Fatal Fury Fan Fiction / Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction / Sailor Moon Fan Fiction / Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Sailor Rifts ❯ Chapter 8: Hatred in Spades ( Chapter 8 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

Sailor Moon/Rifts Crossover (Revised Edition) By Simon Woodington

Chapter 8: Hatred in Spades

"So how is she?" an impatient female voice demanded. The white skinned
being turned towards her in the faintly lit hall. His grey-eyed gaze
settled upon her, seeming to consider her with little more importance
than an expressly beautiful specimen of gnat.

"She's a pretty thing, for a human," the plainly male creature
answered with a faint measure of interest.

She scowled unpleasantly.

"You had best not have laid a hand upon her. I paid extra to see that
she wasn't sullied!"

He nodded with a vaguely discernible wry grin.

"I haven't. And for the extra bit you gave me, I watched her myself."

Which meant as much as the oath of a dragon to her. A gleam entered
the creature's eye above the deep grey rim of skin.

"Entertaining she was, too."

Marlanda suppressed a dull shudder. She felt remotely sorry for the
young woman, having to be submitted to the scrutiny of the inhumanly
ugly Kidian, and perhaps worse. She gazed upwards at the ten foot tall
armored creature who looked ready to fight the nearest war.

"And is her training record accurate?"

"Yeah. She takes orders just fine. We even left her outside her cell
for a bit, under order, and she didn't take off."

Her replying nod was a pleased one. At least she would have no trouble
with her. It was becoming exceedingly difficult to break in new
slaves. An immediately obedient one would be a nice change of pace.
She balked at the thought of the effort she knew she would have to
expend training Makoto. Unlike Chalin, Makoto did not seem about to
bow directly. She did not fear Marlanda, yet. Oh well, that would come
with visitations of Chronos and the vibro-whip.

"Fine. Take me to her then, will you? I'm a busy woman."

A smirk. "I bet."

Under her breath she uttered an unladylike guttural curse. He grunted
and gestured stiffly with the eyed staff held in his thickly muscled
arm. Ignoring the voices beseeching freedom, mercy, and similar
desires, her mind wandered to the image of her purchase in her mind.
If the description was accurate, Sharla Mysin was a young woman of
notable secondary physical endowments. She had - as it was recorded
with indeterminable accuracy - strawberry blond hair which fell to
waist length, was roughly five feet ten inches tall, one-hundred forty
pounds, with dark green eyes. She was described as a highly desirable
creature.

Her mind caught on the calls of surrounding slaves, and the occasional
slam of metal to itself as the Kidian shouted harsh orders of silence.

"No, you needn't do that. I don't mind it," Marlanda noted.

The guard looked puzzled, decided he did not care, and shrugged.

"Here she is. Cell G3, like you asked."

He manipulated a small panel to the right of the armor sealed door,
which slid ajar with a faint grinding noise. Without further
indication, he turned, and leaned against the wall aside the open
section of wall. Upon entering, the woman inside dropped to her knees,
head bowed.

"Ma'am," she offered in greeting, her voice soft, like strings of
falling silk.

"Stand sharla," she commanded with practiced ease. As the Kidian had
stated, Sharla seemed to easily recognize and act at the behest of the
dominant personality.

"Yes Ma'am."

Marlanda studied her for a moment. The alterations from the
description were few: Her hair was a fair sight longer, and she was
pale, having the appearance of illness. She uttered a dry oath.

"Damn them. sharla, tell me, have they taken advantage of you?"

"Yes Ma'am."

She did not ask in what manner. The thought sickened and angered her.
That they had was all she needed to know.

"I will have you examined later. I do not desire that you should die
of some alien malady."

"Thank you," was her gentle reply.

Marlanda fetched a rune encrusted collar from a small bag hung over
her shoulder.

"Wear this. It bears my rune."

"Yes, Ma'am," and offered no delay in compliance.

A smile turned the corner of Marlanda's lips.

"It suits you. The grey-blue works very nicely. Now, come. I have
another slave to retrieve."

---

"Ten-thousand credits!"

"Ten-thousand five!"

"A Gideon Mystic Mark is worth more than that! Twelve!!"

"Thirteen!"

"Thirteeeen... I hear thirteeeen-thouuusand. Anyone going to give me
thirteeeen-thouuusand fiive?" Inquired the spurred voice of a silver
suited and blue-skinned humanoid figure standing behind a podium.

"Fifty," called a sundry tone.

"Fifty-thouuusand!" smiled the fellow, waving his hand towards the
voice. "I want to hear fifty five-thouuusand! Will anyone give me
fifty five-thouuusand?"

"Sixty!" Answered a voice, meeting the challenge.

"Is that it? I bought sixty Portable Holes for that cost! Sixty five!"

"Seventy!"

"I hear seventy-thouuusand universal credits... I'm listening for a
call of eighty-thouuusand... anyone going to meet the value of this
prize creature? A firebrand; Manarr, member of a dying race... with no
fear of death! A challenge to be sure!"

The fellow tugged on his up-to-date suit.

"...Not to mention attractive! This one would make an ideal pleasure
slave!" His hand fell in the direction of the dark skinned young alien
woman, a fearful and angered snarl her only reply.

"Curse you to all to hell!" she barked, struggling against the pole to
which she was bound by hand and foot. Clad in only loincloth and
half-shirt, she felt restrained as much by modesty as by the enfolding
of metal at wrist and ankle. Despite her heated and fiery demeanor,
her physical attractiveness was self apparent.

Of course. It was the solitary reason for which she was on the flesh
slave market as opposed to the labour.

"Gods damn you all!" she cried, tossing against the chains, hoping in
vain that they would betray a weakness not recently self-evident.
Laughs, cat-calls, and hollers of inspired ill-taste and moral vacancy
withered her retorts after a time. Relinquished to a faint hateful
expression, she retreated to more pleasant thoughts of grisly anarchy
as the bidding continued.

"One million," stated the same feminine voice, as in victory.

The crowd of no less than fifty men, women, and other dimensional
beings fell abruptly quiet.

"One million...?! Uh... going once.. going... oh hell... sold!" barked
the still stunned auctioneer.

---

"Rune?" prodded a voice with predetermined gentility.

She looked up at him weakly, a faintly wry expression resting upon her
features.

"From demon to slave," she remarked with a trace of wearied humor. "I
wonder what Mike would think. But I guess he's got his own
troubles..."

"Mike is your friend?"

She smirked, sitting with legs drawn to her bare breasts, arms wrapped
around her knees.

"If you consider a friend someone constantly trying to kill you...
then I guess so."

Chalin had no remark in reply. She thought for a moment, gazing about
the room.

"I know I'd prefer that to this. At least I could manage him."

He said nothing. For a moment, she watched him, gauging the core of
his existence, trying to determine what drove him.

:What was it that keeps him in silence?: She shut her eyes tiredly.
:No, I got that one down. It's Marlanda:

"Chalin... why do you keep on risking yourself for me?"

His eyes flicked to hers, then away just as rapidly. Annoyed, Rune
staggered to her feet, grasping at the bandaged holes in her side.

"Don't look away. Damn it Chalin... I don't get you."

"I'm sorry Rune... I..."

"Don't apologize... You haven't done anything wrong." For a moment she
felt the distinct need to hold him, knowing he could barely stand his
own fear of her.

"Why...? Just answer that. I need to know."

"I... I felt you coming here. I know you... I..." his voice trailed
off to a dark timbre of silence.

"What?" she touched his shoulder.

"I love you."

Immediately she was struck by the power of his statement. All at once
she found it impossible to believe, and to accept. For her entire life
she had been fighting fearlessly, expecting to expire dramatically in
battle, and rather hoping to. She took a step back from him, torn by
her own emotions.

"I... I know..." the words fell from her mouth, and she startled at
them. As they passed, she began to realize their truth. She reflected
to the first occasion of their meeting. Marlanda had just purchased
her and she was being transported to she-knew-not-where. Chalin had
introduced himself during the trip in the miniature hover vehicle, and
had expressed his concern for her. Even then he had seemed vaguely
familiar, and she had felt something between them.

"There's a bath ready if you want to take it," he offered, breaking
the recollection.

"Chalin..." she started. A glance elaborated his nervousness, and she
dropped the dire subject at hand, determined to have the whole
explanation from him later. "All right."

Chalin reached towards her neck and removed the leash cord chaining
her to the corner of the room. The cord retracted with a pain
promising sharpness.

Rune Mourndealth was a young woman of considerable stamina,
intelligence, and beauty. Marlanda had owned her for only a pair of
days, and she still refused to concede to her. Her insistently lofty
regard for life included her own, of late. She had been informed that
she would not die of a racially-spanning genetic mutation, to which
she was unknowingly immune. Her attitude had altered radically since
that point, and she fought for her own life as much as that of others.

As she stepped into the steaming bath, she noted Chalin exit
discreetly. She sighed, bruised, battered, and fatigued. That red
haired man was a dynamic she would hardly have expected. As yet, he
had revealed nothing of his former life. Only that he had been a slave
to Marlanda for five years.

"Oh gods," she muttered, scrubbing two days of sweat from her skin.
"What the hell have I gotten into?"

She had to discover a way to flee. She knew herself to be far too
proud to cave in to this violent wench.

"Maybe I can piss her off..."

Of course, if she could had accomplished that by utilizing her talents
as a skilled fighter, she would have done so. The fact of the matter
was, the collar, somehow, rendered her physically benign. So if
Marlanda decided she was going to beat her senseless, then there was
no point to argue. She snarled faintly. After a time, the unpleasant
expression dissipated into a serene look as she began to hum a
familiar folk tune she had learned before leaving her homeworld. Her
voice was gentle, and had the trained range of a professional singer.

"That's pretty," a voice remarked.

Rune smiled, knowing the owner of the amiable tones.

"Thank you." She stood slowly from the bath, and stepped towards him
with all the sure-footed grace of a tap dancer. "Did you know I was a
singer as a child? I've sung before thousands. This self-serving cow
doesn't scare me."

Realizing he seemed to be deliberately keeping his distance, she
noted:

"If you love me, Chalin, then why shy away?"

She took the hung towel from the wall and proceeded to dry herself
with it as she awaited his reply. She honestly expected him to say
nothing; he seemed apt enough as it stood.

"I'm sorry Rune..." He squirmed as if suspended from a hook. Concern
lit in Rune's mind, and anger followed sharply behind.

:How could that harlot turn that gorgeous man into a scared child?;
she thought bitterly.

"We can't take too long, the Mistress will be returning soon."

Annoyance flared once again.

"Why do you have to call her that?"

"It is what I have always called her," he replied her, sounding
certain of the 'fact.'

"I don't believe that. To me a name is a matter of respect. I have a
list of things I'll give her before she ever gets that!" Rune's words
sparked audibly with the passion that fed them. "It's your choice.
You're so much stronger than she is!"

Chalin looked sour for a moment, then stifled the expression,
gesturing quietly for her to exit the room.

"How can you..."

"You don't understand!" Chalin snapped abruptly, his voice containing
a shred of forcefulness never evident. He turned and left the room,
not pausing long enough for her to follow.

"Maybe not, but I know this isn't right!" Rune replied, further put at
ill ease. She sighed uselessly.

He said nothing. Rune was sure he had something to put forth, and also
that there was a restraint of a sort, whether physical or emotional.
Aware of the futility of an ensuing discussion, she did not pursue the
topic.

---

"Ki-hi-ha!!" Makoto cried, punctuating the first word with a punch,
the second with a high kick, and the third with a blurred knife hand.
Heaving air with unconscious regularity through her lungs, she
continued, practicing her jan-ken - basic strike techniques -
determined to beat the living daylights out of Marlanda should she
return.

A flash of pain threw her left-handed punch aside to knock a small oak
box to the carpeted floor. Collecting herself, she halted and
retrieved it, picking up the small crystal which hung from a silver
chain necklace.

:Who are you?; demanded a female voice through what Makoto recognized
to be telepathy.

:I am Makoto Kino. Now you can do me the favor of replying the same:

:I am Ellison Cadre. I am the crystal in your hand, which I might add,
you will lose if I do not repair it:

:What? How do you know that?:

:How is it I speak to you, a mere crystal? Let me heal you.:

:I wasn't exactly refusing; she replied cleanly, gasping faintly as an
abrupt, but weclome tinge surged through the shattered bones of her
mangled hand. Within minutes, a remotely normal feeling returned to
her hand, which she clenched experimentally as she removed the cast
from it. Mechanism still existed within her modified lower arm, yet
the back of her hand lacked the ports and the vibro claws.

:Wow... thank you, uh, Ellison:

:You are welcome. Please, if you would sit down, I will answer your
questions:

She obeyed, still stunned somewhat by the abrupt scewing of events,
eyes fixed upon the small talisman.

:Uh, first, she's going to notice the wound has healed:

:Let her. She cannot harm you when you wield me:

:Wield you? Okay, slow down. Let's back up. Does she know you can
talk?:

:No, she has determined me to be a mere trinket.:

:So... what are you, anyway?; Makoto replied with a smirk.

:Yes. Are you familiar with Rune Weapons?:

Makoto's confidence drew to a sharp halt. The very idea of owning one
had simultaneously shocked and interested her. To be trapped within a
weapon, sealed for all eternity... The very concept horrified her.

:I chose this; Ellison replied, calming Makoto's response vaguely. :I
would rather this than die:

:I'm sorry; Makoto offered.

:You have nothing to be sorry for, my dear. Now, you have little time,
and much yet to learn:

:Why should I trust you?:

:And why not? I offer your freedom. Dare you refuse that? Besides, I
have healed your hand in a preemtive act of kindness.:

:Hai, uhm, thank you, and no I won't refuse your offer, but... but I
don't know you!:

:Nor do I, young one. Yet we much trust each other and work together
if we wish to escape the grasp of your Master:

:My master? The hell she is!:

:Then you agree:

:Damn straight. Fat chance I let this coal-skinned bitch get the upper
hand again. Okay, so what was that you said about wielding you? You
some kind of shapeshifter?:

:Of sorts. What weapons training have you?:

:I don't use weapons, other than my vibro-claws; she sighed, :And more
importantly, my fists. Unless of course its my Psi-Sword.:

:I see. I would imagine your style to be a broadsword?:

:Yep.:

:Curious. You are a Cyber-Knight? A most honorable profession. A wise
invention of that human, Coake.:

:It saved my sanity... I owe the order my life. Uh... so, psionics are
my major thing. Magic, I don't get; Makoto stated apologetically. :I
know its real, and I've seen it, but... magic and me just don't get
along.:

:You really don't have any alternative, young warrior. It is trust me
or submit to Marlanda:

:Well, like I said, at least that's not a tough decision. Okay, so
what else is there?:

:Many, many things. You will learn them as we build a relationship. To
start, I will never dull, chip, nor receive damage of any kind:

:Fine craftsmanship!:

:Craftswomanship; Ellison corrected her. :I constructed this mystic
vessel:

:Why? What were you before you died?:

:A dragon, my dear:

Makoto failed to restrain her overt terror, nearly dropping the
iridescent sliver of light. Trembling, she gazed at the object in her
hand, saying nor thinking anything.

:You have no reason to fear me, for I am not like the dragons you have
known. I am most unique, a creature you will likely never meet. I am
known as an Angel Serpent:

:I don't get it...; Makoto started, still trembling. :You must know
about the others on Earth then! Why... How is it you're...:

:Trust me my child, even before my mystic encapsulation I would not
have laid a claw upon you. I have a great respect for warriors like
yourself:

"makoto!" called harshly a venom-filled voice. A sharp spike of agony
erupted from her neck to take her body in full, causing her to shudder
and utter out a rending scream. The crystal fell into her palm where
it was clenched so tightly that blood ran from where her nails
penetrated the skin. A pair of slender hands took her by the feet and
jerked her to the floor, forcing the air from her lungs. She cried out
in protest, delivering what seemed to be a well placed kick, leaving
an invisible mark in the air beside her assailant.

:Ellison! Help me!:

:Makoto, you have merely to release me... I will assist you!:

"So makoto, tell me now," she jammed her fist into her gut. She felt a
prick befitting that of a knife. "Do you wish to refuse me still?"

Makoto tasted blood, and heard a ringing in her ears. Reality still
held the tangible sense of agony which had been so sharply forced
through her. Marlanda smelled remotely of an earth-drug she could only
relate to a smoked narcotic, and also of something akin to alcohol.

Makoto swore heavily.

"I give you two choices," she wheezed. "Let me go, or die."

"Foolish, foolish fighting child," Marlanda sneered, drawing the blade
across her stomach, eliciting a cry of pain from Makoto. "You will
regret this day, my love. It is simple. You will be punished for
this."

Makoto flinched, expecting another searing wound to appear, but none
did.

"Come!" bid her voice angrily. Makoto simply refused to comply,
offering only resistance. 'The Mistress' returned, and snarled:

"Have it your way then, foolish girl." A flesh-toned blunt weapon
collided with her skull, dropping the curtain on her consciousness.

---

"sharla! This is makoto. My orders are simple: Please her, for she is
to fight for me. If you fail, punishment is assured. Do you hear me
child?!" Even though the words were faint, Makoto was sure of the
anger in them. She knew that Marlanda could easily lose her temper,
and that it would be the key to her freedom.

The strawberry blond nodded fearfully. After a moment, Makoto heard
the door slide quietly shut. Pain overwhelmed her awareness, fogging
the world about her into a dull haze. Ellison's words were welcome:

:I can heal you, Makoto. Worry not. And when Marlanda returns, she
shall die:

Makoto let her eyes remain closed as a warm feeling consumed her. A
pair of hands laid themselves upon her cheeks, and a pair of firm lips
brushed hers softly. The long time warrior shook her head furiously,
and uttered a faint but intense cry:

"No!"

"But the Mistress..." was the reply. The voice was like liquid
progesterone. A dark feeling of repulsiveness tainted the brunette's
judgment gleefully.

"Damn it Sharla, get off me!" Makoto took the shapely young woman by
the shoulder and pushed her aside. "I don't want you! I don't want any
of this!"

Sharla did not seem to comprehend her words. A motion caused the robe
she wore to meet the floor with obvious implications. Makoto's eyes
traveled over the woman, amazed by her beauty, but not attracted to
her.

"Do I not please you?" she asked, dark green eyes imploring.

"Oh my Goddess," Makoto cursed. "Sharla... How can you do this? You're
pretty enough to have any guy with half a brain. Why are you..." she
stopped for the obvious point that Sharla was trembling.

:She was stolen as a child; Ellison explained. :This has been her
life. I should know, I have been her - protector:

:How? How do you know?:

:I was given to her as a gift from her first Master. Sharla has no
training in weapons, nor in magic, so I chose not to reveal myself to
her, offering only unobvious help. Marlanda separated us when she
bought her:

"Sharla, you don't have to do this," Makoto proffered.

:Ellison, you can't remain a secret. I'm going to have to free her as
well:

:You and I think in many ways alike, warrior. I will make the first
move. Clench me in your fist:

Sharla stepped forward, reaching for Makoto.

"I don't understand. This is my life."

She winced internally, :What am I supposed to say?:

:Ask her if she has considered living her own life; Ellison supplied
helpfully. Slowly, Makoto closed her fist around the crystal, which
expanded by a silver glow to assume the form of a broadsword of
remarkable construction and ornamentation. Sharla only seemed
interested by connotations the blade presented, rather than fearful.

"Have you ever thought of freedom?"

The woman's icewater eyes drifted up to Makoto's, clearly wistful.

"Marlanda would never free me. She is a possessive Master."

"That's not what I asked."

Something held her throat, whether it was her will, or the literal
presence of the collar, Makoto could not know.

"Tell me."

"Yes." Eyes downcast.

---

To be awoken by a kiss would be a thought for want in Rune's mind
could she think beyond the brilliant presence of agony. Her mouth
distorted by a dead scream jammed in her throat, she curled up
reflexively, scrambling into the corner of walls, away from the source
of pain.

"Get up!" was the command, harsh among the failing patience of the
madwoman. The broad shouldered creature drew her would-be slave to her
feet, and paused not long enough to strike her. Whether by drunkenness
or sheer luck, Marlanda missed. Rune's eyes snapped wide in sheer
amazement and uninhibited relief. Chalin, eyes narrowed from the still
open door, gazed on, hatred shuddering inside him at a violent boil.

"The nerve of you to dodge me!" the banshee declared with a faint
hiss. The second motion was double that of the first, in power, and
speed, throwing Rune to the floor.

Firesky eyes and death reflected upon her unpleasant face, and
Marlanda raised her fists to sever her mortal thread and Phate.

"No!!" his voice matched every protective will borne within him by the
introduction of this young woman to his life. It was those passions
which caused his fist to deliver the body of the dominating creature
to the wall behind Rune with force enough to shatter her skull. Rune
flinched and scattered from the spray of blood which fled from the
body of the former Master as it sank to the otherwise unmarred floor.

"Chalin!" Rune cried in horror and disbelief, overwhelmed by the
implications of his action. Gazing upon him, for a moment she saw the
man he must have been, his face flushed with fury, his body taut in
the heat of murder. His grisly, though romantic, visage burned itself
into her mind before the man of lost self began to return from the
journey of her salvation.

Running towards him, her eyes spoke volumes where words faltered.
Accepting her to his finely muscled arms and chest, he said:

"I love you... I couldn't let her..."

She uttered a gentle hushing sound, eyes closed, savoring the moment
of intimacy, unsure of when she would next be so close to him. They
had to flee, but she balked at the thought of losing him should they
part. His voice was gentle, though passioned:

"Rune, we have to..."

Her reply was a nod, for she could summon forth not one word to
penetrate the fog of emotion which had ensnared her heart. The Phated
and fearful action dawned, Chalin stepped back, leading her by hand to
his destination.

"Chalin! Aren't we leaving?" she asked, nonplused by his pause aside a
door similar to her own.

He shook his head, gaze not quite meeting hers, as his weakness in
personality bid.

"Sharla and Makoto are here. I was helping Makoto. I must free her as
well."

The hard scrutiny of the young woman failed to catch his notice,
unlocking the door, and stepping inside as it opened.

"Chalin?" asked a voice, infinitely genteel. In Makoto's arms was a
woman struck by the repressed fears of a child, and trembling with all
their intensity.

Rune approached her, eyes sharp and gauging.

"What's wrong with her?"

The long haired brunette held in her eyes the learned patience of age,
and merely said:

"It's a long story. Sharla..."

The pinkish blond untangled herself slowly from her, seeming barely
able to stand.

"Yes...?"

"Stand up. You're free." Makoto stood also, expectant glance given
easily to Rune, who nodded.

Makoto turned to Chalin, obviously the leader, as the eldest slave and
most able to determine their route to liberty. In silence, Chalin
guided them quickly through hall and corridor to what appeared to be a
launching pad of sorts. Voices of authority joined his indication
towards the vessel of choice. Weaponless all save Rune and Makoto, who
wielded her newfound Rune Blade, they fled towards the vehicle in
question.

Sharla, however, stumbled on her robe, succumbing to fatigue,
unprepared for the haste with which they sought respite from the moral
horrors experienced.

"Sharla!" Makoto cried, eyes fallen to the alluring woman, hating
herself for lack of foresight. "Rune! Cover me! I'll get her!"

While Makoto retreated to the sight of blunder, a squad of ten armed
troopers trodded up to her, taking her in arm, and stopped.

In mid-motion, partially closed grasp, a punch given but yet to land.
Unerringly obvious and dubiously impossible. Makoto's senses betrayed
every accepted logic in her mind. Sound had ceased, aside from the
thundering of blood in her ears, the heavy drawl of air through her
lungs, throat and mouth, and every visible object within reach, which
had halted completely in motion.

"Nice, isn't it?"

Makoto's heart resumed the ponderous ka-thud inside the cage of ribs
which contained the air she abruptly gave freedom. A step brought her
to the voice. As the realization of the speaker's identity sank in,
the color drained easily from the already pale subtle curves of her
face.

"How did you..." She knew as the words rose that the answer was
insignificant. "You've been watching me."

"Yes my dear, that is very true. You've been most entertaining, you
realize." The once heavily swathed ancient smiled inside the facade of
tooth and hand to replace the latter of claw.

:Yes; Ellison affirmed. :He is like me many tens of centuries past:

"What do you want?" she began, her mind seeking the words which would
please him as much as assist her.

"You. You interest me. Few women have done that in the last centuries
I have lived." He paced up to her, examining the hardness of her jaw
as softness of her curves. "I always select the strong..."

"Like Marlanda? To toy with?" Makoto growled, unable to restrain
herself.

A firm and sinewy hand parted the silver threads of hair formed like a
tangle of unorganized webs atop the sun beaten crown of balding skull.

"I don't blame you for assuming that. No, Makoto. I fought once like
you do now. That was the ailed marriage of which I spoke. I stopped
fighting for myself." His eyes of a crow's detailing held her. "I no
longer have that passion. Nor the need."

Makoto said nothing, expecting only an answer.

"Ah! Youth! To have such a delightfully narrow view of life! I would
cherish it, my dear, for it is innocence, and regretfully, it is a
creature born only to die. Like us."

Her hard eyes softened, if only to glaze at the point given.

"Why bother then? You said you don't care anymore."

A gleam was fostered in his heart and displayed in his glossy silver
eyes.

"I don't, not about me, at least. You, and the others, your feral
sexuality keeps my interest."

:Oh fantastic; Makoto remarked internally, a sour frown on her face
which the ancient either failed to notice, or enjoyed. Ellison
unearthed a utilization suited for both parties:

:He will not risk your death. And as it seems he has the power to
bring you here... why not return you to where you will be safest?:

:But what about my friends?; she replied. :I don't want to go back to
my home! Not now:

:Where then? Back to the place of your exile? As you will, young
warrior. It is not my choice, ultimately.:

"Can you send me back?"

He shook his head firmly.

"Not now. There is another who would have your time. Moreover, a quad
searches for you. One is your friend, the other your husband." A smile
lit his face. "It was a keen move to marry him as you have."

"Han! Oh hell..." she gasped, eyes wide. "...and who else?"

"Mamoru, and a woman you will come to know as Aaran Yyone. She is an
apprentice mage and Hormone Juicer of some ten years."

"Mamoru..." she murmured distantly, then "A Juicer?!"

A wry grin appeared on the ancient.

"Why yes!" he chimed delightedly. "Is that a problem?"

Beyond her primed prejudice, she had to wonder favor a Juicer might
possibly owe her? Though, there was no telling what Hanlan actually
knew, exactly. He had never denied having friends that were Juicers.

"No... No it isn't."

"Good luck then, my lovely child," he stated with a mind numbing
gesture of hand.

When her vision returned, she was beset by a landscape of unimaginable
and delightful beauty. Air-brushed jade plains stretched out beyond
sight and caring, trees of oil-painted appearance wafted gently at the
limiting dome of the turquoise sky-ceiling. With a gasp, she realized
the she was not on Earth.

"Makoto," a voice from behind her demanded softly.

She turned to face a woman no taller than she, yet impossibly
attractive, making Sharla (for the well formed beauty she was) seem
homely and nearly asexual. Her waist length slightly wavy hair churned
easily in the wind. Her body seemed almost bound in the body suit of
deep blue, and the light long coat of a tamer shade to match the
former item. Emerald eyes of inconceivable experience grasped hers,
telling Makoto that she was expected.

"Come," she stated curtly, turning to proceed towards a quaint cabin
of small stature.

"What...? Who are you?"

"I am Phate," were the words. Makoto felt her ears were deceiving her.
For she did not pause in her step, so was it not possible that she had
misheard it?

:No, young one. You haven't. Follow her:

:Ellison...!:

:Just do it. Trust me:

:Okay...: