**WARNING: This fanfic contains SPOILERS and some mild mature content. ** Please be aware that, if you haven't seen past the end of the US commercial release, this story probably won't make a lot of sense. The 'Alternity' stories are intended to be read by those who've seen the entire series, or are familiar enough with the entire original story arc to at fake it. ^_- It also makes speculations about the nature of the new character shown to be present in "Adolescence Mokushiroku" (I think we all know which one... *grin*)- if you don't want spoilers or anything of that sort, you probably won't want to read this story. :) That being said, comments and suggestions on this story are welcome at utena@duellists.tj. :) Previous chapters of the story can be found on my webpage at http://www.duellists.tj/~utena/links.html under the fanfic heading. Thanks in advance for taking the time to read this. :) Missing truth and forever, Ten'jou Utena, the Victor of the Duel ---------------------------------------------------------------- The End of the Innocence: http://www.duellists.tj/~utena ---------------------------------------------------------------- ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- All of us are dead. And everyone's dying, every day. Aren't we all ghosts in the flesh? Can any of us really say anything we see is real? Alternity 2: Celebrity Skin by utena@duellists.tj Pain stabbed and slid into Utena's body. Pain that was like another pain, real beyond reality; though the swords were only a metaphor she still felt them, roaring down in a massive wave. Slicing apart her spine, ripping through her ribs and shattering her vertebrae, stealing all her strength, violating and laying her open... devastating everything in the world, in her world, in the blink of an eye. The scream of the whole world shouting at her, laughing at her, mocking her, LIE DOWN AND -DIE- BECAUSE --WE-- --HATE-- --YOU--!! ringing so hard in her ears they bled... She resisted and pushed herself away, tears in her eyes. Staggering from the Arena, Utena choked for breath in the grey ash-filled air, ragged epaulets mostly torn apart. She ripped off her jacket and hurled it to the rose-marked concrete; the Million grabbed it and tore it to shreds. Her snapped sword hilt embedded in the ground, her blood turning into rose petals as it left her body, she stumbled clutching her broken side down the caracole. And the Million Swords of Hate tore up the steps behind her tattered bare heels, wiping out her steps and obliterating all proof of her existence from the world. She was going to show them, she WASN'T going to die, she wasn't going to disappear... even though the pain she was going to shine, because together someday together, Himemiya... But she tripped at the final stair, and into the darkness she fell, tumbling into the narrow coffin waiting for her, the lid slamming down tight above her, pressure of earth raining down above, her screams of rage and clawing at the soft rose-scented insides meaningless; the world was doing its best to bury all that she was. Her voice was silenced and her body was still... for a long time, that was all there was, dark moist stillness. Time was meaningless here, infinite. She forgot herself in that timeless night, lost her identity. She transformed, roots bursting through her skin, sprouting from her motionless body, slicing through the coffin and fanning out to reach the soft soil beyond; through this she was content, sharing her blood with the world and her skin with the smaller creatures that craved it so. She belonged. She fit in at last, was like something at last in the secret world far removed from the sight of the Million. Her roots spread out, fanned thick, deep and wide. Other plants tangled with her, coiled around her and shared with her. They embraced and filled every part of her, slipping into her gently, filling her, mingling their nutrients and vitae with her own; she loved all of them equally and joined them all equally without distinction, common weed, poisonous creeper, or cultured rose bush, she loved them and they loved her. She gave them life, the prince of roses, her body nurturing to all their kind. Paulonia, rose and poppy all courted her in a dance of elements below the soil. And, loving her, they taught her anew the urge to rise, to seek the light, to burst from the safety of the ground and reach out to the sky, to flower and continue her kind. But she hesitated to take that final step. She still remembered the silver swords that pruned her down, hacked her away. She was afraid to feel those cutting, tearing instruments again. And ah, they understood her so well, the paulonia and the poppy; under the ground the poisonous and the beautiful all shivered together to think of the cold silver blades that slashed and tore apart their lives, that struck without warning to destroy things before their full flowering. So Utena remained as she was, bound and content into the rich and whispering soil by her roots, tangling her roots with others and thriving deep below ground. But a day came, when everything was taken away from her. The silver cutters came down, punching through the sweet soil, ripping into her body again, slicing her from her kind, destroying the plants she had been tangled with. Her friends and lovers. The quiet songs and whispers in the soil had been silenced. She reacted in blind rage; she had had enough. Her anger grew in her as she recovered alone from this second assault; it grew nurtured in her into a single perfect seed, the only one she had ever created, or ever would. A wild offshoot, part rose, poppy and paulonia, all her favored lovers; they had shared her body and now their potential and strength reflected in the seed she created in her fury. Her rage passed into the seed's heart as well as what she had been taught: to thrive and survive, to push toward the light at any cost, to live... In the middle of the Forest of Challenges, hidden at the back of the campus of Ootori Academy, a small wild rose bush like no other on earth erupted into full bloom, two blossoms shining in a ray of sunlight under the protective cover of the trees. Marking the spot where Utena had fallen and died in failure at the foot of the caracole steps. Dark brown hands had reached down and stroked the plant, fearful it would be destroyed, this bizarre new strain that had come from nowhere. The bush was gently transplanted from the Forest, with effort, to a prime spot in the campus greenhouse. The matter had been handled with great pomp and dignity. But the plant rewarded all this diligent effort with only its two blossoms. A white rose edged in black and a black rose edged in white- these were the only flowers that ever sprouted from the plant. Time came and went, and the two roses remained a mysterious constant, never aging or dying, fiercely holding to life in defiance of all logic and natural law, becoming a kind of campus legend. It came to be said that as long as these two roses stayed in bloom, Ootori Academy would thrive- however, if the two roses were ever to wither, be cut, or die, Ootori Academy would also die. So it was said, so it was believed... and so it came to pass that every day, dark brown hands carefully watered and fed these special roses, to ensure that they stayed alive. And if the price of the roses' survival was blood, then Ootori Academy would pay that cost willingly a thousandfold. * Ootori Academy waited for them. In a flowing river they came, answering its call, drifting over the bridge, along the gently cobblestoned path that thousands of feet had worn down to smoothness over the hundred years since the school's opening. The pattern of the stones remained deeply embedded in the ground, gentle spirals of a lost bricklayer's design, but its rough edges had been trampled into uniform consistency by so many feet, so much time. Hundreds of students, boys and girls in their sea-green and white uniforms, followed the path. Ootori Academy thrived. Its towers gleamed, sinister, white and perfect, gates open, the ornate gold rose-and-vine tracery over the central portal bright in the pale blue morning sky as if it had just been made yesterday. A beautiful headstone on a funereal mound, shining like a gold filling in an open mouth waiting to be fed. Souls were made and broken here: broken for the world, made for the future. Like any great and lasting institution Ootori was built on sacrifices, on bones of children buried in the bridge to keep back the devil... blood in the towers, blood in the field, bones in the bridges, keep the Devil at bay, and they never came back once the Devil took them... But sometimes they did. Akio leaned his back against the side of the bridge, crossing his arms over his chest, inhaling and exhaling, watching the students without shadows move through the campus main gate. The sun was warm over his shoulder, a pleasant breeze ran fingers through his pale, lilac-colored hair. His own shadow was long, black and thin; the students walked over it. "I had not known death had undone so many," he murmured softly. The young man standing at Akio's side grinned quietly, catching the reference. "That corpse you planted last year in your garden.. has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year?" A playful mockery in his reply, coquettish blue eyes shifting to the older man's line of sight, he brushed a pale signetted hand through short, gleaming strawberry-lemonade colored hair. Perfect hand, smiling a perfect smile, taking in the sweet air, until a familiar face in the flow caught his attention: he locked on the face, watching with a muscle in his jaw tensing- absolute focus. Akio winced visibly. "Cruel thing." "Learned it from you," the boy smirked. Then he called out, "Oi, WAKABA! G'morning!" He waved and moved over with light, inhuman grace. And as effortlessly as that, he joined the flow of souls flocking to Ootori's waiting halls. As if he were one of them, and not throwing a long red shadow beside him on the ground as he walked... Akio frowned, his lips pursing uncomfortably. He watched the pink-haired boy and the amber-haired girl giggle to each other, gossip brightly. And then he too turned to join the flow, to stride over the bridge consecrated to the Devil. He too had his place in Ootori Academy. * Kiryuu Touga watched them as well, a thin, predatory, knowing smile as he stood calmly with his hands linked behind his back, gazing down from an upper level balcony inside the Tower to the current of students filing into its base, who would be filtered and shunted from there into the runnel halls that would lead them to their classes for the day. Like sheep to the slaughter, he thought briefly, and then grimaced at his own morbidity. But then again, who knew better than he the price that Ootori exacted for its priviledges? And as far as Ootori Academy was concerned, only a chosen few truly WERE anything more than sheep for bloodletting and consumption. He was the Student Council President. The leader of that very same elite; the dukes and duchesses of Ootori's self-contained world. As the most visible member of that public aristocracy, his burden was perhaps the hardest to bear; his mask of quiet calm and regal detachment could not be allowed to falter for a moment. Ootori Academy rewarded its faithful... but punished those who defied it. And today his mask felt particularly heavy upon him. This was the opening day of the summer semester, and there was so much to be done. So many preparations and ceremonies to tend to. So many sheep to prepare. His uniform, crisp and black jacket with two blood-red cords attached to his right shoulder, the twin lines of gold buttons, and the corded epaulets of his rank as Student Council President, the dark olive-black slacks, it all felt heavy today; some days, it was lighter than air, easy to wear, easy to remove, as if it weren't even there... Today just wasn't one of those days, however. The fabric itched vaguely, felt thick and crisp and inflexible. He stifled awareness of that, turned off his body as it was easy enough to do, and watched the horde come in. (He'd have to find one of those girls later to turn it back on.. but that was another matter.) Everyone could see him, standing there the living embodiment of what was possible if you worked hard in this school. Girls blushed, and the boys envied and coveted him. The egotist in his breast couldn't help but be amused. You, too, can be like me... if you play the game... Lots of pretty faces this term, he thought, picking out individual girls with his jaundiced and cynical violet-blue eyes. Sweet faces, flushed with spring heat, shaped like flowers: lips as petals, neck as stem, white and green skirted uniform as leaves... Pretty roses, pretty sheep. More than a few girls he recognized from the year before; because Ootori Academy contained every grade from kindergarten from college, it was literally possible to have spent one's entire life here, raised and shaped to the campus' exacting standards. Raised to the slaughter... Touga suppressed a shudder. God, he -was- feeling morbid today, wasn't he? The heat. It had to be the way the heat seemed to parabolically reflect inside the Tower's ground-level hall from the stained glass cathedral windows overhead; there wasn't enough air-conditioning in here, something he reminded himself every year in winter to correct, and forgot every year until the first warm day of spring came. And by then, it was always too late. He looked up to those windows, shining patterns of multiple colors... the rose emblem predominant, the school's favorite theme. Shining down, casting rainbow patterns on the floor from the curved dark ceiling, reminding him of something dimly forgotten... something to do with the duel arena... A woman's scent came up on his left side, as clicking, clinically perfect footsteps moved into position beside him. He glanced sideways without moving his head, just his eyes to see- beside him finding the fencing club captain, Arisugawa Juri. Her expression was simultaneously bored and distracted, her hair as ever coiled tightly into immaculate spirettes of glimmering gold. She did not speak; it wasn't her way to initiate conversations. But she stood beside him, observing the students with her unknowable thoughts. "Looking for someone in particular?" he asked wryly, seeing the small rounded shape visible under the line of her white Council jacket, a tiny, but tell-tale budge of her hidden locket. He didn't know why she bothered to hide it, when almost everyone knew of its existence, could even describe it- a small golden rose-bud with a picture inside, secured on a needlessly thick golden chain. "Aren't you?" came her laconic, razor-whipped reply; she knew he knew, but didn't care. That was her everything- not caring. Being too busy, too distracted, to disinterested to care. Her moss-green eyes just swept over the incoming coolly. Touga brushed off her riposte with an arrogant little chuckle and a bemused smile. Everything was a duel with Juri, even a simple exchange of words; she'd made herself the prickliest of the Ootori roses over the years. And her tongue was sharper than even the Sword of Dios when she was in a mood, leaving her the victor of most exchanges. She'd won this one too, but it would be bad form to show it. "Hardly." But that was a lie too. And they both knew it to be true when the bobbing pink-thatched head appeared in the sea of brown and black around it... when he looked up and smiled his flawless smile toward the balcony, with Wakaba hanging on his arm, and Touga's poise inadvertently slipped, his breath catching for a heartbeat in his throat. Juri hmmed and radiated smugness, though without saying anything, without even letting the smile appear on her face as she watched the Seitokaichou try and stifle his expression before it could be born. Accustomed to being in complete control over her thoughts and what expressions she allowed to reach her surface, Juri took pleasure in watching the untouchable Touga squirm under that new boy's blue-eyed gaze. She made a mental note to herself to learn that boy's name, and to get closer to him. Anyone who could make Touga uncomfortable was definitely worth keeping an eye on. *click* Kaoru Miki giggled obscurely to himself from Touga's right side, balancing a thin notebook along the balcony's railing, and making a notation, a slim black pencil scratching along the paper. His short blue hair and darker blue eyes always put Touga in mind of an elf, a pixie; androgynous and willowy, nonetheless he was still much sought after by (and made very uncomfortable by) both the girls and boys of his classes. Touga knew better than to glance at what was written, but he did so anyway, sneaking a peek at the younger Council member's spiral notebook- as ever, he was defeated by Miki's unintelligible notation, written apparently upside down, backward, and in some kind of code or invented language. It was meaningless to him, but Miki WAS a genius, and geniuses were known for such eccentricities. The stopwatch game was just that kind of thing- harmless- though it had given the Council many hours of amusement and discussion amongst themselves as to why he fetishized time so dearly. The group consensus had eventually settled on a kind of puzzled tolerance, and the conviction that it probably wasn't as important as it seemed. Miki smiled to the other Council members, "Morning, Juri-sempai, Touga-sempai. Aren't we missing someone?" A kind of breathless excitement about him; it was amazing to Touga that Miki -enjoyed- being at Ootori, found it challenging but not overwhelming. Perhaps that was a hidden blessing of his genius; the school kept him busy, and as a result he loved it all the more, and was favored all the more... Juri glanced behind Touga to Miki. "Missing someone?" she asked curiously. Miki nodded, flipping back a few pages in his arcane notebook, signet shining on his left hand as it caught the light and passed in and out of a ray of blue that seemed aimed directly at him from above. "... Right about now, there should be..." A sound of a throat clearing. "Ah, you're all here. Excellent." It was a dark voice, from the throat of a dark man; the Dean, behind them all. They hadn't heard or seen him approach, but Akio was like that; he just tended to appear, with the quiet grace of a panther. Both relieved and satisfied, Miki snapped his book closed with a sideways grin. "Ah." He liked order, and it was gratifying to see that his tireless effort of researching was paying off. It gave him a sense of control over an otherwise bewildering world; he'd had a flash of insight long ago, very early, of how random and unpredictable life was. That was his secret quest, a grail that he sought; chaos was chaos, but if chaos occurred in a predictable pattern.. then it wasn't actually chaos at all. He was convinced there was a pattern to be found. And very rarely, just now and then, just enough to keep him interested in the game, he found a moment of coincidence like this, that seemed to prove him right. Touga nodded his head respectfully to the Dean. "Sir." Akio smiled over the three, the King and Lord over his court, and returned Touga's nod with equal, casual ease. "I realize this may be a bad time, with the student orientations to handle and all, but since you three are all together, and there's a spare moment, I thought I might introduce you to someone?" Akio waited patiently for their response, his emerald eyes falling over each in turn. The three looked at each other briefly; Miki shrugged, Juri's left eyebrow quirked, and Touga spread his hands slightly as if to say 'I don't know what it's about either'. After a brief but intense exchange, debated through eyes and body language, a silent accord was reached, and the three nodded. Touga spoke for them all, as was habit. "Certainly, sir." Akio stepped sideways, gesturing with his dark hand, revealing someone who'd been standing behind him. "I'd like you to meet your newest Council mate... this is Ten'jou Utena." (to be continued- honest!) Missing truth and forever, Ten'jou Utena, the Victor of the Duel ---------------------------------------------------------------- The End of the Innocence: http://www.duellists.tj/~utena ----------------------------------------------------------------