So there I was, in the middle of a battlefield, no shit, and I was desperately tryin' to remember how the hell one works a ballista anyway. I look to my left, hopin' to see a winch or somesuch. No luck. I look to my right, trying to see someone who knew how to use artillery. Nothing. I'm stuck here with crowds o' enemies on either side and no knowledge of how to use my weapon. I was deader'n Peter Frampton. Shit. This just wasn't my day, was it? So --

Where do you think you're going? This is a great story, come on, it's how I met Julius Caesar and convinced him that Gaul just wasn't his style!

Another day, then? OK, smartass, what kind of story do you want to hear?

The Dark Kingdom again? Shit. Those stories depress hell out of me.

All right. Because you are my love and my stories are my love, I'll see if I can't dig up something for you. Lessee... I told you about Beryl, right? OK, so then let's go in order of power.

Let's talk about the King who lords it over everyone else.

Let us discuss, as they say in diplomatic-type circles, Lord Kunzite.

=========================

It was the fashion to name high-born children after semi-precious stones that decade. No one really knows why, except every now and then the people of Earth somehow get the idea that crystals are capable of doing magic. Makes some sort o' sense, really, when you consider that the legends of the Shimmering Triad, the three Great Crystals, is sort of burned into the racial unconscious.... Um, right.

Kunzite was, unluckily, born right smack dab in the middle of Silver Millennium Year 5496, when parents were getting most enthusiastic about the craze, and so his full name turned out to be Kunzite Topaz Magnesite de Valera.

There ain't no justice, is there.

Well, anyway, so he grew up as a high-born, lapped in luxury and surrounded by everything that his li'l heart could desire. Well-educated, at the Imperial Academy of Edo. Smart as a whip, which was one of the weapons he learned how to use at the Martial Training Grounds of Kilimanjaro. Penetratingly sharp as one of the spell-tendrils drilled into his questing mind by his teachers at the Towers of Omnimancy at Stonehenge.

So, -- Oh, you want to know what he looked like? All right, let's take him at age twenty-seven.

Tall, about six foot four. Extremely well-built -- not the sissy type, my friends, not a-tall. Features patrician and sharp. Skin a smooth pale brown. Eyes a haunting silver-gray. Hair shoulder-length, snowy white, smooth and silky, bleached by his constant exposure to the rich mana of Earth.

Yessir, we've got a Grade-A Prime Specimen Intelligent and Good-Looking Man on our hands here.

Fuck. Suddenly I'm even more depressed about telling this story.

Kunzite's ambition -- of course he has one; name me one twenty-seven-year-old man who doesn't.

All right, smartass, name me one worthwhile twenty-seven-year-old man who doesn't.

Anyway, Kunzite's ambition is to matter to the world. He doesn't care how he does it, all he wants is to go throughout the ages with the name of Kunzite de Valera, the Kunzite, resounding as that of someone who truly matters, someone whose skill and intelligence make the worlds better places to live, makes Silver Millennium a better age.

He's not an idealist, get that thought of your cherubic li'l head right now. Idealists are people who need thunderin' big kicks up their arses, if you ask me; no common sense a-tall, wandering around chanting that people oughta save the world and the whales and the rain forests and the magic and whatnot, never stopping to consider that if you actually want something done about that sort o' thing, you gotta get off your ass and quit chanting and actually by-God do something about it your own goddamned self. Honest to God, that's how it works, and you'll notice that there's no reference to cute bumper stickers or petitions in the whole damn thing, eh?

No, Kunzite's no idealist; what he is, is practical. Immensely practical, as you might guess if you'd ever heard that famous saying of his, the one what was later cribbed by Chairman Mao: "It matters not whether the cat is red or black, so long as it catches the mice." Hear that? That there is ol' Machiavelli's "HELL yeah, the ends justifies the means!" set in stone.

Wanna hear about an example of Kunzite's clear cold logic, of his impeccable practicality? OK, we'll take the mighty Lord Kunzite at the height of his powers, when he's forty years old and has attained the Shogunate of Imperial Earth. We'll take him when he has life, love, and his ambitions firmly whupped, and when it looks very much as if Silver Millennium indeed resounds with the name of Kunzite de Valera.

==========================

First, though, we're going to have to talk about the setup of Silver Millennium. I know, I know, if you'd wanted a history of the SiM, you woulda gone to that crazy chick with the long green hair and the big-ass white key. Well, she ain't here, so it's my duty to tell you all the straight dope, just so you know what ezackly Kunzite's gettin' hisself into.

Dude, you gotta know that Mercury is a very well-run anarchy. Do whatever the hell you like, so long as you don't blow up your neighbors while you're doing it. You can blow up yourself if you like (and some of the crazy-ass Mercurian scientists do, with some of those odder experiments), but leave the other people alone. Do everything for the sake of knowledge and reason; obey the occasional decree of the queen, Senshi Mercury, the Soldier of the Mind; and for kamis' sakes, don't do anything to get Venus pissed at us, praise God A-MEN.

Venus -- well, shit, what can I say about Venus except that it's got "fascism" written all over it? You can't even fart without the King or his Senshi indicating the favored direction in which to break your wind. There's rules up down and sideways, and if you break one of 'em -- well, lucky you, you get to report to the Senshi Venus, the Soldier of Light and Love. She's awfully beautiful -- and I mean beautiful in an aweful way. Look at her, despair, and go away weeping at her unattainable beauty -- that's the essence of cruel Venus, both the Senshi and the planet. I wouldn't live on the World of Light for a million dollars. Its beauty is so sharp it kills.

Earth we shall return to in a moment.

The Moon is a more-or-less benevolent dictatorship: it's the center of Silver Millennium and its queen, the reginae luna, is Serenity, serenity personified. Even the people who don't agree with her policies love her personally. From her eyes shine purity and wisdom is in her very bones. Majesty is her mantle; thought and compassion are her shield and armor. The only thing that shines brighter than she is the ginzuishou itself, at least on this side of Heaven. Even those ridiculous dumpling-shaped buns of the royal house look right on her. The Angel of the Moon, the star of mystery, the Soldier of Love and Justice: that is Queen Serenity, ruler of Silver Millennium and binder of the Silver Glow, the heart of the ginzuishou. Hell, you don't even have to pay income tax on the Moon. There aren't any formal laws -- Oh, wait, there is one: "Do whatever you like, so long as it doesn't harm anyone." Nice folks, the Lunae; and such a lovely planet. It's got my vote for mortal paradise.

Mars is a theocracy, run by Her Wisdom the Hierophant of the Eternal Flame. You know what theocracies are like, dontcha? You don't? Good. Far be it from me to despoil the innocence shinin' out of those baby blues of yours. Just lemme say that Her Wisdom definitely does not take kindly to you yellin' "PYROMANIA FOREVER, BAY-BEE!" at the top of your lungs durin' one of her ceremonies. I had a nice long chat with Senshi Mars, the Soldier of the Spirit, and darned if she doesn't much care for the cheer, either. There's no pleasing some people, and if you're not of the Church of the Eternal Flame, you definitely won't please the pious, moral people of Mars.

The asteroids between Mars and Jupiter were once bits of the proud silver planet, imperial Lucifer. It fell, due to the feud between Senshi Lucifer, the Queen of Celestial Millennium, and Senshi Saturn. You don't want to visit the asteroids: they are lawless places, run over by demons and like rabble. Not even the valiant Jovians or the fearless Uranians dare set foot in the asteroids -- not until the Asteroid Senshi, the four sleeping daughters of Senshi Lucifer, are found and awakened.

If you like rough life and pioneering, Jupiter's your best bet: the cloud cities and the ranges are generally easy-going city-states, each headed by a Prince. Every Prince pays attention to the High Council of Red Dome, which is served in an advisory capacity by Senshi Jupiter, the Soldier of Strength and of Comfort. If you pay attention to her too and watch out for the cloudlions, you'll like Jupiter.

Saturn is creepier than hell, and you couldn't find enough money in the universe to convince me to go back there. Everything is in shades of black, white, and purple-gray. The sun hardly ever breaks through the haze, and even on the rings and the moons there is an air of despairing desolation, a sense of waiting and of a darkness extending beyond what's there when you turn out the light. The guardian of Saturn is the silent warrior, the Soldier of Death and Rebirth, the Soldier of Silence, Senshi Saturn. Beautiful girl, delicate and watchful, with midnight-indigo eyes and a pale stare that's as sharp as her Glaive. Do not, for any reason, perform acts of demonology, nigromancy, or necromancy on Saturn. Ever wonder just what exactly those rings are made of? It ain't lost airline luggage, friend.

Uranus is the world of endless vistas and horizons that go on forever. It's not called the world of the heavens for nothing. It's nice and flat -- ideal running conditions, really. You remember that the Uranians won every single track and field event in the Silver Millennium Games, dontcha? Well, that's why. Swiftest of all their runners is Senshi Uranus, the Solder of the Heavens. First sight, I thought she was a man. Technically she's not, but I've never been one to let mere nature stand in the way of what you wanna be. She's as straight up and down as the Space Sword linked to her; and her mind's as linear as the penetrating power of her glare. Don't tick her off.

Neptune, the water world, is ruled by the Nereid Council. It's a lovely world and extremely broad-minded 'bout things like mind-bending substances, esoteric and tantric magics, or interestin' little relationships between members of the same sex. Neptune is guarded by the lady of the aqua hair, the Soldier of the Self and of Embrace, Senshi Neptune; her eyes are as peaceful as those of Serenity, and are as clear as the Mirror linked to her soul. All the same, don't cross her. 'Tain't wise.

Senshi Pluto lives alone. There are no people on Pluto. Nothing lives there. It's only the prime anchor for the Timestream and it's where Senshi Pluto rests from her duties of watching over Time. Charon Castle is quite possibly the loneliest place in all the Universe, even worse than the Tower of Midnight on Saturn. The Angel of Time is a sad, lonely woman; and so if you're wanting pleasant conversation, you'd best not venture over Pluto way.

The tenth planet of Nemesis is ... Aw, hell, I hate the place and you would too. The Mooncat of Nemesis is Rudra, the Eternal and Omniscient; he was the gift of Queen Serenity to the bureaucrats of Nemesis, and they were ever so grateful for him. He runs the place, no matter what anyone might say about the power of this or that Great House. Nemesis may call itself an oligarchy, with power shifting between Seven Stars Sept and the Black Moon Clan, between the Graycloak Clan and the Omega Sept -- but Rudra's paw is over everything, and no one will ever escape the pale fire of his eyes. There is no Senshi Nemesis, no Soldier of the Storm; Rudra guards things, although one day there will be a Prince of the planet to guide and guard it, just as there are sometimes Princes of Earth.

Got all that? All right then.

Now we come to Earth.

==========================

Imperial Earth, the Earth at the time of the Silver Millennium, is divided into six lesser divisions.

Why six, you say. Six doesn't really make a whole lot of sense as a random number, you say. Did someone perchance pull it out of his little hat, you say.

Go count the continents, dumbass, then ask me that again. Six continents, six divisions of Earth.

Each of these divisions is a Viceroyalty, a principality under the Emperor of Earth, Endymion-mikadosama who reigns from the palace in Edo. These six princes, the viceroys in charge of the six continents --

The hell you say! There are so six continents of Silver Millennium Earth.

Lookit, I'll even count 'em out for you.

North America, the division under Prince Jadeite. That's one.

South America, the division under Prince Zoisite. That's two.

Oceania, under Prince Nephrite. Fuckin' three, if you can but dig it.

Asia -- all of it except the Sacred Isles of Nippon are under Prince Kunzite, the Shogun. Cool beans, you say; no shit, I say, what'd you expect he did?

Africa, which is the continent overseen by Prince Cassiterite.

And then there's Lemuria, the land between South America and Australia; and that's the principality of Crown Prince Mamoru Endymion.

That's six continents, smartass, six whole fuckin' continents --

I didn't count Europe? Jesus! There's no pleasing you, is there? Why in hell should I include Europe? It's not even going to be invented yet until Charlemagne starts fucking around with France and the Holy Roman Empire!

Christ on a sidecar...

All right, I'm OK again now.

Now that you know about the Silver Millennium setup and how Earth's arranged, we can go on and state categorically that Kunzite is probably the most feared and respected man on Earth.

Endymion-mikadosama, the Emperor and nominal Guardian of Earth, the Son of Heaven and the Regent of the Gods, is naturally accorded lots of respect and kowtows and shit of that sort, but Kunzite's the man who makes things run. Terra trembles at his command, and somehow when people say "Kunzaito-shogunsama," their voices tremble and crack in a way that the syllables "Endymion-mikadosama" can never even hope to achieve.

Kunzite had achieved the Shogunate by luck, back when he was about thirty years old -- luck that he'd found out that nest of necromancers, luck that he'd managed to kill them all with little or no civilian bloodshed, and luck that his report had been glanced over then reread carefully by the Emperor. He always said that he'd never expected to be rewarded for that bit of investigation and executionery -- but then he got invited to the Hall of the Center of the Universe in the Imperial Palace of Edo; and he always said he wasn't expecting anything, but between you and me, I don't think he was too far shocked when he felt something above his head, and darned if it wasn't the Shogun's Headdress.

So, right, he's the Shogun of Imperial Earth and Prince of Asia. Pretty good for a kid of the middlin'-high rank of nobility, eh?

He takes pride in his job, has been presented to Queen Serenity of the Moon, has been awarded the Silver Star of Neptune for his extraordinary cleverness in mediating between Jupiter and Uranus over that nasty bit in the asteroids, has received a Celestial Accolade from Her Wisdom the Hierophant of Mars. Kunzite de Valera, esquire, is the man of the hour in Silver Millennium, and has been for about ten years.

A year ago, he met the young, newly-crowned Prince of South America: Prince Zoisite of the House of Enoara. You know -- young, slender, copper-haired and emerald-eyed, as lovely as sunrise and as delicate as a cherry blossom. Vicious little viper, of course -- they don't appoint showgirls to the Principalities of Earth -- but all the same more beautiful than an angel.

Lately it seems that Prince Zoisite hasn't really been using his royal apartments in the Imperial Palace of Edo; gosh and golly, friends, he's been shackin' up with Kunzaito-shogunsama, and they've been distressing the Marsmen of the Hierophant's embassy with their ... kinda lascivious, is the word I'm gropin' for here, behavior.

Not that the Emperor cares; so far as His Celestial Majesty is concerned, anyone with Kunzite's work ethic and record of success can fuck men, women, sheep, whatever -- just so long as he keeps doin' the job he does.

This attitude is greatly appreciated by the Shogun and his catamite...

And incidentally, it's immensely appreciated by a certain, recently disaffected noblewoman of Earth. After all, given a lever big enough, and someplace to put the fulcrum, and you can move the Earth.

Beryl doesn't want to move the Earth, she just wants to kill the Crown Prince of same.

Who better to serve as the steadying fulcrum than Kunzite de Valera? Who better to entice away the Shogun of Earth than his lover?

Who better to reap the results than Beryl, whose small niche of nothingness is growing apace with her ambitions?

.... No, no, it's OK, I don't need a handkerchief. Just give me your hand for a moment, and I'll sit quietly. Christ on a sidecar, didn't I tell you these stories depressed me?

Yes. We'll go on. You know enough now to know how much Kunzite will lose. And then, sweet love, you who have listened to me so well and so patiently for so long, will become just as depressed and miserable as I am.

Then you'll really be sorry for cutting off that great Julius Caesar story, I'll bet.

===================

So, right, Kunzite is in the middle of the Muvian War.

Up until this wee bit of a debacle -- "wee bit," my ass; would you describe Krakatoa as a wee bit of a molehill? -- the realm of Earth is peaceful. It has to be. There are no alternatives to being peaceful; there is, I dunno, something about the Janissaries, the imperial legions of Earth, that will put down the most hardened fanatic, the most zealous libertarian.

P'raps it's the fact that the Janissaries are invariably cyborgs, created by the disaffected Mercurian scientist Lord Dreen. Or mebbe it's more to do with the Janissaries' lack of emotions. It could even be that "mercy" is dunned out of their cybernetic brains.

I personally happen to think that it's the ruins of Mu that made the Janissaries' reputations and established the mandate that no one rebels on Earth.

You remember Mu, don't you?

You don't?

Well, that's because Kunzite put it down so effortlessly.

That's what I'm leading up to, sweetheart; the Muvian War occurs over the Muvians' refusal to pay their taxes.

Normally in this situation, the Prince of the area would groan a bit, dither around and send in perhaps an ambassador or two to talk things over with the people and then he regretfully says the equivalent of, "You scum better fucking well pay your goddamned taxes, or the Emperor (may he live forever bless his name praise the kamis AMEN) will be really really disappointed in you and will conspicuously refrain from blessing this region in the Festival of the New Year."

This works. Believe me. It's worked for centuries, all because the people of Earth (and the rest of Silver Millennium) believe that the Emperors of Earth, the line of the Endymions, have been blessed by Imperial Amaterasu Omikami, Goddess of the Sun. To prove Her love for Her sons, She gave them an Orb, a Mirror, a Sword, and a Golden Crystal.

The fuck--! you say. Senshi Uranus holds the Space Sword, you say. Senshi Neptune holds the Aqua Mirror, you say. Senshi Pluto holds the Garnet Orb, you say. Is it just your imagination, you say, or do none of those three aforementioned persons even remotely resemble an Emperor of Earth?

Well, my dear, you may be pretty but you sure ain't smart. The Three Talismans of the Holy Grail are bonded to the Outer Senshi, but they belong to the Emperors of Earth.

Fuck you and your damn Talismans, you say without rancor, but what about the Golden Crystal?

I say, wait for that, friend. Wait for that. Just trust me -- as you've trusted me so far -- when I say that the Golden Crystal holds its own place and time...

And now since you've stopped sidetracking me, we'll get back to Mu.

Mu's stopped believing in the divinity of the Emperors, which is pretty damned bad, and more to the point it's declaring that fact to the whole wide yawning span of Silver Millennium by refusing to pay its taxes and not listening to its rightful Prince, Shogun Kunzite.

And this is the point where we come back into the story, my love, the point where Kunzaito-shogunsama calls in the Janissaries, sends them forth into the great rebellious stronghold of Eldorado, watches from atop the mountain of Ojos del Hielo as the cyborg soldiers of the Celestial Imperium raze Eldorado to the ground.

The amount of gold, uranium, platinum, and other precious metals is enough to pay the taxes of Mu for several years; your eyes would've bugged out of your pretty li'l head, had you seen the mountains of loot that the Janissary officers pour out at Kunzite's feet after the sack is over.

Doesn't turn Kunzite's head, of course; he's used to such wealth. He runs a silver glare over the loot, glances up at the Naib of the Janissaries and snaps something to the effect of "This ain't humiliating enough."

At which point my eyes go wide as saucers, and I pipe up meekly, "Shogun, this is plenty humiliating; Mu's lost over half of its wealth overnight."

Kunzite just stares at me, wills me to shut up, and so of course I do; but I'm in prime position to hear what he has to say to his Janissary officers.

There will be a march on Atland, the capital of the Muvian province; and at the end of that march, Atland will be put to the torch, its duke will be scourged and beheaded, its people sold as chattels (the proceeds o' which will go to the officers, including yours truly -- no one's ever said that Kunzaito-sama doesn't take good care of his men).

You can prob'ly imagine my consternation -- you know as well as I do that no one's ever scourged an Imperial Duke of Earth, and that no one's ever razed a city of Earth to the ground....

But this is Kunzite, and this is his province, and everything in it belongs to him unequivocally.

Huh? you say. But, doesn't Earth and all its denizens an' shit belong to the Emperor, you say. I thought that the divine Son of Heaven owned all Earth and its concordants, you say. But the Shogun is only the right hand of the Emperor, you say, and as such, how come he doesn't have to turn over all of his shit to the Emperor?

Well, it's to do with somethin' called suzerainty; the Emperor sits on his throne o' elephantine and emerald and crystal, listens to all the cases booted up his way by the Prime Minister and the Shogun's offices, and basically radiates serenity and divinity. That, see, is the Emperor's job, that and begetting legitimate kids as to take over when the current Emperor kicks the bucket.

But who really rules are the Princes of Earth. The Emperor reigns; they rule. They take all the shit what goes on in their respective territories, deal with it quickly/efficiently/ruthlessly, and report to the Emperor that Earth is a paradise.

Boy, is it ever, especially if you happen to be a military officer or a Prince of Earth. If you're not, you're kinda out of luck, see...

And the upshot of this is, you live in Asia and you belong to Kunzite. Your ass is his, unequivocally; and if you exercise your right as a Terran citizen to appeal to the Mikado himself, then you resign yourself to eternal damnation because, frankly, the Emperor's never overturned a ruling of one of his Princes.

So we march on Atland. We raze it to the ground. Kunzite stands amid the ruins of what was once the Imperial Duke's palace, and coolly oversees the scourging and beheading of His Venerance.

Know what, honey? You can hear the flesh being torn away from the sucker's back. Ever seen a scourge? Well, the usual issue is a long whip with glass-studded thongs. Makes quite an interesting sort o' pattern on the criminal's back, and between you and me it makes quite a deterrent to most miscreants. All very well not to fear a mere hanging; it takes true desperation to risk the scourge and its agony.

But even the agony of the scourge can be worse; and the proof of it is what the Janissaries favor: a Saturnine urumi, one o' those so-called "spring swords." See, what it is, is this stiff metal handle -- like a hilt or a whip butt -- with six long slender metal ribbons attached. These ribbons are razor-sharp at the edges. Lash this like a whip -- gotta get that flick o' the wrist just right -- and it'll cut through flesh like butter.

Nasty things. Nasty, evil, wicked things that ought never to have been invented; there's no use pretending that it's only a jumped-up goad or riding quirt; it's clearly a weapon made only for maiming and killing. Even the sight of it can make a veteran go pale.

The Duke of Atland certainly thinks that this is a reasonable opinion. His screams are deafening. I think I'm going to be sick once or twice, and from the looks I can see on the few wholly human officers around here, I'm not the only one.

The Janissaries stand stoically, mechanically. Gad, they're like demons, ain't they? I've heard tell that Her Wisdom the Hierophant of Mars has nicknamed the Janissaries "youma." The nickname may stick. Certainly, as they watch the Duke of Atland's skin shred away from his back, their eyes are cold enough to make me believe that they have no human parts at all anymore.

Much as I hate their eyes and their indifference, my lord is almost the same. The only time when Kunzite shows emotion is when some of the splattering blood falls on his white cloak. A flicker of disgust, then yours truly offers him a new cape and whisks the old one away.

-- What do you mean, what was I doing there? I was Kunzite's goddam orderly, is what I was. Useful job, too; I got to know what the hell was going on, and I never had to do inconvenient fighting, neither. Cushy, like.

Well, yes, it's kinda inconvenient that every time His Nibs' cape ain't pressed right that I get my ears boxed, but it's more than made up for by the fact that I always know the straight shit on campaign.

I liked serving Kunzaito-shogunsama. He is hard, and he is cold, and he is sometimes frighteningly single-minded; but he is just, scrupulously just, and there are times when his cool justice can give way to mercy. There aren't many times; but there are a few.

He is capable of mercy. He is capable of protecting the weak -- God, that's all he does, for years on end... It may have been hard, living in Kunzite's Asian province, but he tries. He really does try to make human life better. It means something to him, the Headdress of the Shogun. It means something to him, that he is virtually God to well over four million people. For God His sake, the words on Kunzite's Shogunate crest are "The sword for mine enemies; the shield over my children."

Yes, I'm crying again. ... Fuck your handkerchief, and get your damn hand off my shoulder. Don't you understand? That was Kunzite, my master; and it ain't his fault that some bitch-sorceress who can't take no for an answer bursts his skull and replaces all of his cool justice with something more than slightly mad and definitely much much less than human.

Yar, I'm sorry. That was uncalled-for, like. Come back, and I'll finish; then you'll understand why I weep for the man who was Kunzite, and for the demon who is Kunzite of the Shitennou.

=============================

The scourging's finished, and Kunzite has just concluded his customary harangue to his soldiers. Atland is finished, and so is the defiance of Mu. There will be no more talk of balking the Celestial Imperium or the Celestial Shogun. Ever.

I can hear the rumble of approval and adulation coming from the Janissaries, as Kunzite stands before them, the Triumphator, the Imperator, the Victor. He is resplendent in his immaculate white (don't even ask me how long it takes to make sure that all of his clothing is gleaming white -- those boots are hell to keep snowy -- but damn he does look good, ne?). The soldiers adore him. There is nothing quite as intoxicating as the adulation of an army for their commander; Kunzite shows it as he comes back down to his own tent, gleaming and shining remotely as the demigod that we've all come to regard the Shogun as.

Yes, thankyouverymuch, I'm the one responsible for that gleaming white aura. Ha. Does anyone ever stop to think that I work like a dog keepin' him all clean and shit? Nope.

Oh, well; I do get paid a lot.

Anyway.

Kunzite shoves open the tent flap, stares right through me. I'm just doin' my job, cleaning up around the tent and straightening up some of the gunk that accumulates during a campaign. Even though Kunzite's what we like to call fastidious (meaning he screams to high heaven if there's a mess, despite the fact it's pouring down rain and I can't help it that he's trackin' mud everywhere), there's still some damn things that don't change about campaigning: it's damn messy.

"Get out," Kunzite says to me, very shortly. "Take your leave."

"Um, but, Shogun-sama, I still have --" I start, holding up my handful o' gunk as proof that I've only been doing my duty.

"Did I or did I not say 'leave?'" Kunzite says, almost gently. "It's possible, of course, that I in fact said 'Please stay so I can stare at you.' Anything is possible. Was this, in fact, the case? Did I ask you to stay?"

"Nossir," I say, and scram for dear life. I only pause to fasten the tent flap closed, and I clear away all the hangers-on around the tent. The soldier sitting at the table outside the Shogun's tent is shooed off; I sit down at the chair of the secretary/screener, and wait patiently until Kunzite's bad mood clears off.

I figure I won't have long to wait; to give Kunzaito-sama his due, he doesn't stay angry for long -- leastways,not visibly angry. He doesn't take out his anger on people who don't really deserve it. He's fair, see? If I don't have his capes straightened out and perfectly white, I might get a whack across the ear; if I have everything up to his not-impossible standards, I merit a nod and a sort of impartial tolerance. It balances. I never, ever get a slap or a flogging. By his way of thinking, the only thing that could possibly deserve that measure of harshness is treason.

As if I -- or any other person in Kunzite's employ -- would even consider something that stupid. Betray the Mikado? Betray the Shogun, he of the silver eyes and the soul of shining steel? ... Honeychile, Janissaries are too logical to think of it, and the officer who can entertain the words "treason" and "against Kunzite" in the same sentence don't survive long in this army.

So I'm sitting in the chair, right, and watching the camp. Everyone's in his own tent by this time -- and if he happens to be sharing that tent with some cute fellow officer, what the hell do I care? -- and camp's quiet and orderly.

.... For all of you milit'ry enthusiasts out there, shall I sketch out camp for you, quick-like? OK, then: One o' the things about a long campaign in a foreign land is the tendency of the rankers and their chain of command to start thinking of base camp as a semi-permanent home. Despite all the crap going on -- constant movements, campaigns, forays, expeditions -- base camp almost inevitably takes on the appearance of a town.

Since Kunzaito-shogunsama chooses his Naibs and centurions very carefully, the period of the winter rains in Asia -- which see no fighting -- is used not only for drills and exercises (and believe me, what the Janissary centurions think is healthy exercise oughta give ideas to the Marquis de Sade), but for sorting out the troops into congenial li'l groups of eight expected to tent and mess together, and also for dealin' with the thousand and one disciplinary problems that naturally occur among so many men (even Janissary men, which strictly speaking aren't really human) cooped up together for long stretches of time.

Demo, when spring rolls around, camp starts buzzing like a bee. Kits are sorted out for coming campaigns, wills are made up and lodged with the legion clerks, mail shirts are oiled and polished, swords sharpened, daggers honed, helmets padded with felt to withstand heat and chafing and shit of that nature, boots carefully inspected and missing hobnails attended to, tunics mended, imperfect or worn-out gear shown to the centurion and then turned into army stores for replacement.

Then people get paid, and what a riot that is. Since the average Janissary can't count to more than eleven without takin' his pants off, the company clerks have their hands full tryin' to convince everyone that he ain't bein' cheated. Only the mention of the Shogun's legendary fairness can solve many o' these cases. Cripes, you couldn't pay me enough to be a company clerk.

Kunzaito-sama had issued light marching orders, which everyone knows means there will be no miles-long baggage trains of ox-drawn wagons -- only mule-drawn rickshaw contraptions. No magic barges, neither; the Mercurians and Uranians keep them strictly to themselves. So each Janissary carries his gear on his back, which he does very cleverly, slung from a Y-shaped rod he bears on his left shoulder -- shaving kit, spare tunics, socks, cold-weather breeches; a wet-weather circular cape, smelly as hell and treated with a magical substance to hold off rain; mess kit and cooking pot, water bag, a minimum of three days' rations; one precut, notched stake for the camp palisade, whichever entrenching tool he might be allocated, hide bucket, wicker basket, saw, and sickle; and cleaning compounds for his armor and shit. His shield he slings over his back under his gear; and his helmet he either adds to the clutter hanging from his carrying pole, or slung high on the right breast, or wears on his head if he marches in expectation of attack. He always dons his mail shirt for the march, its twenty-pound weight removed from his shoulders because he kilts it tightly around his waist with his belt, thus distributing its weight on his hips. On the right side of his belt he fixes his sword in its scabbard, on the left side his dagger in its scabbard, and he wears both on the road. He doesn't carry his spears or his whip; the archers carry their quivers depending from their carrying poles, and their bows slung over a shoulder.

Each eight men get a mule, on which are piled their leather tent, its poles, and their spears, together with extra rations if no fresh issue's going to be made every three days. Ninety-six Janissaries and four noncombatants make up each century, officered by a centurion. Every century has one mule-drawn cart, in which rides all the men's extra gear -- clothing, tools, spare weapons, wicker breastwork sections for the camp's fortifications, rations if no fresh issues are to be made for very long whiles, and more. If the whole army's on the move and doesn't expect to double back on its tracks at the end of a campaign, then every single thing it owns from plunder to artillery was carried in oxcarts which plod miles to the rear under heavy guard.

When Kunzaito-sama set out for Mu from Xanadu, the Asian capital, he left the heavy baggage behind; it's nonetheless an imposing sight, seeming to stretch from the horizon to forever, for each legion of Janissaries and its mule carts and artillery take up a mile of road, and Kunzaito-sama has at his disposal six legions.

In open country like Mu, there's no possibility of ambush; an enemy can't string himself out enough to attack all parts of the column simultaneously without being seen, and any attack on any part of the column would immejitly result in the rest of the column's turning in on the attackers and surrounding 'em, the act of wheeling bringing the Janissaries into battle rank and file automatically.

And yet every night the order's the same -- make a camp. Which means measuring and marking an area large enough to hold every man and animal in the army, digging deep ditches, fixing the sharpened stakes in the bottoms of the trenches, raising earthworks and palisades -- yet at the end of it, every man in the army can sleep soundly, knowing that there's no fucking way any attacker can sneak into the camp without trippin' over a few of the magical or mundane traps around the camp.

Around the perimeter are the breastworks and the palisades. Inwards are the trenches. Then come, row by row, the tents of the men. There's a gate at the southern or eastern walls of camp -- the lucky directions -- and from this gate there is a "road" coming through camp to the commander's tent and command center in the middle of the entire thing.

In other words, you've got to go through the entire defenses of a Janissary army plus magical wards and tricky military traps to get to the Shogun.

It ain't an easy prospect even if you're a friend.

We've got that straight? Cool.

So you know vaguely what goes on around the Shogun's tent, what's happening right about now.

Since everyone else in the camp is sleeping, I figure that I might as well nod off as well. If Kunzaito-sama needs me, well, he knows I'm right outside, ready to serve as soon as he yells for me.

I lean back, close my eyes, and presently drift off into a soldier's half-awake, half-asleep, wholly alert doze.

Funny, innit, what we think of when we fall into these half-sleeps ...

F'rinstance, I think that I hear my lord Kunzite's cool deep rumble from inside the tent, and even though I try not to hear I can't help but ingest his words.

"Madam, I do not betray the Endymions; and you had best keep that in mind."

Holy shit, of course Kunzite doesn't betray the Endymions; might as well think of Silver Millennium itself falling to pieces. Ha. Even my half-asleep brain thinks that this is frankly ludicrous.

He goes on: "There is no Senshi of the Earth because there is no need for one: I, madam, am the reason that there is no need. I stand for the Emperor's justice and for the protection of the weak. I stand for the order of the Celestial Imperium --"

He's cut off here; the words are indistinct and only the deep rumble of my lord's voice is audible.

I settle down into the chair, kind of wriggling uncomfortably cuz my hip's wedged in a corner, and absently note that there's a woman's voice issuing from inside the Shogun's tent.

This is new. Kunzaito-shogunsama's been takin' up with the Prince of South America, sure enough, but I've known of a few others to be invited into the Shogun's bed. Always women, on campaign; always men, when at home in the Asian capital of Xanadu. I don't give a rat's ass one way or the other -- really, who gives a damn 'bout whom the Shogun fucks, as long as I still get paid? -- it's just that I hadn't seen the woman beforehand. Usually Kunzaito-sama has me give the lucky girl the onceover and a bath to make sure that she's as utterly clean as everything else around Kunzite; usually, I'm the one to pick out the girl in the first place.

I shrug after a moment, and settle back down. So Kunzite teleported her in. So the hell what.

But I hadn't felt the teleport.

But Kunzite's a magician the likes of which none but a Senshi can best, so of course a little charm artist like me isn't going to feel a spell as subtle as one of his.

But Kunzaito-sama usually tells me if he's going to be entertaining, if only so's I won't let people bug him during a .... vulnerable moment.

But it's none of my damn business either way --

And it was at roughly this point when I heard the woman's soft voice raise into a scream: "Then be damned to you, and to your love, and to your Shogunate, and to your so-divine Endymion! Be damned to you, and may your life be hell!"

Well, this definitely ain't normal. Usually when someone in Kunzite's tent screams at times like this, it's only variations on Kunzaito-sama's name.

I start up, ready to burst into the tent and, I dunno, stand there so's I can immediately drag away the body after Kunzaito-sama finishes losing his temper. Only the fact that Kunzaito-sama will be mad keeps me from opening the tent flap and going inside.

Around me are a few of the other officers, looking a bit disheveled and sleepy. I wave them back, and stand there listening, straining to find some reason to get into that tent and offer my service to Kunzaito-sama.

I get my reason three seconds later when another scream pierces the air.

This time it's my lord's deep voice that splits my skull in half. It's not a yell, not a man's cry of outrage or fury or astonishment: it's a scream of pure and violent agony.

I only barely beat the horde of officers to the tent, rip open the flap, charge inside...

Gods, you don't know -- you can't even guess, darlin' -- how much I want to shut out the image that confronted me.

This won't mean much to you, since you've never seen the Executioner's Star that stands before the Tower of Law, but Kunzaito-sama hangs in the air spread-eagled as if he's just been strung up on the Star as a traitor. The proud silver head lolls around, chin on chest; a faint trickle of crimson blood drips out of his slack mouth.

He looks, frankly, like shit.

Before him stands a demon in the shape of a woman with hair as crimson as blood and as scarlet as hatred.

In her hands she holds a staff.

At the top of the staff is a globe of crystalline evil.

She's laughing.

I hate her instantly.

I also feel the urge to worship her.

That can't be good.

I decide hell with it, and launch myself at her; and then I hear Kunzaito-sama scream again, and then I can't see or hear a damn thing cuz the world has inconveniently gone black.

=============================

Mu is utterly vanquished, and the taxes begin flowing back to the Emerald Throne of Earth.

No one notices, back at Kunzaito-sama's capital of Xanadu, that the Shogun's eyes are no longer silver, but merely cold and pale.

No one notices, back at Xanadu, that the Shogun never says much anymore. Really, when did he ever say much anyway?

No one notices, back at Xanadu, that the Shogun's orderly has unfortunately suffered a grievous injury in the Muvian campaign, in the sneak spell-attack that killed no small number of the officers. But then, who wants to talk to Kunzaito-sama's faithful chainman, anyway?

They notice in imperial Tokyo that the Shogun is harder and colder and touched by a dark magic; whenever the Shogun approaches the Emerald Throne, the Golden Crystal, the kinzuishou, flares up into panic.

They notice in imperial Tokyo that the Shogun is no longer quite so enamored of his copper-haired colleague, of the beautiful prince Zoisite of South America.

They notice in imperial Tokyo that the Shogun follows the every move of Crown Prince Mamoru Endymion with cold, calculating eyes.

And, my dear, that ain't exactly what the Emperor likes to see in his faithful servant.

=============================

You know the rest. You must know the rest.

Crown Prince Mamoru Endymion walks up to Kunzaito-sama one day, asks in all seriousness if there's anything that the Shogun would like to talk about.

Hovering in the background are Prince Zoisite and Prince Nephrite, the Shogun's lover and the Shogun's only friend, the sakura and the astromancer.

"What do you think of the Celestial Imperium, Mamoru-sama?" the Shogun asks.

"The Celestial Imperium exists to protect the children of Earth and to maintain the balance of the Sun Goddess' creation," the Crown Prince says calmly.

"To protect the children of Earth? And what have they done to deserve it?" Kunzaito-sama asks.

Mamoru Endymion, as you may well imagine, don't take this too well. He may be a colossal jerk, my dear, but he ain't a dummy. "They are just that, Kunzaito-sama: children. We, the royalty, those touched by the Imperial Goddess, must be their father-surrogates and keep them orderly. We are strong, so that they might be happy in their weakness."

"Ah," the Shogun says. His eyes glint pale and cold, cold, cold -- as cold as the glitter of the top of a crystal staff. "We are strong, oujisama. And they are weak. Should we not merely ignore them save when they can provide us a service? Why do we owe them something, merely because we have the fortune to be wise and strong, and they have the misfortune of being stupid and weak?"

The Crown Prince looks frankly flabbergasted by this. It ain't exactly the sort of argument that's really popular around imperial Tokyo, you understand; Silver Millennium as a whole doesn't really go in for the whole hedonistic bit (except for Neptune, but that's a different story).

More to the point, it definitely ain't like Kunzaito-sama's well-known views on the subject. He ain't a philanthropist, but he is a great and tireless soldier for the Light.

The Light, as a general rule, don't promote the idea that it's everyone for himself.

Crown Prince Mamoru Endymion replies at last, "We don't owe them anything. We owe it to ourselves, to protect those who aren't as gifted as we are. There must be something useful to do with our gifts.... Otherwise, what's the point of living at all, if you don't do something memorable with it, something that will impress your fellow man so much that he can't help but remember you?"

This hits the Shogun very hard. The eyes glint silver for one brief instant; the astromancer frowns, and the sakura's eyes light up in momentary hope.

"So it's like that, is it? We do great things because it's our means to immortality? Why not do splendid things for our own benefit and have people remember us that way?"

The Crown Prince looks impatient. "Because only demons do things only for themselves; and demons are far, far less than human -- they are eternally damned and to think that a man would deliberately put himself on the level of scum like demons is to commit obscenity. No one would waste his gifts by pouring them into a well of nothingness."

There is silence for a moment.

The Shogun's cool dark face hardens. His eyes flash silver once more, then settle into pale void once again.

The Shogun says quietly, "One question, then. What do the words 'divine right' mean to you, Mamoru-sama?"

The Crown Prince doesn't skip a beat. "The Imperial Goddess grants the Emperor Her blessing; and therefore everything the Emperor does is right."

"Nicely put," Kunzaito-sama says thoughtfully. "But what if a rival goddess gives Her blessing to someone besides the Emperor?"

"That can't happen," the Crown Prince says, staring. "Imperial Amaterasu is the Queen of Heaven. That just can't happen."

"Can't it?" Kunzaito-sama muses. "Oh, well -- in that case, Mamoru-sama, rest easy, because none of this is really happening."

And his hands glimmer with purple fire.

And the Crown Prince screams in pain.

And a crimson rose explodes into Kunzaito-sama's right shoulder.

And a burst of stars carom into Kunzaito-sama's lower back.

And amidst a desolate wail from the sakura, an icy javelin hurls itself towards Kunzaito-sama's heart.

And a dark portal opens before the javelin, shattering the weapon and ripping reality.

And Kunzaito-sama falls into it --

And he almost -- almost -- still has the strength to pull Mamoru Endymion into the dark world with him.

And the portal closes as Nephrite pulls the Crown Prince away from Kunzaito-sama's grasp.

And the mocking laughter of a demon in the shape of a woman can be heard echoing over Mamoru Endymion's gulps of pain, over Zoisite's sobs of anguish, over Nephrite's yells of panic and shock.

=============================

The dark world is not yet a kingdom, you understand.

There must first be subjects.

Kunzaito-sama, still dressed in his stark white, kneels before the throne of the demon in the shape of a woman.

He isn't a demon yet.

He is still only a human whose mind has been shown the brief, tantalizing glimpse of an ArchDemon's dark glory.

He is still supremely human; he still possesses a heart and a soul and the barest shreds of decency.

That's going to change...

Remember the Janissaries?

You don't?

That's because they were Kunzaito-sama's gift to Beryl, in atonement for his failure to kill Crown Prince Mamoru Endymion.

The Janissaries pour into the throne room of the dark world, company by company.

I am the last to arrive; I find myself kneeling before Beryl-hime, kneeling at Kunzaito-sama's side.

"Welcome, Janissaries," the Shogun says coldly. "Welcome, you whose souls shall feed the Dark Goddess."

The demon in the shape of a woman, the queen of crimson hair and eyes like frozen cat piss, smiles.

It ain't pretty, but it's impossible to look away.

The demon in the shape of a woman, the queen of bitterly smiling mouth and soul like dessicated sere, steals the souls of the Janissaries in less time than it takes me to breathe.

My soul is still with me, or so I judge by the fact that I alone don't fall to the ground. Tell the truth, honeychile, I wish that my soul had been stolen. I'd rather have been one of them, one of the first to die, than have ended up as I have.

As each soul enters that crystal staff, there to be stored until the Dark Goddess feeds, Kunzaito-sama's uniform darkens, until at last it is a dull gray.

Gray is the color of death.

He stills bleeds faintly from his right shoulder; that wound will never heal. The minor hurts from the burst of stars -- Nephrite had not been able to bring himself to hurt his friend much -- had soaked away the instant Kunzaito-sama fell to his knees before the dark woman.

The gray-uniformed man turns to me coldly. "This one has served me well, Queen Beryl," he says to the demon in the shape of a woman.

"Then let her serve you still," the demon says indifferently. She is so beautiful, so terrible, that I want to worship her at the same time I feel this urge to to kill her. This just can't be healthy.

No, no it ain't healthy; the proof of it is, a second later I get my soul drained, channeled through the filth of that crystal staff, and plopped back into my body without so much as a by-your-leave.

This is the same thing that Beryl did to Kunzaito-sama, back in Atland.

She's turned me into one of Metallia's servants, as distinct from one of Metallia's slaves.

Jesus Christ. I'm... I'm... Christ on a sidecar, I'm one of the soulless.

Kunzaito-sama looks at me for a long time.

He still isn't quite a demon himself yet.

I see pity in his eyes.

And then there is void.

And then the laughter of the demon in the shape of a woman, the laughter of the poor mad noblewoman whose mind and soul have been consumed by the Dark Goddess, Imperial Amaterasu's rival, drowns out even the void.

God, I hate this story. Reliving my soul's muddying ain't my idea of a picnic, you know, and it's only cuz I'm so fond of you that I told it in the first place.

And now that I've told it to you, and you know how Kunzaito-sama had the misfortune to be Earth's Shogun while Beryl was pining after Mamoru Endymion ...

Don't you wish you'd heard that Julius Caesar story instead?

Yeah, yeah. So next time I'll tell you about the true demonization beginning, and if you really want to hear it, I may even tell you a bit about Nephrite.

In the meantime, baby doll, wanna know about the time I met this flying squirrel and his lummox of a pet moose?

=============================