Saint Seiya Fan Fiction ❯ The Blackmail of Souls ❯ Bone-Eater ( Chapter 2 )

 

Chapter Two:

 

BONE-EATER

 

 

The small black helicopter hovered above the frozen Siberian earth like a bloated insect, noisily churning up loose snow into a white powder haze.

 

"Shit! I can't see a fucking thing! Altitude, Ivan!"

 

As he nosed the chopper upward, Sergey Telekhov glanced angrily at his passenger, grumbling under his breath "Pososi moyu konfetku! My name is not Ivan, zalupa!" His foreign customers often treated him with little respect, and he hated it. Unfortunately, he needed the money desperately, and he was the only pilot willing to venture into the forbidden wasteland.

 

In less than two months, the government had quietly and forcibly evacuated every man, woman and child from an enormous area that stretched from Penzhina Bay to Uelen to Tiksi, dubbed the Siberian Triangle by international tabloids. Expeditions into the desolate place had been completely outlawed, but for Sergey, it had turned into a golden opportunity. While the military routinely monitored the area, the pilot had learned to navigate undetected through pockets of blind spots. For that reason, he could charge ten times his normal rate, and since the government had declared the vast empty region completely off-limits, he really had no choice. Sergey briefly studied the man strapped into the seat on his right, his only customer in a month. Something uncomfortably cold and disturbing glittered behind the man's brilliant green-gold eyes. The pilot shivered as his thoughts drifted back four weeks ago to their first meeting in Magadan, Sergey's home before the evacuation.

 

He had introduced himself as Professor Rexford Newcomb, an Australian geophysicist. Reports of unusual seismic activity in the Triangle had attracted him to the region, and although several of his peers and colleagues had vanished without a trace, along with well-intentioned search parties and military personnel, he was quite anxious to study the inexplicable phenomenon first-hand. The local inhabitants had attributed the disappearances to a mythical creature known as the “Ice Demon." Sergey generally scoffed at the fairy tales, yet he could not ignore the uncertain fate of his missing fellow pilots.

 

It was Rexford Newcomb's wallet that had helped to brush away any remaining crumbs of fear.

 

"So, you guarantee you can get me in there?" the professor asked anxiously, his warm round Aussie twang cheerfully evident.

 

"Da, is no problem," Sergey answered confidently, his Russian accent thickly coating each word.

 

“Aren't you worried about flying into the Triangle like everyone else?”

 

“Professor, the Devil himself could not keep me out of there. I fear nothing!”

 

"Then let's toast this auspicious venture! Cheers!"

 

They lifted shot glasses filled with crystal clear vodka and tapped the rims together lightly. As if on cue, the other patrons of the small, warm tavern burst into song. Newcomb smiled and glanced around. He grasped the neck of the nearly empty bottle and tilted it over their glasses once again, splashing its contents in accidental droplets on the tabletop between them.

 

"Tell me, what are they singing about?"

 

"It is very old traditional drinking song," Sergey replied, the alcohol beginning to take effect. "It has been a long time...let me think..." After listening to a few more measures, the pilot joined in. Newcomb hooted with delight and began to clap in time to the music. Sergey watched the scientist and decided that he liked the jovial, tall blonde man with the perfect white teeth and happy, gold-flecked eyes.

 

The celebration lasted through the night and well into the early hours of dawn. The two men pushed open the thick wooden doors of the pub and lurched out into the quiet, empty street. They ambled arm-in-arm through the biting cold toward the local inn where Newcomb had rented a room. They trudged along the dimly lit road, humming and singing hoarsely. A constable hurried past them, huddling against the icy wind. He eyed the pair suspiciously but decided it was far too cold to bother with the obviously intoxicated revelers. Newcomb shivered and bundled his thickly padded, dark green parka closer to his body, trying to capture any escaping heat. He burrowed into the large pockets of the hip-length coat and removed a pair of shiny black ski gloves, tugging them onto his hands. He reached back over his shoulders, pulling the hood of the parka down over his golden mane. As he spoke, his breath appeared in soft puffs of white.

 

"I'm afraid this just isn't my kind of climate!"

 

Sergey shrugged, one hand gripping together the neck of his well-worn, brown leather bomber jacket. He shoved the other hand deep into the pocket of his khaki trousers. The ends of his bright red woolen scarf whipped against his back. "I have lived here all my life. The human body can become accustomed to many things," he said, nodding his head at the scientist. "You are still cold...even with all of that covering?"

 

Newcomb chuckled. "We'll have to get you down to Sydney after this expedition. I think your blood is frozen!"

 

"Perhaps, but vodka makes an excellent anti-freeze! Would you not agree, comrade?"

 

They were still laughing as they reached the steps of the quaint, rustic inn. Newcomb paused at the door. "Would you care to come in and warm up before you go?" His green eyes sparkled warmly at the pilot in the waning darkness.

 

Sergey shivered. "Nyet, Professor. I must start the engine now. It will take some time to de-ice the rotors."

 

"Well then, until we meet again, Mr. Telekhov. See you in four weeks!” Newcomb shouted, smiling radiantly through chattering teeth and waving briefly at the retreating pilot. Sergey returned the smile and headed back up the road toward the open field where his helicopter waited, covered in a frosty white layer of snow and ice.

 

The pilot's thoughts were suddenly hurled back to the present as the man seated next to him spoke into the mouthpiece of the flight helmet. The words rumbled into the Sergey's ears like a slow moving train. "Can't this shitbox move any faster?"

 

Newcomb had changed much since that night in the tavern. He could feel the man glaring at him, with eyes as dead as the frozen earth beneath them. Sergey wondered what could have caused such a profound shift in his demeanor. He told himself as long as Newcomb paid, it was none of his concern. Yet he could not shake the uneasy feeling of dread that coiled in his belly like a ribbon of ice, and he looked forward to touching down as soon as possible.

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

Seiya paid the cab driver and stepped away from the curb. He stood on the broad sidewalk in front of the Hotel Okura in the heart of Tokyo's government district. Across the Boulevard Toranomon, Seiya could see the back of the U.S. Embassy. High on a pole, an American flag fluttered in the slow breeze above bare January trees. The heavy, mid-morning foot traffic flowed around the Pegasus Saint as if he were a boulder in the middle of a swiftly flowing river of humanity. He grinned and breathed in deeply, his shining brown eyes reflecting sparse white clouds in the crystal blue sky. Seiya loved the sights, sounds and smells of the winter-wet, beehive metropolis. It energized his heart, mind and soul. As he made his way to the main entrance of the hotel, he paused before the wide glass doors, looking down at himself and wondering if he had dressed appropriately for the upscale Okura. In order to watch the comings and goings of Lexie Bloodstone unnoticed, he needed to blend in with the rest of the clientele. At the Boathouse, he had stared in bewilderment at the tangled wardrobe hanging in his cramped, disheveled closet. His normal choice of clothing never really varied much from a pair of comfortable jeans, sneakers and a tattered old shirt. Saori could not bring herself to rummage through his belongings, so at her request, Tatsumi had surprisingly found a dark blue crew neck cashmere pullover, tan slacks and brown loafers buried deep in the recesses of Seiya's closet. Although he felt a bit uncomfortable in the outfit, and he frankly could not even remember where the items had come from in the first place, Seiya studied his reflection in the dark glass of the hotel lobby doors. He almost didn't recognize himself. His dark brown hair was wild and unruly as usual, but the image in the window pleased him and he began to feel more like a suave private eye. He entered the hotel, admiring the balance of modern and traditional decor throughout the interior of the building. The entire floor was covered in striking blue-gray carpeting, and puffy white paper lanterns hung near the walls on long cords attached to the dizzyingly high ceiling. Seiya strolled casually toward the opposite end of the spacious lobby where several groupings of simple rounded black chairs and low, red-lacquered tables were placed. He chose a seat that allowed him the clearest view of the entire main floor of the hotel.

 

“All right, bitch, show yourself,” Seiya thought excitedly. He scanned the area near the front desk, hoping to catch sight of the young reporter either entering or leaving the hotel. Instead, his attention was immediately drawn elsewhere. Stepping off the elevator nearest the front desk was the most beautiful man Seiya had ever seen in his life. He was rather tall, with a radiant cap of platinum blonde hair. Though he remained at some distance, Seiya believed he could clearly see tiny sparks of lightning dancing in his incredible silver eyes. He wore an elegant cream-colored overcoat that hung just below the knee of his black-as-ink trousers and shiny black shoes. Even fully clothed, Seiya could see the man was muscular and athletic. He moved with the natural grace and unchallenged confidence of a shark gliding through a calm sea. Seiya held his breath as the stunningly handsome stranger surveyed the lobby, looking in his direction. The Saint quickly shifted his gaze to the floor, his cheeks burning crimson.

 

“This is crazy!” Seiya mumbled to himself. “I haven't done anything wrong!” He shook his head and raised his eyes, secretly hoping the enigmatic stranger would still be there. He felt like a child sneaking his hand into a cookie jar, yet he was compelled to seek a better view of the magnificent beauty whose looks would make even the Gold Saint Aphrodite envious.

 

Seiya stood and casually wandered closer to the reception area, stopping several feet away at the one end of the long, curved front desk. The man busied himself with some paperwork at the opposite end, his head bowed down slightly, enabling Seiya to furtively study his exquisite profile. The Greek statuary in Sanctuary paled in comparison. With his back turned, Seiya could see the rest of the man' s glorious hair. It was styled into a single, thick braid that hung down his back like the shining tail of an argent dragon, nearly reaching the carpeted floor of the lobby. The man suddenly lifted his head, shoulders tensing. He turned and looked directly into the eyes of the Pegasus Saint.

 

“Heh?” Seiya said aloud, stunned.

 

It was at that moment he noticed another standing behind the man. She seemed to emerge out of thin air. Although her eyes were hidden under the black lenses of very fashionable sunglasses, there could be no mistake. It was the infamous Lexie Bloodstone.

 

Suddenly, the glorious man appeared to momentarily weaken, his attention shifting away from Seiya. He leaned against the reception counter and clutched a hand to his chest. Lexie immediately attended him, uttering hushed, anxious questions through a concerned frown. He waved her off gently, recovering quickly. The girl closely scrutinized the tall man, then reached up and removed her sunglasses.

 

The shock of remembrance paralyzed Seiya. It had been six long years, and her appearance had changed dramatically, but Seiya knew those eyes as surely as he knew his own.

 

“Seika?” he whispered.

 

She slowly turned her head and looked straight into the face of the Pegasus Saint, but Lexie Bloodstone made no show of recognition. As the pair turned to leave the hotel, panic swept through Seiya. Though almost too impossible to believe, if the girl was indeed Seika, he was not about to lose sight of her! Still somewhat dazed, his body instinctively moved forward.

 

A thousand familiar pinpricks rushed up the base of Seiya's spine to the top of his skull. It was the static presence of Cosmo, but unlike any he had ever felt before. It was cold, dark and alien, as if something ancient and long buried had suddenly been resurrected. Seiya struggled desperately to take a step, but he was inexplicably immobilized. He felt as if he was wading neck-high through a pool of quicksand. Then, without warning, everyone and everything in motion, except the Bronze Saint, slipped into a blur of hyper speed. All around him, minutes shifted ahead in the blink of an eye, yet he remained motionless, trapped in a physical nightmare.

 

Realization struck Seiya like a physical blow. It was not the world around him that had sped up, it was he that had slowed down. Anger and frustration fueled Seiya. His own Cosmo flared and beads of sweat rolled down his face, mingling with hot tears that spilled down his cheeks. One thought played over and over in his head as he fought to push forward. It had to be Seika! But...why hadn't she recognized him? Seiya could only watch helplessly as the man and girl moved like mercurial apparitions out the lobby doors.

 

“NEE-SAN!” he screamed.

 

Instantly, the unyielding bubble that held him vanished. He nearly lost his balance as time and space righted itself. Seiya shivered, trying to shake off the unsettling effects of the strange, disturbing Cosmo that clung to his skin like a shroud. He bolted through the lobby and out of the hotel, frantically searching the sea of pedestrians for a glimpse of the preternatural man...and more importantly, his long-lost sister.

 

But they had disappeared. Seiya's heart sank in anguish. His knees felt weak, and the sour taste of bile had risen in the back of his throat. He scrubbed his tears away with the back of his hand, unsure of what to do next.

 

Then he knew. Seiya hailed a cab, his body and soul energized with renewed determination.

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

Shiryu stood alone on the smooth, polished wood floor of the Graude gymnasium, panting heavily as he toweled off his sweat-soaked face and arms. The workout had been strenuous, but it had not eased his worries. Since returning from China, he had felt a palpable strand of turmoil running through the Bronze Saints. To Shiryu, it was as real as a rope that tethered a group of mountaineers together as they ascended a peak. He had always been more attuned to the connection, but whether it was due to his training under Master Dohko or simply a side effect of the Dragon Cloth, he couldn't say. Although the link could be an extremely useful tool, there were times when it could be quite stress inducing. His brothers also had the ability to feel the twining, but to a lesser degree. More often than not, they chose to ignore it unless absolutely necessary. Shiryu could control the strength of the contact, but there was no way for him to turn it off completely. It was always with him, and in a way, he found it rather comforting to have a part of the Saints with him, but it also meant he had to deal with the constant intrusion of their individual psychoses.

 

Shiryu sighed as he replaced the nunchaku, sai, and kwan dao in their corresponding racks against the gym wall. He wished the Saints were all together at the mansion. It would be easier for him to determine the reason for the unease that was affecting them. Unfortunately, Hyoga would be away for some time in Siberia, and Ikki had taken Shun on an extended trip that included stops at every amusement park in Japan. Even Saori seemed to be under an unusual amount of strain. She had cloistered herself in the mansion's counsel room with Tatsumi as her only companion. Shiryu was justifiably curious, but he knew Saori would explain everything to him when she felt it was appropriate. At least Seiya wasn't too far away. Shiryu's heart warmed as he thought of the Pegasus Saint.

 

He headed upstairs to shower and change, but a visitor at the front door caused Shiryu to tarry on the stairs. He paused, watching as Tatsumi hurried to answer the chimes. Shiryu smiled broadly as he heard a silk-smooth voice float in from the doorstep.

 

“Mu!” Shiryu shouted gleefully and bounded back down the stairs. His face reflected undisguised joy. “Pardon me, Tatsumi! I'll take care of our guest!”

 

Tatsumi looked from Mu to Shiryu, then rolled his eyes and shook his head, sighing and muttering to himself as he returned to his duties.

 

“Please come in, Mu! It's so great to see you again!”

 

“And you as well. It's been too long, ne?”

 

They shook hands vigorously. Shiryu suddenly remembered he was still wearing the shiny, emerald green pants and white sleeveless t-shirt from his workout. Perspiration trickled down his temples and the back of his neck.

 

“K'so! I need to change!”

 

“Why? You look fantastic...as usual.” Mu reached out and brushed aside a damp lock of jet-black hair from Shiryu's forehead. The Dragon Saint felt his cheeks burning crimson.

 

“Um...I really need to...uh, freshen up.”

 

“Well, if you must!”

 

“Listen, while I'm in the shower, just make yourself at home!”

 

Shiryu dashed up the stairs once again. He entered the bathroom at the end of the hall and turned on the hot water full force. Shiryu grinned to himself. He was genuinely happy and rather excited by Mu's visit. The Gold Saint's radiating serenity was a soothing balm to Shiryu's troubled mind. As he stepped through the shower stall door, hard streams of scalding water poured over him. He closed his eyes and rolled his head back, drenching his extraordinarily lengthsome hair. He enjoyed the luxurious sensation of his wet tresses as it clung to his skin. He lathered and rinsed his thick black mane, then began to soap his superbly toned body, sighing as the tension melted slowly from his stiff neck and weary limbs.

 

An unexpected shadow fell across the frosted glass door, catching Shiryu's attention.

 

“Anone! Chotto!” he shouted irritably. “I'm in the shower!”

 

The door opened and a nude Mu entered the steam-clouded stall.

 

“N-nani?” Shiryu stammered, somewhat embarrassed and quite surprised by the intrusion. He instinctively covered his genitals with his hands, yet was unabashed in his admiration of Mu's perfect form. He had always envied Mu's lovely hair, and often imagined what it might feel like to have it draped across his own naked body. Shiryu was startled as his groin began to stir at the erotic images that slipped into his thoughts.

 

The Aries Saint had no apparent inhibitions when it came to displaying himself in front of Shiryu. Noticing the perplexed look on the Dragon's face, Mu chuckled softly under the hot deluge as it soaked his incredibly long, pale hair. As he busied himself with the shampoo, Mu flashed a small confident smile at Shiryu.

 

“I could really use a shower too...you don't mind if we share, do you?” Mu asked playfully.

 

“Um...no, I suppose not.” Shiryu kept his back turned toward him, still a bit mortified by his friend's boldness. He moved to exit the shower stall, trying to inch his way past Mu while keeping his hands glued to his throbbing member.

 

Mu swiftly raised a powerful arm, blocking Shiryu's path to the shower door. From under long, delicate lashes that sparkled with tiny dewdrops of water, he glanced sideways at the Dragon Saint.

 

“Leaving so soon?”

 

“Well, I...” Shiryu began nervously.

 

Mu hooked his outstretched arm around Shiryu's collarbone, pulling him backward into his well-muscled chest. Mu's fair skin stood in stark contrast against Shiryu's tanned form. Their bodies were warm and slippery, and Shiryu gasped softly as he felt Mu's full erection nestling against his bare buttocks.

 

“Don't go...” Mu pleaded gently in Shiryu's ear.

 

“Mu!” Shiryu responded breathlessly, shocked by the older Saint's brazen request. He had been attracted to the Aries Saint for quite some time, but Shiryu's deep loyalty and unrequited love for Seiya had created a self-induced chasm in his heart that he would never allow anyone else to cross. He sensed a kinship in his Bronze brother, and had always hoped the Pegasus Saint would one day return his adoration, but they never seemed to be alone together long enough to find out Seiya's true feelings.

 

Yet he could not simply dismiss Mu, who made no effort to disguise his love for Shiryu. He swallowed hard. Although there was no guarantee he would ever have a relationship with Seiya, he still felt the ache of betrayal as his body responded to Mu's caresses.

 

“You needn't be so modest with me, sweet Dragon...”

 

Mu unwrapped his arm from around Shiryu's chest and began massaging his shoulders. Shiryu was helpless under the Gold Saint's expert fingers. Mu slid his hands down Shiryu's arms, finding the boy's hands frozen at his groin. Mu gently moved Shiryu's hands aside and replaced them with his own, tenderly cupping the Bronze Saint's growing arousal. Shiryu moaned and dipped his head back, resting it on Mu's shoulder as the shower continued to pelt them like a hard, hot rain.

 

Shiryu suddenly grasped Mu's wrists and pulled his hands away. He could not let Mu continue, at least not until he knew for sure if he stood a chance with Seiya. He quickly turned and embraced Mu tightly. He tilted his head up, and found Mu's irresistible lips and tongue waiting for his. The Gold Saint tasted of cinnamon. Shiryu could have stayed there, under the warm cascade of water, kissing Mu for hours, but he backed away. Mu smiled knowingly and gazed tenderly into the sea-blue eyes of the boy.

 

“I understand, xiaode-xing. Your heart waits for another...”

 

Shiryu nodded, shame coloring his cheeks. “I'm just so confused...”

 

“I know, and I certainly wouldn't want you to regret anything you might do with me.”

 

Mu smiled warmly at Shiryu, his eyes glowing embers of love. He briefly hugged the boy again. He knew Shiryu would have relented had he pressured him, but Mu only wanted him if it was truly his choice. He would never use force on Shiryu.

 

“Finish your shower...I'll dry off in your room.” Mu reached for the glass door.

 

“Mu, wait!”

 

The Gold Saint looked over his shoulder at the boy.

 

“I just want you to know that I never meant to...lead you on.” He glanced at Mu's still prominent erection, then guiltily averted his gaze.

 

Mu chuckled. “I should say the same to you!” he remarked, raising an eyebrow lasciviously at Shiryu's rigid member. He ducked as the Dragon Saint pitched the bar of soap at his head, then exited the shower, grinning.

 

Sudden regret rolled through Shiryu as he once again stood alone in the stall. He grasped the hot water faucet handle and turned it off. He was unmoved as his erection slowly subsided under the shock of the icy cold water. It was not the first time he had performed the ritual.

 

Shiryu dried off, shrugged on his dark blue, silk robe and headed toward his room. He paused outside the closed door. Inside, he could hear the muted sounds of self-pleasure. Shiryu's face warmed with embarrassment. He quickly moved out of earshot, trying desperately to avoid becoming aroused again. After what seemed like an eternity, Shiryu approached his room once more. He leaned in, listening intently. Relieved by the silence, he took a quick breath and rapped sharply on the door.

 

“Come in, Shiryu!”

 

He entered discreetly, not knowing what to expect from the Gold Saint. Though he looked slightly tousled and his pale face was flushed pink, Mu stood fully clothed in the middle of the room. If he suspected Shiryu of accidentally eavesdropping only moments earlier, Mu made no show of it. Shiryu was surprised to find that even after the shower encounter, he did not feel the slightest bit uncomfortable with Mu. In fact, he was as attractive as ever...perhaps a little more. He had borrowed some of Shiryu's clothing, and although Mu looked spectacular, it left the Bronze Saint wondering why his closet seemed to be so popular.

 

Shiryu moved to the bed and sat down cross-legged, adjusting the belt of his robe. They remained quiet for several minutes, then Shiryu broke the silence.

 

“Why have you come here, Mu?”

 

The Gold Saint joined the boy on the bed, sitting back to back with the Dragon. Shiryu pulled Mu's damp, silver-plum hair around him like a cape, rubbing his cheek against the glorious satin mane.

 

“I wish I could say it was just to see you, my beloved, but there is something dark on the horizon...I know you can feel it too.”

 

“Mm...” Shiryu acknowledged Mu's assessment. “What is it?”

 

“I don't know...it's so strange and fleeting. I just can't seem to bring it into focus...it's like something I can see out of the corner of my eye, but when I try to look at it directly, it vanishes...”

 

Shiryu's brow furrowed. There was no mistaking the deep concern in Mu's voice... and perhaps a touch of fear. Mu was right. He could feel it. A storm was brewing for the Saints.

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

The flight had been uneventful, which only aided in flooding Hyoga's thoughts with the relentless image of Shun and Ikki lying together, locked in a lover's embrace...and the kiss. His stomach ached as he felt Shun's ghost touches ebb and flow over his body like a warm summer tide. It should have been him on the floor with the green-haired boy instead of Ikki. Had he finally lost Shun forever? He never believed Ikki would go so far with his own brother, and worst of all, Hyoga had actually pushed the Phoenix into action. Perhaps he should have stayed and fought for Shun, but he really needed to clear his head and sort out his feelings. He had opened his heart and soul to the boy...Shun would have to decide for himself to whom he would give his love.

 

Predawn light glinted off the Graude Foundation's private jet as it touched down in Magadan, Western Siberia. A rental car awaited Hyoga at the small terminal. The trip would take over 10 hours of marathon driving, but he had no alternative. Magadan held the only landing strip in the entire western region. He stowed his bags in the trunk of the compact car and began the long journey home to Anadyr. As he motored north along the coastline, his spirits lifted somewhat at the thought of seeing Jakob again...and his mama. It was time he paid his respects to his late sensei as well. It was the least he could do for the man he had killed. Hyoga had avoided it long enough.

 

Though still the middle of winter, the sky was oddly bright. An intense sunrise broke over the peaks, and Hyoga could just make out the shadowy, snow-covered Kolyma mountain range. Beyond the road, sensuously curved snowdrifts extended as far as the eye could see, sparkling like pixie dust. Hyoga immediately felt at home, and not simply because it was the place of his birth, or that the untainted white Northern Siberian plateaus had been his training ground. The ancient, frozen land was a part of him...the snow, ice and cold cleansed his spirit, and welcomed him like a long absent lover. He suddenly wished Shun had accompanied him after all.

 

He rolled down the window, allowing the frigid air to rush into the powder-blue automobile. Hyoga thought it odd but not particularly unusual that in the several hours he had been driving, he had seen no other travelers. A cloudy, fine-spun sensation tickled at his subconscious, but he was road-weary and still had another 5 hours to go. Hyoga decided a stop in the town of Kamenskoye would help to alleviate the peculiar feeling before he continued the drive inland. He slowed the vehicle to a crawl as he approached the outskirts of the small village. It was already 9 a.m. and except for Hyoga's car, there was no light or movement anywhere. The windows of the homes were eerily dark and deserted. Snowdrifts had settled in the doorways of the sparse buildings, and there was no visible traces of tire tracks or footprints in the fresh snow that blanketed empty streets. It was as if every living thing had suddenly abandoned the town. He parked the car in front of a barn-like structure, leaving the engine running. Hyoga checked the fuel gauge. It would be unwise to run out of gas in the barren western highlands. He stepped out of the car and turned slowly, surveying the tiny hamlet.

 

“Privet!”

 

Hyoga listened for a response, but all that could be heard was the low growl of the auto engine. The heat and exhaust from the tailpipe plumed around the back end of the car in a gray-white cloud. A slight breeze stirred loose snow crystals from the rooftops.

 

“PRIVET!” he shouted again. Hyoga paused a moment longer, then made his way to the nearby shed. He forced the door open and briefly searched inside, emerging with a red metal fuel can full of gasoline. He secured the container in the back of the car, then drove slowly out of Kamenskoye.

 

The next few hours seemed to pass quickly as the strangely empty town consumed his thoughts. It gnawed at him, and he almost loitered to investigate further, but his desire to reach Anadyr before the long shadows of evening fell far outweighed any concern he had for the mysteriously vacant town. At least the vision of Ikki and Shun had temporarily ceased its constant intrusion.

 

The rest of the trip had been easy and by late afternoon, the familiar landscape of his home came into view. His heart overflowed with warmth, and the troubles that plagued him lifted away like dark clouds after a summer rainstorm. He thought of his young friend Jakob who would no doubt be waiting at his rustic cabin on the outskirts of the tiny city. He punched the accelerator and raced through the center of Anadyr. He reached the far end of the town, parking the car where the road became impassable. Hyoga hadn't noticed Anadyr was completely devoid of life. He shrugged the hood of his woolly parka closer to his face, retrieved his gear from the trunk, and continued on foot. The crisp, thick snow crunched beneath his feet as he trudged up the steep slope toward his boyhood home.

 

“Jakob!” he called out the moment he spied the cabin, expecting the child to burst through the door and rush to greet him. Instead, Hyoga was met with the mournful sound of the wind skimming through the tops of the scattered, snow-laden trees.

 

“Jakob! It's me...Hyoga!”

 

Perhaps the boy had remained in town after all. Hyoga longed to see a friendly face, but he supposed Jakob would show up eventually. He reached the door of the cabin and opened it just wide enough to toss his bags inside. As he wandered away from the shack, Hyoga closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. Though the sun shone intensely, it was still brutally cold. Without the smog-like, mid-January haze to obscure it, the clear winter sky seemed to go on forever. Since the day was young and the drive had been excruciatingly long, he decided it would be the perfect time to visit his mama's watery grave. He thought about the Crystal Saint, wondering how he would react upon seeing the final resting place of his beloved master for the first time since burying him so long ago. Hyoga had been devastated by the man's death, and the feeling was still fresh in his heart. Thankfully, he wouldn't have to face his past transgression until the next day. The Cygnus Saint began the long trek east toward the Gulf of Anadyr. The fresh snowfall sang beneath his footfalls as he jogged briskly over the white earth. He hoped by the time he returned to the cabin, young Jakob would be there waiting for him.

 

Life at the mansion could often be sedentary, and it felt good to work his muscles strenuously again. As he leaped from snow bank to snow bank and over towering treetops, Hyoga absorbed the stark beauty of the land. Had his brothers been there, he doubted they would share his opinion. He supposed he returned to Siberia for the same reasons Ikki found solace in his frequent visits to Death Queen Island. Although each place was enchanting in its own way, they also held many dark memories for the Cygnus and the Phoenix. Hyoga had seen the death of his mother, his mentor, and his rival in Siberia, yet he still felt its gentle pull that whispered `home' in his soul. It would be difficult to leave again.

 

Glacial peaks loomed in the near distance. He had finally reached the frozen edge of the gulf, to the same spot he had visited so many times in the past. Hyoga removed his thickly padded coat and dropped it on the ice. His Cosmo automatically flared, regulating his internal core temperature and warming his body from the inside out, much the same way Ikki's Cosmo kept his flesh from burning to a crisp in the volcanic heat of Death Queen Island. The Russian boy breathed deeply, filling his lungs with arctic air. Without hesitation, he dove into the choppy, gelid water. As Hyoga kicked his powerful legs, propelling himself swiftly downward, the sounds and pressure of the deep, cold sea penetrated his skull. Though he could see very little in the depths of the liquid blackness, he kept his eyes open, a feat that would have instantaneously frozen the orbs of any other human. He found the way to his mother's sunken tomb by instinct, and as he neared the dark, ominous hulk of the broken vessel, he silently cursed. He had forgotten to bring a rose. The Bronze Saint solemnly wove through the murky hull, tracing the same eerie path he knew so well. His mother lay unchanged, and although the rest of the ship was swathed in Stygian gloom, her body seemed to phosphoresce with a soft blue light. Hyoga drifted closer to her, sorrow tugging at his heart.

 

Suddenly, the boy pushed away from his mother, his face twisting into a mask of horror and disbelief. Her eyes had opened.

 

“This isn't real...this can't be real!”

 

Although his belly churned with apprehension, he could not leave. He continued to stare at her body. She turned her head, looking directly at him. Hyoga flailed his arms and legs, backing away in abject fear as she sat up and floated toward him, reaching for him with outstretched arms. The Cygnus Saint opened his mouth to scream. Air bubbles boiled forth from his lips. In blind terror, he turned and clawed his way out of the ship. In a matter of moments, he broke the surface of the water and scrambled clumsily onto the ice, panting heavily. Hyoga stood shakily and stumbled aimlessly forward, trying to fathom the nightmare he had just witnessed.

 

“This is all a dream...I know it...a nightmare...yes, that's it...” the boy mumbled to himself.

 

“This is no dream, child...”

 

Hyoga whirled around. His mother stood on the ice at the edge of the sea, rivulets of salt water dripping from her long, blond hair and pale pink gown. Her large blue eyes glittered, reflecting the craggy, blue-white landscape. Hyoga backed away as she moved toward him on bare feet. She too seemed unaffected by the severe environment, which only served to fuel Hyoga's panic. His heel caught an icy protrusion and he fell onto his rear, but he continued to scrabble backward on his hands and feet, his mind numb with confusion.

 

“Wh-who are you?” he stammered.

 

“Oh dear, what's wrong? Don't you recognize your own mother?” she smiled easily.

 

Hyoga squeezed his eyes shut. “This is just an illusion!” he shouted in his head. He breathed in and out deeply, trying to regain his composure. “I am Cygnus Saint Hyoga, and this phantom will be gone!” He opened his eyes, but the reanimated body of his dead mother continued to approach him.

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

Seiya staggered across the snow-covered lawn and up the steps of the Kido mansion, pounding heavily at the front door. He was mildly surprised to find Shiryu standing before him instead of Tatsumi.

 

“Shi-ri-yu...” he said carefully. “I wanna talk to Saori...” It was obvious Seiya had been drinking. He stumbled past the Dragon Saint, swaying and squinting as he stood in the bright, warm foyer. He peeled off his fleecy sheepskin coat and dropped it to the floor.

 

“Man, it is hot in here!” he remarked offhandedly. Shiryu watched him in stunned silence. He had never before witnessed Seiya under the influence of alcohol.

 

“Seiya, I think you've had too much to drink. Why don't you come into the...” Shiryu reached out to take his elbow, but Seiya wrenched dramatically away from the coal-haired boy, nearly losing his balance.

 

“NO! I wanna see Saori...NOW!” Seiya cupped his hands around his mouth and began to bellow at the top of his lungs. “SAORI! SAAAOOORIIIII!”

 

Shiryu could not believe his eyes. “Seiya! What's wrong with you?”

 

Tatsumi barreled into the entrance hall. “What's going on out here?” He glared menacingly at the two Saints.

 

“It's OK, Tatsumi. I'll take care of him,” Shiryu quickly offered.

 

“Well, see that you do! Miss Saori will not tolerate this kind of nonsense!”

 

Seiya rolled his eyes in disgust. “Oh, Tatsumi! Will you ever remove your nose from Saori's butt?”

 

“What?” Tatsumi was furious.

 

“Seiya!” the Dragon exclaimed.

 

“Come on, Shiryu! Have you ever seen a nose more brown than his?”

 

“Why you little..!” Tatsumi growled through clenched teeth, the tendons in his neck standing out like thin ropes.

 

“Seiya, how about some nice, hot coffee?” Shiryu interrupted, aware of the rage brewing in the older man.

 

“No thank, my friend, but I will take an audience with Saori Kido if she'll drop the vampire act and rise from her coffin!”

 

“Keep your voice down!” Tatsumi warned.

 

“Ha! You all may be afraid to disturb the delicate princess, but I'm not!” Seiya thumped his chest with an upturned thumb.

 

Saori suddenly entered the foyer. She appeared somewhat haggard, and a veneer of concern covered her face.

 

“Well, well, well! Her Highness graces us with her presence!” Seiya remarked sarcastically.

 

Tatsumi leaped to her defense, his bald pate flushed red with anger. “Watch your insolent tongue, boy!”

 

The Pegasus Saint ignored him and approached Saori on wobbly, sake-heavy legs. He stood before her, weaving slightly back and forth, his eyes tinged with red. She wondered if it was due to the alcohol...or tears. Seiya frowned and looked down at his feet, as if he knew what she was thinking.

 

“Seiya, what's wrong?” she asked quietly, almost whispering.

 

He raised his head and glared fiercely at her. “Do you really want to know?”

 

She nodded. “Something is obviously bothering you...” She paused. “Does this have anything to do with Lexie Bloodstone?”

 

“Good guess,” he added, smirking.

 

“Please, Seiya, stop being so cryptic and tell us why...”

 

“I'm drunk?” the Bronze Saint interrupted. “Maybe finding Seika after all these years is reason enough!”

 

The group stared at Seiya in stunned silence. “Yeah, It turns out Lexie Bloodstone is my sister. Isn't that a riot?” he said with unusual calm.

 

Shiryu smiled broadly. “Seiya! That's fantastic news!”

 

He laughed bitterly. “Oh yes, it's just peachy-keen...or at least it would be if Seika had recognized me as well.”

 

“Are you sure about this, Seiya? I mean, is it possible you could have been mistaken?” Saori asked.

 

Seiya's entire being seemed to sag with exhaustion. He placed a hand over his eyes as a nearly inaudible sob racked his chest. Shiryu moved close to Seiya, offering his shoulder for support. The Pegasus Saint did not resist and leaned heavily into the Dragon's sheltering embrace. The room was silent as a tomb.

 

“From the day I was taken away from the orphanage, and Seika, my dreams have been haunted night after night by the image of my sister. No matter how many years pass, I'd know her face better than my own. I looked into her eyes, Saori. There's no mistake...it was Seika.”

 

Saori was overcome by sorrow. Slow tears of regret spilled from her lilac eyes. “Seiya-san, please forgive me!” She bowed deeply before him.

 

“Saori, I don't blame you. “ Shiryu released Seiya as he reached out to grasp her shoulders and pull her upright. “If you had known Lexie was my sister, you would have moved heaven and earth to bring her to me.”

 

She sobbed and flung herself into Seiya's arms. He comforted her, placing his lips close to her ear. “But know this, Saori,” he said, whispering softly so no one else in the room could possibly hear. “If I believed for one moment that you had purposely kept Seika from me, goddess or no goddess, I'd snap your neck like a twig.”

 

Saori immediately stiffened and withdrew from Seiya in utter disbelief. Although his brain was liquor-soaked, deep in her heart she knew his threat was completely serious. She trembled and silently watched as Seiya turned away from her and paced around the foyer. Tatsumi noticed her discomfort and moved to her side protectively.

 

“Did you ever have that flash of lightning, that one moment of clarity when you finally realized the purpose for everything you've experienced in your life?” he asked of no one in particular. “Well, I've had that flash, and I've made a decision...I'm resigning.”

 

“Eh? How dare you! Who do you think you are?” Tatsumi demanded irately. Saori touched his arm, shaking her head. He obeyed her silent command and stilled his anger.

 

Shiryu didn't want to believe it, but there was something so final in Seiya's statement. “Wh-what do mean?”

 

Seiya turned and smiled at Shiryu, his face beaming love and warmth at the Dragon Saint. “I need to devote everything to this, Shiryu. If it takes the rest of my life, I have to bring Seika back,” he said almost pleadingly.

 

He felt a distinct closeness to the black-haired Saint, and he knew Shiryu felt something for him, but Seiya could not afford to explore his personal feelings for the Dragon. He could not allow his heart to detract from the search for his sister. The languorous effects of the sake pushed his emotions close to the surface. Seiya swallowed against the lump forming in his throat as he gazed into Shiryu's exquisite eyes that glistened with restrained tears. His thoughts shifted to his absent brothers, the only family he had known other than Seika, and the aching in his breast grew. The Pegasus Saint knew if he remained even a second longer, his heart might win out after all. Without another word, he glanced around at Tatsumi, Saori and Shiryu, as if trying to burn their images into his memory one last time. Then with blinding speed, he headed to the front door and left the mansion.

 

“Seiya! Wait!” Shiryu scooped Seiya's coat from off the floor and raced after him.

 

“Shall I stop the Pegasus?” Tatsumi asked Saori.

 

“No, let him go...but initiate an immediate trace on the whereabouts of Lexie...I mean, Seika.”

 

“You still want to help Seiya? He's nothing but an ungrateful little gutter rat!”

 

“After all he's done for us, we owe him at least that much...don't you agree, Tatsumi?”

 

Shiryu flung open the double doors and peered into the gathering gloom of early evening. He could still feel Seiya's lingering Cosmo, like the shimmering tail of a shooting star, but the scrubby, obstinate Saint had disappeared. A single teardrop slid down Shiryu's cheek as he stood alone on the landing, staring numbly at the familiar shining box in the driveway. It was the Pegasus Cloth.

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

Ikki watched Shun as he napped contentedly beside him in the passenger's seat of the Lamborghini. Ikki knew how his brother felt. Their whirlwind trip through some of Japan's many amusement parks had proved to be exhausting. Although the thrill of the rides was lost on Ikki, his little brother had found his inner child and somehow managed to feel a rush of adrenaline on the various roller coasters. Ikki was simultaneously delighted and envious of the boy. It had been refreshing to watch Shun finally behave somewhat normally for a change, but the Phoenix Saint could not stop his thoughts from returning to the intimate tryst they had shared only a few days earlier. Throughout the trip, it had been a constant struggle to push the irresistible images from his mind...and to restrain himself from initiating another union with the younger Saint. Shun, however, seemed unaffected by the encounter, and for that Ikki was grateful. As they wandered the grounds of the theme parks, he longed to simply hold hands with the boy, but Ikki knew even such a harmless act of affection would have elicited unwanted and hateful stares from narrow-minded passersby. Ikki dared not risk ruining any rare moments of joy and normalcy for his brother.

 

Shun still slept as Ikki eased the car into the garage of the mansion. He gently lifted the boy from the vehicle, being careful not to rouse him. Shun purred and nestled snugly into Ikki's sturdy arms. The Phoenix Saint slipped into the mansion through the servant's entrance and quietly made his way to the stairway that led to the second floor. He could sense an unusual tenseness in the seemingly deserted house. He tightened his grip ever so slightly around the slumbering boy as he mounted the stairs. Ikki paused momentarily outside Shun's bedroom. A torrent of emotions and recent memories poured over him as he pushed the door open with his knee. The sweet smell of melted candle wax still hung in the air. Ikki carried Shun to the bed and gently laid him down. He sat down on edge of the mattress, watching his brother's chest rise and fall steadily. Ikki leaned in closer, wishing the boy would awaken for just one moment. He wanted to see his reflection in Shun's eyes.

 

Ikki suddenly gritted his teeth and stood up, moving away from the bed...and his heart's desire. Turmoil churned in his belly. He needed to think. The anguished Saint headed downstairs and out to the grounds of the mansion. Perhaps a walk in the wintry dusk would allow him some perspective. Ikki wandered toward the untamed, wooded meadows just beyond the landscaped courtyard.

 

Ikki cast his eyes downward as he trudged along, focusing on the cold earth beneath his feet and the gauzy, white puffs of his own breath. A faint, unfamiliar noise brought his head up. The delicate sound teased him, and he strained to locate the direction from which it came. The Phoenix Saint paused, then headed toward the sustained bell-like humming that seemed to resonate louder and louder. He pushed his way through overgrown brambles and thickets as the unending peal seduced him deeper into the dark, heavy trees. The pleasant sound seemed to penetrate every part of him, and he quickened his pace as he neared its source. Ikki suddenly stopped in his tracks, panting lightly.

 

“Mu!”

 

The Aries Saint stood alone in the small clearing, his eyes closed in meditation. The older man's pristine white silk clothing and pale skin seemed to glow in the darkening forest, giving him the appearance of an unearthly apparition. He held a Tibetan singing bowl in one hand, and with the other he rubbed a wooden pestle around the rim of the delicate metal object in a smooth, continual circle. Mu stilled his movements and opened his eyes. The angelic sound emanating from the ancient vessel gradually subsided.

 

“Ikki-san! What a pleasant surprise!”

 

“I didn't mean to disturb you. I can leave if...”

 

“No, no...I've actually just finished. Honestly!”

 

“I must say I never expected see you here...I mean, at the mansion.”

 

A shadow passed over Mu's countenance. “I suppose we'll discuss that soon enough...but now is not the time. It's such a lovely evening, why spoil it with unpleasantness, ne?”

 

Ikki's brow furrowed. He was in no mood to decipher Mu's enigmatic ramblings. He studied the Gold Saint suspiciously, trying to detect any underlying meaning in his remarks. He could not sense any outright duplicity or malice, but Ikki remained on guard. He respected Mu, though he knew very little about him. Ikki was quite aware of the support and assistance Mu had given the Bronze Saints in their times of need, and Shiryu seemed to have a special bond with him, but it made little difference to the Phoenix. He still harbored a certain amount of distrust for all Gold Saints, and he simply could not think of Mu as a `brother'.

 

Although daylight was rapidly waning, Mu could clearly see topaz embers dancing in Ikki's blue velvet eyes. The Phoenix Saint was darkly beautiful, and it was obvious in his demeanor that the teen was unaware of his own loveliness. While Mu's heart raged for Shiryu, he found Ikki completely beguiling. The Phoenix and the Dragon shared many of the same qualities, but Ikki was far more wild, rebellious and proud, like an unbroken young stallion. A sudden, bitter wind sliced through the clearing, and the thin silks Mu wore offered little protection. He shivered.

 

“Are you cold?” Ikki asked politely.

 

Mu shrugged. “I guess I should have borrowed something a little warmer from Shiryu!”

 

“Well, perhaps we can warm things up a bit...”

 

Ikki found a few dead tree limbs in the underbrush. He gathered an armful and dropped them on a bare patch of the lightly snow-covered earth. The Phoenix held his hands over the dry branches and ignited his Cosmo. In an instant, the wood was ablaze. Mu emitted a soft sound of approval as he carefully placed the singing bowl on the ground and moved closer to the fire. Ikki stared in awe as the red-orange flames illuminated the man.

 

“So what's a Saint like you doing in a place like this?” Mu asked jokingly as he rubbed his hands together near the heat.

 

Ikki couldn't help but chuckle. “I should ask you the same thing!”

 

Mu displayed a subtle, knowing smile. He tilted his head slightly forward and gazed at the boy from under incredibly long lashes. “Perhaps we're both here for similar reasons...”

 

Ikki had never before noticed Mu's entrancing amethyst eyes. He tried to resist, but his incredulity began to melt away like early morning dew on a hot summer day. There was something ethereally appealing and wonderfully soothing about Mu, like the sound that had drawn Ikki to the small, secluded glade. He was inexplicably drawn to the man, and although he had no need for the warmth of the fire, Ikki edged closer to the Aries Saint. It suddenly dawned on him that Mu bore a passing resemblance to Shun...the ivory skin, the halcyon eyes, the perfect body. Ikki imagined his younger brother one day growing into a magnificent beauty such as Mu, if they all somehow managed to survive their uncertain futures. The Phoenix was transfixed by the idea of an older Shun, and his body began to stir. Although he longed for his brother's warm caresses, Ikki had purposely avoided any intimate physical contact with Shun during their brief vacation. He hungered for the touch of another. Without thinking, he reached out and smoothed a hand through the entire length of the Aries Saint's lilac hair. Mu was surprised but not offended by the unexpected touch. His craving must have been obvious to the Gold Saint, for he too reached out a tentative hand and brushed his fingers lightly across Ikki's cheek. It was a complete betrayal of his devotion to Shun, yet the Phoenix closed his eyes and leaned into Mu's caress like a cat demanding to be stroked. The hunger in Ikki was unbearably overwhelming, and Mu's heart filled with sympathy for him. The older Saint opened his arms to the boy, and Ikki gratefully fell into the embrace. Mu knew exactly what the Phoenix needed, and since Shiryu had made clear his intentions to pursue Seiya, the desire for companionship was not entirely one-sided. The sudden crush of lost love weighed heavily upon Mu as his lips and tongue found Ikki's, devouring them. The Bronze Saint responded a bit too zealously, drawing blood from Mu's soft, generous mouth. The man pulled back and tasted the small wound with the tip of his tongue.

 

“Mu-sensei! Gomenasai! I didn't mean to...” Ikki trailed off sheepishly, his cheeks a bright pink.

 

The Gold Saint laughed softly and raked a calming hand through Ikki's blue-black hair. “I'm rather flattered that you apparently find me good enough to eat!”

 

Mu pushed up the front of Ikki's indigo sweatshirt and stroked the boy's solid chest. They had similar builds, but Mu stood at least a head taller. Ikki ran his hands eagerly over the Gold Saint's back, feeling every line and curve of his well-defined muscles through the liquid fabric. He reached down to explore Mu's perfectly sculpted buttocks. The Gold Saint rolled his head back, prompting Ikki to lick and nibble his exposed throat. The noticeable arousal in Ikki was matched by Mu's growing hardness. The older Saint moved a hand to the front of Ikki's supple leather trousers and pulled the zipper down with aching slowness. As he reached inside, Mu was delighted to discover Ikki wore nothing between his bare skin and the leather. He gently fondled Ikki's rapidly stiffening member with nimble, experienced fingers. The Phoenix moaned and trembled, tightening his iron hold around the older Saint, but Mu could feel the boy's knees weaken. Ikki knelt down, and was immediately awestruck by the prominent swell beneath cool, white silk. Ikki placed his hands on Mu's powerful thighs and delicately, hesitantly bit down through the thin fabric, dampening the bulge with his saliva. Mu gasped and laced his fingers through the boy's thick, dark hair. He slowly but firmly pulled Ikki's head back and gazed into his beatific face.

 

“Are you sure?” Mu whispered as softly as the crackling flames.

 

Ikki nodded with undisguised lust and yearning, his eyes glittering like gold dust scattered across a storm-tossed sea.

 

“Do you trust me?”

 

“Yes...” the Phoenix answered breathlessly.

 

Mu leaned down and grasped the bottom edge of Ikki's shirt, pulling it over his head. The Gold Saint held his breath as he studied the boy's perfectly sculpted torso in the dancing firelight. Pure, raw desire overtook them and they both quickly stripped. Ikki stared in amazement as Mu let the fine silk slip down his body and pool at his feet. He swallowed nervously. Before him stood a full-grown man, a Gold Saint, completely naked and fully aroused. Mu was only 5 years older than Ikki and his body was still youthful, but the muscles were more rounded with maturity. Ikki almost felt like a gangly, awkward child in comparison. Mu stepped toward the Phoenix and gripped both hands around his erection. Ikki could barely breathe as the utterly foreign sensation paralyzed him. He throbbed in Mu's palms, and the older Saint knew Ikki would not be able to control himself much longer.

 

“Lay down,” Mu gently commanded.

 

Ikki complied without hesitation and flared his Cosmo again, creating a warm pocket of air, cocooning them against the cold winter ground. Mu joined Ikki, straddling above him on hands and knees. His long hair cascaded over them like a soft, lavender blanket. It brushed the length of Ikki's nude body, tickling his shoulders, ribs and hips. He felt protected beneath the silvery veil. The Bronze Saint slid his hands up Mu's arms, hooking them behind the Gold Saint's neck. He instinctively drew his knees up toward his chest in wanton invitation. Mu searched Ikki's face, finding it lush with desire. He savaged Ikki's mouth, then placed a finger between the boy's bruised lips. Ikki greedily sucked at it, thoroughly covering it with saliva. Mu quickly moved his hand to the warm, moist center of the Phoenix. Both frightened and hungry at the thought of any part of Mu entering him, Ikki squirmed anxiously beneath him. The Aries Saint gently rubbed Ikki until he felt the tender, virgin spot begin to open. Mu pushed his finger inside steadily, massaging him until the muscles were soft. Ikki's hips rocked as his insides clenched around Mu's finger like a fist. He was on the verge of climax, but Mu was not finished with him. The older Saint removed his hand quickly.

 

“No...please don't stop...” Ikki pleaded, moaning and writhing as if in pain.

 

“Soon, my sweet Phoenix...but not just yet...” Mu feathered his lips over Ikki's chest, pausing to tease his nipples erect. The boy moaned again loudly.

 

Mu grabbed Ikki's ankles and rested them against his shoulders, opening him fully. “Tell me if this hurts you, Ikki...”

 

Mu pushed the dark, rose-colored crown of his engorged member between Ikki's sweat-slicked buttocks. Slow, gentle force met with little resistance as Ikki took every inch of him. Perspiration beaded and trickled over their skin, mingling together. The sheen on their bodies gleamed yellow and orange in the fire's glow as they became one.

 

Every nerve in Ikki's body danced with electric pain. He wanted to cry out, but Ikki did not want Mu to stop. The older Saint moved in him slightly, and after another moment of agony, the pain subsided. Mu pressed Ikki's legs further down to his chest, and leaned his full weight against him. Ikki lost all reason as Mu slid in and out of him with deep, long thrusts that seemed to touch his soul.

 

Ikki stared into Mu's face with blind, lust-filled eyes. “Deeper! Oh, yes...yes, Shun! Like that!” he growled in a stranger's voice.

 

Mu gasped as he plunged harder into Ikki's velvet sheath. He felt the boy's insides tighten, a signal that he was ready to climax. Mu spat into his hand and grasped Ikki's rock hard member, pumping his fist steadily as he continued to penetrate the boy with urgent, forceful thrusts.

 

The orgasm tore Ikki apart. He clawed at the ground as his Cosmo intensified, swirling around them in a vortex of flame. He cried out as his wet heat splashed between them. In the same instant, Mu's Cosmo automatically ignited, protecting him against the fires of the Phoenix Saint. Closing his eyes in mind-numbing pleasure, he arched his body backward, completely draining himself inside the boy.

 

A light snow began to fall as they lay limply in each other's arms, Mu on top of Ikki, panting and spent. The sweat from their brows glued strands of damp hair to their faces. The small fire had burned itself out, leaving only a few black smoldering remnants. The chill of the night air would have been uncomfortable, but Ikki's Cosmo still surrounded them.

 

Mu placed his hands on either side of Ikki's head and propped himself up, smiling warmly down at the boy. He laughed softly. “That was...truly incredible!”

 

Ikki was less pleased than Mu as they held each other in the after-glow. His animal desires had been satiated, and the shame of it burned his cheeks red. Mu noticed the boy's anxiety. He would have liked to remain in Ikki's embrace for a little while longer, but there was no sense in forcing him. Mu was almost envious of Ikki. He wished there had been an older Saint willing to guide him along the gentle path of sexual pleasure during his salad days. Memories of lost innocence at the hands of brutal comrades threatened to invade the quiet oasis of the small glade.

 

“Well, it's getting really dark...and it's beginning to snow. We should probably head back to the house,” Mu suggested, stating the obvious.

 

Ikki nodded, unable to look Mu in the face. They parted and dressed quickly. Although Ikki felt an undeniable closeness to Mu since he had given himself to the older Saint, there was no true love between them. They had simply reached out for each other in frustration, sadness and need. He had been like an uncontrollable beast with the Gold Saint, and he was unsure of how to behave in the wake of their encounter. After all, Mu was a virtual stranger. At least if it had been Shun...

 

Suddenly, Ikki's eyes opened wide. He had called out Shun's name during...! He covered his face with his hands. What must Mu think of him?

 

The Gold Saint moved behind Ikki and placed reassuring hands on boy's shoulders. He leaned in and whispered, “Don't worry, Ikki-kun...whatever happened here is just between you and me. OK?”

 

Ikki felt only slightly relieved that Mu seemed to understand his embarrassment and regret. He still wasn't sure he could completely trust the man, but until the Aries Saint proved otherwise, he had no choice. He wanted to blame Mu for the entire incident, but the truth rang out in his thoughts as clearly as a church bell. Ikki had laid the first stone.

 

Mu smiled and wrapped his arms around the Bronze Saint's chest, hugging him affectionately. A wicked grin tugged at Mu's lips. He playfully stuck his warm, wet tongue deep in the boy's ear, then scampered away, laughing like a naughty schoolboy.

 

Ikki rubbed at his ear in outrage. “Ch-chotto! Iyashii! That's disgusting!” he shouted, and proceeded to chase the Gold Saint through the woods, across the courtyard and into the mansion, slamming the door behind them.

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

The mottled peaks of the Anadyr Mountains rose up before them. The helicopter had been airborne for hours and darkness was rapidly approaching. The pilot still had no clue what Newcomb expected to find in the dormant, frozen wilderness.

 

“We must return to Magadan for fuel,” Sergey warned uneasily. The tanks were dangerously low, and the Russian was more than ready to set the chopper down...and get away from his disturbing passenger.

 

Newcomb stared straight ahead. “That won't be necessary,” he answered almost gleefully.

 

An unexpected flash of silver against the stark white landscape caught Sergey's eye. He leaned forward, trying to locate the source, worried they had been detected by Soviet military ground forces.

 

“What was that?” he wondered aloud, momentarily forgetting the sickness in the pit of his stomach. He glanced over at Newcomb, whose attention had also been drawn to the fulguration. It was apparent the Australian had spotted something. His eyes darted rapidly back and forth, like a housecat watching a fly. A hungry, grotesque smile stretched his lips over hideously white, dead-man's teeth.

 

Sergey's gut continued to somersault as he pushed the helicopter low, swinging the machine into a blue-gray, snow swept valley on the chance their presence in the forbidden area had been discovered. Sergey checked the gauges again. Returning to Magadan was out of the question. He knew the town of Anadyr was nearby, lying just over the last mountain peak beyond the vale. With any luck, the fuel would hold out long enough until they reached the village. The pilot decided he no longer wanted to be a part of Newcomb's insanity. He arced the helicopter toward civilization and the safety of Anadyr.

 

Newcomb glowered at the pilot. “Does it satisfy you to know this is the last mistake you will ever make?” he hissed.

 

Sergey's skin turned to gooseflesh. Newcomb's voice had changed. It seemed to come from everywhere, drowning out the helicopter's engine. It was low and booming, yet at the same time high and whispery. The sound made the Russian tremble. It chewed at his insides like a hungry rat and burrowed deep inside his cranium, settling into the folds of his brain.

 

“What do you mean?” Sergey asked nervously, swallowing against a parched, sour throat.

 

“It has been located. Your services are no longer required, human. You have become...unnecessary.”

 

He was so relieved at the idea of escaping from Newcomb that Sergey had nearly missed it. “Human?” he repeated in his mind. Sergey heard the man clearly, but the words made no sense. Was he joking? What kind of sick game was he playing? Sweat trickled down the pilot's ribs, and his hands were slick on the control stick. His eyes flitted toward Newcomb.

 

The Australian's face glowed eerily in the darkness of the cockpit, illuminated by light of the instrument panel. Sergey began to notice odd wrinkles etched into the man's face. The skin seemed to sag grotesquely, as if it no longer fit his skull. Newcomb moved his head stiffly, staring glassy-eyed at the pilot. His mouth suddenly dropped open, stretching impossibly wide, like a snake unhinging its jaw. His body began to convulse violently, and a hideous gurgle bubbled up from deep inside Newcomb's throat. Sergey gagged as the sweet, overpowering smell of burnt sugar suddenly filled his nostrils. He placed a hand over his nose and mouth, trying to block out the repulsive odor. Newcomb's face began to distort, bulging out as something large and sallow began to push its way out of his gaping mouth cavity. It was if his head was giving birth to some horrible, pallid thing. Newcomb's left eyeball suddenly dislodged with a hollow pop and splattered against the windshield, leaving a thick trail of black jelly as it slid down and landed at his feet. Sergey's heart beat wildly, and fear screamed like a warning siren in his head, yet he could not tear his eyes away from the nightmare seated next to him. He could only stare, petrified with revulsion, as the flesh on the man's face began to split and peel away. The sound of tearing fabric drew Sergey's eyes down to Newcomb's spasmodically twisting torso. His body pulled slowly apart like wet rags, falling to the floor of the helicopter in sickening, soft clumps. The man Sergey had known as Professor Rexford Newcomb from Australia no longer existed. Overcome by nausea, the pilot searched desperately in the gloaming for a clearing in which to land.

 

Out of the corner of his eye, Sergey could see the foul, cadaverous thing as it squatted motionless in the pile of viscera that had once been Newcomb. There was surprisingly little blood, only a clear slimy substance that oozed and dripped over the creature and down the passenger's seat. With one hand on the controls, and flying by instinct alone, the pilot reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved a shiny metal cigarette lighter. He flicked it open, bathing the monster in a dancing blue light. It appeared almost human in form. Its head was smooth, nearly featureless, but quite bulbous and misshapen. The eyes were nothing more than black, empty slits. The mouth was almost comically wide, like a toad's, and filled with several rows of gleaming, jagged teeth of varying size. Every few seconds a scaly black tongue slid out between thin, colorless lips. As far as Sergey could determine, it was completely sexless. A roadmap of blue and green veins covered its entire body. Its legs were disturbingly long and spindly, as were its arms. Sergey could not fathom how the thing could have possibly fit inside Newcomb's skin. The creature's feet were enormous, the color of pale yellow wax, and resembled the hairless paws of a dog. Its hands, however, seemed unfinished. They were rubbery and formless. Instead of fingers, the digits were comprised of dozens of grisly, black tendrils that extended, contracted and writhed in constant motion.

 

A tremor of revulsion rolled through Sergey, shaking the lighter loose from his grip. It clattered to the floor noisily, immediately extinguishing the flame. He groped for the pistol he kept hidden beneath the pilot seat. As he aimed the weapon at the creature, it laughed.

 

“Well? What are you waiting for?” the horrid thing grinned.

 

Sergey turned his head, closed his eyes and squeezed off five rounds into the monster. The bullets penetrated its skin, stopped halfway in, then slowly sank into its body like gravel into quicksand. The pilot could only stare in mute horror as the thing undulated its black tongue, producing the bullets in its mouth. The spent projectiles dropped out of its gaping maw, leaving long threads of viscous saliva trailing from its lips to the floor of the chopper already littered with the gory remains of Professor Newcomb.

 

“Oh God! What is happening?” he wailed in terror.

 

The creature took no notice of the pilot's yowling. “Because of your interference, my time here has been prolonged.” It continued to drool heavily as it spoke.

 

“What...what are you?” Sergey stammered fearfully. The creature responded with an unearthly chuckle that made the Russian's insides ache and rattle. It grinned hungrily at the pilot, rasping its hideous tongue over viscid lips.

 

“Since you are about to die, I shall tell you. I am Bone-Eater!”

 

As the terrible thing spoke its name, the helicopter creaked and groaned. The engine sputtered, then stopped, and the glass on the instrument panel exploded outward, sending tiny glittering splinters throughout the cockpit. Sergey grabbed the sides of his head in agony as blood spilled from his nose, ears and mouth. He regained his senses quickly as he realized the machine was dropping swiftly earthward. If only their altitude had been higher, Sergey could land the chopper safely as long as the rotors continued to turn, but they were too low. Crashing was inescapable. In desperation, he persisted at the controls while the Bone-Eater pushed open the passenger's side door and leaped out of the plummeting helicopter.

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

Ikki scrubbed at his skin until it was bright red and nearly raw, but he could not wash away Mu's haunting embrace. Though the water was already scalding, he reached up and gripped the metal pipe that protruded from the tiled wall just behind the showerhead. He concentrated Cosmo into his hand, super heating the water as it entered the pipe. Any normal person's skin would have boiled and blistered under the lava-hot shower, but to Ikki it merely felt like a warm, comfortable rain sluicing over him. As his thoughts wandered to the Aries Saint, his emotions became a confusing tangle. There was no question that his heart belonged to Shun, and guilt weighed heavily upon the Phoenix for his betrayal of the boy. Ikki felt shame and disgust at his own weakness, but he could not summon anger toward the man who had taken his virginity. He knew Mu had meant him no harm. The Bronze Saint could certainly never accuse him of using force during the encounter. In fact, Ikki had been a more than willing participant. He simply could not understand how he could have strayed so easily with the Gold Saint. Worry gnawed at Ikki's gut. He had no idea how he would be able to face Mu or Shun again, but there was one thing of which he was certain. Ikki would everything within his power to keep Shun from finding out what he had done with Mu.

 

The bathroom had filled with stifling clouds of steam from the punishing shower. Ikki turned off the water and stepped out of the stall. A small noise like the sound of a cricket swimming across a shallow pond surprised him as he reached for the thick, white towel that hung on the shower door. As the thin mist quickly dissipated, he noticed a figure standing at the opposite end of the bathroom, facing the wall. Ikki recognized the silhouette instantly.

 

“Shun!”

 

“Sorry, nii-san! I really had to pee and I just couldn't hold it any longer! I knocked but I guess you couldn't hear over the noise of the shower.” The boy zipped up his jeans, flushed the toilet and moved to the sink to wash his hands. He glanced over his shoulder at Ikki who stood on the fluffy white bathmat, looking quite embarrassed and extremely handsome with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. Shining beads of water dripped from his dark locks and slid down his body in glistening trails. Although Shun was quite troubled by an unusual disturbance in Hyoga's Cosmo, he smiled, trying to disguise his worry. It was disquieting, but did not seem to require any emergency action...for the time being. He was sure Ikki could feel it as well, and he wanted to broach the subject, but the friction between Hyoga and his brother was still a bit too close to the surface. These quiet moments of closeness with Ikki were like rare, priceless gems to Shun. He treasured them, more than he could say, and voicing his concerns for Hyoga would have indeed spoiled the mood.

 

“It's like an oven in here!” he joked as he dried his hands on a small towel hanging on a nearby rack. “How can you stand it?”

 

Ikki rolled his eyes and laughed with Shun, hoping his brother would not detect his anxiety. “So did you have a nice nap?”

 

“Funny you should mention that. I had an odd dream about you!”

 

“Oh? What was so odd about it?” Ikki asked with sincere interest. He was glad to have another topic occupying his mind instead of the Aries Saint.

 

“Well, I dreamed you were walking in a beautiful forest...”

 

Ikki's heart skipped a beat. He swallowed hard and waited for Shun to continue.

 

“Then you met someone. It was a man, but I couldn't see who it was. For some reason, you guys started fighting. It was a very exciting battle!”

 

“Um...so who won?”

 

Shun tried to stifle a giggle. “The other guy! Now hurry and get dressed. Shiryu and Mu are sparring together in the gym, and we have to go watch!”

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

The Aries Saint's long, thick braid whipped out like a mauve serpent's tail as he spun around swiftly. His back was turned to the Dragon for a split second, but it was all the time Shiryu needed to discreetly slip two shuriken out from under his black wristbands. Mu had no chance to react as the Bronze Saint flicked the small, deadly weapons lightning fast at his unprotected head. A tiny red gash appeared on Mu's right earlobe as the shuriken slammed into the wall behind him, sending wood splinters into the air on impact. Mu reached up and touched the cut, feeling the proof of blood. He moved to the wall and pulled out one of the imbedded throwing stars. He turned it over in his hand, studying the round, dragon's claw shaped projectile. The Aries Saint touched his thumb to one of the razor-sharp points, pricking his skin in the process. He placed the tip of his thumb between his lips and licked the droplet of crimson away. Mu looked across the gymnasium at Shiryu who waited in fighting stance, panting lightly.

 

“I never saw it coming!” Mu announced with a mix of admiration and uncertainty. They had been practicing several different fighting styles together for nearly two hours, but the use of the shuriken had been the first overtly threatening move Shiryu had made toward Mu.

 

The Dragon slid forward a step, squinting slightly, and noticed the cut on Mu's perfect seashell ear. The raven-haired boy swallowed nervously as immediate regret filled his heart.

 

“Nice aim too. An inch or two lower and you would have opened my jugular.” Mu paused, tilting his head inquisitively. “Is there anything wrong?”

 

Shiryu had been on edge ever since Seiya had left the mansion with such finality, and he was having difficulty maintaining a link with Hyoga's Cosmo. It faded in and out like a weak radio signal. He could not detect any imminent danger with the Russian boy, but Shiryu was nevertheless concerned. The Gold Saint might have excused Dragon's rash behavior if he explained that his unwarranted attack was due to the stress he was feeling over Seiya and Hyoga, which was quite true, but he could not explain why his frustration was directed at Mu. Shiryu could never admit that he was also seething with intense jealousy. He had felt Ikki and Mu burn their Cosmo together in the woods, and it hurt the Dragon Saint deeply. Although he wished to remain faithful to his love for Seiya, he also did not want Mu to be with anyone else. Shame colored his cheeks as he fixed his eyes on the floor, unable to meet the Aries Saint's concerned gaze.

 

Almost nonchalantly, Mu threw the shuriken back at Shiryu. It struck the wood floor with a solid thump, landing at perfect ninety-degree angle directly between the Bronze Saint's feet. Mu was experiencing some of the same agitation as the Dragon. He too was worried about the Cygnus Saint, but there was something even more dark and ominous growing at the back of Mu's mind. It was like a long forgotten nightmare that suddenly found its way to the front of his thoughts. He could not pinpoint the threat, but it disturbed him greatly.

 

“I don't like games, Shiryu,” he warned. “If you have something on your mind, I'd appreciate a little honesty instead of this childish display.”

 

Shiryu opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by the noisy arrival of Ikki and Shun. The Andromeda Saint burst through the gymnasium door like a whirlwind, chattering loudly while stuffing bits of banana and cake into his mouth. Ikki trailed close behind, silently and patiently waiting for his hyperactive brother to wind down. The older boy was not ready to see Mu so soon after their wanton tryst, but he also did not want to risk any unnecessary questions from his younger brother. Shun suddenly stopped as he noticed the two combatants standing at either end of the long workout room, staring solemnly at each other.

 

“K'so! It looks like we missed all the action! I really wanted to see them exchange some moves,” the obviously disheartened boy remarked.

 

Mu smiled broadly at them. “Hello, fellows! Sorry to disappoint you, but I think Shiryu and I are finished...for now.” He glanced over at the Dragon who stood in sullen, guilty silence. “Right, Shiryu?”

 

The Bronze Saint nodded once and bowed humbly at the group.

 

“Come on, kids. Let's go get something cool to drink.” Mu steered Ikki and Shun back to the doorway. “I believe the Dragon Saint needs to be alone for awhile. He has some thinking to do.”

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

Hyoga stared in anger and confusion at the drenched woman standing near the glacier's edge. There was no denying it. She was indeed an exact double for his beloved mama. He scrambled to his feet, brushing off bits of snow from the back of his pants.

 

“I don't know who or what you are, but you are not my mother!” he shouted. “Now leave this place immediately, or suffer the consequences!” He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. His body began to shimmer with a ghostly blue-white aura as the Cygnus Cloth appeared and wrapped itself around the Bronze Saint in a brilliant metallic shell. Hyoga stood defensively, ready to battle the imposter.

 

The woman seemed unperturbed. She displayed a small, curious smile. “How festive!” she remarked sarcastically. “Don't you feel a little silly dressed that way?”

 

Hyoga ignored her jibes, but noted that she spoke Russian. “Who are you, and what do you want? Where is my mother's body?” he demanded furiously.

 

She sighed in exasperation and gazed up at the darkening sky. “I should have known this would require a bit more finesse...” the woman muttered to herself. She shook her head vigorously, and in a sparkling cascade of dewdrop light, transformed from a dripping wet apparition into a stunning vision of beauty. Instantly dried, her bright blond hair reshaped itself into an upswept coif. Dozens of soft ringlets crowned her head, embellished with chains of delicate golden beads. Her dress had also changed, becoming a long white tunic that draped down to her bare feet. A solid gold clasp in the shape of a stylized sun held the gown securely at her left shoulder. Bedecked in glistening gems and gold jewelry from head to toe, the woman with the face of Hyoga's mother truly looked like a Greek goddess.

 

The Bronze Saint remained unimpressed. “I've seen better tricks at carnival sideshows!” he snarled. Hyoga was growing impatient, and it was time for the charade to end. Yet...there was something about her voice, and her eyes. “Could she really be...?” No, such a fantasy was unthinkable.

 

“Now, vyedma, who are you? I will not ask again!”

 

She breathed out a warm, white puff of air. “You know who I am, Cygnus. My name is Natassia...and I am your mother!” She thought for a moment. “Perhaps this will convince you that I'm telling the truth...” She raised her hand in a graceful gesture, as if she were holding an invisible goblet. In a dazzling shower of sparks, a golden cithara appeared in her grasp. She held the small instrument in her left arm and began to lightly pluck the strings.

 

Hyoga cocked his head to one side, straining to hear the soft music as it drifted across the ice. The song was so familiar...

 

Then, he remembered. It was from Puccini's Madama Butterfly. He struggled to recall the name of the tune. Of course, the Humming Chorus! How could he have forgotten? Hyoga had heard the melody hundreds of times when he was a small child, lying half asleep in his bed late at night. There was the faintest echo of something dark and disturbing about it, but Hyoga was more concerned about one clear fact that broke through his uncertainty like the eye of a hurricane. Since he had never told anyone about the memory, there was only one person who could have known about the song...

 

“Mama?” he whispered, almost afraid to say it aloud. Hyoga suddenly bolted across the ice toward Natassia, throwing his arms around her. “Mama!” His voice was muffled as he buried his face in her warm breast. Tears of joy brimmed in his robin's egg blue eyes and spilled down his winter blushed cheeks. Years of sorrow and loneliness melted away with each wracking sob. Natassia stood granite still. Hyoga looked up into her face, smiling. Completely overwhelmed and blinded by emotion, he had failed to notice the cool, indifferent expression in her eyes...or that his mother had not returned his embrace. Hyoga sniffled and wiped at his tears with the back of his hand as he tried to compose himself. “Mama, I've missed you so much! I have so many questions...so many things to tell you! Please, how this is possible? You...” He stopped, unable to utter the word.

 

“Died? Well, that's true.” She broke out of his desperate hold and moved away from him, tossing aside the solid gold cithara without a thought. It clattered noisily against the ice as it landed some distance away. She studied the boy with detached amusement. “It seems the Foundation has amazing techniques of persuasion. You've created a wonderful fantasy about me, child.”

 

Confusion played over Hyoga's face as his heart and mind struggled to comprehend the cryptic remark. “I...I don't understand!”

 

“Hyoga, I've always despised you. Surely you remember?”

 

Natassia's words struck him like a physical blow. The Cygnus Saint shook his head slowly, his brow furrowed. What was she talking about? His memories were full of warm and loving visions of his mother. Hyoga could not place a number on the times he had snuggled in her lap as she read fairytales to him in front of a comforting fire. But the song Natassia had played continued to trouble him. It seemed to raise alarms within him instead of easing his doubts. Hyoga actually felt as though he hated it for some reason, and that it had been a source of misery to him long ago. Then, like a switch being turned on, a torrent of long buried images flooded his mind. Hyoga had indeed heard the Humming Chorus through the thin walls of their home in Anadyr...as his mother entertained her many lovers night after night. Sudden ghost feelings of pain and torture ripped through his soul. He had suffered terribly at the hands of his own mother and her seemingly endless stream of male companions. Hyoga wrapped his arms around himself protectively as the vivid, unsavory recollections crept back into his consciousness, running through his mind like a horror film. The initial shock of it felt as though Seiya had pummeled him full-force with Pegasus Ryu Sei Ken, but as hard as he tried, Hyoga could not force away the memories of daily beatings and sexual abuse that had been administered to him by a few of his mother's more predatory boyfriends. Hyoga's skin began to burn in psychosomatic reaction to images of lit cigarettes being extinguished against his young flesh. He could not hide from the truth any longer. His childhood with Natassia had been unimaginably brutal, and more frightening that any hardships he had experienced at the Graude Foundation.

 

“Why?” he managed in a small voice.

 

She turned her back to the boy, and stared out at the black sea. “I was well on my way to a very lucrative modeling career when I unfortunately found out I was pregnant...with you. My family was devoutly Catholic, so abortion was out of the question. I was forced to give up my dreams. My life was over. I was chained to you forever...and I resented you for it. When you were 4 years old, the Graude Foundation contacted me. They wanted you, and since I had no use for a clinging brat, we struck a bargain. It was the perfect opportunity to rid myself of you once and for all. However, there was one condition. I personally had to escort you to Tokyo. It seemed a small price to pay to get my life back, but apparently the Foundation had other ideas. I suppose it's irrelevant at this point. Perhaps they did not want to pay me after all, or they were just trying to eliminate any witnesses. In any case, the ship did not sink by accident.”

 

Revulsion contorted Hyoga's face, but Natassia was weary of his naivety. “Oh, come now! You don't actually believe the recruitment of Saints is left up to chance? How ridiculous! The selection of candidates and the places assigned for training has always been a well-orchestrated process. The methods may seem a bit extreme, but it's been done that way for centuries. You were all carefully chosen, Hyoga. True Saints are born, not made. In other words, the children of the Graude Foundation were the offspring of Saints...including you.”

 

Realization burned in Hyoga's mind like poison. “My father wasn't...Mitsumasa Kido?”

 

Natassia tossed her head back and laughed. It was a harsh and bitter sound. “You must be joking! Look at me! Do you seriously think I would have sex with such a disgusting man? He was nothing more than an easily manipulated old fool who was led to believe he had spawned a hundred heirs. The truth is, Kido had no children of his own.”

 

“Then who was my father?”

 

Natassia was growing bored. She adjusted the gold bangles on her wrists. “Oh, what does it matter?” she asked with obvious disinterest. “Why can't you just be satisfied with the knowledge that your veins are free of Kido blood?”

 

“I have to know!”

 

“If you insist,” she sighed, glancing at him sideways through long, thick lashes. “You actually knew him quite well.”

 

“What?” he whispered.

 

“You'll be pleased to know that your father was the Crystal Saint.”

 

His eyes grew wide. “You...you're lying!” he stammered in disbelief. Hyoga couldn't breathe. He knelt onto the ice and closed his eyes. “This can't be...” he moaned.

 

The elegant woman watched him for a moment, then moved gracefully toward him. She sat down next to the boy, heedless of his torment. Natassia seemed to be enjoying herself, as if she were relaxing on a sunny beach instead of perched at the edge of a glacier in near darkness. “Of course, then I knew him as Nicolai. I can't seem to recall his last name though. How odd! Anyway, it's a shame you killed him. He was a wonderful lover!”

 

Sudden anger flared inside Hyoga. He leaped to his feet and clamped his hands over his ears, trying to block out her voice. “Shut up! Shut up!” Then, like a doomed man on the gallows awaiting execution, one morbid thought pulled the Bronze Saint's world out from under him. The frozen carcass at the bottom of the sea he had mourned over year after year had been more of a mother to him than the shallow, cold-hearted Natassia could have ever been in real life. It was the Crystal Saint who had given him the picture perfect, false memories of his mama. In truth, the only love he had received when he was a child had come from his master. Hyoga was wracked by a tumult of contradicting emotions. He lowered his hands and closed his eyes. “Did he...my father...know who I was? Did he know I was his son?” he asked dejectedly, but with a glimmer of hope.

 

“Doubtful...but I suppose anything is possible. He may have suspected eventually.” She crossed her arms and studied his forlorn expression. “You know, I really thought you'd have a better sense of humor about this entire situation. It appears you take after your father more than I realized...he was a bit too serious for my taste as well.”

 

Hyoga loathed her for mocking the memory of his beloved sensei. He glared at her, hatred seething in his heart.

 

Natassia looked up at him. “So you committed patricide...you're not the only Bronze Saint with dirty hands.”

 

“What's that supposed to mean?”

 

“I know many secrets about those you refer to as your brothers...and Saori Athena.”

 

“Tell me what you know!”

 

She rose to her feet. “I only have time to divulge one juicy tidbit, then I really must go. The Andromeda Saint...Shun, is it?”

 

Hyoga nodded. Trepidation churned in his belly.

 

“There was a reason why Shun was originally selected to receive his training on Death Queen Island. A girl named Esmeralda lived there. She was his twin sister. If Ikki hadn't interfered, it certainly would have been wonderful incentive for the boy to win the Phoenix Cloth, don't you think?”

 

Hyoga stood in stunned silence, mouth agape. Shun was meant to be the Phoenix Saint?

 

“It's too bad the little wench was killed by her own father. He was actually quite fond of her. Guilty was not quite the cold-hearted monster many of you believed. He must have felt it was rather fitting to be executed by Ikki.”

 

“But...if Shun is Esmeralda's twin brother...then that means Ikki...” Hyoga could not continue. The truth of Shun and Ikki's past was as painful to the Cygnus Saint as his own.

 

“It would seem you and the Phoenix Saint Ikki have quite a bit in common,” Natassia smirked. “Besides your feelings for the boy, of course!”

 

The woman had not been lying. She did know much about them. “Damn you! Why are you doing this?”

 

She breathed in deeply, closing her eyes momentarily. “It's in the air, child! It's all around us! Can't you sense it? Your world of pretty, candy-coated dreams is over. It's time to open your eyes! A new era is approaching! ”

 

“That's no answer!” Hyoga shouted, almost pleading.

 

Natassia gazed up at the rapidly brightening stars. “I do not have time to stand here and gossip with you about inconsequential matters.”

 

“You've made it quite clear how you feel about me. I know you don't care, but this is my life!” Hyoga lamented. “Why did you come back at all? Why couldn't you have just let me be?”

 

“Well, I really do enjoy a good laugh!”

 

Hyoga was appalled by the notion that the woman actually found his misery somehow amusing. “How can you say such a thing?” he demanded.

 

“You have to admit it is rather funny that you believed I was dead for so many years! It was all I could do to keep a straight face while I laid in that ship, watching you grieve for me !” She giggled callously. “Now I really mustn't tarry here any longer. Do-svidaniye!” A yellow-white aura shimmered around her body, lifting her from the ice as her solid form began to fade.

 

“Wait! You can't leave now!” Hyoga ran toward Natassia, reaching out to grab her, but his hand passed through her as if she were nothing more than a spectral mist.

 

Her voice was faint and hollow as she slowly floated upward and disappeared from view. “I have nothing more to give you, Cygnus. My master calls me...”

 

“Come back!” he cried out in desperation, but his mother had left him...again. The only sound that met his ears was the crack of distant ice floes breaking across the dark, glacial sea. The biting, polar air enveloped him and seeped into his bones, gripping his heart like the hands of an unseen enemy. Hyoga turned his gaze heavenward and briefly searched for a hopeful answer in the cosmic lights, then berated himself for even considering such nonsense. There was nothing in heaven that could help him. The Russian boy shuffled forward blindly, tumbling head first into a thick, solid snowdrift. He lay motionless, uncaring and unfeeling. He could not bear to think of his mama anymore. She was now completely gone from his heart and soul. All that remained was a pale shadow of her somewhere deep inside, and the love that had once given him so much strength had vanished...and he had no desire to resurrect it. The thought of simply returning to the insular world of the Bronze Saints disturbed Hyoga. He could never reveal the secret of their bloodline to his brothers, but didn't they deserve to know? Conflict tore at him like knives into his flesh. Hyoga's conscience had already been bathed in the blood of patricide, and it was a horror he could never inflict on any of the Bronze Saints...especially Shun and Ikki. The Cygnus simply could not convince himself the human race was worth causing so much pain to his brothers...and he could never face them again with the secret of their past weighing against him. The young Russian couldn't shake the gut-wrenching feeling that he had betrayed many others in his selfish quest for victory. The Crystal Saint, whom Hyoga would have gladly called father, had died by the Cygnus Saint's hands. Even his boyhood friend Isaac, who long ago saved Hyoga's life near the site of Natassia's false underwater grave, had eventually succumbed to his ceaseless desire for triumph. After Poseidon's destruction, Hyoga retrieved Kraken Isaac's body and had it flown to the boy's homeland of Finland for burial. Innocent young Jakob suddenly invaded his thoughts. What had become of the child and the other inhabitants of Anadyr? Whatever their fate, Hyoga suspected it must somehow be connected to the Bronze Saints...and Athena. Since it was inevitable they would be called upon to once again save the world, the Cygnus wondered how many more friends, or fathers, would have to die as he and his brothers marched along their righteous path to glory. The faces of those he had vanquished and the gods he had helped defeat haunted him. The Bronze Saints had all been trained to be cold-blooded killers, which made them no better than their so-called enemies. Who were they to decide what was best for mankind?

 

A slow, sullen anger crept through Hyoga. He felt like a blind man who had suddenly regained his sight only to find his entire world had been a lie. The deceit that had been perpetrated against him was unconscionable. It had started at his birth with Natassia, then his training with the Graude Foundation, and finally his relationship with Shun. Everything and everyone Hyoga had known and trusted had turned against him. It was then he noticed the nexus with his brothers had somehow been severed. He was so accustomed to the ever-present sensation that its absence was like a missing limb. Hyoga felt terribly weak, incredibly cold, and for the first time in his short life, utterly alone. He was tired of being a Saint...tired of fighting...and tired of his cursed, miserable life. How peaceful it would be to simply lie down in the soft snow bank and wait for the blackness and comfort of eternal sleep. The wind buffeted over him, as if checking his body for signs of life. Hyoga stirred, pushing his shoulders up from the snow. The Cygnus Cloth, only moments ago a protector that he had worn like a second skin, now weighed him down like a lead coffin. He pried off the heavy swan-shaped headpiece and let it drop onto the frozen ground. It landed on the hard, white earth with a muted thud. He paused for a moment, then piece-by-piece peeled off the ice-cold armor from his chest, arms and legs. He scanned the metal carcass strewn across the snow. It gleamed luminously in the darkness, but without his Cosmo to fuel it, the shining Cloth began to slowly fade from sight. He watched numbly as it disappeared, returning to its home and resting place, the Cygnus Box. A sudden sadness ached in chest and pooled in his eyes.

 

“Go on!” he thought angrily. “Just hurry and go!” He felt like shouting, but he could not find his voice. Instead, he wrapped his arms around his shivering chest and closed his eyes. A few tears slid down his icy cheeks, immediately freezing to his skin. He nearly laughed in bitter realization. Hyoga was completely unprotected, and would soon perish in the unforgiving Siberian elements. He had died as a Saint more than once, but there would be no returning this time...and no angel-eyed boy to pull him back from death's door.

 

“Perhaps that would be best,” he thought.

 

His hands and feet had already lost all feeling, and soon his arms and legs would follow. Something tickled lightly against his skin. He reached up with some effort and groped for the ever-present crucifix that hung from his neck. He yanked hard on the rosary, breaking the chain and flinging it as far away as he could manage. Sorrow overwhelmed Hyoga and he opened his mouth, letting the rage, sadness and frustration pour out of him in a long aching howl. It lifted and carried up on the dancing winds, piercing the bitter cold air and echoing for miles throughout the peaks and valleys. From far and near, the call of native timber wolves answered Hyoga. Their ethereal, mournful howls sang to him, prompted by his anguished cry. He settled back once again into the comforting cold embrace of the yielding white earth. Yes, this is where he wanted to stay, where his life as a Saint had begun and where it would now end.

 

“Let the wolves lick my bones clean.” He felt an odd gladness at the idea of giving something back to this place, of giving his body to sustain the creatures of the land he had grown to love. He almost smiled at the thought of some small rodents or birds perhaps someday finding shelter in his empty skull. Maybe his life would not be such a waste after all. He remained still, his skin growing rapidly colder, iciness seeping deep into his muscles. His breathing was becoming painful and he wondered how much longer he would remain conscious. Then he heard it. Shhhh, shhhh, shhhh. It was the sound of his own breath turning into ice crystals as it met the freezing air. In Siberia, it was known as the whisper of stars, and to hear it meant the end was near. His thoughts began to blur, catapulting the past and present into a whirlwind of hallucinations. The faces of his brothers, the battles won and lost spun in a frenzied kaleidoscope. Gradually, the images became more and more difficult to focus on. A myriad grayness began to settle in, replacing the jumble of memories. The gray darkened to black. He could no longer feel if he was taking air into his aching lungs. Hyoga's mind and body were almost completely numb. The blackness that had enveloped his senses began to break away. Hyoga could only sense the beating of his heart as it slowed and struggled to beat one last time. A tiny shard of Cosmo protested, trying to flare once again, but it too faded, draining out of him like the dwindling flame of a candle.

 

Hyoga's final thoughts were of his brothers and Shun's brilliant blue eyes full of tears. Snatches of red, green, pink and gold floated upward, along with bits of his consciousness. It was beautiful, peaceful. He had become stardust.

 

Delicate white flakes drifted down from the dark sky, blanketing the still, lifeless body. Even the wind had ceased its playful tugging, as if it too realized the boy was gone.

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

Sergey was roused by sudden, chilling wolf song that seemed to come from everywhere, and the soft sound of ice crystals pelting against twisted metal. He did not know how long he had been unconscious. The sweet, acrid smell of leaking fuel invaded his nostrils, and the taste of copper filled his mouth as he mentally assessed his injuries. A deep gash on the side of his head spilled a crimson mask over his face, and his left shoulder felt as though it had been torn from its socket. As he attempted to disentangle his limbs from the helicopter wreckage, sudden searing pain ripped through him. He gritted his teeth and cursed, averting his eyes from the grisly, jagged bone that jutted through the bloody tear in his pants. Sergey unhooked his worn leather belt and secured a makeshift tourniquet above his knee. He was in desperate need of medical attention, but at least he was alive. The Soviet military that had been monitoring the area for the past several months would have no doubt detected the crash, but he could not pin his hopes on immediate rescue. In the near-pitch darkness, he blindly rummaged with shaking fingers through the small knot of debris. Although there was precious little to salvage from the mangled craft, Newcomb's thick coat had miraculously escaped complete destruction. Several large tears had separated many of the seams, and it was covered with frozen bits of the dead man's flesh and entrails, but Sergey pulled the garment onto his shivering frame without hesitation, pushing the wool-trimmed hood up over his head. He dug into the side pockets, found a pair of warm ski gloves, and yanked them onto his numbed hands. Then, holding his breath, he carefully extricated himself from the demolished chopper. Already exhausted, Sergey lay on his back near the wreck, sucking in huge gulps of achingly cold air. He optimistically studied the serene constellations in the black, clarion sky. The pilot could easily navigate his way through the brutal territory if he kept his bearings and his wits about him. Much to his surprise, he had apparently flown farther east than he realized. He had managed to clear the mountain range, which lay to the west. If he followed a steady course southward, he just might find Anadyr by sunup. The extreme cold had slowed his blood loss and numbed the excruciating pain somewhat, but Sergey knew he would quickly die if he did not keep moving. His instinct to survive took over, and by sheer will, he began dragging his battered body and shattered leg across the bleak, icy terrain.

 

His progress was agonizingly slow. A flurry of incomprehensible thoughts assaulted his sanity as he paused several yards away from the crash site to survey the frightful remains of his helicopter one last time. The carcass of the machine had collapsed upon impact, resembling the crushed remnants of a charcoal-colored eggshell. The long, dark rotor blades had snapped and scattered like dried twigs across the icy landscape. Diaphanous wisps of steam drifted upward from the still scalding engine, but quickly dissipated in the arctic breeze. Yes, he had been very lucky indeed. As he continued his sluggish crawl along a southern path, Sergey began to wonder about the creature, despite his desperate efforts to turn the hellish thoughts away. Perhaps the monstrous thing had been the real reason for the government's clandestine interest in the area. He trembled as the fresh image of Professor Newcomb's gruesome transformation replayed in his mind. He prayed the hideous demon had met its demise after leaping from the cockpit of the helicopter…but somehow, Sergey knew the Bone-Eater had survived.

 

It seemed he had been traveling for hours, but the pilot tried to remain focused on the rhythmic crunching of his hands plunging into the solid packed snow...until another noise startled him. A low, rumbling thunder resonated across the darkened wasteland. The Russian immediately recognized it as the sound of a glacier breaking apart and falling into the sea. Sergey's heart sank as he realized he had been moving east instead of south. He was near the Gulf of Anadyr, but how far away the town lay, he could not tell. At least by following the gulf's edge, he would certainly not miss Anadyr. As he silently cursed and changed direction, his hand brushed against something solid that was neither snow nor ice. Sergey squinted in the darkness, gasping in surprise as the faint outline of a human form and a shock of bright yellow hair appeared beneath a thin layer of fresh-fallen snow. He struggled to turn the body over, noting that the limbs were still pliable, which meant whoever it was could not have been dead for very long. He gently smoothed away the ice crystals that clung to the face. The pilot was immediately overcome by an odd sadness, for even in the absence of light, he could clearly see it was beautiful young teenaged boy. Who was the lad and why had he been left to die unprotected and alone in the cruel Siberian wasteland? Sergey shook his head, knowing that he could not take the body with him.

 

“Do not worry,” he silently spoke to the dead boy. “When I find help, I will let them know you are here…if I make it that far.”

 

He had moved only a few feet from the body when pure, instant fear slammed adrenaline into his chest with jackhammer force. His breathing was ragged and heavy, but he could still hear the approach of the hideous creature. It leaped over the craggy, snow-covered slopes with ease, effortlessly covering several yards with each bounce. Sergey whimpered, his eyes wide with panic. Desperate to escape, he clawed at the frozen earth, flailing uselessly like a fish on dry land. The Bone-Eater landed with ground shaking force in front of him, blocking his way. It was even more frightening in the cold blackness of the night. The terrified Russian rolled onto his side, trying to push away from the thing, but it reached out with black, oily tentacles and grabbed his wounded leg, pulling him forward. Sergey howled in agony as broken bones scraped and splintered.

 

“Stop! Please! What do you want with me?” he screamed, pleading to the creature.

 

Clear, syrupy effusion dripped from its gaping, black maw as it spoke. “What do you think I want, human?”

 

Sergey covered his face with trembling hands as the relentless pain rolled through him. Then, without warning, the Bone-Eater inexplicably released its grip. The pilot felt certain he had completely lost his mind as he heard above the cutting winds a delicate voice address the salivating monstrosity.

 

“Bone-Eater!”

 

It was a warning, and the thing flinched as it retreated from the injured man. Though his vision was failing, Sergey stared awestruck at the otherworldly being that stood between him and the unearthly beast. A figure had appeared from nowhere…a petite, shining female whose entire body seemed to be enveloped in a silver membrane. Even her eyes had an argent coating.

 

 

“So we finally meet!” the creature answered, licking its lips and displaying a cadaverous grin. “You know why we've come, don't you?”

 

The radiant girl shrugged dismissively and brushed back a stray lock of quicksilver hair. “You've had enough fun for one day, and your time here is nearly over...unless you can find another skin...” she responded quietly. Through his delirium, Sergey noted that she spoke English, and in the iridescent glow of the girl's body, he could see that the Bone-Eater's flesh had begun to crack and peel away like the paint on a weathered old house. It looked down at its own repulsive form and yelped, panic-stricken. The creature once again turned its hungry, frantic, obsidian eyes toward the distraught pilot.

 

“No, you'll not have this one,” the girl said firmly, standing her ground.

 

It whined loudly and pawed at the ice beneath its feet in anger and frustration then bounded away like a frightened monkey, in search of another victim.

 

The small female bent and picked up the pilot as easily as a rag doll. Sergey knew he must have been dreaming as he tried to see her clearly, but she remained an incandescent blur. His voice was nearly gone, and the words that tumbled out were choked and raspy.

 

“You…are…military?” he croaked in Russian.

 

She seemed to understand, but said nothing.

 

“Are…you…an…angel?”

 

She laughed softly and shook her head.

 

“Please…the boy…” He tried to point in the direction of the body he had found half-buried in the snow. The fulgent maiden tilted her head slightly, peering into the darkness. She carried Sergey to the spot where the dead boy lay, and placed the man gently on the ground. She knelt down beside the body and placed a graceful hand against the boy's cheek. The pilot was almost certain he had seen a glimmer of recognition in her enormous, auroral eyes. She then reached over and touched Sergey's shoulder. He gratefully lost consciousness as all three were consumed in a blinding whirlpool of white light.

 

***************************************************************** *******

 

Continued in Chapter Three: Chiburi