The Eighth Deadly Sin

Ippin was an avid reader. This was a bad thing when she was supposed to be cleaning her room, practicing her Jedi things, or guarding the time gate but when she needed information it was a good thing. And right now she needed information. Lots of it.

“Stupid book,” she growled, shoving it back on the shelf. The Time Senshi was doing her best to find information on the Sailor Sith. She had an idea of how to stop them... but she had to have information!

Ippin balled her hands into fists and propped them on her hips, glaring at the books. They seemed to shrink under harsh gaze.

It wasn’t the best time for Kami to walk up.

“Give me that!” Ippin yelled at him, snatching the book from his hands.

Despite being a formidable warrior and an all-around brave man, Kami let her have the book. It was an old one that usually lived between Thirteen Ways to Live and Of Galactic Princesses called Sith Lore and Legend. Ippin knew it would have her answers. She had a good feeling about it... and besides, she’d already looked in all the other books.

Settling down to read, Ippin put one hand under her chin, giving her a thoughtful look. Ready or not... she grinned.

Nom Da’Gara was not a lady. Even a casual passerby would have known that... and probably passed by on the other side of the street. She looked especially dangerous with the end of a BlasTec rifle protruding from the leather jacket she wore.

When the woman walked into the supposed cantina, she immediately wanted to walk right back out. Controlling herself, Nom stepped gingerly through the spit-polished floor and leaned on the unscarred bar. She wondered how long it would stay that way.

“Where you headed, stranger?”

Nom flipped a warrior braid over her shoulder and stared at the man who had spoken to her. Being a member of one of the most notorious bands of smugglers had taught her a stare that came in handy on such occasions. One that would melt titanium and freeze suns.

The man backed off slowly.

A light round of applause made Nom turn in the other direction. She followed the glove-clad hands to a familiar braid-rimmed face. “Buy you one?” Priire asked.

Nom gave her a short nod, communicating more than just acceptance of Priire’s spoken offer. A mischievous grin split Priire’s face as she motioned for another drink. “I am not sure I like this place,” Nom muttered.

“I know,” Priire groaned. “It’s...”

“Clean.” Nom’s disgust launched itself in that word. “I believe that it has never even had a drink spilled on the floor.

Priire reached out her free hand and took Nom’s drink. “Like this?” she asked pleasantly.

Anger filled Nom’s eyes. She grabbed Priire by her shirt and lifted her off the floor. “You impudent brat. You have gotten this drink on my shoes.”

“And I’ll get more on it!” Priire yelled, tearing herself free. She “accidentally” tripped a waiter into Nom’s path. Nom grabbed the server’s tray and expertly spun it, missing Priire, but clobbering someone who was big, hairy, dangerous, and now had a headache.

“Gee, Nom. Couldn’t you have hit the little one?” Priire muttered, pulling a knife out of a hidden recess in her jacket.

The Dathomirian warrior frowned. “No.”

There was little time to say anything else, because — as Priire put it — Mr. Big Hairy And Ugly arrived. He looked for a moment as if he was going to inquire who threw the plate. Both girls were much smaller than he was, so he had little problem picking them both up and preparing to dash their heads together.

Of course, the hairy alien hadn’t made any friends by knocking tables over as he thundered through the bar.

One of those such “friends” tackled the creature just as he began to throw Nom and Priire around. The two girls fell to the floor, Nom landing under Priire. The knife that had been in Priire’s hand was now firmly lodged in the dartboard. “Bulls eye!”

“Lose some weight, Priire.”

“Sorry Nom,” she said sweetly. After she helped Nom up, Priire let a flying kick connect with a sickening crunch to the creature’s nose. “Ooo, pastries.” Priire ducked a left hook to pick up one of the desserts. “Want one, Nom?”

Had Nom been one to laugh, she would have at least smiled at the incongruities Priire presented. Since she did not laugh or smile, the warrior merely took a pastry and ate it.

“Well. That was nicer than usual.”

Nom brushed dust off of her black leather jacket. “Yes. Usually they do not say please when they are kick you in the rear.”

Priire laughed. “We’ve got to do this more often.”

“Go to cantinas together or get kicked out of them?”

“Both!” Priire pointed to a sign. “Hey, there’s a coffee shop.”

“That is scraping the bottom of the barrel, Priire.”

The blonde rolled her eyes. “No, I don’t mean let’s go destroy it, I mean let’s get some coffee.” She paused, scrunching her face up. “I hope they’ll be able to replace that chair. I didn’t think metal bent like that...”

A raised eyebrow was all the reaction the blonde got in response. “When sufficient force is supplied it does. I hope the being will not come after us.”

Priire shrugged. “You hit him hard. He’ll be out for a few days.” She pushed the door open and the two leather-clad senshi walked in.

Kendra glared at the mirror. Her first instructor had been a Sith Lord encased in the reflective silver of a looking glass. Now, she used the mirrors to keep track of her underlings. Her glare was focused at this moment on Emi, Sailor Sith Death. Not the Senshi of the Death that purifies, but the Sith of the Death that lingers. Emi was not anyone that was cared for by any being in the galaxy. No one would mourn her when she was gone.

The Evil Queen leaned back in her throne. It was made of all the darkest stones in three galaxies, from black Krayyt Dragon pearls to obsidian to hematite, and every inch glittered evil. Her long red fingernails beat harsh time on the arm of her throne as she considered the Sith before her. Emi was considering things too light for a proper Sith. Kendra crossed her legs and tapped the mirror with a long red fingernail. Emi had not killed anyone in a very long time. That, Kendra decided, was the root of the problem. Without the killing of innocents, there was no hate.

Bakura. Oh, how Kendra would love to see that one die. For without that sailor... Kendra put a hand to her suddenly-aching head.

Without Bakura... what? She could not form the thought in her head. Something was blocking it.

No matter. That sailor must die. And Emi would kill her.

Or she would no longer be a Sith. Kendra would see to that by killing Emi. Herself.

“Priire.”

The summoned girl raised an eyebrow. “Hmm?”

“Why do you not call Chrone by her name?”

Priire shut her eyes, and leaned back. She started to answer, but Nom cut her off with another question.

“Why do you beat Riku up every time you see him?”

Nom was giving Priire no time to answer between her rapid-fire questions.

“Why do you insist on being there every time there is a fight? Why do you go off alone when others could help you?”

Silence fell over the table long enough that Priire got up the nerve to open one eye. Seeing the warrior witch poised with both hands flat on the table and leaning toward her made Priire frown. She opened her mouth, but Nom cut her off with a final question.

“Why will you not help Annika in her quest?”

Priire didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, quietly she spoke. “I don’t want them to get hurt.”

Nom shook her head. “You do not understand.”

“Understand? About getting hurt? Sith, yes I do. I’ve probably been hurt more than any other senshi, save a few.”

“No. You do not understand about others getting hurt.” Nom focused her eerily deep black eyes on Priire’s face. The other called on all her experience as the Hawkbat to hold steady under that forbidding gaze.

“You do not understand that...” Nom fumbled for words. “That... you must let others be who they are going to be. Even if who they are will cause them pain.”

Priire shook her head. “I don’t want people to get hurt when I can prevent it!”

Sighing, but seeing no other way to convince Priire, Nom grabbed her by the front of her shirt. Speaking in Dathomiari, her native tongue, Nom said, “Little Priire.” The word she used was a diminutive that conveyed a sense of a mother-daughter relationship. It made Priire’s brow crinkle and her ears more attentive. “Little Priire, you must understand that what is best for people is sometimes painful. And if it takes me beating the Sith out of you to make you see that, then I will.”

The blonde hung, suspended, there for a moment before lowering her eyes and nodding.

Then Nom dropped her.

“OW!”

Ippin stood up quickly. There it was. The little thing she’d been missing in all of her searching. She ran to a back ally, transformed into Sailor Yavin, and opened a Dimensional Porthole. Sailor Pluto had been in this business longer than she. Surely the older woman could help her. Those Sith wouldn’t be able to get away this time.

She’d make sure of it, Yavin thought savagely, twirling her Time Staff.

“A... annika?”

The princess put her comic book down and glared at the door. Her irritation wasn’t directed so much at the door as at the voice coming from the other side. “Go away, Priire,” she said, waving a hand at the door.

“Annika, let me in or...”

Annika heard an unusually loud click. “Priire! If you shoot my door, I’m going to kill you!”

The other girl sounded frustrated. “Then let me in!”

There was a pause as Annika considered ignoring Priire at the price of her door. “All right then. Come in.”

Priire opened the door and carefully peeked in. “Are you going to throw anything at me?”

With a giggle, Annika shook her head. “No. I’m just annoyed. Why do you keep avoiding me? And what’s that mark on your face from?”

“Good. It’s complicated. A wine bottle.”

Annika’s eyes crossed as she put answer with question. “Oh.” She pushed a pile of pink laundry off the pink couch and onto the pink floor. “Here, sit down.”

Priire looked and felt out of place in her black clothes. It was almost as if someone had smudged Annika’s severely pink couch with her... at least that was how Priire felt about it. Pink was not her favorite color. “Have you been having... weird dreams?”

Nodding so quickly that Priire thought Annika’s odango were going to fly off — the Dark Sailor had to restrain a smile at that mental image — Annika started talking. “Yes! It was so beautiful! The woman came and told me I could save the Sith if you’d help me!”

Priire took on a distressed affect. “I hated it.”

Now Annika began to look worried. “You thought it was a bad dream?? I thought it was wonderful!”

“It... had a bad feel. Like if I did what the woman wanted, one or more of us would end up hurt. And I don’t want that, Annika. More than anything.”

“More than helping the Sith?” Annika asked softly, putting a hand on Priire’s shoulder comfortingly.

The other girl had her gloved hands covering her face. “Annika... that’s your quest. Not mine.”

“You won’t help me?” Tears glistened in the blue eyes of the beautiful princess. “Priire, I need you.”

“That wasn’t what I was going to say,” Priire told her sharply. “I wanted to tell you...” She had stood up as if she planned to storm out, now the tattooed girl sank back onto the couch. “I wanted to tell you... that I’ll help you.”

Sailor Yavin danced around the library. She put the book in its place and knocked a half a dozen more over. Instead of picking them up with her hands, she used the Force and made the books dance around her head.

“What is wrong with you?” one of the library patrons snarled, flipping dark red hair behind her shoulder.

“I just figured out how to stop the Sailor Sith!”

The other library patron didn’t look impressed. “You’re insane.”

“No, I’m the smartest senshi in the galaxy!” Yavin Force-tossed the book in the air, and the other girl caught it. She flipped through the pages as Yavin left.

A surprised curse flew softly from the woman’s mouth and lit the fire in her eyes. Impossible!

Ariel bowed on one knee in front of the Evil Queen. “My Queen,” she said, her voice deeply respectful and slightly muffled because her head was bowed low.

“What do you have for me?” Kendra asked, brushing a wrinkle out of her skirt. “Good news?”

“Extremely.” Ariel flipped her dark red hair behind her shoulder and looked up at the Evil Queen. “My lady, I believe we can negate the influence of the Sailor Jedi by killing their parents.”

The Queen did not look impressed. “Ariel, I am in no mood for games. Killing their parents would do nothing now.”

Ariel’s eyes shone with the kind of deadly fire that boded well for no being. “Let me explain. But we must act quickly...”

As she spoke, the Evil Queen began to smile.

Kyoko raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“We have a plan,” Priire sighed.

Laughter lit Kyoko’s brown eyes. “That sounds more like you’re trying to say, ‘Annika has a plan, she dragged me along.’”

Annika rolled her eyes. “Something like that. But, Kyoko, the next time the Sith attack... can Priire and I go? Just us. We... I think that we can save them.”

“Alone?”

The princess nodded. “This is something we need to do.”

When Kyoko agreed, Priire walked out. She seemed incredibly disturbed.

“What’s wrong with Priire?” Annika wined. “This is the right thing to do!”

There was silence for a long moment. “How much do you know about Priire?” Kyoko asked. “I mean, that she’s told you. What do you know?”

Annika hated to admit it. “Very little. She’ll tell her story... but little else, I guess.”

“Defense.” The confused look on Annika’s face made Kyoko laugh softly and explain. “Understand, if you tell someone everything they think they want to know about you right off, they stop asking. She’ll bombard people with words and they won’t realize until later that she didn’t tell them anything they wanted to know.”

“Oh.” Annika was sitting on one of the couches across from Kyoko, letting the two look at each other. Annika propped her chin up on her fist. “Why did you ask?”

Kyoko leaned back and brushed her bangs out of her eyes. “There’s this dream that Priire has sometimes. She was just a little kid... betrayed by everyone who was supposed to love her,” Kyoko told Annika. The blue-haired senshi watched Annika’s eyes to see if she understood.

It wasn’t very clear to her, but Annika thought Kyoko was trying to tell her Priire was afraid she was going to be betrayed. “I won’t betray her!”

“No... but who will?”

The only answer Annika could think of would ruin all her plans for redemption. “No...”

“Priire?”

The comforting sound of Kousotsu’s voice reached through Priire’s despair. “Hmm?”

“What’s wrong?” The tall man sat on the couch next to her. “You seem upset.”

She sighed and laid her head on his shoulder. “Yeah. A little bit.”

Kousotsu didn’t say anything, waiting for her to talk to him.

“I’m scared. Scared that I’m not going be able to help Annika,” Priire told him. “It’s not a great feeling.”

He laughed at her tone. “Priire... you’re strong. Whatever you need to do, you’ll be able to. Trust me.” He leaned over to kiss her cheek but stopped. “You smell funny.”

It was Priire’s turn to laugh. “Yeah, that’s the downside from getting lum poured all over you.”

“Oh.” He shook his head. “You know, I don’t want to know. I think I’ll just live in blissful ignorance. If that’s okay with you.”

She laughed at him and wrapped her arms around his neck.

The bolthole stood open before Ariel. She had to move quickly and strike at the most important spot. What Sailor had been the most helpful? The answer was as clear as the stars in the night sky. With a smile that could only be described as predatory, Ariel transformed and pushed through the dark portal.

Sailor Sith Ayameru stepped through the bolthole into a fairly nice living room. The walls were hung with pictures... portraits. Ayameru walked up to one of them — a picture of a redhead and a blonde laughing — and stroked the canvas. Then, with gleeful malice, she raked her nails across it, ruining the happy scene.

“You’ll be special someday, little one. You don’t know how, do you? Galaxies are going to depend on you... I only hope I can show you. If not... well, someone will come along and tell you. I love you.”

A baby’s giggle met the woman’s sweetly spoken words. The little blonde girl cooed and reached up her hand for a lock of the mother’s hair. The sparkling interest in her green eyes made the older woman laugh.

“This is just sickening,” Ayameru said, stepping into the room. She kicked a baby toy out of her way, and it shattered as it hit the wall. “I hate pleasant family scenes.”

The woman gasped and held her blonde baby closer to her chest. With the fear that was born of looking into the face of evil, she asked, “Who... who are you?”

“I’m Murder.” Ayameru’s knife cut a sure path, burying itself deeply in the woman’s chest.

The little child started crying as she was sprayed with her mother’s blood. Crimson red stained her blonde locks and little white dress.

Her frantic cries brought the father running into meet his own fate. The sharp retort of Ayameru’s blaster and a muffled gasp was all the swan song he received for his ill-conceived rescue attempt.

Ayameru licked her lips and kicked his unmoving body as she walked back to the shrinking bolthole. Holstering her blaster and wiping her knife on the carpet, she smiled. Her plan had worked. The Sith could focus the boltholes to reach back in time as well as across space. Now. There were a few more children to orphan.

“Leather-Clad Dathomirian Tears up Brand New Bar with Blonde Accomplice. Patrons Shocked,” Ippin read, grinning at the newspaper. “Hmmm. Looks like Nom and Priire went out for a drink.” She suddenly clutched at her head. Something awful was happening.

The flame-haired girl pulled herself up off of her bed and glared at her mirror. She wasn’t that old yet! It took Ippin a few minutes to realize that her mirror was on the other side of the room.

“Sailor Yavin, the Evil has discovered the true power of the boltholes,” Sailor Pluto said, stepping out from behind the older Sailor Yavin. “Time has been disrupted. I fear soon they will even make it into my galaxy.”

“That would be why my head is pounding.”

The older Yavin nodded. “Yes. The Sith are violating your guardianship. We must stop them before they trespass the bounds of destiny. Pluto and I can stop them in the future, but you must stop them now and in the past.”

Ippin nodded. “I will. But what did you mean ‘trespass the bounds of destiny’?”

Ippin closed her eyes. Sith. She knew that whoever was sentenced to death by destiny couldn’t be saved, but she wished it didn’t have to be. But Ippin was strong. “What do I have to do?”

“Up there.” Sailor Bakura looked where Sailor Asteroid was pointing. If she squinted, she could almost see Eimin and Iyagaru. Almost. “Are you sure?”

“Evil knows Evil. They’re there.” Asteroid dashed into the building. “Hold the lift!”

Bakura caught up with her just as the doors closed. “We’ll wait for the next one. Shouldn’t we be Eternal or something for this? It might take all our power.”

“Pardon me if I don’t want to ride in an already-too-small turbolift with two pairs of wings.”

Sailor Bakura tried to laugh, but she didn’t get very far. “Are you scared, Pri... Asteroid?”

The other girl leaned against the wall. “Of a lot of things.”

The turbolift opened before Bakura could respond to that.

“Hold on,” Asteroid said sweetly as she pried the panel off the elevator switch. She pulled a pin out of somewhere and began poking around in it.

“What are you doing?” Bakura asked, leaning over.

“Ah ha.” Asteroid gave the circuitry one last jab. Bakura screamed as the turbolift suddenly started moving at a more rapid pace than it was surely designed for. It stopped abruptly, throwing both girls off-balance. “Oops. Sorry.”

Bakura couldn’t say anything, so she just held out her crystal and transformed into Eternal Sailor Bakura. With a sigh, Asteroid concentrated, and the customary shimmer of starlight engulfed her body, leaving her Guardian Sailor Asteroid.

“We are the Sailors of Love and Redemption! We’re here to right wrongs and redeem the lost!”

Guardian Asteroid tried not to roll her eyes. “With the powers of Bakura and the Stars behind us, we will triumph!” She leaned over to Eternal Bakura. “Next time I write the Sithspawn speech.”

Standing together, Eternal Bakura and Guardian Asteroid seemed to be two halves of one being. One side was light, with white wings, while the other was dark, wearing wings of black. Neither had the same objective. Bakura wanted to save the Sith, while Asteroid only want to save Bakura from what she was sure was a horrible and costly mistake.