Nine minutes ago.

The sound. The rage. The feeling. That is what they were here for. Standing in a club. The lights low, but for the occasional flash of neon. Together with the band. Two singers on the stage. Ripped leather and spikes. Yelling their song into the microphones, like howling in the night.

Eight.

An alley. Like any other. It didn’t matter. They needed to slip away. Get out of that club. Get away from that man. His interest in them was fast. So were his hands down their waist. Just as quickly was his disinterest when he realized they was not what they thought they were. They were never what he thought they were.

Seven.

They slipped out the back door, certain he had not seen, into the night air. Cold. But anything was colder than the inside of a club. People are warmth. Bodies are warmth. They’d rather be cold. They had no interest in men. Women either. They had not been at that club for the people anyway.

Six.

They thought they heard something behind them. Their senses were heightened after the music, pounding. Now there was no stimulus. They could hear a pin if it dropped. They could taste the air. Smell the heat of a person if they were close. But there was no one there.

Five.

They were not wrong. There hadn’t been anyone there. Well, there really hadn’t. But he was in front of them now. Hadn’t they said they wasn’t interested? Still, how had he gotten there?

Four.

Oh. And he definitely looked different now. He’d transformed. He didn’t even hide it either. Didn’t have to. They wouldn’t remember. Did it matter what happened, then, if they didn’t remember? Did anything matter before you changed? Or were you now someone different entirely?

Three.

They had said something. Fought. Grabbed his hand. Their nails dug in. He was strong. Certainly stronger than them. But they were like a caged animal. They bit into his hand. They tasted blood.

Two.

He snarled. Called them a monster. His hand was bloodied. A bite hurt no matter whose mouth it came from. No matter. He’d change her. Change her into something beautiful.

One.

Stop! There were two figures on a roof. One a young senshi, the other a full-fledged knight. He’d have to hurry. Turn her quick. But just like before when he tried to win her in the club, they was something he hadn’t counted on. The starseed resisted. Just his luck. He’d have to make this quick. But he flooded her starseed too quickly with hands unaccustomed to the task. Found out too late what he was dealing with. An unawakened senshi starseed.

Now.

This is bad.

The figure before him shifted, turned. It started to become something else. They were becoming something else. And not what he wanted. He had pure Chaos — like clay — but he lacked the skill to mold it. So it formed itself. Themselves.

He cracked his whip, but it was too late to stop the transformation. The end of the lash hit the creature’s eye. One of its eyes. On one of its heads.

Two heads. Two sets of fangs with which to bite. Two mouths with which to taste blood. Four paws and two wings to launch themselves, blind in means and rage, at their creator.

A hand held out to stop them. And they were forced to obey, as if they had no will any longer. Their one bleeding eye tried to focus. It was hard to see when you were once two. Then four. Then three.

They could see themselves in the star that had appeared under them, like a mirror. But what was sight when you could no longer recognize what you saw?

The star shined. The light brighter than any amount of eyes could take. And then they were hit by an arrow to the chest.

Dust and they were gone.

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