First Circle: Ki no Tsurayuki

Part One: The Boy They Know as Heero Yui
Part Two: The Bookmakers of Eternity
Part Three: Whispering Voices

Part One: The Doors of Perception
Part Two: Passing Directly From Barbarism into Decadence
Part Three: The Body, Not the Bird

Part One: Reason and Action
Part Two:The Education of Doubt
Part Three: A Small Package

Part One: Fill What is Empty
Part Two: Creator's of the Mind's Eye
Part Three: Empty What is Full

Part One: The Hottest Places of Hell
Part Two: Infinity in the Palm of Your Hand
Part Three: A Life Sown Thickly with Thorns

Part One: In an Evening
Part Two: And Eternity in an Hour
Part Three:In an Instant

Part One:The Hunted
Part Two:The Winners and the Losers
Part Three: Where the Night Ends 

Part One: The Boy They Know as Heero Yui

The boy, known to all others, even himself, as Heero Yui, sat alone in the den of the small country house shared by four of the Gundam pilots, his eyes intent on the small, dim matrix crystal display of an old and extremely abused laptop computer. The room was dark, except for the light from the display, a strange blue green glow that casts pale shadows. His eyes were lit by the light of the display, turned to blue rings like Bunsen burners left on late into the night by an absentminded grad student in a chemistry lab. They burned with the same intensity, cold and blue, focused on his work without thought of anything around him: a rare and dangerous state for the perfect soldier.
But the danger did not matter to Heero Yui. What he wrote was written in a language that was known only to himself, one that he thought and dreamed in, had created it from syntax's of conflicting languages, and a vocabulary of structured words and compound nouns that would baffle most linguists. He knew it had baffled the colonies best when Dr. J had tried to have it translated. As far as Heero knew, no one but himself could read what he wrote. It was safe. 
And so in it he wrote all of his logs, minutely detailed and meticulous in their completeness. He recorded, verbatim, a babbling conversation between himself and the American Duo Maxwell, simply because it did contain useful information. Others might have paraphrased such a conversation, but Heero found such things inaccurate, and apt to leaving out the most important details. He recorded the repairs and alterations he had made during the day to the hydraulics pressure of one finger on the Wing Gundam's left hand, a non-vital but interesting experiment in fluid dynamics that had resulted in a need to replace the entire pressure unit in the first joint. He made a note to put the parts on queue from storage. He recorded his food intake for the day with rough calorie count for each item, making a small spreadsheet. It was an old habit from when he had been required to do such things by the doctors, but one he found insightful to himself and so kept. He checked it in comparison to a database from since he had come to earth, and made notes as to any trends he observed. He recorded a discussion with Quatre concerning the tea the blond boy was always drinking, and tried to understand how Quatre found a stimulant soothing. Heero himself avoided anything that even vaguely disrupted his body, including most sugars excluding raw fruit sugars. He made notes concerning any other repairs or alterations he had noted on the other three mobile suits in the shared hanger, including the addition of a strange, cross like symbol to the interior of the Shinigami beside the eye bolt that had mysteriously been ever present there for no good reason that he could discern. All in all it had been an uneventful, and extremely dull day for him. 
Heero shrugged, more a stretch than an expression of emotion, and saved the document. He powered down the notebook, closing its lid with a careful snap of a plastic latch. He stood, tucking the notebook under his arm, and silently climbed the stairs to the upper floor of the house. All of the other doors were closed, including the empty room that had been prepared for the Chinese pilot of the Shenlong, who had never come to the house. Paying no real note to it, he turned, and walked to the far end of the hall, where his room was last on the wall, sharing a wall with the silent Trowa Barton's room at the end of the hall, and the bubbly Quatre Warner on the other side. Heero entered, set the laptop down on an empty spot on the dresser top, and turned to close the door. 
He did not bother turning on the light of the windowless room, for even in the seeming total darkness he could see fine, thanks to having spent close to a year living in such conditions once his vision had stabilized after the onset of puberty. It had been part of his training; living, working, and training in total darkness for eleven months, and he had come to enjoy the darkness. It hid what you did from the enemy and from the ally as well, leaving you an unpredictable force. Unpredictability was life, for the predictable were easy targets.
He ignored the empty bed, having never slept in it if he could help it. He found beds uncomfortable to an incredible degree, too soft. He had slept most of his life on the bulkheads of stations or ships, with only minimal cover. It let him sleep light enough to wake at a moment's notice, while beds encouraged relaxation a soldier could ill afford. Heero sat down in a corner of the room where a small, folded blanket sat on top of a foam rubber pad about six inches square. He spread the blanket, and lay down on the carpet, tucking the pad under his head. He pulled the blanket over himself, and was in a matter of moments on the edge of REM sleep. 

Part Two: The Bookmakers of Eternity

In an empty plane, left from the beginning of the universe untouched and unshaped, there exists the realm of the most isolated of the Endless. In a temple in the shape of its own body, the only structure of any note within the empty, formless place, Desire is contemplating a new game. It is bored with its old ones, with playing with the hearts of ordinary mortals, or with causing wars for its amusement. And nothing in the universe is more dangerous than a bored and fickle Endless. But for this new game it needed an opponent, someone to play against. And only one other was a worthy opponent to its self.
"Despair, my twin, my beloved sister, I stand in my gallery holding your barbed single. Will you allow me to visit you?" Its voice was pleasing, a tenor as sexless as its body.
Its sister answered, gruff and grumpy. "What is it? Why do you distract me? Don't you know there is a war?" His sister loved wars; they kept her well entertained.
"Dear sister, that is exactly why I have called you. I wish to offer to you a friendly, family wager concerning an important focus on this mortal war." It heard its twin pause, and knew she was considering it.
"Then come and see me, dearest twin, that we might talk further of this, and that my rats may have new feet to crawl across." 
Desire shuddered. It hated rats; especially its twin sisters big and well fed gray brood. But with in an instant, it was on the edges of the gray and dismal realm of its twin.
Despair's realm exists in that place that is the backside of mirrors, the place behind the glass that looks back at every pair of eyes that probe its surface. Thousands upon millions of these windows open out from Despair's wold, each in the shape and size of its twin in the mortal planes. Below these a gray mist swirled like a strange, bubbling fluid. Beyond the mist and the mirrors, there were only two other things of note in this flat, empty place: Despair, and her rats.
The rats where like no mortal rats, but where the spirits of all rats. They were huge, some the size of small dogs almost, and all a uniform silver gray. It was not a metallic gray, but like the color of laundry water, of sewage, of the skin of an old corpse. Their eyes were dark, luminous, glittery and alive with intelligence. They were the consorts of one of the Endless, and they had a power all their own. 
And the rats completely disgusted Desire. Ignoring their persistent rubbing and scurrying across its feet, it walked through the mist, down one of the many corridors that ran between the backs of mirrors. Despair was waiting for it close by, watching one of her mirrors with an empty look on her face.
"Hello, dearest sister." Desire said. Despair did not look up, but grunted hello. It turned to look at the mirror. He saw a young girl with long blond hair, her aristocratic face ruined by a sharp nose, sitting on a bed, her hands holding her head. "And who might that be?"
Despair laughed her deep laugh. "Don't you know her? You did a fine job on her! She's caused half a worlds worth of war over one boy!"
It dawned on Desire who it was, and laughed at the irony. "And that boy is what I wished to speak with you about!"
"You mentioned a bet?" Always to the point, it thought.
"Ah yes. I bet you that I can make him do something he would never do..." It smiled evilly and told her. She showed her teeth in her black and yellow smile.
"And what if he doesn't? He is a strong one, that."
"Then I will owe you any favor of your choosing. And if I win, vise a versa. Acceptable odds?"
She thought for a moment. "If nothing else this will prove great entertainment for us. It is a bet, my twin."
"Very well." It laughed its silvery, sexless laugh. "Heero Yui, beware, for you are about to be the victim of my game!" And with that, it vanished to its realm, leaving Despair to watch the young girl in the mirror, and smile her sad, dark smile.

Part three: Whispering Voices

It began simply enough, on a day when the sun had decided to make up for some distant memory of a stormy day when it did not get a chance to shine. It was early spring, still close enough to winter's doorstep for there to have been a morning frost, but it had burned off like dew with the sun before even most of the birds were awake. The sky had decided to be that unholy shade of blue that distracts people from their work, beckoning them outside to partake in the lazy delights or rough and tumble games. And in the house that was shared by four of the Gundam pilots, all had succumbed to the siren song of the sun. All, that is, except Heero Yui.
Heero was in the near by hangar that housed the four Gundams, Heavyarms, Sandrock, Shinigami, and his own, Wing. He was perched on the upper shoulder plate of the left side of his mobile suit, laptop resting on his knees, working on the reconfiguration of the hydraulic systems he had wrecked the other day attempting to improve their performance. The new parts had been installed that morning, before dawn, and now all that remained was the configurations of the servos and pumps that drove the system. 
"That should fix it." He said aloud. From beside him, a deep rumble answered him. 
"You disagree?" The rumble came again. "Then show me what is wrong with it."
A set of figures flashed up onto the display, highlighting problems with the equations and setup parameters. Heero scanned over them, and gave an annoyed snort. 
<Even perfection makes mistakes. > The rumbling voice said.
Heero grumbled to himself, and began reworking the equations, finding his errors and correction the parameters that resulted from them.
He was so intent on the problem at hand, he barely noticed when Duo Maxwell, the ever smiling gob of hair that passed for the pilot of the Shinigami, came bounding into the hangar at a full run.
"Hey, Heero!" The American yelled up at the occupied Japanese pilot. Heero did not start, merle blinked in agitation.
"What." He said, not looking up from his typing. It was not so much of a question, but a sound of annoyance.
"The guys and I are driving in to town. Do you want to come with us?" 
"No." Heero thought the conversation was over.
"But it will be fun!" Duo shouted back.
Heero refused to look up from his laptop, though he had stopped typing. "I said, no."
"Suit yourself." The American shouted back. And with a graceful turn, his braid snapping like a whip, Duo made to leave. Made to in that he turned and walked directly into a steel beam that was one of the catwalk supports for the Wing. Heero frowned. Duo grumbled, backed up, and walked around the beam, stalking off with both his pride and his nose.
Beautiful idiot, Heero thought to himself as he watched the boy leave. He went back to work, thinking nothing more of Duo Maxwell for another handful of hours as he worked on the Wing. 

It was only that evening, as he recorded the events of the day into the logs, that what he had thought came back to him. As he typed the event, he recorded the phrase, and then stopped typing abruptly. He stared at the words on the display, stared at them so long he could see the individually colored pixels in the matrix, could see how each one made the letters. 
Where did that come from, he wondered. It was a thought beyond the boundaries of how he thought. He did not think in terms of beautiful or ugly, only in terms of functional and nonfunctional. But there it was. What had made him think such a thing, he wondered. He remembered one feeling something like it before, but that had been years ago. And the memories had boundaries around them in his mind, black walls that he himself had put up, that could not be torn down. He knew he should do the same with that thought, build walls around it till he forgot it and it could not spread. But he didn't. 
Heero Yui was curious, another alien state. He thought he knew everything he could need to know in life. He knew most if not every major language, knew math and physics more complicated than even those used to pilot a Gundam, and knew thousands of things outside of that needed to be the perfect soldier he was trained to be. But this was something that he knew nothing of. What had made him think of the Shinigami Gundam's pilot as beautiful? 
And so he began to explore the thoughts, not writing them, only thinking. 
 

Second Circle:		Daini no kakoikomi:
Minamoto no Muneyuki Ason		Minamoto no Muneyuki Ason
Yama-zato wa Fuyu zo sabishisa Masari keru Hitome mo kusa mo Karenu to omoeba		Winter loneliness In a mountain village grows Only deeper, when Guests are gone, and leaves and grass Are withered: troubling thoughts.

Part One: The Doors of Perception

A week had passed since that sunny day, and little seemed different or likely to be different any time soon. The war had hit a lull, as both sides were trying to make sense of the events of their enemies' current stance. Factions were reshaping, troops were on the move between bases and battle lines, and for the four pilots little needed to be done outside of paying attention to these redrawing of sides and alliances. Boredom was setting in, and its fragrance was as seductive and deadly as that of a venomous flower. 
Three of the four pilots were occupying the den of the small house that afternoon, each engaged in his own sphere of activities, oblivious to the others. Trowa Barton was in a corner chair, nose planted firmly in a thick novel of some sort, the world beyond himself tuned out like a television with the sound on mute. Duo Maxwell was half sprawled, half sitting on the huge, ugly purple couch that was the center piece of the eclectic decoration of the den, cleaning out his hairbrush before attempting to remove a weeks worth of tangles from his hair. Heero Yui sat on the far side of the room in the one chair that did not face the wall screen television, his eyes focused on the display of his laptop, typing at a flurried pace that made the keystrokes sound like rain on a tin roof. The room was quiet except for these things, and the occasional sound of running water from the upstairs bathroom.
Heero was recording a set of new functions for the reactor fuel consumption rates in the Wing Gundam, recalculated since his upgrades to its hydraulics the week before. His mind was focused fully on the set of equations, embedded in the mathematics like an axe blade wedged in the wood of a tree. His nose twitched, and something wretched the axe blade from the tree like the skilled arms of a logger, drawing his eyes into hard focus on Duo. 
It was the smell that Heero had begun to pay more and more attention to in the last week that he had ever thought he would pay to any odor not of a mechanical or military application. And it always managed to distract him no matter what he was doing now that he had begun to heed its olfactory call to arms in his mind. It was sweet, yet bitter, a smell that seemed to have the distant echoes of age and time, with a tang like rag weed or fresh cut grass. He had finally, two nights ago, remembered the smell it most reminded him of, after much mental searching: it was the smell of a chestnut tree in bloom in the late spring. 
But it had only one source in the world other than that it seemed. It was the smell that always seemed to follow the pilot of the Shinigami Gundam like a faint miasma, but that filled the room as it did now only when Duo took out the long, tightly bound braid that was so integral to the personality of the boy.
Heero watched, fascinated, as Duo undid the braid plat by plat, a tedious act in of itself. Every braid undone added seemingly half again as much length as the braid had bout up, making it into some magicians scarf of hair, never ending it seemed, growing with each tug and unfolding. Duo had yet to notice his close scrutiny, and so he allowed himself to watch, while his mind continued to run through the equations in the background, continuing to type though his senses were elsewhere focused. He observed how the hair had slight kinks in it from the tight binding of the braid, like a bonsai tree that had been schooled to an abstract shape by years of wire and careful pruning. And he noted how the layers of highlight and shadow matched the braid, not the shape of the free hair. It was utterly fascinating to him, and his mind again registered that word that he had spent the week focusing on and puzzling over: beautiful.
At last free from the braid, the hair formed a shape all of its own, its weight pulling it into falls and swirls along the contour of shoulders and back, legs and couch. It fell like a chestnut waterfall, its odd patters of gold and dark brown like the mottled shadow and sunlight on a river. But Heero saw this seeming perfection, and simultaneously saw the flaws in it as well, registering both without much emotional attachment to either. He saw that the hair had uneven ends in many places where it had been broken roughly by something, causing split, frayed ends that fuzzed out of the smooth stream, and saw the tight knots and rat nests, the bureled spots in the flawless wood grain texture. And then he felt something, an odd impulse that he could not place the source of. He wanted to touch that mass of hair, to see if it was both as soft and as brittle as it looked. He frowned at the impulse, and pushed it down.
Duo looked up at the exact moment Heero frowned, and saw only the Japanese pilot's usually emotionless face in a pinch of disapproval; his eyes focused on him, even as his hands were still typing. Of course, he thought, the perfect soldier would never approve of such a personal luxury as my hair. With only a shrug, Duo rose from the ungodly purple couch, his hair falling out to almost past his knees, thick and silk like, as he did. Hairbrush in hand, and not even looking at Heero, Duo stalked out of the room in a swirl of gold and soil colored hair, the smell of chestnut blooms lingering after him like a perfume. 
Heero raised an eyebrow, as though uncomprehending, a show incase Trowa had happened to look up from his book at the sudden departure. Trowa had not, of course, but it never hurt to keep the façade in place. Inwardly, he felt disappointed at both the clumsiness of his voyeurism, and the denial of the sight of watching the American brush out the knots and tangles of that hair. The thought that followed seemed even more shocking that the previous urge that had surfaced, and Heero swiftly plunged himself back full bore into the calculations to drown it out.
He had realized that he not only wanted to watch, but that he wanted to help.

Part Two: Passing Directly From Barbarism into Decadence

In the temple of its body, Desire watched the events of Earth with a snide smirk. It was growing tired of humanity, its petty squabbles and pulls. Once it had found such things the delight of delights, causing the desire of the heart to manifest its self. It was love, it was want, it was hunger, it was Desire. But mankind was too much. It was nothing but a creature of wants and needs. It was becoming, more so than it had ever been before, a race of ids uncontrolled by the logic of ego or superego, so that Desire had no interests in following through with these wants of the flesh on any more than a superficial level. It was loosing interest.
And that was why Desire so treasured the rare individual human that was not a creature of continual craving. These individuals were closer to the creatures that it favored - the Fare Folk and the Gods and Old Ones - creatures of extended mortality whose desires were more lasting, less temporal. And these provided it with better fun and harder challenges than the seething masses of mankind ever could. Even in the midst of a war of desires and passions, its very life-blood, Desire was focused on one individual human.
Its bet with its sister, Despair, was going well. So far it was winning, though it had not progressed far. But there was a concern brewing in its mind. Its concern was not even that it would loose the bet, nor that it would win. Its concern was that the bet was involving its eldest sister's chosen warrior, though not directly as of yet. It had never had much care or concern for Death, having never gotten along with her well, but the fact remained that she was a powerful force to contend with as the eldest of the Endless. 
It knew at some point Death would come into play in this great game, and probably ruin it. She and Dream were always ruining its games. It gave a snort of displeasure, but shrugged. It would enjoy this game as long as it could play it.

Despair stood before a small, oblong mirror, watching the den of the house that the object of the bet lived in. She had begun to be intrigued by these five boys long ago, and at the ripples they created in her mirrors as their actions caused so much suffering in the world. But the one that had always caught her dark eye had been Heero Yui, the silent, empty boy who seemed to feel nothing. 
She had watched him once before, when he had felt something, from the ceiling mirror of a space colony psychological institution where he had been retrained before being sent to earth. The depth of the despair that had leaked through the cracks of the layers of training and mental conditioning had been incredible. Still waters always run the deepest; at least that was the case in her realm. And like the rats beneath the thick fog of her plane, the currents of despair and pain that ran under the ice of such blocks was often of the rarest type. 
But she only watched these things, making sure they ran their course, not playing a hand in them as her twin did. She found no pleasure or beauty in her job, only necessity. It was the difference between herself and her twin, she knew. Absent mildly she bent at her thick waist and picked up one of her rats, and cradled it in her arm. 
She watched with almost fascination as the scene in the den of the house played out. And she noted the first stirrings of a despair even greater than the one she had seen before. It was the reason she and her twin were so linked, so a part of one another. There was no despair deeper than that of impossible desire. She would win this bet, she knew it, and it was inevitable. Her smile was crooked and bent by her thick lips, the teeth it showed were small and yellow, with deep black cracks. It was a smile of satisfaction if nothing else.

Part Three: The Body, Not the Bird

The message came in sometime during the night, closer to the dawn side of the darkness than the dusk. New mission assignments, new targets. The troops of the Alliance were on the move, refocusing various high profile targets to distract from the more important projects and bases. Some of the baits were too luring to be ignored, such as the concentration of carrier bound Cancer mobile suit units in San Francisco bay and the South African chemical processing plant guarded by a platoon of Leo class suits. But there was an additional target, a research base on the Siberian tundra that was developing some sort of new hydraulic fluid system for the Alliance mobile suits. Not only was the base to be destroyed but the data was to be collected before the destruction.
The mission was Duo's fitted perfectly for his ghost like Gundam and his hit and run style of fighting. It would take him over a week to complete, owning to the needed overseas transport and the difficulty in night flying in the Siberian weather. One day for transport each direction left him five to complete the mission successfully. Duo was ecstatic about the assignment. He loved long deadline missions, and was enamored with the challenge of sneaking an almost seven and a half ton Gundam across an almost empty plane of permafrost. 
The other assignments where for Trowa and Quatre, respectively. Quatre's Sandrock was better suited than the Wing for the open desert fighting and close combat that would be needed at the plant. The Heavyarms Gundam was far better at the simple mass destruction that was needed at the San Francisco bay installation than the Wing was. The fact was simply that the Wing was an air support Gundam, designed for dueling and space combat, not for hit and run, slash and burn style of war they were currently engaged in. 
Heero, in one part of his mind understood and knew these things better than perhaps any of the other pilots. Yet there was something new he felt when reading over the briefing packets and mission assignments, something that had sprung from his resent self-explorations. Was this jealousy he felt, this twinge of regret that he had not been chosen for a mission when all of the others had? But that was not correct, he knew. There was no mission packet for the Shenlong Gundam, absent now for close to a month since the start of the lull in the war, nor any word for the pilot, the mysterious and solitary Chang Wufei. But that could very well be because of his absence that there was no packet. He could have very well found other means by which to receive orders, Heero had no way of knowing. So the twinge of anger mixed with regret that tasted so suspiciously like an emotion the perfect soldier could not feel remained as he watched the others begin the swift preparations for their departures. 
Quatre placed in the phone calls to arrange for the transports for the three Gundams, to haul them in convoy to a rail yard by which they would move to their various ports of call. Mean while the others began the many final system checks always preformed before removing the great machines of war from their hangar bays. Heero watched all of this from a distance, cold and emotionless on the surface. Trowa checking the rounds of ammunition and the munitions bay on the Heavyarms, Duo cleaning the plasma jets on the Shinigami Gundam's scythe a final time, Quatre polishing and sharpening the twin blades that were the primary weapon of the Sandrock. Heero observed these things from his standard perch on the left shoulder of Wing, where he was sitting, seemingly working on a system check of his own. He was, in fact, carrying on a conversation with Wing.
They are traveling? The words appeared in the window of the interface program he had written for this purpose.
Yes, he responded, new missions came in last night. The war is starting up again.
And none for this one and you?
No. Heero felt a shudder in the structure of the Gundam beneath him, Wing's silent growl.
This one does not like being still when there are enemies to fight. Heero silently agreed with Wing.
Orders are orders. We have been given no mission. The Wing Gundam was silent, sullen. 
Heero looked up to see the first transport truck arrive, its heavily reinforced trailer actually a detachable boxcar designed for the transport of mobile suits. The others were leaving, and baring the miraculous reappearance of the Shenlong; Heero would be alone in the house for an entire week.
 

	Third Circle:
Fujiwara no Michinobu Ason		Fujiwara no Michinobu Ason
Akenureba Kururu mono to wa Shiri nagara Nao urameshiki Asaborake kana		Though I know indeed That the night will come again After day has dawned, Still, in truth, I hate the sight Of the morning's coming light.

Part One: Reason and Action

A blanket of the strange, moving silence that comes to places that are use to the continual presence of many people had settled over the house usually shared by four of the Gundam pilots. An observer would never think from watching that it in any way plagued the silent and scheduled day of Heero Yui. 
He rose at the same time he always did, well before dawn, and began the morning routines that he preformed ever day, oblivious to the lack of people in the house. He ran an almost scalding hot shower, washing the grit of dead skin and dirt from the previous day off, though he had showered the night before for the same reason. Cleanliness was a necessity to him, and when he could, two showers a day was a minimum. He had found the water showers of Earth a fantastic luxury, but that was one of the things he simply accepted, so as to blend in. He had, he realized under the pelting streams of hot water, come to enjoy them quite a bit. They were far more refreshing than the sonic steam baths used in the often water poor colonies, and somehow simply felt better than the process of scraping and scrubbing used in the sonics. And soap! He wondered how he had ever lived without the innocuous seeming stuff. The antibacterial alcohol mixes used in space were more efficient, yes, but much harder on the skin. After thirty minutes, he rinsed a final time, and exited the shower.
After the shower, and still well before light, he boiled water in the kitchen and fixed a bowl of instant cream of rice. Breakfast, like the shower, lasted thirty minutes, He cleaned the now empty bowl, and placed it strait into the dishwasher, looking only slightly askance at the pile of dishes in the sink. Duo had been responsible for the dishes this week, once more, and as always had managed to escape them. Heero cursed silently, knowing he would have to do them. It was not as though he had much else to do other than continue work on the new reactor settings for Wing. 
The rest of the day was empty, uneventful, passing slowly like the lazy crawl of the snails on the front walk of the house. Heero spent most of the day in the hangar, working on the reactor of Wing, and talking to the machine. He had no explanation for the voice that spoke from his Gundam, nor for how he knew the deep guttural language it spoke in. It was simply something he had always done, something he had always known. He, in truth, thought little of it.
It was approaching evening when Heero finally began making his way back to the house. The road between the hangar complex, a set of buildings that mimicked a grain processing plant, was dusty and rough, having not been grated in easily two to three years. The walk was a hot one even late in the, the red dust clinging to the inside of the nose and mouth in a suffocating layer, forming a coating on the cloth of his tank top and shorts. Heero paid little attention to any of this, however, for he was lost in his thoughts. He paid no attention to the sharp stones under his habitually bare feet, nor to the buzz and whine of the small insects that were rising for the evening feedings, nor to the slowly rising moon on the still blue eastern horizon. 
He paused only at the gate of the yard, looking at the house for a moment before continuing. There was no readable expression on the face of the Japanese pilot, his blue eyes empty, without life behind them. It was as though his body was on autopilot. He walked into the house, letting the screen door slam behind him as he stepped onto the front porch and the front door did the same as he stepped into the front hall. Without pausing, he walked to the stairs at the back of the house, and slowly climbed them. With a left turn, he made his way to the small, compact upstairs bathroom that housed the bath and shower of the house. The door closed behind him from habit, and in a fluid movement the tank top and shorts found themselves in the floor, and the shower curtain closed before it was even obvious someone had closed it. 
Under the jets of water, Heero let his mind wander, as he tried to come to terms with himself. Could he do what he was thinking of doing? Of course. It was simply information he needed, things he had to understand and know before he could make any logical conclusions. There was no difference in his mind between gathering information on an enemy and gathering information on an ally. Yet his mind was hesitant to invade the privacy of a fellow pilot in such a way. But his curiosity was stronger, his need to settle his mind about the thoughts that had cropped up in his head stronger than this hesitation. Determination settled in over the hesitation, and his mind took back control of his body that had been running through the motions of a shower. He finished washing, turned off the shower, and stepped out onto the bath mat. Grateful that someone had remembered to put clean towels on the rack, he wrapped himself in one more out of comfort than modesty, and scooped up the tank top and shorts from the floor. He carried them out of the bathroom, dropping them in the washer in the small laundry alcove and turning the machine on, walking away from it as it began to emit its high pitched hum of the ultrasonic cleaner in action. He walked down the hall way, to the room second farthest from the bath room, opposite the lone hall closet, and entered his own room. 
He sat down on the bed, still wrapped in the white towel, eyes unfocused on anything. Resolve was pure now, and he knew what he would do as soon as he was dressed. He had to know more. 

Part Two: The Education of Doubt

Desire had come visiting its twin again, finding her walking alone among the rubble of a small city, the sight of a recent battle. The city had been a military base of some sort, but had housed numerous civilians, the family of the base staff. But the destruction was total, indiscriminant, and ghastly. Whole buildings were nothing more than piles of rubble, their occupants buried both alive and dead. Desire found the whole thing sickening, but its twin was jovial. 
"Do you remember the children's crusade?" she asked, small dark eyes alight. "When hundreds of children packed up from Europe, bound to retake the Holy Land."
"My dear sister, I can honestly say I was elsewhere occupied at the time with all of those poor women left behind by the crusading knights." Desire's eyes had a feral look almost. "Pray continue that I might understand where you are going with this story."
"They made it as far as the Italian peninsula, and were then sold into slavery when they were told they were being given passage to their destination." She kicked a small chunk of concrete rubble away from something on the ground. "This war is the same thing, happening on a larger scale. Too bad that our brother left so many decades ago. He would have loved this." Under the chunk of rubble was the hand of a child, sticking out from under a pile of large, twisted concrete and steel.
"I do not follow you at all." Desire was becoming more and more uncomfortable in this place of Death and Despair. It wanted to get to the point of its visit, not wax philosophical with its sister.
"The innocents are sold into slavery once more, bound by forces they do not understand. And even the warriors are young in this war." Those dark, rodent like eyes of hers shone. "So much sadness, so much angst; it is like the despair of the children as they realized they had been sold into bondage and death. But the scale is so much larger!"
Desire felt itself turn paler than its usual alabaster complexion. "My sister, I came to speak with you for a reason." Despair turned her blunt face up at it, curious.
"And that would be?"
"I recommend that you return to your realm and observe the event which is about to take place. It seems I am winning our bet." Desire laughed its slithery, beautiful laugh.
"Ah, I hardly think that. So our plaything is on the brink of discovery is he?" A wicked smile crossed her face. 
"Yes. In quite as literal a use of that phrase as could be. Shall we?" It extended a delicate hand to her short, blunt one, and in a blink and whisper, they were both gone. 

Part Three: A Small Package

Heero Yui stood outside the closed door of the room belonging to the American Duo Maxwell, and hesitated once more. He had never known his resolve, the result of a lifetime of training and focus, to waiver like this before. But here, faced with what he was about to do, he felt all of those things start to crumble about his head like the ruins of Rome. He clenched his jaw tightly, and reached for the doorknob in the same moment. He opened the door, stepped in, and closed it behind him in one swift motion. 
The closing door left him in darkness. The room had no window, and seemed given to shadow and dimness even without the lack of outside light. Heero did not mind, he could see fine with the small amount of light coming from under the door. Someone could hide in here perfectly and you would never know it, he thought to himself. He scanned the room, looking around at the arrangement of things. 
It was set up exactly like his was, the bed in the middle of the right hand wall, a twin mattress with dark blue comforter and white sheets, with a dust ruffle of the same dark blue. What was odd though was that the pillow and comforter had been arranged so that the pillow was at what would usually be the head of the bed, closest to the door. Interesting, Heero thought. The room was sparse, like his and all of the others as well, with only two chairs and a table against the back wall, a night stand beside the far side of the bed, and a mirror beside the closet, positioned so that it would be hidden if the closet door were opened. The carpet, like the rest of the upstairs, was a dark greenish blue that Heero suspected was more from age than anything else. It was a generic room on the surface, but Heero was a trained observer. 
He saw the little things that spoke about its occupant already. The hairbrush left on the night stand, the duffel bag on the far chair, the closet door left ajar, the small piles of chestnut hair in the corners of the room, and the light weight shoes half under the bed. He walked over and examined the rumpled bed, noting that the sheets had not been washed in at least a week. He wrinkled his nose in disgust. Thus far, all he had found was that Duo was approaching the borderline of being a slovenly individual. 
The bed continued to intrigue him though, as he walked around it. From the way things lay in the bed, it was obvious that Duo slept on his stomach, but why was his head always towards the door? And then it dawned on him exactly why. Duo's head would be exactly next to the piping in the shower if he slept with his head to the top of the bed. Heero half smiled at himself for figuring this out. 
He opened the closet, and found it empty, as was under the bed, and the drawers of the night stand. An alarm clock and Duo's wire toothed hairbrush were the only objects loose in the room, other than the shoes, and those both rested on top of the nightstand. The only other item was the duffel bag, obviously the container of the handful of personal possessions of the American boy. Heero started to move towards it, to go through its contents, but he stopped. That wasn't necessary, he decided, He knew enough.
Heero left the room, closing the door back behind him after making sure he had disturbed nothing. He apparently had been wrong about his assumptions about Duo. He had seen him as orderly, as the type who was all play on the surface but serious deep down. But he was very wrong it seemed. Heero shrugged, and walked back into his room to make his log of the day, carefully omitting Duo from them. When at last he was done, nearing midnight, he lay down in his corner on the blanket, and closed his eyes.
The last thing that passed through his mind before sleep was the thought of the duffel bag. 
 

	Fourth Circle:
Koka Moin no Betto		Attendant to Empress Koka
Naniwae no Ashi no karine no Hitoyo yue Mi o tsukushite ya Koi wataru beki		After one brief night-- Short as a piece of the reeds Growing in Naniwa bay-- Must I forever long for him With my whole heart, till life ends?

Part One: Fill What is Empty

The next day passed much the same, the same patterns of waking, working, eating, all in a cycle that Heero Yui ran through without interruption. But it was a sham, the habitual acts. He was enacting them out of panic, out of stress. He tried to bury his mind in the work, in the mindlessness of mechanical work, in the concentration of mathematics. Neither worked, for his mind kept coming back to one thing: the duffel bag in Duo's room.
Curiosity was all but beyond his control. He wanted, almost needed to know what was in that bag, to see that much closer into the life of the braided pilot. Heero did not understand what he hoped to find, nor what he wanted to find. All he knew was that somewhere he had to find something that would drive the growing thoughts of the boy from his mind. 
All through the day, he caught his mind wandering into questions. Why did Duo do a certain thing a certain way? What gave his hair that chestnut blossom smell? What made him act certain ways around certain people? Slews of questions cast themselves about in his head. All related to one that kept coming back. Why was he thinking like this about Duo, of all people? Somehow, he knew the answer was in that duffel, though the logic of the statement was beyond him. 
But Heero drove himself through the day, through the normal activities of his life, refusing to give in out of curiosity. He would not do such a thing on impulse. He was Heero Yui, perfect soldier, and not some creature of rash impulse and action. If he was to do this it must be done right. On its own terms, not on the terms of curiosity's blind faith. As he worked on the shoulder mechanics of the Wing, he decided on this. He would wait as he had yesterday, until the evening. With that resolved, he bent himself back into his work, no longer distracted.
He returned to the house at dusk, like he had the day before, down the long, dusty road from the hangar. He walked up stairs and to the bathroom, shedding his clothes and showered as he had the night before. As he showered, his mind wandered, thinking about the duffel. He still did not know what he expected to find, but something had convinced him that the answer to his troubling thoughts were inside of it. Heero sighed, and tried to close out the thoughts from his mind, letting the steaming water flow over his back and shoulders. He leaned against the wall of the shower, the tile cool against his skin. It was all too much, even for the perfect soldier.
Heero turned off the water and got out of the shower. He didn't even think to bother with a towel, simply scooped the dirty clothes off the floor and padded out into the carpeted hallway, water still dripping from his hair. He exchanged the dusty and sweat soaked tank top and shorts for the identical pair that was still in the washer from the night before. The washer had dried them after washing them, so they were ready to wear. Without even going to his room, he slipped into the shorts, tucking the tank top in a wad under his arm. 
He walked down the hall, eyes half-closed in concentration. It was time, he had to do this now or it would never get done. Heero feared for his sanity, for his utility as a soldier, if he did not. On feet as stealthy as the wind outside the house, Heero walked down the hall to toss the tank top into his room. 
Now, he thought, now I have to do this. There are no more reasons for me to hesitate any longer.

Part Two: Creators of the Mind's Eye

Desire and Despair stood side by side once more in Despair's realm, looking through the oval frame of a hall mirror in the small house, watching the events in the hallway. 
"Dearest twin, it seems now is the key moment." Desire said. "His reaction to this may make or break which of us wins our bet."
Despair gave a small growling snort, her dark eyes watching the mirror. She was indifferent to her twin's annoying presence at the moment. She already knew what would happen, could feel it as she felt the swirls and currents of the mist, and of the constant scurry of her rats. She betrayed none of this to her twin, her poker face perfect. Desire arched its brows in wonder. Its stoic twin was unusually so at the moment, ignoring even her favored rats as they jostled for position at her feet. She knew something, it realized, and wondered what. Something key was about to happen, and Desire was in the total dark as to its possible outcome in all truth.
It turned its yellow eyes towards the mirror and watched the boy moving down the hall. He could have been doing anything, or nothing, yet somehow every part of his body spoke of purpose. It was there, in those painfully blue eyes, that this purpose found its seat. Desire found itself fascinated by those eyes, by the light in them. Oh how wonderful it would be, Desire thought, to see that fire turned from the following of duty into the light of passion. This was something that it relished, something it found pleasure in beyond its usual pleasures of flesh and wants. To break the proud ignorance of men over the tortures of want, to teach them again their places, this was something it enjoyed beyond anything. And these ignorant men, thinking they could make a warrior without passions. War was about passions, about the very essence of Desire's nature, not about the coldness and obedience of what this boy Heero Yui had been trained to be. Desire was a creature of violence, of struggle, not of this cold, meaningless thing humans were trying to make of war. 
War was about power, about the heat of blood, about the essence of human struggle for its desires. Humans tried so hard to remove these things from war, but they never would, it knew. These machines of war were nothing but the means of removing man from passion, a failing, a weakness in human eyes. Humans always tried to remove themselves from their primal nature, to escape all of the instincts and behaviors bread into them in the primal times. It seemed to be the quest of humanity to outgrow the Endless. And Desire hated it. It drove against every fiber of its existence, against its primal essence that had been drawn from the chaos. It hated everything man was trying to make of war. It hated the coldness, the robotical nature of what it had become, these battles of machine against machine that had no soul. And worse, it hated the men who would have men be robots bent to this same, cold will. This boy who was to be the perfect soldier had to be taught a lesson. A lesson of passions.
Despair was watching as well, her dark eyes glittering like obsidian mirrors. She felt the events moving, touching her realm in ways that showed what would happen. She knew, and her twin did not. It made her feel quite smug. This object of her twin's pride fascinated her; though she had taken little interest in the individuals involved in the war beyond their suffering, this had hooked her interest. So this was the one it had all been about. Whether he knew it or not, this boy stood at the heard of the flux of destiny, surrounded by a world full of lives in turmoil and chaos. Despair found herself transfixed by certain points of the boy, by his eyes, by the easy military grace in his step, and especially by his scars. 
There was more than three lifetimes worth of scars on this young body, a book whose pages were written in the script of badly healed tissue and bone, easy to read for her. She saw the scars of war, fresh and new, the cuts and abrasions, a few half-healed cracks in various bones. But more interesting to her were the older, faded scars that she saw. Scars ran in a regular pattern down the sides of his back, the small half circles of electrodes once implanted under the skin. Surgical scars ran in their neat and orderly rail patterns where most health risks had been removed early in life: an appendectomy scar near the belly, the implant line of a small electrode near the heart, and various other organs modified or removed by the vivesectionist surgeons. 
But she saw deeper than that, into the very core of the body. The scars of lean living, of restricted diet, of forced harsh conditions, showed themselves on the organs inside. And too, worse and more painful, the scars of genetic therapy that had twisted the very basic operations of the body, deadening pain responses, boosting certain body hormones, increased efficiency of every system. The scars were all there, easy to read to her, the story of a life of torment and pain borne on a broken spirit. This one would slide easily into despair, broken already; he would break farther when the edges of his training crumbled.
The boy braced himself once more, and then strode out of view from the mirror. There was the sound of a door opening, and closing, and then only the sounds of the seething rats at their feet.
"Let us watch." Despair said, and walked away to another mirror.
"Yes," Desire answered its twin, "Let us watch." It followed.
Gold and black eyes turned towards the new mirror, and watched, twin pairs of yellow fire and black ice.

Part Three: Empty What is Full

Unearthly quiet had settled over the house, worse than the silence of solidarity, it was if the entire universe were holding its breath. It was a horrible sensation to Heero Yui, as though every movement were being made under thousands of tones of atmospheric pressure, his body trying to crush itself. The unfamiliar sick ache of anxiety had crept into his gut, and he could not shake it, though the anxiety source was unplaceble: it was raw nerves jangling in what tried too hard to feel like fear. He clenched his jaw, and focused on his target. Control, a lifetime of training against fear and panic, the incredible focus it took to pilot the Wing in the heat of battle as it tried to fight the entire battle on its own; all of these now seemed a pittance to the strength and focus it now took to walk towards that door. 
He walked down the hall slowly, and opened the door to the room. Darkness enveloped him, warm and inviting, and he closed the door behind him with an empty slam behind him. In that darkness, he found comfort. There were no prying eyes here but his own. He was safe to explore at his leisure. But still that pit of anxiety was caught in his gut, and no reassurance could dislodge it. His only move was to attempt to ignore its plaintive twisting and churning, to ignore the ache of fear that had settled into its uncomfortable bed for a restless sleep. 
The room was stuffy, the air thick, but it was a comforting sort of thickness. The darkness made it all the more welcoming. It was a cloak to hide this invasion, to keep it invisible. Heero wondered why he felt such shame at what he was about to do. He did not understand it at all. The carpet was soft under his bare feet, the touch and give of its thick pile was warm, like an embrace of his feet as he walked across it to the chair where the duffel sat. Heero lifted it, surprised at its weight, and carried it over to the rumpled bed. He set it down carefully among the covers, and unzipped it carefully.
It was like a surgery, the careful removal of items with care to make sure they would go back in the same order. First on top was a spare set of clothing, the clerical collar and black shirt, and riding pants Duo wore as dress clothing. All where neatly folded into rolls, bound by the collar into a bundle. Heero was impressed by the neatness of it as he rolled them back up into their tight shapes. Next were four paper back books and a hard cover novel. Their titles were an eclectic mix of literature and non-fiction, from a battered and dog-eared copy of The King in Yellow to the hardbound book that was C.S. Lewis' Mere Christianity. Heero examined each of the five books in turn, noting that the latter book was about half read, filled with highlighter marks and penciled in annotations and comments about the arguments. Heero's opinion of Duo's intelligence went up a few notches at that. The other books a collection of classic literature; He set the books down one at a time on the bed beside the rolled up clothing. 
Next in the bag was a portable photo album, a hand sized gadget about the size and shape of an old personal DVD player, but using the new mini-DVD disks. Scratches and an occasional dent marred its burnished pewter color, but it seemed cared for and well managed. He didn't open it, merely set it aside on the bed. Next in the bag was a smaller, waterproof tube bag. Heero unzipped the seal on the bag and riffled through it, finding it filled with various toiletries, all fairly normal. The largest object in the bag were the twin bottles of shampoo and conditioner. Heero unscrewed the cap from the shampoo, and sniffed it, finding it a bland and scentless milky colored liquid, then did the conditioner. That was is, Heero realized, this was where the smell that followed Duo around came from; it was the conditioner. The discovery made him smile, and a strange feeling of warmth filled him, lightened his mood. It filled his mind with thoughts of that cascade of brown hair, filled with that shadow and sunlight network of highlights and darkness, and he daydreamed for a moment of simply touching it, of how soft it was, like freshly washed silk. 
Heero frowned suddenly, aware of his mind wandering. He repacked the toiletry bag, and set it carefully aside on the bed, next to the stack of books and the photo album. There were only a few more items in the neatly packed bag, and Heero was still curious about its further contents. Next was a small digital camera, barely bigger than his hand, obviously a covert observer design, perfect for Duo. Its card was empty, recently wiped judging by the format date, only a day before Duo and the others had left on their respective missions. Heero set it aside, and pulled out the last handful of items from the bag, a collection of neatly folded clothing. He carefully laid out each item of clothing from the bed, cataloging them in his head. Two pairs of cotton socks, a pair of thicker woolen socks, meant for boots obviously, a small knife with a blade about two and a half inches long with a dark colored handle was rolled up in the wad of socks, and he set this aside as well. The only other items were two pairs of black and dark blue boxers, their color a strange watery gradient between the navy and black.
He sat for a moment simply holding them in his hand, looking at them, feeling the silk trying to flow between his fingers like some obscenely seductive fluid, his mind moving in such fast motions the Wing's pilot had trouble following them himself. The first image that had come into his mind sent him into this shock of rapid thought, an image of his own hand touching the pale flesh of a hip, touching and tugging on the band of the dark silk where it covered skin. And then simultaneously he felt everything. He felt his body respond to emotions that he wasn't even sure were his, he felt the sudden surges of lust, of want, surround him. And yet at the same time there was hate, cutting like a knife, the disgust at thinking these things, at feeling these things, loathing of self and of the other pilot. The waves of emotion that hit him felt as though they were washing away the foundations of his sanity. He felt his vision black, and the floor seemed to rise to meet him as his body fell out from under him. 
10006
 

	Fifth Circle:
Fun'ya no Yasuhide		Fun'ya no Yasuhide
Fuku kara ni Aki no kusaki no Shiorureba Mube yama kaze o Arashi to iuran		It is by its breath That autumn's leaves of trees and grass Are wasted and driven. So they call this mountain wind The wild one, the destroyer.

Part One: The Hottest Places of Hell

The darkness felt like a blanket, enclosing and encompassing, and the air thick and cloying, oppressive and humid. Time passed, but he could not tell how much in the darkness of the room, a place that felt outside of time. He could not move, could not will himself to do anything; even breathing was beyond his control. The carpet fibers were digging into his flesh, he could feel ever fiber, even the miss-weaves of its manufacture biting into the skin of his bare shoulder, side and back. He lay on his left side, knees curled into his chest as he had fallen, one arm laying under him, twisted at a strange angle that should have hurt, the other curled tightly against his chest, still holding the crumpled knot of blue and black silk. His breathing was slow, regular, with a random hitching scattered through it like a scratch on a recording as the only interruption to its pattern. To the outside world, the boy known as Heero Yui may as well have been comatose; but behind the empty, blank blue marble like eyes, a mind was in the process of shattering and reforming.
It was like drowning in an ocean of sound and color, like falling into a television turned off the station. Everything fell, swirled, drained of its color and then flooded his senses with a roar of information. His trained logic was faulted; caught against something it could not dislodge with the crowbar of reason. And with its fault, his training was crumbling, the walls of a lifetime of psychological molding and formation falling to shreds of chaos, leaving his without understanding. Everything stopped working inside of his head. He could not think, could not speak, could not move, so integral in his being was the logic that was now broken. He was simply a grain of awareness lost in the shattered existence of what he had been.
And in this chaos, three vortexes of thought formed, like eddies sucking in the detritus and flotsam of thought and memories, each pulling into itself fragments of logic, learning to think, learning what they were. Somewhere distantly, there was still something that thought of its self as Heero Yui, but these other things, these things were new, different, creatures of emotions and logic combined. One curled and swirled in the seas of newfound emotions, alive and filled with motion like a swarm of fireflies playing with a whirlwind. Another found the dark shards of logic, began reforming the structures of training and walls, finding again the comfortable systems and routines. And then the other, dark and angry, moved like a sludge of long unchanged oil, filthy and full of its self, hungry for more of its own substance. Slowly they found their voices, and they began to think, first quietly, then louder, clamoring for the attentions of what was left of his mind.
There was an understanding that came to him, slowly and carefully, the realization of attraction, of desire, of almost... No, came a second thought, no. Such things are not for us, no understandings of these things are given to you, you do not feel these things. Deny it, ignore it, this is not real. So beautiful, so lovely, could love him, could find peace there...No, this is not right, not real, you are not like that, you do not feel these things for anyone, let alone...Could he want me? Could he love me? Am I wrong in this, is this wrong for me to feel.... Shameful, these things are not for you! You are prefect, unmoved, you do not feel, you do not love, especially not in this way! This is shame! This is wrong, very wrong... No, no, this can't be wrong....And from that there was anger, fear, and hate, a turmoil of emotion. He was being controlled, being manipulated, being led. Only enemies did such things, and enemies were to be destroyed. 
Kill him... 
Control him...
Take what you want...
Take back what he took, take back your life.
His body twitched, eyes moving, still seeing nothing, following something moving in his mind. That thought stuck, something he could find purchase on. He could have what he wanted, take back control from him, and be rid of an obvious enemy. An enemy to fight, a reason to exist. Duo was the enemy, but also something he had to overcome, something he had to have dominance over. His hand twitched convulsively around the silk, clenching in a fist of rage, then relaxing again. He had a sense of his body again, a sense of self again. Better, he thought, or was it him thinking? But still, he could do nothing, not move, not will himself to rise. 
So he lay there, unmoving, staring at the corner of the room blankly once more. Hours could have passed, the entire night. He had no idea, only the gradual returning feelings of body and limb. And the voice in his head kept whispering to him, talking in deep, oily tones, comforting, reminding him, telling him what had to be done. Oh it was so clear to him now, how had he been so blind to such an obvious enemy, from the beginning? Trying to seduce him, trying to distract him from his mission, the seemingly silly, flippant American was a covert operator of fantastic skill. More so than even Heero had realized. Anger, hate, these gave him his strength back slowly. Finally found movement found the strength to do more than lay there.
Take what you want....
Control him...
Kill him...
He formed his lips around the words, not sure if he spoke them aloud or not, only felt them. And they felt good, better than anything else. They felt so good he did not feel the tears that had formed in his eyes that still refused to focus, nor feel them fall across his face and nose, to fall to the carpet under his head.
Take him...
Control him...
Kill him...
There was so much to do before Duo and the others came back, so much....

Part Two: Infinity in the Palm of Your Hand

Desire was all but crowing beside its twin in her realm, watching through the mirror as the boy picked himself up from the carpeted floor of the room to sit on the side of the bed. As the boy began to pack back up the items that had been removed from the duffel, it turned from the image and smiled its sweet, evil smile at its twin.
"I was right, my twin, I was right!" It smiled wider, its amber eyes alight in its pale, sexless face, looking down at its small, pudgy twin sister. 
"I'm going to win, my twin." She said, not taking her eyes off the mirror. "You've shattered his mind, driven him mad. What he does now he does out of madness, not out of passion or lust."
"You are more wrong than ever, dear sister. Anger is the most pure passion of all, and the desire to posses and dominate, even stronger than love can ever be. And so what of madness? He will feel none of your dark will in his mind now." Desire's smile curved into a smirk of satisfaction. 
"You are still wrong." She was still watching the mirror, but fiddling with her barbed and hooked ring, her signal, playing with it on her fingers. Desire frowned, upset that its twin would not pay it any more attention than that. 
"Believe what you will, dearest sister, but I know that I am right. I will leave you to your watching, and watch from my own realm from here on out." With that, not even a bow or a farewell, Desire was gone to its temple. Despair only snorted, her eyes following the motions of the figure beyond the silvery pane of glass in front of her. 
Better that it was gone, she thought, it always becomes so pompous when it thinks it will win such games as these. The human heart and mind are fragile, delicate things, that darken and crumble at the slightest touch, and fall into the shadows of her realm like the falling ash from the fires that warm the houses in winter. She had been mortal once, before she took up her station to replace the true Despair, and knew such things far better than any of her family. They forgot about such things when they played their games, but she knew the truth. All human souls one day go to their eldest sister, and all human hearts one day go to her. Watching this boy, now a victim of the traps of his own mind, brought almost sadness to her. But she did not feel such things as others did. She played with the hook on her ring, twisting it around her finger, the sharp point digging into her finger's flesh.
Something was going to happen, she knew, something that Desire could never anticipate in its self-filled nature. She reached out and put her hand against the silvery glass of the mirror back, feeling its cold hardness under her pudgy short fingers. If she had still been mortal, she would have cried, though out of sadness or joy she knew not which. Instead, she did what she could do. The barb of her ring hooked easily into her flesh, and carefully, she began cutting open the pads of her fingers, watching but not feeling the blood flow.

Somewhere on the cold, bleak Siberian tundra, the Shinigami Gundam sat hidden in a deep crack in the earth, its cloaking devices turned to highest power. The cloak was draining energy out of the reactor faster than the reactor could generate it, and it was starting to worry Duo Maxwell. The heat generators were shut down, the only heat now coming from the reactor and the stealth systems. He felt like he was freezing to death, and he very likely was. But there was a pack of Leo suits just over the ridge, looking for the Shinigami Gundam. He had wiped out their base, and they were now as isolated as he was. The only difference was that while they thought they were hunting him, he knew exactly where they were. He was laying in wait for them, a snow leopard in the ice. 
The Shinigami rumbled deeply, anxious. Duo ran his hands over the throttle control, a soothing action for both him and the Gundam. Parts of the great machine were badly damaged, its long distance mobility crippled, but its reaction times still top speed. Thus he would wait, and would surprise them. He was Death, and death always came unexpectedly. He glanced at the display, watching the pack of mobile suits crest the ridge. He waited till they were almost on top of him before even beginning to power up. The Shinigami roared to life, and fell upon the pack of Leo's. 
These were the last of the band he had to destroy, and then his mission would be complete. And then he could go home, away from this arctic hell. 

Part Three: A Life Sown Thickly with Thorns

The entire night had passed, as had most of the next day, when Heero Yui left the room that was Duo Maxwell's. The sun shone brightly through the end hall window, casting a pale parallelogram of light onto the green and blue carpet, filling the hall with warmth. It made Heero feel even more tired than he was. His body hurt all over, his muscles sore with lack of movement, his arm apparently sprained from his fall. But he knew he could not give into such things, he could not show that sort of weakness. Yet no matter his determination, his movements were still slow and jerky and even his face betrayed the winces of pain caused by the soreness of a new sprain. 
So much to do, he thought, so much I have to do.
He walked down stairs, leaning heavily on the banister; his legs unsteady beneath him. Already he was listing what needed to be done for the day in his mind; already he knew the first steps he had to take to begin readying the house for the return of the others. There were dishes to wash, food that needed to be bought within the next few days, cleaning to be done. These were not usually things he did, things that usually got left to Quatre and the ever silent and long suffering Trowa, but Heero felt a need to be occupied, to do something. He had four days left until Duo was due home, the first back of the group. Trowa and Quatre were not due back for another three days and four days respectively. Plenty of time to do what he needed to do and leave. 
He spent the day working around the house, using the slow and forceful movements of cleaning to stretch the soreness out of his muscles. He vacuumed, dusted the furniture, picked up the scattered books and videos in the den, and then moved up stairs to do the same. He cleaned each of the bedrooms, avoiding any of the other pilots' things, only vacuuming the floors and dusting the furniture's surfaces. He cleaned and bleached the bathroom, scrubbing every fixture until it shone, putting fresh towels out, cleaning the hair out of the drains, most of its apparently Duo's. He then lugged the vacuume outside and changed the bag, throwing away the full one, before putting it away in the downstairs closet. 
The cleaning took most of the day, and it was well into evening when he finished. He ate a meal of instant cream of rice, carefully cleaned the bowl and the area he had eaten in, and then walked into the den and sat down. He felt better, cleaner himself for having cleaned the house, and the tiredness that had threatened to overwhelm him for most of the day was gone. But he still needed sleep, his body told him, and badly. Perhaps in a while, he thought. He picked up a book from small bookshelf on the far wall, and walked back to the chair to read. It was fiction, something old, about a woman who came to be the caretaker of a young girl in an isolated estate, and found herself falling in love with the girl's father. The novel held his interest for a few hours, and then Heero Yui did something he had never done before. He fell asleep in the chair, the book laying on his lap, and slept through the night until the first light of dawn.
He awoke gradually, first unsure where he was, then realizing he had spent the night curled up in one of the den arm chairs, asleep and dead to the world in a way that could have very easily have gotten him killed. He scolded himself for it, but there was no force behind it. He felt better than he had in his entire life, more rested and awake. Today would be long, he knew, and the rest made him feel better about it. He spent the entire day in the hangar, working on the Wing, making it ready for quick escape. He restocked the reactor fuel, drained and filtered the entire hydraulics system, cleaned the air, water, and coolant filters, replaced the last of the damaged parts. He reloaded the ammunition, cleaned the mirrors and lenses in the beam saber and cleaned the coils in the beam cannons. All through the constant activity, the Wing questioned him if they were leaving. All Heero could answer him with was that they would be soon, very soon.
He spent that night asleep in the armchair, having progressed further into the novel. A crazy woman threatened the house from her tower prison. Heero was beginning to loose track of the story. That night he dreamed of flames and of driving snowstorms, and woke with a start well after dawn. The last day... the day to be prepared. Duo would be home the evening of the next day. And then he could have what he wanted. 
He walked the four miles into town carrying an empty backpack, and bought fresh vegetables from a local farmer and cured and canned meat from the butcher. He bought a fresh box of cream of rice, of the breakfast cereal the rest of the house ate, and a pound bag of rice from the dry goods store in town. He stopped by the chemist in town, and picked up a number of small items, including two boxes of sleep aids. His pack full, he began the hike back out of town, along the small road that eventually turned to dirt, which ran by the hangar and the small house. On the edge of town there was a pawn store, one that he had been in before to locate parts and electronics to scrap for raw materials. Out of habit, he glanced in its window, and surveyed the newest items for sale. One thing caught his eye, something so beautiful it made him want to cry. He had given no thought to what he would use, but this was so perfect, so right...
That's it, said the voice in his head that had been silent. Use that to teach him his lesson. 
The knife was a long bladed hunting knife, its blade a modern press forge of black steel, opened in places to make it lighter and easier to clean. Jagged hooks ran the back half of the non-edged side; each sharpened with their own edge. The blade was designed to fold into the handle, like a jack knife, but cleaner and smoother than the obvious ancestor. It was perfect for him. He bought it from the storeowner, whom he haggled the price down to almost half of what the man wanted for it, and left the shop with a smile of joy on his face. It fit his hand perfectly, almost spoke to him in the whispers of its movements. 
Yes, said the oily voice in his head, yes, this is perfect for you. 
The entire walk home he played with the knife, thinking often of how the cold, smooth texture of the steel reminded him of the way the silk boxers had felt his hand. 
13067
 

	Sixth Circle:
Shokushi Naishinno		Princess Shokushi
Tama no o yo Taenaba taene Nagaraeba Shinoburu koto no Yowari mo zo suru		Like a string of gems Grown weak, my life will break now; For if I live on, All I do to hide my love May at last grow weak and fail.

Part One: In an Evening

Morning came slowly, as though the sun were hesitant to rise and disrupt the thick mist that had settled in during the night. Distant thunderheads rumbled in the west, opposite the slow golden light of the rising sun, threatening storms and rain in the evening if they did not dissipate in the heat of the day. The sun crept slowly into its rightful place, and the world awoke carefully from a night filled with the strange sounds of misty evenings and dew drunk insects. Heero Yui awoke from a sleep filled with images that disturbed him, dreams of pleasures and indulgences he had never had, never tasted or knew of in his short life. He felt them still around him as he moved from his almost fetal position in the armchair that had become his bed, laying aside the book he had finished the evening before. The story had ended well, everything right with the world, yet somehow it did not feel right to Heero. He shook his head, and dispelled the ghosts of dreams and of novels, and stood up, bare feet digging into the tan carpet of the den floor. Today was the day Duo was due back, and he had much to do. 
Heero stretched a final time and walked into the kitchen, and began preparing himself breakfast from the last of the open box of cream of rice in the cabinet. The box he had bought the day before was upstairs in his room, packed into his gear, waiting for him to be ready to leave as soon as things had been finished. He ate quickly, and washed out the bowl and pot, putting both away. He would be spending most of the day in the kitchen, so there was no need to generate more work than necessary. 
Sitting at the kitchen table with his lap top, he dug through a collection of digital cook books, searching for those that would be easiest to prepare from what he had purchased the day before and what food was left in the refrigerator. He looked for foods with heavy flavors that could easily cover any additional ingredients, foods that had sauces and creams to which such things could be added easily. His plan was simple, easy. He doubted if it could go wrong. He would drug Duo into an early and deep sleep using the sleeping aids added to a heavy meal, and then at his leisure he would take care of his work. He found a full menu's worth of easily contaminated food that he had the ingredients for, and wrote out the list on a pad of paper: Greek salad, fettuccine pasta with a carbonara sauce, and a thick, beef stock soup with vegetables that had no name in his recipe file.
It took close to two hours to make the carbonara sauce, thick with eggs and graded meets, and another two hours after that to cook the stock out of the soup bones and begin the beef soup. All the while he was working on the vegetables for the soup, cutting them and washing them. He finished them just before the stock was ready for them, adding them in slowly by stirring in each item in the order it took them to cook. Leaving the sauce and the soup to simmer, he went to work on the salad, breaking up lettuce and cheese, cutting onions and opening a can of sliced olives that had been in the cabinets for months to add to the mix. He made the dressing by hand from the many dried herbs Quatre kept in the kitchen, and used the last of the cream and egg mix from the carbonara sauce as the base, adding the spicy mustard he knew Duo was fond of for flavor. The result was quite nice, if not too spicy for his own tastes. It did not really matter though, as he would mix most of the sleep aids he had crushed into a fine powder into the dressing, and would eat none of it. He began preparing the mix, and split the sauce for the pasta out into two even parts, mixing the powder into one of the pots, leaving the other for himself, being careful to set the pots on opposite ends of the stove. Everything needed then only to sit and simmer after that, except for the pasta, which would wait until Duo would arrive in the evening. 
Satisfied, Heero walked up stairs to shower. He still had a good hour until Duo was due in, and he wanted to be clean and well prepared for the evening. The shower gave him time to think, to wander through once more his evening plans. Everything was ready, as it should be. Duo would eat, go upstairs and shower, and go to bed, falling into a deep and drugged sleep. Heero had already prepared the rope in his own room that he would bind the American with before waking him. And then... oh and then.... Heero shivered under the flow of steaming water, the oily, tight feeling of excitement clenched in his gut. Everything would be perfect. 
Heero heard the transport truck rumble by on the dirt road outside just as he got out of the shower. It would take them a good thirty minutes to unload the Gundam into the hangar, and Heero knew Duo would stay to oversee the entire procedure. Long enough to get dressed and put on the pasta to cook, and more than likely have everything set up before Duo even bounced in the door. He walked down stairs after dressing, and finished setting the table as the pasta boiled and frothed. Two places set, salad and main course plate with soup bowls to the side, salad and normal forks to the side paired with soupspoons. Heero put on a pot of tea to boil, and waited for the pasta to finish. When it was done, he strained it, and left it to cool over the sink. 
The screen door slammed only seconds after he finished draining the pasta. Footfalls in the front hall and living room, and then the voice he had waited for called out into the darkened house.
"Heero? Anybody home?" More footsteps towards the kitchen. "What's that I smell cooking?"
Heero steeled himself and answered as calmly as possible. "I'm in the kitchen, I just finished cooking dinner." Before he finished, Duo was in the doorway, looking at the table. 
"Wow, thanks for setting a place for me. I'm starved." Duo walked slowly over to the table and sat down, looking hungrily at the salad. "Can I go ahead or are you going to be like Quatre and insist everyone be seated first?" Duo laughed, but it was a tired sound that made Heero look up from checking on the tea. 
"Go ahead, I'll get you some soup in a second." Heero was trying to be more conversational, more talkative, if only to relieve the knot of tension in his gut. Duo handed up the soup bowl to him, and he filled it with the dark, vegetable rich broth. Heero handed it back and got his own bowl, and did the same. He sat down at the table with it, ignoring the salad that Duo was devouring with heavy helpings of dressing, focusing on the soup. 
The meal progressed in relative silence, the only exchanges being Duo asking for more of the soup, and then for more of the pasta after his first serving of the cream covered noodles. Heero complied, noting almost happily the gusto with which the black Gundam's pilot was eating the creamy pasta and sauce laced with the crushes sleeping pills. Heero ate his own food slowly, deliberately savoring the meal. His mind was on the food alone, trying to avoid the nervousness tingling in his body. 
Finally it ended, and Duo did exactly what Heero knew he would. He lay back, gave a huge, catlike yawn, and then excused himself before all but stumbling upstairs into the shower. Heero ate another bowl of soup, listening to the water run up stairs. It ran for twenty minutes, continuing as he carefully put up the leftovers of food, separating the drugged and undrugged sauce into different containers, just incase he needed it again, and threw out the salad dressing that was left since there was no more salad. The pasta and soup he put away as well into big plastic containers. 
The shower cut off, and Duo thudded down the upstairs hall on heavy feet towards his room. Heero stopped, and listened for the slam of the bedroom door, counting footsteps. There, he thought as the door closed heavily. Now I wait for thirty minutes, and then it will be time. 
Time... echoed the oily voice in his head, and his hand brushed almost absently against the front of his shorts. Heero shivered at the touch. Yes... almost time. 

Part Two: And Eternity in an Hour

In the distance, thunder rumbled, and the first raindrops began to fall around the small, white board country house, quenching the dust of the day as the evening came rolling in with the clouds. 

From different parts of the upper plains, the yellow eyes of Desire and the black eyes of Despair watched the actions of the boy known as Heero Yui. Both stood in their respective realms, watching through the portals into the moral world, waiting with both the careful patience of the eternal and the eager excitement of temporal beings. Time passes for the Endless just as it does for mortals, day after day; they have simply seen far more of it than any mortal living. They watched the dinner, watched the way the boy tried to hide his nervousness and excitement. Desire was waiting for the payoff of blood and violence it wanted. Despair waited for something wholly different; something she knew was coming.

Thunder came again, close behind the brilliant flash of lightning, and the rain was falling harder. Heero's footsteps fell lightly on the stairs as he slowly climbed them. It was close to time.

In the middle of the day in the middle of the South African plains, a battle was raging around the burning remains of a petrochemical plant. The Sandrock Gundam was facing a squadron of Leo suits, the last of three contingents that had been guarding the plant. Usually it would have been of no consequence, but the Sandrock was crippled, its left leg heavily damaged by the explosion and shrapnel from one of the storage tanks. Quatre was struggling, injured himself but not seriously, to control the damaged machine and defend himself. He was praying out loud to any god that would hear him, praying that he would survive this. His suite took a hit from behind, and Quatre saw the reinforcement troops appear on his scanner faster than he thought possible. Two more squadrons of Leos, fresh to the battle, crested the dunes behind him. A deep, sandy howl rose up from the body of the Sandrock, the demon at last rising to full strength. The crippled leg gained power again, and Quatre found himself joining his own voice into the battle scream of the guardian demon of Ur.

Another clap of thunder, and more rain. It made spider webs of water on the windowpane at the end of the hallway. Heero entered his room, closing the door behind him, and sat down on the bed. Blue eyes focused on the clock, and he sat, waiting.

The wreckage of three carriers were slowly sinking, the remains of two entire battalions of Cancer mobile suits resting on the decks in smoldering ruins. The Heavyarms Gundam was emptying the rest of its shells into the surrounding military base, causing as much destruction as possible as it moved to where the transports would be waiting for it in the rail yard. The sun was low in the horizon, the air hot and dry, sparks clicking up beneath the crushing steps of the Gundam. There was no resistance, the closest reinforcements far out of range. It had been an easy target, too easy. That was a worry now, as the Gundam moved to the edge of the base, headed towards the hills on the edge of town. The worries were well founded. A squadron of Taurus suits, fully armed, appeared from an underground bunker at the edge of the base. The Heavyarms was caught off guard, and fell back. This could be disaster.

The storm was driving with an almost insane force now, the leading edge of the front drawing with it winds and the threat of hail. Rain fell with almost typhoon force, the winds ripping at the trees, threatening to take them down. It was almost time.

Desire was all but on the edge of its cushion, watching and waiting. Had it been mortal it would have been holding its breath. It was so close to winning this game, so wonderfully close. It had forgotten the war, or any of the events of it, all for this wonderful game. Despair stood calmly in her realm, petting a favorite rat she cuddled in an arm. How wrong her twin was, and did not know it. Something it could not antispipate was going to happen, and the irony was, it was because of desire. Despair laughed, a sound like broken glass falling to the floor. Yes, it was almost time.

The clock clicked over, twenty minutes had passed since the door had closed. The thunder rumbled, and the rain slackened for a moment. Heero picked the knife up off the bed stand, and tucked it into the waistband of his pants. From beside the door, he picked up the coils of rope and slung the coils over his shoulder. 
His hand rested on the doorknob, and he paused. Now it was time.

Part Three: In an Instant

The thunder rumbled once more, a dark and ominous sound like a demon's growl, loud enough that the glass rattled in the windows of the small, white country house. The storm had grown stronger; winds now threatened to break branches out of the trees near the house, to rip off the fragile foliage of plants. The torrential rain was now mixed with a steady drive of hailstones, small, white pebbles of storm born ice that battered the earth with bruising force. The storm was only threatening to get worse, to push the bounds of furry, its dark towers of clouds churning on its own internal winds. 
Heero Yui stood just inside his room, letting the door swing open on its own quiet arc. Blue eyes sparkled in the darkness, open wide, pupils dilated so that only a thin ring of blue was left. His bare feet dug into the thick carpet like the claws of a great cat seeking purchase in the grass. Muscles tensed along every bone in his body, and the nervous and sick knot of excitement had settled into his gut. His entire body felt like it was trembling, like every nerve ending was being shocked by tiny pulses of electrical current continuously. And he felt something he wasn't sure if he should feel or not, but it felt very good. It was time at last, time for him to have what he wanted.
On quiet feet he padded down the darkened hall, putting one foot slowly in front of the other out of habit, stalking towards the closed door down the hall. Every step was a trial, a forced act of will. With every step the voice in his mind urged him on, reminding him of the reasons this was needed, reminding him that this was the right thing to do.
He has distracted you from the mission...He has made a fool of you...Made you feel these things...Seduced you so easily...Weak boy...He's the weak one...He is the enemy...Show him who is the strong one...Put him back in is place... Kill the enemy...
The hallway felt interminably long, as though all perspective had vanished, that the hand full of feet were now kilometers. Heero swallowed the nervousness out of his throat, the sick feeling having climbed out of his gut into the back of his mouth with the bitter taste of bile following it. He could not give up.
Yes. Almost there, the voice urged him. And won't it be so good to have what you want, to be able to have him like you want? Its oily voice urged him on, warm and thick like fresh blood. 
Yes it will be good...
Heero stopped in front of the door and looked down at the knob. All he had to do was open the door. But something cautioned him to be careful, to not rush. He put the rope down into a neat pile beside the door and lifted a tentative hand to knock.
"Maxwell?" His voice sounded too loud. "Duo? Are you awake, Duo?" He called again. No answer, not even the sound of movement. 
Tensing every muscle in his body, he put his hand on the knob, and twisted it. For a moment it stuck and Heero felt his breath catch in his throat, and then swung slowly open. The room was dark, except for the area nearest the door, though the difference between shadow and darkness was very small. Heero could see into the room, could see the sleeping form of Duo in the bed, his torso moving slowly in the rise and fall of unnaturally deep sleep. Duo was probably totally unconscious, Heero realized. All the better. He picked up the coils of rope from beside the door, and stepped in. The door swung shut behind him, engulfing him into the darkness.
Heero stood for a moment, scanning the room for any signs of danger or disturbance. He clicked shut the lock on the door without turning to look at it, comforted by the privacy it seemed to give, despite the empty house. He walked carefully over to the bed, and looked down at the sleeping form curled in the bed. Duo lay on his stomach, arms and head wrapped around a pillow. No sheet covered his back, but was bunched around his feet as though he had kicked it off before falling into deep unconsciousness. Bare skin was exposed as far down as the dark band of a pair of boxers, pale and unmarked by scars or even the lines of living flesh. His breathing was slow, regular, as was his pulse. Heero knew the boy was far deeper than asleep. He was in no danger of Duo waking before he wanted him to. 
Heero lay down the coil of rope beside the bed, and sat down on the edge of it. Hesitantly he reached out, and touched the rope like braid that coiled across Duo's back. It was soft, silk like, with a comfortable weight to it that felt right in his hands. He spent a while simply fondling the braid, running his hands down it, playing with the end of it, smelling its rainstorm and chestnut blossom smell. And then he felt bolder, able to move on. He reached out and touched Duo's back, ran his hands over the surprisingly soft skin, feeling the relaxed shapes of muscles under it. Heero's heart was pounding in his chest now so hard it felt as though he would have a heart attack. More boldly, He climbed up onto the bed, sitting with his legs touching Duo's side. He wanted more, was beginning to move forward faster, less hesitant with every step towards his goal. He wanted to know what it would be like before he committed, before he pushed Duo into submission. He rose unsteadily to his knees on the bed and shed out of his shirt, letting it fall to the floor. Carefully, though he knew Duo would not wake, straddled the sleeping form, not letting his weight off his legs. He ran a hand down the center of his back, feeling the bones under the skin. His hand was shaking, he realized. 
What are you waiting for, the voice said, why are you wasting time? Don't hesitate... Don't hesitate... Do it now...
Heero gritted his teeth and ignored the voice. He wanted this, wanted to be able to savor it, no matter how wrong it was. It was too wonderful to be wrong. Again moving slowly, he leaned forward and put his hands on Duo's shoulders, finally settling some of his weight against the fine, delicate bones there, pushing the sleeping boy down into the pillow slightly. Heero saw Duo move slightly in his sleep, and a small sound escaped his lips like a soft moan. 
See, said the voice... even now he distracts you... be done with this...quickly.
Heero leaned back again, taking his hands away, looking down. Duo whimpered in his sleep, dreaming in the drug induced depths of slumber. So beautiful, so lovely, so easy to break, Heero thought. He could simply reach out at break his neck if he wanted, or crush his skull. But he didn't want to, he realized. He didn't want to kill this beautiful thing that was helpless under him, sleeping.
Weakling, the voice roared at him, weakling, worthless, shameful! You must kill him, make him suffer, teach him his place...KILL.
Heero shook his head, as though trying to clear the voice from his mind. No, he thought, no I can't do it, I can't hurt him. I...His mind stuck on the word, but he knew the truth. 
He sprang away like someone burned, only wanting to get out, to be away before Duo woke, as though somehow Duo would know even if he were not in the room. He hastily picked up the rope and his shirt, and started towards the door. Duo stirred in his sleep, and made a sick sound.
He's waking up, Heero thought, and panic filled his mind. Where can I hide? The closet was the only hiding place in the room, he realized, and sprang for its cracked door, all but diving into the small space. He carefully pulled the door almost closed, then curled into a small ball in the corner. Heero held his breath, and realized for the first time in his life, he knew what fear really was.
 

	Seventh Circle:
Minamoto no Shigeyuki		Minamoto no Shigeyuki
Kaze o itami Iwa utsu nami no Onore nomi Kudakete mono o Omou koro kana		Like a driven wave, Dashed by fierce winds on a rock, So am I: alone And crushed upon the shore, Remembering what has been.

Part One: The Hunted

In the distance, a pack of hounds brays, having found the scent of their prey. Something moves through the forest, panicked and clumsy, like an injured fish on the deck of a deep sea fishing boat. Duo is running for all he is worth, away from the thing that he knows is hunting him. His braid is tangled with sticks and briars, snagging him at ever turn it seems. He cannot move fast enough... the forest is too dense in this part of the estate.

Something howls in the distance, but it is still too close...

Duo plunges on, praying to find the stream before the hounds reach him, so that he can drown his sent and loose them. The thing that is hunting him would not be so easily fooled, unfortunately. Duo is breathing hard, chest heaving as the icy waters of the small river close in around his waist. All he has to do is move far enough down stream that the dogs will not be able to find is scent on the other side. 

The sound of the hunting pack have stopped though, cut off moments earlier. The forest is quiet, other than the frantic sloshing of the American boy trying to run through the waist deep water. No birds sing, not even the harsh call of a raven or rook from the bare branches of the trees or circling against the slate coloured sky. Almost, he thinks, another twenty yards and I'll be clear. Panic is filling him, tightening his lungs in his chest like the cooper's iron bands tighten a barrel. 
The scream that splits the forest silence is inhuman, like a mountain cat in heat. Duo fights not to freeze, as millenniums of primate instincts tell him not to move, but every human sense tells him to run faster through the freezing water. 
It's found his trail again, he realizes. It's close, too close. I won't escape...There is an explosion of sound after the scream. Branches crack and snap, bushes rustle and shake, leaves are moving. And the sound of something sniffing and snuffling, grunting as it roots for a scent lost on the bank. 

Its on the bank, its so close...

Duo is almost out of the river now, trying hard to reach the other bank before the thing comes through the thick brush on the overhanging bank. It's so close...
The stones have torn up the soles of his bare feet, the water making the remainder of his tattered clothes feel like the skin of a corpse around him. There are no clear thoughts now, only to run into the woods and run until he can run no more. Brambles tear at exposed skin, rip hair from the tangled, bur filled mat of his braid. 
He hears it cross the river, and it screams again as it finds his trail. He stumbles, and rolls to find his feet again. It's tearing through the thicket behind him, crashing through brambles without slowing.

He cannot get up. There is nothing left, so he screams. And it finds him, rising from the foliage to stand on bear like hind legs, fur matted and wet, jaws open in a roar of triumph showing huge fangs like the tusks of a boar, and bat wings open wide, blocking the sky from view as it leans over him. 
Duo screams... and feels a hand on each of his shoulders...The last thing he sees are its eyes, cold and cobalt blue, glowing.

He knows those eyes...somewhere...

Duo woke with a start, his heart still pounding, his braid wrapped in a clenched fist near his chin. He was balled up, the sheets knotted around his feet as through he'd been struggling in his sleep. Cold sweat soaked his bare back, and his boxers clung uncomfortably, as damp as the sheets from perspiration. Those eyes... that dream. It was sharp, clear, the feeling of the creatures hot breath on the back of his neck, something pulling on his braid, pulling as though to rip it from its roots, the coldness of his wet, tattered clothes on his skin. It had felt real. 
Duo shivered, and rolled over in his small bed, freeing himself from the tangle of sheets. He was very awake, terrified by the dream of the creature with burning blue eyes. They had sparked some recognition in the dream, but now he could not place them. He sat up, and swung his legs over the side of the bed, and groaned, stretching. His shoulders hurt, and he remembered the feeling of hands clamped on his shoulders, pushing him down into the leaves and dirt, pinning him face first to the earth. He rubbed his eyes, cleaning the grit from them before standing up. He felt very sick, probably from making a pig of himself with the wonderful dinner Heero had made.
With a sigh, he walked from the small room he had as his own in the house he shared with three of the other pilots. He turned, walked soundlessly down the hall, opened the bathroom door, entered, and then closed the door without so much as a creak from the hinges.
Three seconds passed, exactly, and there was a sound from inside Duo's room, the creak of a footstep from someplace close to a far wall. Heero slid soundlessly out of the closet where he had been hidden, and exited the room, and turned down the hall towards his own, without a sound. His back was soaked in sweat, tank top stuck to his skin. His feet were bare, and his hands red, as though he had been holding on to something very tightly for a long time. His door closed soundlessly, moments before Duo exited the bathroom.

Part Two: The Winners and the Losers

Desire cursed. 
It did not curse in any mortal understanding of profanity or obscenity, but extended its rage out throughout the planes of existence in such a way that the Universe shook on its foundations. In hell, the triumvirate of the unholy made a unanimous decision, and began massing armies to overthrow a neighboring dimension. The lust of Lucifer and his co-rulers was for one moment the same. And the Universe shook. In the upper planes, storms raged through the Dreaming, and nightmares ran free in the Dreamtime, as they had not in centuries. Dream knew nothing of these things, for he was away, tending to his newest mortal lover in the most secluded room of his realm. Delirium knew a moment of lucidity, and realized she wanted something new, like butterscotch but different. Death felt only the sudden fear and want of millions of mortals as they woke screaming from their sleep. And the Universe shook. And on earth, leaders of OZ and the Alliance awoke in the night and new ambition rose unbidden to them. In the chaos, a demon awoke under the volcanoes of Japan, and felt again the need to rise forth and destroy. It felt the call of a mind and the promise of a new body, and vanished into the darkness. And the Universe shook.
Desire paid no attention to the havoc its anger caused, only ranted and screamed in its realm, frustrated by its inability to control its own games. How could that boy escape from the trap of insanity it had laid so perfectly? How had it lost control of the situation? It was too angry to be rational. It would have revenge against this mortal boy in ways so horrible even Desire had trouble thinking about it. The boy would be marked for all nature of tragedy it could manage in its power. Desire would drive that boy into insanity yet. Desire turned, and slammed a delicate, pale skinned fist into the soft, fleshy wall of its temple's eye, sinking up to the wrist in oversized rods and cone cells. It would be revenged, and the messenger of its revenge was already chosen. That girl. Desire smiled suddenly, an evil smile of satisfaction. All would be well soon.

Despair was still watching. She saw the boy huddled in his room, cobalt blue eyes blank and wide with terror, mind filled with anger and self-loathing. She saw him convulsively tighten his grip again and again on the handle of the black knife, saw the tears that were running down his face across the many small scars that marred the tan skin. She knew every thought in his shattered mind, knew the feelings of rejection and failure, the thoughts of anger and fear. She felt him fighting between going back and finishing what he had started, and turning the blade of the knife on himself. This was wrong, she thought. 
And for the first time in her many centuries since she had taken up her position, she felt sorrow. Around her feet, her rats were still, frozen into small gray shapes by the sudden feeling that filled the realm of mirrors, and even the mist stopped its constant shifting and swirling. She felt the ranting of her twin, felt her twin's tantrum shake the universe. She ignored it. She felt the despair and anger in this boy more than she could feel anything she thought. It flooded her realm like a tsunami thrown up by the seaquake of his mind. So much anger, so much sadness, so much angst she could barely stand it. And Despair felt something she had never felt before: regret. She had caused this by playing the games of Desire. Her twin caused nothing but harm in its doings and games. She must set things right.
She walked forward towards the back of the full-length mirror that she watched from, and carefully put her small, stubby hand of the surface of it. The glass was ice cold to the touch, the same feeling of dead flesh. She leaned forward, and rested her head against the glass, feeling its bone chilling cold flood her. 
Go now, she whispered. Go now, and things will be set right. 

Part Three: Where the Night Ends

Heero Yui sat curled into a fetal ball in the corner of his bedroom, body rocking slightly, eyes open, staring, filled with fear and confusion. He was beyond real rational thought, only caught in a feedback loop of panic and fear, his mind trying to reconcile what he had come so close to doing and the screaming voice in his head telling him to finish what he had begun. He had failed what he had sought to do, failed destroy the enemy; he was weak and failed in his mission. He had allowed weakness to overcome him, allowed emotion to prevent the completion of a goal. Curling tighter, he felt clearly the cold metal of the handle of the knife in his hand, a single feeling that the despair in his mind latched on to. An easy escape, so easy.
And then he heard a voice, different from the two screaming in his mind. It was a woman's voice, rough and gravelly, but still soft and warm, whispering to him in his mind. At first he could not hear her, could not understand what she said, but then slowly he heard her more clearly, heard her gentile words telling him what to do.
Go now, the voice said softly, go now, and all things will be set right. 
He had to leave, to run, and to vanish into the darkness to escape this thing inside him self. Away from the distractions, he could find the answers he sought, and regain his stability. He was already packed, already ready to flee. All except one thing he had left to do. 
He stood, rising smoothly from the floor, and walked over to the small table in the room where he had laid out a pad of paper and pen earlier in his preparations. Sitting, he began to write, loosing himself in the rows of neat, careful characters that filled the page.

Heero hiked out to the hangar at a brisk jog, fortunate in the low hanging full moon that lit the world in its strange blue and silver glow so brightly that dark shadows cast themselves across the pale dust of the road. Boot clad feet pounded hard against the tightly packed earth of the road as he ran, his pack slung over his back adding weight behind every step. Escape was close. 
He entered the hangar and climbed the catwalks to the Wing, setting the hydraulic release system that moved the frontal catwalks away from the Gundam as soon as he was across them. Clambering across the chest of the Gundam, he opened the cockpit latch and climbed into the womb like core of the Wing, throwing his pack behind the pilot's chair. He closed the hatch, and began powering up the systems of the mobile suit.
<We are going? > came the ruble of the Wing's voice. 
"Yes, we are going now." Heero did not look up from the control panels as he checked the power levels of the various systems. 
<Why? > Heero ignored the growling question, and finished powering up the control systems. He moved the Gundam out of the maintenance bay in the hangar out into the open floor, and sent the radio command to open the large hangar doors. As they slowly slid open, the question came again. <Why? >