Time flows like water, life passes like a shuttle. Three years flew by.
The date of Seiya and the others' return drew ever closer. Each of the boys was about to complete his final Saint training with his master: the Saint Cloth trials.
Today was the day Bronze Saints around the world competed for their Cloths, and on this day, in the Pope's Hall of the Sanctuary, another person appeared before Saga, who wore the papal vestments.
"Deathmask, I'm assigning this to you. Make sure you eliminate that old fool who won't obey my orders." Saga's voice was hoarse and low. In the shadows, no one could see his expression.
Though it was daytime, the Pope's Hall was still shrouded in dimness.
That was only natural. Fearing exposure, Saga had drawn every curtain in the hall to prevent prying eyes.
Standing before Saga was Deathmask, one of only two Gold Saints who knew Saga's true identity. "Rest easy, Your Holiness. I've wanted to do this for a long time. I'll offer you that old man's head as proof of my loyalty." Deathmask knelt on one knee, grinning wickedly as he spoke to Saga.
"Then I'll await your good news." Saga.
.
"The Pegasus Cloth is mine. Cassios, like I said: as long as you haven't mastered Cosmo, you're not my match." In the arena, Seiya—wearing his ever-present red tank top—kicked the hulking, three-times-his-size muscleman Cassios to the ground.
"Once I put on the Pegasus Cloth, even your master, Shaina, won't be my match."
"Damn you, Seiya! Cassios! Get up and teach that brat a lesson!" Shaina, watching from outside the arena, couldn't stomach Seiya's brimming confidence.
She was a Silver Saint, after all. And you—merely a Bronze… no, not even a full Bronze Saint yet—how dare you! Even if your master is a Gold Saint, that won't fly.
"Yes, Master! Seiya, I'll crush you!" In Cassios's heart, his master Shaina mattered more than anything. Unfortunately, against Seiya he could only be completely outclassed.
"Seiya, why are you dragging this out? Look at your pal Jabu—already got the Unicorn Cloth. Don't tell me that big lug's going to beat you." Over in another arena, Jabu—having just won the Unicorn Bronze Cloth—rushed over and seized the chance to taunt.
"Jabu, you—! Aaaagh! Cassios, don't blame me! Pegasus Ryuseiken!" Seiya's crisp, straight rushing punch floored Cassios again. This time Seiya poured Cosmo into it, and even Cassios's freakish physique couldn't get him back on his feet.
"Seiya wins! The Pegasus Cloth goes to Seiya!" The referee announced the result impartially, and the words sent Seiya over the moon.
"At last—the Pegasus Cloth!"
"Damn you, Seiya! I challenge you to a duel! Didn't you just say that with the Pegasus Cloth on, even I'm no match for you? Try this—Thunder Claw!" Even with a mask hiding her face, the air around Shaina all but crackled with darkened rage.
"Good luck, Seiya…" Jabu swallowed hard at the sight of a sky full of purple lightning.
As the disciple of a Gold Saint, Seiya's status naturally wasn't the same as Marin's disciple in the original story.
Strictly speaking, he stood as Shaina and Marin's peer now.
And then… Seiya still went and looked upon Shaina's face beneath the mask.
Good luck, Seiya. Amen.
.
"Master Camus, I've obtained the Cygnus Bronze Cloth."
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"Shun, since you've earned the Andromeda Cloth and are about to depart, show your master your true power."
"Master… you already knew?"
"Nebula Storm!"
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"Ikki—good. You've already brushed the edge of the Seventh Sense. As expected of my disciple. Esmeralda, don't be discouraged—you've done well. You're already late Sixth Sense. Even an average Silver Saint isn't your match." On Death Queen Island, a black-clad Uchiha Musashi watched the two before him, now more mature than ever.
That damned main body—always dumping messes on me.
"It's time we left, Ikki. Go gather those Dark ones. We're leaving. Two-plus years on this rock… tsk."
"Yes, Master." Clad in the Phoenix Cloth, the towering Ikki addressed Musashi.
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"The power to make the great waterfall flow backward—you've done it, Shiryu. The Dragon Cloth is yours." Beneath the great waterfall of the Five Old Peaks, an elderly man shaped like a purple eggplant spoke to a shirtless Shiryu.
"So this is the power of the Dragon Cloth? Amazing." Shiryu, draped in the green Dragon Cloth, felt the strength it bestowed.
"Who's there?" The purple "eggplant" seemed to sense something and barked toward the woods nearby.
"Keh-heh-heh-heh. So that's your disciple? Master Dohko, long time no see." A gleaming gold Cloth, a long, flamboyant red cape—Cancer Gold Saint, Deathmask.
He also bore the mission to assassinate Libra Gold Saint Dohko.
"It's you, Deathmask. Indeed, long time no see." Recognizing the newcomer, Dohko's eyes narrowed back to their usual half-lidded calm.
"The weakest Gold Saint" wasn't an empty title. As a Gold candidate back in the day, Deathmask's talent and strength were the worst of the lot. Even now, at best he'd just stepped into the early Seventh Sense. With that level, he wasn't worth mentioning before Dohko.
If Aphrodite had come, that would be another matter. In Soul of Gold, Aphrodite absolutely redeemed himself—casually suppressing Fafner, who even gave Mu headaches, though Mu was under Yggdrasil's suppression then and Fafner had the Odin Sapphire's power.
But Aphrodite faced that same Fafner. And that ability to commune with plant life even conned the evil god Loki. Clearly, in the original Twelve Temples battle, Aphrodite was holding back hard.
Seeing the disdain on Dohko's face, Deathmask burned with fury. "Out of respect I call you 'Master Dohko.' Otherwise, you're just some old fossil about to step into a coffin. Don't forget how you treated me! You always looked down on me—and now you still wear that look. You think I don't dare kill you?"
Murder flashed openly in Deathmask's eyes. "I'll settle this score with you sooner or later."
"Now I'm a Gold Saint. And you've grown only older."
"Oh." Dohko glanced at Deathmask without much interest. Even among Gold Saints, there were levels. The gap between the strongest and the weakest was as wide as that between a Bronze and a Gold.
A big "井" throbbed on Deathmask's forehead as he bristled. "Old man, I'll open your eyes. See the technique your granddaddy Deathmask has mastered—tremble before its terrifying might!"
He raised his right index finger high toward Dohko, and mist-like substance from all directions surged to gather at its tip.
A powerful Cosmo flowed at Deathmask's fingertip.
"That move… could it be… Impossible. With Deathmask's aptitude, there's no way." That all-too-familiar opening, that inexplicable chill. "That terrifying technique…"
"He's going to use the Sekishiki Meikaiha! He's going to use the Sekishiki Meikaiha!" Dohko shed his composure at once; beads of sweat formed on his brow. Not quite piss-your-pants fear, but not far off.
He hadn't expected Deathmask to reach this level.
Of course, what Dohko assumed was that Deathmask had mastered the later, advanced Sekishiki techniques—Meikyūha, Tōrōha, Konsoha, even Oni Sōen.
Those moves were devastating. Little did he know Deathmask had only learned the Meikaiha and had come here to preen. Had he known it was just the basic Meikaiha, he wouldn't have worn that frightened look.
Then again, Dohko had never studied the Sekishiki set in depth. His fallen comrades had only ever used the higher forms. As the foundation of the Sekishiki series, the Meikaiha's opening and pressure were identical to the latter forms.
So for a moment, Deathmask had him fooled.
Lacking the full inheritance himself, Deathmask thought he'd scared Dohko with his Meikaiha, and kept strutting.
"Who are you to wreak havoc on the Five Old Peaks?!" Just then, Shiryu arrived in his Dragon Cloth.
"Old man, this brat is your new disciple? How about I kill him right in front of you? Taste the Meikaiha!" Deathmask taunted, flamboyant and arrogant.
"Shiryu, run—wait. Hold on… it's only the Meikaiha?" It seemed Dohko had realized something significant.
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