Deep in the final years of the Silver Millenium, a child is born to the Senshi of Time. But that child is a Chaos Agent, a rare person capable of disrupting the Gates of Time...
Sailor Pluto called out to the young man walking down the flowered path in the palace gardens. His full name was Baikokudo. He dressed in the finest fashions of the court, which changed often. He was blonde, and had piercing blue eyes the color of a storm, a bluish-gray mix, and fine, chiseled features.
He looked every bit that which he was, Serenity's consort.
He smiled at her, a lopsided, cocky grin. "Yes?"
Pluto snorted in amusement. "Her majesty requests your presence in the ballroom. Something about a party?"
The man blinked. "Oh yes. The party. I had nearly forgotten. Please tell her I'll be right down as soon as I can change, will you?"
Sailor Pluto nodded as he sauntered off not waiting for her reply, and went back to where the queen waited. She shook her head. The man could be impossibly vain at times.
"Heh heh. Puu."
Sailor Pluto, or Puu as she was currently known, giggled drunkenly at her companion's antics. Bai was currently flat on his ass, also drunk. He'd called her Puu. Perhaps it was that both were drunk and the nickname was a synonym for fecal matter, or perhaps it was something else, but for some reason both found it incredibly funny.
"Puu!" The both broke into a gale of laughter once more, as she tried to help him to his feet. She fell down on top of him. She tried standing again, falling several times, before she managed to get back to her feet, and this time properly help Bai off the floor.
Sailor Pluto was still giggling drunkenly as she opened the door into her rooms at the palace, a similarly laughing Bai trailing right behind her.
Sailor Pluto cried silently, cursing the fates, wishing it had never come to this. Wishing it could have - somehow - been foreseen.
She laughed bitterly. Foreseeing things was her ability, her talent. She wouldn't be who she was without it, but she'd managed to miss this. Which meant only one thing.
The babe within her was a chaos agent. Chaos agents were impossible to track with the time gate, meaning that with her child anywhere near herself or those in power, all the future sight in the world would be worth nothing more than an educated guess. And what was worse, they tended to be magnets for trouble. Of any sort.
She stood in front of the time gates, watching the moment of stupid, drunken, and utterly wrong intimacy that had created the child. She raised her staff. One command at the right time, and this would never have happened. She'd have ended the life before it began, it would never have existed.
The moment came...
And passed, the green haired woman collapsing to her knees in anguish.
She couldn't do it.
She felt her stomach, and the innocent life within. No, she decided. It was an innocent. She couldn't do that. Serenity would never forgive her if she found out, and even if she never did, Pluto would never again be able to meet her eyes, as long as her head contained the knowledge that she had destroyed an innocent, much less her own offspring.
But all the same, she could not raise the child. A chaos agent, no matter how benign, no matter how powerless, could not be let so close to those who made the decisions. A chaos agent would rip apart the history of things to come as she knew it, and she'd never be able to track the changes. She could not raise the child, so what could she do?
Her decision was made in a heartbeat, and moments later the time gate was sealed. None could enter her domain now, and she was completely free of conventional time. This place, the time gate, was where she would spend her next year. The necessities were provided magically, so there would be little for the child to want once born, and when she set him adrift.
She would not, could not kill her own child. So she would do what she had to. It would take time, but that she had in truly infinite amounts now that the gate was sealed.
She bowed her head in shame, and began her search.
She cried out in pain as she gave the last push, her child coming into the world at last. Tears of joy rolled down her face as she wiped the newborn, a boy, off, and examined him. A perfect child, simply because of the fact that he was hers. Something to be celebrated under most circumstances. But for Sailor Pluto it was a time of sorrow as she wept, holding the baby close, knowing that soon she would have to part from the burden that had been her life for the last nine months.
As the child's tiny hand reached for her face with its innocent fingers, she smiled and once more gently squeezed the baby, cooing at it.
A week, she decided. Just to make sure he would survive. A week, and no more.
But a week turned into a month, and a single month turned to six, the child nursing, sleeping and playing in the light of the time gate.
But, as the time passed, she began to feel the weight of her obligations more strongly, and no matter how much it hurt her, she had to let go. A week after her decision, she gave the child to the monks of a secluded temple on Demos that would have no great impact upon the universe for nearly four hundred years.
As she walked away quietly in disguise, she wept once more, wanting to rail at the universe, and at fate, to yell and scream and curse at the injustice of it all.
Her child was gone.
Upon her return to the gates of time, she sealed them once more, and wished somehow that the gates could see her child, so that even if she could not see her child, she could watch him grow, and know his life. She did not exit the time gate until once more she could control her emotions and not lash out, sealing everything behind a mental wall, letting everything resembling an emotion fall from her head.
As no more than two days had passed from the perspective of the universe at large, it seemed as if Sailor Pluto had reverted from a kind and caring advisor to an ice clad hell-bitch overnight.
Every day she kept her mask of stone, and gave cool, confident advice to her queen.
And every night she let it drop and prayed that she could eventually forgive herself for what she'd done.
Waizu smiled and corrected the boy again. Arai, the boy who'd been left with them almost a year ago, had been training for about a month.
That was when they had discovered he could stand unaided when he attempted to mimic the practicing adults around him.
They'd only humored the boy for the first few days, but he proved to be incredibly adept at the subject, and in just the last month had improved his coordination well enough to run, something which caused his keepers no end of difficulty.
Arai fell over, but to Waizu's immense pleasure, got right back up again, not even crying out. Waizu smiled gently at the boy, and began molding the tiny limbs back into the proper positions.
He felt that the boy would truly become an artist of legendary proportions when he came of age.
Arai, age six, stood ready. His opponents numbered six. His eyes narrowed. He would not fail this test.
The first one came at him with a strong-arm punch, probably just testing him. He blocked, and jumped, nailing the unexpecting taller boy in the chin, who fell backwards. He came up rubbing his jaw, and the other five looked uncertainly at each other, then they closed.
Arai waited until they were the proper distance away, then exploded into motion. He launched an elbow in to the gut of the one directly across from him, then pulled back half a second, and spring boarded off the bowed over boy's head, evading two of the others who collapsed with the first boy and became a hopeless tangle of limbs.
Arai whirled around as he hit the ground, seeing the other two closing and the first getting up off the ground. Ducking under a punch from the first one, he swung his leg, taking the other's feet out from under him.
The one who threw the punch recovered though, and kicked him in the back. Arai turned the forward motion into a roll, and moved swiftly to his feet. As he came up, he barely paused before jumping into a spin kick, knocking the boy back. He'd barely landed before diving out of the way of the first boy's attack, a strong kick.
Settling back on his feet, he launched a rising uppercut into the boy's chin, sending him back once more. As Master Waizu called an end to the fight, the six year old had to wonder just how many twelve year olds were as poorly trained as these six had been.
Arai, at the age of eight, had mastered nearly all of what the monks could teach him. He looked up at Master Waizu with the greatest respect as the old man led him down the corridor. When they came to a room, he stopped, and faced his pupil.
"Arai... what is held within this room is perhaps the greatest secret of the art ever known. Of all those here, only I know what is contained upon the scrolls within. And I choose to show you. Do you know what this means?"
Arai shook his head, his young mind full of questions.
Waizu smiled. "It means that you are the chosen heir of this school. Of all those here, only you have the potential to tap what is inside the room, for good or ill."
He knelt beside the boy, placed a hand on his shoulder and looked Arai in the eyes. "I know you do not want to stay here Arai, and I will not force it. But either way, all here are in agreement. You are the only choice for this. When you enter the world at large, represent us well."
Arai, ever a serious child, looked at Waizu and nodded. Waizu smiled in satisfaction, and opened the door. "Meditate on these for three days. Food will be provided for you at the door. At the end of that period, you and I will spar once more using these, and I shall see what you have truly learned."
As Arai entered the room, he noted the cobwebs, dust, and musty odor. Truly, no one had been here in years. He also noted scorch marks and cracks along the walls, signs of the practice of high level techniques. Arai opened the container in front of him, and brought out the single scroll contained within. The first segment was not a technique, but an explanation for just what these techniques were. Arai's eyes widened as he began to read. These were powerful techniques indeed. And if Master Waizu knew these already... he'd been holding back.
The thought of facing his teacher going all out sent a shudder down his spine. This was not a shudder of fear though, but a shudder of pleasure.
Battle was his calling, and he enjoyed every second of it.
Three days later, Arai exited the room, seeing everything around him in a new light. The techniques were more powerful than he'd imagined. He turned resolutely to the door. He knew his mastery of the techniques was not complete, but he felt he was as ready as he could be. He prepared to face Master Waizu.
Arai, age ten, did a kata slowly, more as a warm up than to practice his technique. He reflected on his battle two years ago. The last time Master Waizu had sparred with him. The techniques on the scroll had numbered three, but that was more than enough. The Master could have beaten him with any one of them probably. But, he reminded him self, he was only ten years old. Even if his skills were on par with his teacher's, his body was not. Nor did he have a lifetime of experience to draw off of.
His musings were interrupted by the sound of something overhead. He looked up to see strange, triangular ships dropping from the sky. That was strange enough, but when they didn't land, he got a funny feeling. Then it spiked, and he ran for the main doors. "Invaders! Ships!"
The doors opened at his cries well before he got there, and several members of the order came out. Master Waizu came as well, and paled when he saw the ships. He looked down at Arai. "Aria! The forbidden chamber, hurry! Burn the scroll!"
Arai blinked "But..."
"There is no, time. Go boy!"
Arai nodded and ran off into the temple. He paused at the main doors and looked back though. There were people coming down from the ships. Actually, they were women, something that Arai hadn't seen much of in the temple. The leader stopped in front of the Waizu. "I want the scroll old man."
Waizu shook his head. "You would not use it wisely."
The woman growled. "You should make this easier on yourself old one. Kill them all!"
Arai had seen enough. He turned and ran for the room. The door was locked, but he didn't let that stop him. He invoked one of the techniques he had learned within and blasted the door down. Then he used it to destroy the scroll, box and all.
Smiling with relief, he ran back down the corridors. He leapt into the fray. He threw a punch, a kick there, threw this one, spring boarded off that one, but he didn't invoke the secret techniques again. He knew that was what they wanted, so he wouldn't give them a hint. He and the others were out numbered though, and soon enough, due to the fact that he hadn't been considered a true threat, he was alone.
The first woman smirked at him as she pulled a sword out of Master Waizu's corpse. "Now, boy... how about you tell me where the scroll is, hmm?"
Arai shook his head. His teacher hadn't wanted her to have it. He wouldn't tell her. Her eyes narrowed. Then she hit him in the stomach. Hard. And pulled her hand back. Arai blinked, and then mentally used one of the curses he'd heard once.
He'd accidentally activated the second technique. The woman tore his shirt off, revealing the barrier beneath. She smirked again as she rubbed her hand. "Ah. Precocious little brat, aren't you?"
Arai shut his eyes, and activated the third technique. It didn't matter now. They knew that he knew. When the two holding him cried out from pain, he ripped himself from their grip and danced away.
The woman who killed Waizu came at him again, arcing her sword in. He wasn't there when her sword went through.
Arai gave a good accounting for himself, but in the end he was bloodied, bruised, and surrounded. The woman strode into the center of the small ring they'd made around him, cockily holding her sword. He gritted his teeth. She held the sword to his neck. "Now, boy. You're coming with us. And if you try anything else, I might just decide that it's too much trouble, get me?"
Arai attempted to activate the third technique again, to drive the pain straight into her body through the sword, but within him the signals were jumbled. Another part of him was screaming for revenge, and wanted the first, and the third was screaming for survival and demanding the second one.
He arched his head back, let out a scream, and everything disappeared in a haze of red.
Arai groaned, and attempted to focus his eyes. The ceiling above was unfamiliar to him, and the florescent glow from the orbs fixed in the ceiling was blinding.
His groaning attracted him some attention, however. A man walked over, and he was wearing a white robe that marked him as a doctor. "How do you feel?"
Arai grimaced as the man's words reverberated in his skull. "Headache."
The man nodded, his hands taking on a white glow, and his headache eased somewhat. "Anything else?"
Arai gently stretched his limbs without attempting to get up. "Nothing... so far."
The doctor pushed his glasses up on his face. "Nothing too bad seems to be wrong with you - anymore, at any rate. I was getting a bit worried, you've been unconscious for the better part of a week. Do you think you can answer some questions?"
"Sure." With that, the boy gently tried swinging his legs over the edge and sitting up. It only made him slightly dizzy for a moment, so he assumed he was generally fine for the moment.
Up now, he took a look at his surroundings. He was the only occupant in the room, though it looked to hold eight beds like the one he was on. The doctor left through the only door, and moments later he was replaced by a man in a crimson uniform, which went nicely with the red and silver dragon tattooed on his face. The man carried a small computer in his hand. He smiled at Arai, who relaxed - slightly.
"What's your name?"
The man nodded. "What's the last thing you remember?"
Arai thought for a moment. "There was this woman, holding a sword to my neck - they came out of these weird ships - and I blanked out after that."
He nodded, and made a note on his computer. Arai looked at him. "Sir?" The man looked up, seemingly content with the general honorific. "What happened to me?"
The man looked at Arai, and sighed. "We don't honestly know. That's why we asked you. We found you naked with scraps of your clothes lying around but otherwise basically unharmed besides a few bumps and bruises. The woman you mentioned, and her subordinates, I would guess... were completely torn apart. In addition to that, some had scorch marks on them, and others were cold to the touch. Some looked like they had holes blown completely through them, and others had multiple puncture wounds. The ships were empty, and from the look of things, you're the only survivor."
Arai's face whitened, and the man continued. "Now, why don't you tell me a bit more about yourself, and exactly what happened that day."
Arai nodded, and began to speak.
Arai will be the focus of this darling little fic. I'm not sure how long it will last, as there will be massive jumps in years until the Silver Millenium falls. While this could be a self-contained story in and of itself, it is not. This is a prequel. The much more deranged sequel spawned this thing, but I felt that telling this first (mostly because it's a much simpler story) was wise. Now, I'm hoping that this thing will take quite a few twists you won't be expecting (and that the sequel will leave you with a 'WTF?!' feeling, but that's neither here nor there) so that it'll keep you on your toes.
Disclaimer (FOR ENTIRE FIC): I do not own Sailor Moon or Flame of Recca (hint hint). Both are the property of their respective owners.