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It had been over a year.

Lt. Kyanite had watched her one year Nega-versery come and go like water slipping past her fingers down a drain. It was a disheartening thing, especially since she was in the exact same role she had been on the very first day Zinkenite shoved his hand into her chest and finally solved the mystery of why her cousin had disappeared. She knew him as Eden. The Negaverse knew him as General-King Marthozite.

Living in his shadow had been difficult as a civilian. But as a soldier? Hah.

It was embarrassing to watch people who were corrupted in your same time frame ascend to Captain ahead of you.

It was humiliating to watch countless newbies you helped explain the ropes to ascend before you too.

There were Negas whom she had first explained what a "youma" was to who she now had to salute as her superior. And the worst part? This wasn't some shitty job she could just leave. The Negaverse didn't accept two weeks notice. Lt. Kyanite was mired in her failure for the rest of her life.

And if she didn't get better at fighting, that life would be short.

The hour was late into the night -- not that you could tell in Negaspace. It always looked dark. Though she had gotten used to it over time, there was still something about it that creeped her out. (This, she reasoned, was further evidence that being a Negaverse agent somehow went against her nature.) Kyanite was in a familiar place: a training room. She had made it a habit of slipping away at night to spar and practice strikes on the dummies that littered the walls.

The one she was currently working with had been defaced to look like some senshi Kyanite didn't know. A blonde wig was nailed to its head, and it shook with every crack of Kyanite's weapon: a long, black electrical cord. Her knuckles were wrapped in stained white tape, scuffed from the punching drills that she had done earlier.

After an hour of doing this, Kyanite's dark skin shimmered with a sheen of sweat. She might be terrible in a real fight, but Kyanite had begun to look the part of a soldier. Muscles defined her previously soft arms. When her jacket flared open, it revealed taut stomach muscles loosely in the shape of abs. If it weren't for her constant sense of failure as a member of the Negaverse, she might have been pleased with her appearance. Instead, she felt like it was some sort of lie: look like a fighter, fight like a... well, a nothing.

Gripping her electrical cord tightly around one hand, Kyanite spun in a sharp turn and lashed it out. The weapon cracked in the air... missing the target.

"Damnit," she swore, raking a hand through her damp black ponytail and sighing.

The aura of a General-King was unmistakable out in Destiny City, but in Negaspace, everything exuded darkness. It was easy to overlook it down here, which made Zinkenite's sudden appearance all the more unsettling. Kyanite tensed immediately at the sound of his voice. She spun to face him, quickly saluting with one hand and tucking away her weapon with the other. It was a good thing she was already sweating; at least it hid the nervous sweating that now rattled her body.

For a moment, she just stood there dumbly. One wrong word to a General-King could mean a lot of pain, or worse. Kyanite knew it didn't matter that the man standing before her had corrupted her or who her cousin was. Every word Zinkenite said was true.

She wished that meant the words didn't hurt.

Kyanite opened her mouth once, than twice, like a fish gasping for air. Finally, she said, "It is a concern for me too." A touch of shame flashed in her eyes. She knew she was terrible at fighting, but now one of the most powerful Negas in the entire damn army was saying it too.

"I have increased my solo training exercises," she said, waving at the dummy, "to improve my form."

A thousand other words rushed through her mind, but Kyanite held them all back. The truth was that she had no excuse for why she sucked so badly. She just did. The only success she ever experienced was in the company of another Nega, like when General Painite helping her in a fight. On her own? She was a mess.

General-King Zinkenite was known for knowing things about Negaverse agents, but it didn't stop Kyanite's heart from picking up as he revealed additional bits of knowledge about her. It was true what he said. After participating in the Chaos ambush on Order and dozens of other scattered fights, Kyanite had realized one thing: she disliked fighting. Causing pain only made her feel numb and confused. The place where she found herself most comfortable was in healing wounded troops.

And so she had been doing for the better part of the year.

It was only recently that she began to take her training as a warrior more seriously, after watching a lieutenant of one month be promoted to Captain. Ouch, right in the feelings.

Purple eyes swayed in time with the pink electrical tape that held the chalk. In spite of herself, Kyanite raised one eyebrow. "Chalk?" she said, taking a moment to understand. Had the General-King planned this? He had a chalk version of her weapon ready to go.

OH GOD, she panicked. How many times had he watched her fail miserably at training alone to warrant this?

Bile pricked at the back of her throat. Kyanite reached out and took the makeshift weapon from Zinkenite's outstretched hand. "I can try," she said, testing the sway of the wire. It felt remarkable like a thinner version of the real thing.

Her eyes moved back to him, unsure what to do. "So, do I just... start?"

Smash someone off the walls? Kyanite had heard of Tanzanite -- who hadn't? She was very, very, very happy that she had never actually had an exchange with her. Zinkenite's mention of it still caught her off guard. An insecure part of her feared this was some kind of threat.

Swallowing down her fear, Kyanite tried very hard to breathe normally, nodding in confirmation of the General-King's directions. She fell into the offensive stance that she had been practicing since her first day in the Negaverse. She was really good at standing correctly... not so good at the stuff that came after.

Her arm slapped outward, aiming to bring a whip crack across the GK's shoulder and letting out an embarrassing grunting sound in the process. She could tell it was a weak strike before the wire even had a chance to finish its stroke.

Many Negaverse agents devoted a lot of time fantasizing about what the final evolution of their weapon would be. It was pretty common banter for the lieutenants. Kyanite, on the other hand, feared that she would never see her weapon become anything other than an electrical cord. It would never evolve if she didn't evolve.

The idea that the weapon that she could barely use properly now might end up bladed? It just made Kyanite worried at the injuries she would likely cause to herself.

Fighting the urge to babble, Kyanite simply nodded to Zinkenite and aimed her next strike for his chest.

It pleased Kyanite to hear someone else acknowledge out loud that her weapon had some challenges. Granted, she knew other Negas who dealt with a lot worse, but it was tough to generate enough force and accuracy with her weapon most of the time. At least if she had a giant stick or something she would know how to use it.

"Okay," she said, feeling stupid for the silence.

Narrowing her eyes, Kyanite attempted to loosen up her stance a little. Maybe she was being too stiff? With added fervor, she attempted to strike again.

Kyanite was having flashbacks to 1000 Lifetime movies about bad boyfriend relationships where the same lines were uttered. Tension rippled in her shoulders. How was she supposed to be relaxed with one of the leaders of her faction standing in front of her? She knew she was terrible; it was hard to demonstrate that to Zinkenite.

"Okay," she said again, a little fiercer.

With a deep breath, she attempted another strike, her muscles trembling as she did.

The bubble of elation that rose in Kyanite was intoxicating. In spite of herself, she gave a celebratory fist pump. It wasn't everyday she landed a blow on anyone, let alone a General-King (even if it was clear Zinkenite was allowing her to land it). She hadn't felt this kind of success since she patrolled with Painite almost 6 months ago.

When Zink said "keep practicing" Kyanite didn't realize that meant now. She continued drilling with him for nearly an hour, delivering as many blows as she could until the chalk was a tiny nub and her arms trembled from exertion. She spun and bobbed and weaved and employed every technique she knew. Still, Kyanite was by no means impressive -- just... better.

Her chest heaved in gasping breaths after their last round. In spite of herself, Kyanite bent forward, gripping her knees with both hands and panting heavily. "I can feel it in my muscles," she said. "I can actually feel it." That would be a first for her -- the actual pleasure of recognizing her body remembered what it felt like when she delivered a successful blow.

Unfortunately, they had been practicing for so long that Kyanite felt like she was about to keel over.