"That is not dead which can eternal lie, And with strange aeons even death may die." The Necronomicon of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred. ------ ---Tokyo, 2043--- Three days. Or was it four? She could no longer remember the last time she slept. Or ate. Or left the room. They'd left her here. Alone. Of course, at the time she had told them to. Her two friends and her love. And once she was alone, the vision came to her. The vision, and the compulsion to capture it. In the heat of summer, she kept the windows closed. Soon enough she was sweating, her clothing soaking wet from perspiration. She undressed. She didn't have to worry; she was alone after all in the room. Just her, the canvas, the paint, and that damned thing staring out at her from the canvas, each brush stroke bringing it more into focus. She felt sick as she looked at the painting she was working on. The fumes from her paints and the turpentine wasn't helping any. She was exhausted, and hungry, but couldn't leave the room. It was like some invisible force was keeping her here, a prisoner, forced to paint the horrific image before her. She'd run out of room on her pallet, and had begun to mix the colors on her arm, her torso, her legs. She was unable to get the effect she needed in the background with her brushes, and had resorted to her fingers. After days without sleep, painting nonstop the thing on the canvas, she looked away briefly to her now filthy body. She had become a second painting, she thought bitterly. "Is this what it feels like to be crazy?" she asked out loud. Looking at the paints and brushes before her, her vision turning blurry from exhaustion, a smile crept upon her face. "Might as well go all the way," she murmured as she took a brush loaded up with alizarin crimson and began to lazily paint her areolas and nipples, then the rest of her breasts the dark red color. She took the tube of light green paint and squirted some of it into her palm, rubbing the paint all over her abdomen as she started to chuckle. Next was the titanium white, then the sky blue. She cackled to herself maniacally as she then ran her hands and fingers through her hair, the usually well-kept locks now a greasy stained mess. When she was finished, she looked back over to the canvas, to the hideous red eyes staring out at her. "I hate you," she whispered bitterly, all laughter disappearing as tears now filled her eyes. As she silently cried to herself, she picked one of her brushes back up and went back to work on the painting. ------ She woke up slowly to the smell of freshly brewed coffee. Grabbing her pink bathrobe and her transformation pen, she went to her bedroom door and called out. "Mamo-chan?" she asked, "Is that you?" "Yes hon," her husband called up, "I'm home from my trip. How do you want your eggs?" "Scramble." Usagi answered with a yawn as she put the pen back in her pocket. Going down the stairs, she entered the kitchen to find Mamoru standing in front of the stove. She went up from behind and hugged him. "Oof," Mamoru said playfully, "Not while I'm cooking, hon." "Spoilsport," Usagi joked as she left her husband's side, "So how did the lecture tour go?" she asked. Mamoru smiled ever so slightly. "Not badly." he admitted, "In all honesty though, I'm surprised that my books still sell as well as they do after all these years, to say nothing of having young people come up to me at the colleges after my speeches to ask me to sign their books. By the way," he added as he poured his wife a cup, "When are the others..." "I called them all a week ago to make sure they could attend the little reunion. They'll all be over tomorrow." Usagi said as she pulled the transformation pen back out, "We have to keep up appearances you know." "Oh yes, of course. We can't have people in their seventies running around looking like their in their early twenties, can we?" Mamoru asked with a smile. After flipping the eggs in the skillet he was working on, he turned back to Usagi. "So Ruka will be here in time?" "Yes, the 'Grand Dame of Motor Sports' will arrive by plane this afternoon actually. And apparently she has some news." "Let me guess." Mamoru said as he placed the plate of scrambled eggs before Usagi, "She thinks she has a possible lead on her. Something about Tibet?" "She doesn't know for sure, but we're all hoping." she said. The two sat down to breakfast together silently, enjoying each other's company and hoping for the best for Haruka and the other Outers. ------ Professor George Angell walked the campus grounds of Brown University in Providence, Rhode Island, heading for the archaeology building. Angell, Professor Emeritus of Semitic Languages, while greatly respected by his academic peers, was still a rather quiet and reserved man, not given to excitement or adventure of any sort. He preferred quiet evenings at home with Mrs. Angell and working with his colleagues in translating some recently discovered cuniform texts over going rock climbing, riding roller coasters or participating in some similar escapade. Which was why he was so flustered at the moment. Somehow, against his will, he had become involved in a mystery. It all began when an artist came to him with a bass relief. The image on the small tablet was of something out of a nightmare. It resembled some sort of a cross between an octopus, a dragon and a man. Under the image, a strange type of text in an unintelligible alphabet was etched into the surface. Upon first seeing the image, the professor simply laughed, pointing out it was definitely not of any sort of antiquity, but was of modern origin. "I know," the artist answered, "I made it." "What?" the professor had asked, "Then why are you bringing it to me?" "I was given it in a dream, both the image of the beast and the writing. I have no idea what the writing means, though. I'd like to leave it with you to see if you can decipher it." The professor was at a loss. Before he could object, the artist left the tablet with him and left. That was six months ago. Things would've ended there but for the incident three weeks after the encounter with the artist, when two seemingly unrelated articles in a newspaper caught his eye. One was about the artist who'd visited him, and who was now in a mental ward after some sort of complete mental breakdown. The other, buried deeper in the back of the paper, involved a famous Russian psychic who lost his mind. By the time the authorities caught him, he'd decapitated his land lady, stuffed a dead octopus on her neck, and was worshipping her corpse. The professor somehow felt a link between the artist's dream and the psychic's madness. He began paying closer attention to the more obscure news stories, as well as the internet stories traveling around. Sure enough, a frightening pattern began to develop of artists and people claiming psychic abilities going insane, or suddenly being assaulted with images such as the one on his tablet. One of the most disturbing coming out of India, where a sculptor stabbed herself to death when she became convinced the baby in her belly was trying to eat its way out of her body. Something was definitely not right. And, while the professor was usually a very analytic fellow, he began to get the growing feeling that some sort of dark malevolence was reaching out to these people for some sinister purpose. And lately... Lately, he'd begun to suspect he was being watched. Once or twice, he thought he even caught a fleeting glimpse of someone tailing him. He now believed that, whatever dark force was behind the insanity sweeping through both the artistic and psychic community had become wise to him. Entering the Archaeology building, he made his way to his office, locking the door behind him quickly. Several years ago, there was a student here he'd made friends with. She was a Japanese woman, studying abroad for a year for her major in the medical field. It was the same year that one of the Japanese heroes known worldwide as the Sailor Senshi suddenly appeared on campus to stop a robbery in the cafeteria. He'd always suspected there might be some connection between the two, but had never come out and asked the shy Japanese student if she and "Sailor Mercury" were one and the same. Professor Angell ruffled through his desk, eventually finding the woman's email address. He then pulled out the disc he'd saved all the information on, and downloaded it, sending all the information to her. Once he was sure the message had gone through, he removed the disc and smashed it against his desk, destroying it. He then quickly removed the computer's hard drive and likewise demolished it, making sure there was no way anyone could now find out who he'd sent the email to. It was then he heard the footsteps outside in the hallway. It was a weekend in August; no one should be on campus. The professor's heart began racing as the steps stopped outside his office door. "H... Hello?" Angell called out nervously, "Whose out there?" The professor was answered by a spray of machine gun bullets ripping through his office door, tearing through his flesh and leaving him sprawled out on the floor of his office in a pool of his own blood. The door was then kicked open by a blond woman, her features obscured by the sunglasses she was wearing. "Ph'nglui mglw'nafh," she whispered as she looked down at the bloody corpse before her, "Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn." She looked at the computer in the room, and at both the smashed hard drive and the shattered computer disk. A curse escaped her lips as she stalked out of the room. ------ She writhed around as she felt the tongue lapping around her swollen bud, thrusting her hips and crying out in ecstasy. Minako grabbed her hips to hold her in place as she continued to explore her with her mouth. Rei was clutching the bed sheets as she felt her mind go numb under her blond lover's ministrations. As she felt the buildup to orgasm rising, the priestess closed her eyes as her body stiffened. And then... She was falling into a great white light. She was suddenly no longer her, and Minako was no longer Minako. They were Mars and Venus, and they were consummating their love for one another in the Silver Millennium. Then she was neither Rei nor Mars, but someone else, a priestess of some long forgotten cult of the Mother Goddess watching and observing as her fellow barbarians of the early hyborean age fought against an earlier form of primitive men for a bit of ground near an oasis. She was a Wise Woman among the Homo Habilis, treading across the African plains with her female mate in search of food. She was a youngster in a group of Australopithecus Afarensus walking under the forest canopy on her hind legs as they foraged for food. She observed all, watched and participated, as she continued to feel Minako's tongue lapping her, her teeth pressing against her clit as her fingers dug into her thighs. She was about to come, and somehow she knew that the closer she came to that moment of sexual release the faster her backward descent would become. She tried to speak, to tell her Mina-chan to stop, but she couldn't make her vocal cords work. The years were racing by now faster and faster. She was now watching as a fellow primitive mammal was caught by a rather nasty-looking carnivorous dinosaur the size of a chicken. Now she herself was the predator, chasing down a slower-moving plant eater. Now she observed with her fellow pre-Cambrian life forms in the great ocean as the great Old Ones from outer space came. "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!" Rei screamed as she opened her eyes back into the present and came. She was shuddering all over from both the orgasm and the experience she'd just been through. Minako raised her head expecting to see the post-orgasmic glow that was usually there on the priestess' face after they made love. She was alarmed to see instead a look of fear and revulsion. "Rei-chan?" Minako asked as she moved up to her lover's face, "Rei-chan, what happened, dear? Did I hurt you? If I was too rough, I..." before the blond could get anything more out, Rei gripped onto her in an embrace and buried her face in her shoulder. "Hold me." Rei whimpered, "I... I can't talk about it. Not yet. Please, hold me. Hold me tightly, so I can feel you." Minako hugged her back, noting the tears now silently falling onto her shoulder. She didn't know what just happened to Rei, but from the way she was acting it must've been horrific. ------ She came to the Buddhist Temple looking like someone who'd obviously been through a traumatic event. When asked her name, she refused to give it and asked to be allowed to join their community anyways. She took a voluntary vow of silence, shaved her head, took the robes of the temple, and began doing the most menial and degrading chores for the monks and nuns in attendance. After a few years, the monks and her fellow nuns began to notice something strange. At first, they ascribed it to her being baby faced, then to her simply looking younger because of her shaved head. After several years turned into a decade, then another, they realized the truth. She wasn't aging. Now, after thirty-two years within the temple walls, the monks and nuns regarded her with a sort of holy awe, a reverence for someone who had attained such heights of enlightenment that she no longer aged. They'd begged and pleaded with the frail-looking nun to break her vow of silence, to tell them what she had learned. Even Buddha, they reminded her, was finally cajoled into speaking after his enlightenment under the tree. Her response was always the same. Silence. While the temple monks and priests had thus far been able to keep the woman's presence a secret from the world at large, word had leaked somehow of a nun who had been on a religious fast for the last three weeks. The truth was that the Buddhist nun had been on her fast for the last twenty-three days, living on nothing but water. And then there was the other mystery; it was obvious she was an enlightened one, and an exceedingly holy personage. Why then, in all of the thirty-two years that she had been staying at the temple, had she never smiled? In the temple grounds, under a large tree by the well next to the bell tower, she sat as she had for the last twenty-three days; unmoving, uncaring and unresponsive. She'd been sitting so long in place that her skin had started to ulcerate, and small open lesions had appeared on her legs. Her ribs were sticking out now, and her eyes and cheeks were sunk in. It was twilight, and she was once again alone with the thoughts that haunted her every waking moment. She was just about to close her eyes for sleep when a noise directly in front of her attracted her attention. As she looked on, showing no emotion, the timegate appeared before her. As it opened, a woman came out; a woman she did not want to see or deal with. It was her future self. The Senshi from the future looked at the hairless waif in front of her silently for a few moments before sitting down in front of her on the backs of her legs. "Taru-chan," she said in a gentle yet firm voice, "This self-imposed exile must stop. It's time for you to go back out into the world." Hotaru didn't say anything in response. Instead, she closed her eyes and bent her head down to go back to sleep. Lady Saturn got up and walked over to her past self, sitting back down again beside her, "I know it hurts." she said, "But it wasn't your... our fault." "I..." Hotaru's voice was weak and hoarse from decades of neglect, "I can still... remember his..." "I know." her future self said gently, "And, for what it's worth, it does get better for you, for us. You need to heal, and that's not why you're here." "B... But I... I've come a long way since coming here, and..." "Don't give me that." her future self said sternly, "You're not here for enlightenment, but for escape. You don't seek liberation from the self, but from your responsibilities. Neither can nor will be attained out here." Hotaru looked away from the future Senshi dejectedly. Lady Saturn put her arm around her past self's shoulders. "Taru-chan, please try to understand; you are a Senshi. It is your destiny, and there is no way out of it. I know, more than anyone else ever could, the pain you're feeling, and have felt for the past thirty-two years. But you're not the only one who's been hurting. And, as much as it pains me to say it, you're needed." "N... Needed?" Hotaru asked weakly. "Something is coming, Taru-chan. Something big and terrible, and you will be needed. Even now, it is reaching out to Michiru-mama." "Mi... Michiru-mama?" Hotaru asked, her eyes glistening as warm memories of happier days in the Outers mansion rushed in upon her. "Yes, Taru-chan. She needs you, and so does the Princess. Every Senshi will be needed before this nightmare is over." she then reached into a dark purple bag she had by her side and pulled out a rice ball. "Here." she said, "Eat this. Your wounds were healed for you while we spoke, but you will still be weak from hunger," she explained. She then placed her hands on top of her past self's head. A small gasp escaped Hotaru as she felt a tingling sensation on her scalp, followed by hair rapidly growing from her shaved head, reaching down to her shoulders before Lady Saturn pulled her hands away. "Take my hand," Lady Saturn commanded, "And I'll deliver you to the Outers mansion through Setsuna-mama's timegate." Hotaru struggled weakly up to her feet and took the hand offered her. A second later, both she and her future self were gone. ------ Haruka entered the familiar mansion with a smile on her face; they finally had a solid lead on where Hotaru might be. She removed her shoes and took her coat off, feeling better than she had in years. Looking around, she noticed that Setsuna and Kihomi were nowhere to be found. No problem, they were probably still on their anniversary vacation. Since all the Senshi would be reuniting tomorrow anyways, they could wait. In the meantime, she'd go to the small studio built onto the property to tell her beloved. She opened the door to Michiru's art studio, and immediately her smile vanished. Michiru was crouched down in a corner of the room, naked. Her hair was in disarray, and she'd smeared paint all over her body. Reds and blues, yellows and oranges graced her form, and were streaked through her once lovely aqua locks. At the sound of footsteps, she looked up with a sad, lost look in her eyes, her face painted a bright red. Seeing Haruka, she began to weep uncontrollably. The blonde rushed to her wife and pulled her into her arms, not caring if her dress pants and blouse became filthy. She held her tightly as the artist shuddered against her. "Michi-chan," she gasped, "Michi-chan, what happened? Tell me what happened." The artist didn't answer. Instead, she pointed to something off to the side of the room. Haruka looked, and saw a disgusting image painted onto a canvas. The thing had the body of a man, dragon-like wings and an octopus for a head. "What..." Haruka stuttered out in a loss for words, "Michi-chan, you're going to have to help me here. What are you trying to say?" she asked, finding herself slowly starting to panic as she tried to make sense of what was happening. Michiru didn't answer, instead she just continued to point at the picture as her lower lip quivered and she continued to sob. The blonde was about to get up to get her wife something to at least cover herself with when the sound of soft footsteps alerted her to the fact that she and Michiru were no longer alone. She turned around, only to feel all the breath escape her at the site of the skinny waif now standing in the studio. "H... Haruka-papa," Hotaru muttered, her voice still raspy from disuse, "I'm home."
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