a linen cloth and a silver candelabra. Crystal glasses sat 
next to the only two plates, and the array of silverware was enough 
to make her head spin even now. Passing by it, she reached out and 
allowed her fingers to glide over the long wooden rack standing against
the wall. Torchlight gleamed wickedly on the steel blades of the 
naginata and bisento, the pikes and halbreds, the spears... and the 
pool cues. Turning, Setsuna glared at the billiard table sitting on a 
platform at eye-level. It was probably still racked for a game, she 
thought, hopping onto the wooden rostrum.

	There was no sign of Hotaru, but that didn't mean anything. 
She could anywhere in this tangled maze of scaffolds and stages. With 
a determined look, Setsuna hopped onto the pool table, leaping over to 
the nearest platform and catching the edge with her fingers. Rajura 
had deliberately made them such odd heights and distances from each 
other; even getting to the lesson was a lesson in itself. Pulling 
herself up, she walked past a low table set for a traditional tea 
ceremony and jumped again, snagging a knotted rope in mid-air and 
swinging onto a bare stage. The floor had been covered with painted 
footprints, outlining the basic steps of a waltz.

	A soft, rhythmic creaking sound reached her ears, and Setsuna 
glanced up. The rafters were still a few "floors" above her, but it 
sounded like the noise was coming from there. With a groan, she 
continued to hop from platform to platform like a frog travelling 
across lily pads, fighting a sense of deja vu as she slowly weaved 
her way to the uppermost level of stages. Finally, the emerald-haired 
woman stopped, panting for breath as she scanned the rafters. 

	Rajura hung by his feet from one of the trapezes that dangled 
from the ceiling, arms crossed over his chest as he swung idly back 
and forth. "Nearly fifteen minutes," he commented, clucking his 
tongue. "You used to be able to do it in five. Then again, I guess old 
age inevitably catches up with you..."

	Setsuna stared at the silver-haired Masho of Deception, her 
jaw actually hanging open in surprise. "Rajura? But you were- I left 
you downstairs with Kayura and Anubis!" 

	"Did you?" The Spider Masho opened his one eye and smiled 
coldly down at the woman as he continued to swing from the trapeze. 
"I've been here for several hours. Perhaps you were imagining me 
earlier." As the trapeze swung forward his arms shot out, grasping a 
pair of wooden rings that hung from the ceiling by leather straps. 
"Then again," he mused, kicking his legs and pivoting into a graceful 
handstand, "maybe you are imagining me now. Or maybe I never existed 
to begin with, and you were always just pretending I was there." 

	"What do you think?" Setsuna asked sarcastically, placing her 
hands on her hips and cocking her head to one side as she glared up at 
him. 

	"Oh, I think I'm the real Rajura. If there ever was a real 
Rajura, that is." His legs swung down, and the Spider Masho released 
the rings he had been supporting himself with. Using his momentum, 
Rajura tucked his legs up and curled into a ball, somersaulting through
the air and landing somewhere below Setsuna. "After all," his voice 
called up to her, "can anybody really prove that they exist?"

	Setsuna ran to the edge of the platform and looked down. One 
level beneath her, the silver-haired Masho was resting on a balance 
beam that bridged two other stages. He was, she noted with a hint of 
amazement, performing another handstand. 

	"Why," she asked, leaping over to a lower rostrum and sliding 
down one of the stilts supporting it, "do you spend so much time 
upside-down, Rajura? It can't be healthy."

	"Oh, you'd be surprised." The Masho shifted his weight slightly
and lifted one hand, splaying his fingers as he stretched the limb 
out perpendicular to his body. "Often, I have found it to be the only 
perspective that lets the world make sense. You might want to try it 
some time."

	"Where have you hidden my daughter, you monster?" 

	"Aww," he crooned. "An end to our banter so soon? And just 
when I was beginning to truly enjoy it." Scissoring his legs, Rajura 
tumbled forward along the beam. He ended in a sitting position, hands 
clasping his ankles as he looked up at Setsuna and smirked. "Your 
beloved daughter is downstairs, Setsuna. I have not harmed a beloved 
hair on her beloved little head. In fact, I have grown somewhat 
fond of the little lady - we got along quite famously." He smiled, a 
dangerous light gleaming in his icy blue eye. "You don't suppose you 
could spare her for a year or two? After all, I seem to be in the 
market for a new apprentice..."

	"If I have anything to say about it," Setsuna replied heatedly,
climbing down to his level, "you will never so much as look at Hotaru 
again, do you understand me?"

	"Perfectly," Rajura said as he got to his feet and began to 
walk along the beam, his back to the Senshi. "Such a shame, to see 
that wonderful darkness in her heart go to such waste. It's not as 
though YOU could possibly train her to anything near her true 
potential, my pathetic ex-apprentice. You're nothing but a shell of 
your former self now, and after all the hard work I put into you..." 
He sighed dramatically and shook his head. "I must admit, Setsuna, 
you shame me."

	"If anything," Setsuna argued, stepping onto the beam and 
striding towards Rajura. "It should be me who is ashamed of YOU. I 
still remember all of the lessons you taught me, Rajura, but that 
does not mean I have to use your methods. At least I try to apply my 
knowledge to helping people and creating a better future, not spreading
misery and suffering!" 

	"Yes," Rajura noted calmly, "and that is exactly why you will 
always lose, my dear. You're just too soft. You care, I don't; I win." 
With a shrug, the Spider Masho stepped off of the beam and plummeted 
four stories down to the stone floor, landing in a crouch. 

	"That is far from true!" Setsuna cried, duplicating the Masho's
leap. She landed hard, and hissed as she felt her ankle bend the 
wrong way. "You only succeed because you refuse to fight honourably!"

	"Exactly," Rajura called over his shoulder as he walked deeper 
into the room, opening a cabinet that rested against the wall and 
rummaging through its contents. "Fighting fair is what stupid people 
try to make you do so that they can have a chance. Anybody with a 
modicum of intelligence knows enough to cheat. Results count, Setsuna,
not the path taken to get them. I could teach Miss Tomoe more in a 
week than you could in a thousand years. I am, by far, a better teacher
than you. To be accurate; I am, by far, a better EVERYTHING than you." 

	"Regardless, you shall not have Hotaru."

	"I am a patient man. You can't guard her every second, Setsuna.
Not forever." Apparently finding what he had been looking for, the 
Masho of Deception straightened his back, holding something in his 
hands. 

	"I don't have to," Setsuna said, a strange calm coming over 
her as she stepped towards him. "I just have to stop you, Rajura. 
Forever. And I am more than capable of doing that. More than happy 
to do it..."

	"Catch." Rajura tossed something over his shoulder, and Setsuna
caught it instinctively. The object was long and slightly curved, 
swaddled in silk and with a familiar weight to it. Looking down, the 
emerald-haired woman carefully let the silk covering fall away to 
reveal gleaming lacquer and gold. 

	"This..." Her voice caught. Clearing her throat, Setsuna tried 
again. "This is your katana."

	"Yes," the man said, slowly sinking down on one knee. "I hope 
you'll forgive the symbolism, but frankly I don't like the idea of 
having to wait until you dash my brains out with that bloody giant key 
of yours. This will be far quicker."

	"What?"

	"Was I unclear?" Rajura spread his arms wide and looked up at 
the woman. "You were just saying you wanted to kill me. This is your 
chance. Draw my sword and cut off my head. There is nobody to stop 
you, nobody to see what has transpired. I am unarmed, and defenceless. 
One stroke, and you can be free of me forever."

	Setsuna looked down at the sword in her hands. It was still 
sheathed, a thick cord of hair connecting the guard to the scabbard 
and sealing it. She ran her thumb along the cord. It was not so 
thick; she could likely break it without much effort. 

	"I did not train you to hesitate," the Spider Masho interjected
softly. "Take your chance, or another may never appear. You want to 
be rid of me, don't you?" 

	Yes. 

	"End my evil?" 

	She had wanted nothing more since she was a child.

	"Avenge all the things I did to you, over the years?" 

	Of course. She had plotted it every night, holding her plans 
of vengeance close to her in place of the lover she had feared might 
never return. Even when she was in Shuten's arms, she had dreamed only 
of Rajura. Of this moment. 

	"Then why hesitate?"

	Why? She never hesitated in any of her dreams, in any of her 
fantasies. In her mind she was always swift, brutal, striking out and 
destroying him once and for all, like the monster he was. 

	"Kill me."

	Yes. Her thumb ran back and forth along the coarse hair that 
suddenly held so much potential. She should. She had to. It was right.
How better, than for the monster to die on the blade that he had used 
to kill so many before? 

	"Strike me down in all your anger..."

	...And her journey to the Dark Side would be complete. That 
was it, wasn't it? If she destroyed Rajura, she would be doing exactly 
what he would do in her place. Her body, her soul, his actions, his 
sword. She would become him. Just like him. Where would Setsuna Meioh 
end then, and Jirougorou Kuroda begin? 

	Who would she be?

	The katana clattered to the stone floor, undrawn. Rajura 
tilted his head to one side and looked at the young woman curiously as 
she placed one hand over the cameo pin hanging around her neck. 

	"No," she said, her voice ringing out in the still air of the 
room. "I am not like you, Jirougorou Kuroda. I am Sailor Pluto, the 
Guardian of Time. I do not kill in cold blood. I will not aid in the 
spread of the very Darkness I fight. I may hate you, Rajura, I may 
even wish you dead, but I will not murder you." Turning on her heel, 
the emerald-haired Senshi marched out of the chamber. Silence reigned 
for what seemed to be an eternity, until Rajura finally answered, 
speaking into the empty room.

	"Then," he said softly, his shoulders slumping as he lowered 
his arms and looked down at the sword lying on the floor, "I fear you 
have lost the only use I still had for you..."

**********

TO BE CONTINUED...


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