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The coffee tasted bitter, the cream sour. Too long he went without date checking what was stocked in the fridge, and now he looked out toward the view of Destiny City afforded by the Negaverse housing with a wholly unimpressed expression behind the mask. His fingers braced against the ceramic mug in such a manner that any less pressure would allow it to slip from his grasp - a fate he often toyed with when his mornings went a margin too smoothly, or a margin too rough.

The crystal perched inside a candleholder chattered to life behind him, cracking through the room with a surprisingly nonchalant diction expressed by a recognizable voice: Zircon. There are Knights to capture: Kairatos, Tanais, Themiscyra, Hvergelmir.

"Is zat so?" He asked in a mumble, after blowing on his coffee out of habitual mimicry. Setting the cup down on the sill, he drew a breath and closed his eyes to know every memorized inch of the mentioned intersection. The streetlight slightly bent from a recent drunk driver, the mailbox on the corner somewhat vandalized with resistance propaganda, the telephone poles chipped away from frequent battles now long in the past... The sun set just beneath the rise of an office building there, he remembered, where its rays occasionally filtered through the long stretch of executive office at one side of the floor. A graffiti artist managed intricate designs with metallic paint that shone so brightly in the evening sun that they left longstanding impressions in his peripheral vision sometimes. He remembered complaining about it - and he remembered how Schörl fought the motion, for the art itself contained pro-Negaverse imagery.

Soon he felt the breath of breeze against his back, in accompaniment with the sun's rays warming the black, tattered cloth and tar. A quick scan confirmed all targets mentioned with the addition of a peculiar and delightful shift in loyalty for Andronicus, who now so desperately sought to end her corrupted ally.

Yet most urgently, an old friend's tired and strangled voice rolled out above the din, fragmenting while he called orders out to all beneath his command. We've gotta go, he says. Bischofite drew a breath in quiet excitement, a smile toothy beneath the half-mask of a crow. "No you don't," he offered in return, approaching the Bull at a slow pace. Soon tar eked out from many portions of his body, collecting into thick gouts that streamed to the pavement beneath his feet. "You came all zis way, did you not? All of you did. All of you struggled and toiled and wrenched yourselfs srough ze pain and misery of Negaverse rule to come to zis point - to fight ze lot of us here, at some nameless intersection on ze ef'e of a nameless day in ze midst of a nameless war. Surely you had some motivation to be here - so why not fight for it? Fight mit Händen und Füßen* for zat scrap of food, zat strip of bandage. You haf' so little left to bargain wis' now - only your lives remain.

"Spare me a few, and I might gif' you an out." His wings drew outward, sending flecks of tar to the nearby sidewalk while he surveyed for a first target. Kairatos' grasp on his throat gave away an injury recently incurred, and Shadeite's presence offered enough of an explanation for that. And from his experience... The only manner by which the Bull saw red was through exacting malice on another.

With Themiscyra cloaked behind flame, that target proved inaccessible for the time being - a travesty, though one he might find a use for. In scraping a thick portion of tar from his own arm, he lobbed the thickened ball toward the flames themselves, in hopes that the viscous mass might catch fire shortly before adhering to her face.

If not, well... An intersection harbored many surfaces to begin a web of tar to trap all movement.

Kerberos had never been one for planning ahead well, and of course his habit of charging into fights even now that he was much more physically fragile demonstrated that while Ascension had taken much of the lighter parts of his personality, it had not quite managed to excise that.

So it was perhaps not a surprise that the Ascended moved too slowly to avoid getting smacked in the face by Hvergelmir's distaff. The noise he made in response was more animal than human, the vicious snarling of an injured dog.

"I'll feed you your own heart for that, Knight," he threatened, which was technically anatomically improbable on someone who actually needed their organs, but he couldn't exactly touch her starseed, and he had no desire to even try.

But a traitorous General, that was much more in his purview. He dove, quickly, out of the way of Andronicus's staff. He had no desire to be impaled and discover exactly what would happen, even if he suspected it might go a bit better for someone with nonfunctional crystal innards.

"Or perhaps I'll feed the pretty Transcended your traitor's heart," he said, and there was something almost delighted in his voice, because punishing a traitor sounded exactly like what he needed today. He rolled back to his feet just as Bischofite arrived, and he let out a soft bark of a laugh. This entire group was going to be very screwed, as far as he was concerned.

"Asphodel's Regret!" He declared, blowing petals at Andronicus.

A part of Hvergelmir hadn't really expected her strike to land. Even steeped in grief as she was at the moment, she was stilled by momentary surprise. She'd wondered, with a sort of detached curiosity, if the faces of the Ascended were as fragile as the rest of them were purported to be. Would a slab of Kerberos's cheek go flying? Would his eyebrow be knocked askew, leaving him with a temporary, badly-animated quizzical expression?

Too late to find out -- he'd been in motion as soon as he took the blow. He didn't go after her, though: he went for one of the more challenging targets. Andronicus, this time.

It was funny, in such a pitched battle, to be left momentarily alone. There were so many enemies around them, and only a few targets. Hvergelmir stood, for a few eerie seconds, as though in the becalmed center of a hurricane.

Kairatos had officially called the retreat, but already their situation had gotten much worse than that. There were more auras winking in, more combatants entering the fray. She struggled to spot them.

It was a familiar voice that caught her attention first. Bischofite.

I remember thinking recently for a few moments that I wanted to see you again, to see for myself what you'd become after all these years. To puzzle you out. I remember thinking I could understand Kairatos and his obsession with you.

It's funny. This wasn't what I had in mind.

Then again -- maybe it's the only place that's left to meet a creature like you, after all. A battlefield. We met on my turf before -- I guess this is yours.

Will you spare me this time, old friend? You used to. But I had a voice, then, to entertain you with, and I offered help you needed. I have nothing for you now, no Arabian Nights left to spin. Kill me quickly, then, at least, if you have any sentiment left in you at all. Make it one last favor.

Another voice joined the fray after Bischofite's, another set of taunts and jibes. She knew this one, too, hammered into her ears by bad experience -- but Hvergelmir tried not to look at him, not to even think his name. She couldn't function if she looked -- it was hard enough to keep it together as it was. Someone else would have to deal with him. Kairatos by the sound of it. Hvergelmir would've rather fought any half-dozen General-Sovereigns than face that horrible shark-toothed grin again.

The opal that housed Hvergelmir's summons was still on her left hand, still turned inward, just where she'd put it after transforming earlier in the day. She brushed her finger over the gold band to reassure herself and returned her focus to the battle.

None of the Negaverse agents were targeting her, at the moment. But she was Transcended, now. She hadn't truly gone unaccounted for.

She ducked the first youma that came at her with teeth bared. It went diving over her head -- but in a crouch, she wasn't mobile enough to evade the smaller second one: it looked like an evil Raisinet from an old commercial, and it bit down into the flesh of her upper arm with two concentric circles of jagged green teeth.

It was about as extremely unpleasant as expected, and worse because the thing wasn't letting go. She let out a sharp howl of pain, and went with her first instinct, which was to punch the thing in its presumable face until it let go -- before remembering once again her aspected magic, and the reason that Cosmos knights were ostensibly dressed to show so much skin. Starlight hissed over her form momentarily, and the youma was moved to let go with an ugly squeal.

Anxious to get rid of it before it could make another strike, Hvergelmir grabbed the bitey Raisinet by its spindly ankles and threw it away from their group as hard as she could. Unfortunately, this happened to be right in Zircon's direction.

Her arm was now bleeding pretty readily, and sending unwanted signals of searing pain up to her brain from her left side. There wasn't time to tend it, though -- Hvergelmir looked around as she called her staff back to hand and began to wonder how in God's name they were supposed to carve an escape path through all this. How, when there were only four of them? How, when Hvergelmir could only teleport one extra?

Wait, no. No. There weren't only four of them.

Hvergelmir whipped around, suddenly trying to search for a face in the mess of smoke, flame, and flailing limbs.

Andronicus was with them, and she could teleport. If they could protect her, she was their last way out.

She looked over just in time to see Sailor Kerberos flinging his magic at the one person left that she was hoping could still save them all.

"Death and I have met" Kairatos lashed out with his net to tangle and divert the scythe, though the blade still left a bright red line in passing across his skin as he did so.

This was bad. This was incredibly bad, and he feared desperately for Themiscara. Bischophite and his tar were no joke, and she could be hurt, or dead.. while he fought to keep his own head on his shoulders.

He could call upon his own Summon... let the burning bull have it's way with the others, or he could use his magic. Try and draw the focus and let Hvergelmer and Themiscara and their turn coat get away safely... if Andronicus even survived this fight.

Some of the most powerful ones were already here, circling. He knew a trap when he saw it, saw them cutting him off from the others... if he could get the attention of the rest... it would be something. And the energy he drew from the encroaching enemy would go to the rest of the group...

"I'm so flattered. All of you to take down a little party like us? Or is it just me you want to be a feather in your cap?" He called out, to put the suggestion in their minds as he poured magic through his net.

Tar struck Themiscyra, producing results highly cherished in which she so easily fell to the ground. The horse, however, gave him pause in its wild rampage, so he lingered a moment longer in his position while he waited for the horse to cave its owner's skull in. And that linger provided Shadeite the opportunity of slipping close to him, of whispering commands better relegated to those beneath their rank. He felt wholly unamused while he watched the whites of the horse's eyes.

You can issue command all you like, Shadeite, but our roles are the same - we are both mouthpieces for Metallia, but you seem to have forgotten that role in your quest for these warm bodies. She is the one we serve irrevocably, yet you lose your place with human experiments or hubris. When did you become bigger than you truly are, Peer?

You will have what I leave for you, and nothing more, Lämmergeier.

Slowly Bischofite approached the panicked knight, watching while she rolled across the ground and struggled with her bracer. The tar left her somewhat cemented in place, though it was easy enough to wrench free should she find it suitable to do so. Yet... There she lay, grasping at buckles and straps in a panic, likely fully aware of Bischofite's impending approach. He greatly enjoyed surveying her struggles in his leisurely cross to her position, in the amount of energy she dispensed at such fervent panic and how focused she remained on that bracer. She even called to his ally.

Well. Former ally.

"It is quite ze shame zat you bear zose wretched marks, Knight," he started, with hands pressed in steeple, fingers pointed toward her while they lingered above his sash. "Perhaps we'll haf' zem recreated on an effigy once you'f moved on from zis tawdry little realm. I wonder if zey slowly fade on deas, or if zey just... Wink out like a lightbulb? Maybe zey linger in a planet's desperate attempt to revif'e its knight, until ze uniform falls away to show us who you truly were." Facsimiles, the lot of us. Facsimiles to lives we never truly had. Kneeling, he reached out toward her, ready to press tarred hand to face. "I suppose it's time to fi-..."

The creature hesitated, attention wholly drawn across the battlefield while his hand hesitated with a buffer of air between his palm and her visage. There stood a familiar acquaintance in power equal to his own, but more than that, Kairatos stood rather differently than memory allowed. Kairatos, he recalled from his asinine days of seeking purification, always carried himself as a knight of questionable standard. He never conducted himself with the hubris he knew of other knights, who upheld some old manner of chivalry and selfless protection for those they never even met. Perhaps Kairatos knew the same motivations, as he himself once befriended what now stood as a youmafied sovereign, but now...

Now he stood as a monumentally skilled royal knight who ingrained into him a sense of wariness befitting self-preservation tendencies. Bischofite knew the jolt of adrenaline well, but never the fast-beating heart while he felt a swath of panic envelop it. The sensation felt so wholly new and exciting, and Themiscyra now lay all but lost from his attentions.

"Kairatos," he started as he rose from her position. An array of teleports started while he himself knew gouts of tar dripping from his body, and the differing locations lent a unique quality to his vocal projection. "Do you remember... How we used to meet in ze dead of night, to discuss so quietly zese best-laid plans to bring down Metallia? Do you remember how naïf'e we were in ze face of her power? I remember, once, you sought me out wis' her-" he paused as he reappeared behind Hvergelmir. One hand raised to pause the youma while he sought to grasp her jaw from behind. A tricky venture, given his position. "Wis' Hvergelmir, to warn me of a prince who paled in power to Metallia herself. You and I... We were so weak back zen. And perhaps you'f surpassed me now, as I knew you were destined to, but you forget ze one quality for which I'f always been deadly - cunning.

"You may stand an untouchable beast, Bull, but your allies are your weakness."

On the best of days, Bischofite did not have a soft touch. She remembered his long, unnatural fingers on her skin, the first time he'd ever touched her -- he'd left marks that had lingered a little while after. The sensation had been strange and interesting, then. This was less benign.

Hvergelmir's immediate reaction to his presence, to his touch, was not one of inward calm like she would've wished for. Since Labyrinthite, she let few people close enough to make contact: they were not welcome where he'd been and left his mark. Inwardly, she thought only, get off my face get off my face GET OFF MY FACE and wanted nothing more than to shove and tear at Bischofite's long, hideous fingers until he did so. She wanted to make him go away, then tie her scarf in a knot around her face so no one could touch her again. She didn't want to think about the tar and rot that had become of an old friend, the bright light of his intellect snuffed out by his own hand. This was not her old friend, lost and sadder than he let on.

But Kairatos was there, closeby -- and his magic made her feel warm and safe. He made her feel warm and safe. Here was Hvergelmir's old partner in crime -- her stupidly stubborn bull with his big, soft heart -- and he would make sure they all came home. He always came home. These people couldn't touch him.

He'll be safe if I leave, she told herself. He'll find a way back to us -- he always has. He'll come home and I'll wipe the tar from his warm skin and rest his head in my lap and comb out his hair with my fingers and everything will be like it's supposed to be. He'll be fine. He'll come home.

She tried to focus on that, catching the Royal Knight's eye. Her hands fluttered in the air, signing out, I'll take Themiscyra and go. Come home to us. That left Kairatos and Tanais to rally around Andronicus to get them both out safely, if she was successful. She didn't like the prospect -- leaving two known turncoats to the potential tender mercies of the Negaverse -- but Themiscyra was a Transcendent like Hvergelmir was. She'd be dead if someone didn't get her out. Kairatos and Tanais at least stood some chance of rescue.

Blood on her left hand making her fingers slippery, Hvergelmir brushed her thumb over her signet ring again -- waking her aspected magic once more.

You're not the only one whose touch can burn, old friend. You chose Metallia -- you've lost the right to me. I am not your bargaining chip.

Bischofite ignored her and Shadeite's blank face tightened, the slightest of a line appearing between her brows.

Bischofite... He seemed to have an uncanny knack of getting in the way of her plans. Unpredictable, savage... he had no respect for anything, not even Metallia. It was their great ruler that commanded the Negaverse subvert the White Moon... he was interfering with that. Between him and Labyrinthite, there would be no getting to the Royal Knight, but at this point, did she really need to? If two sovereigns couldn't handle him, the Negaverse had fallen far indeed. It did risk losing the chance to use him to get to the rest, though... and she needed that link. They were not making enough progress finding the refuge of the enemy, they could not afford to let this opportunity slip through their fingers.

But, there was one chance left, one that the others had not seized upon in her mundane nature alongside the shine of transcendeds and royal. Shadeite's eyes shifted to the mars knight as she fought one of the ascendeds before sweeping back to the captain that had taken up position behind her. Her words were so much flotsam in the ocean... did she think Shadeite didn't already know that? Or did she think to command a General-Queen from her lowly captain's rank? Foolish girl. There was no reason to respond to redundancy, so Shadeite's eyes moved on, ignoring Zircon entirely after that point.

Removing her hand from Naga's head, the snake reappeared in the thinking world and surged into attack, slithering across the concrete like a streak of liquid rainbow towards the fallen Themiscyra and her traitor companion. Rearing up, he bared his fangs at the pair and then lashed out at them, seeking to drive those deadly needles into the mars knight.

Unencombered, Shadeite teleported the short distance between herself and Tanais, her cloaking dropped as a flash of silver warned of the garotte coming to rest around the knight's neck.

Tanais had been happily beating glass to dust when she was seized from behind, her lack of attention for the rest of the fight turning into a near-fatal mistake. There was a flash of silver before her eyes and she had a moment to cry out in surprise before the cord bit into her exposed throat and silenced her.

Gauntlet clad hands scrabbled at her throat, trying to work under the wire, but it had been wrapped tight and offered no weaknesses to exploit. Tanais struggled, trying to get some air into her lungs, but it was fast becoming a futile effort. She threw her elbows back into the body behind her, but got little more than a grunt of pain. The general-queen had let one prey escape her, it seemed she would not release another. Darkness ringed the knight's vision as her lungs burned, her mind going hazy with desperation and lack of air.

NO! Not again... I don't want to go back... I can't... can't loose more memories... Lost everything already........ not again.... Desperation filled Tanais as her limbs got heavy, refusing to obey her calls to move, to fight. Falling to the enemy was fine... she was not afraid of Death. But... something told her it was not Death waiting for her when darkness claimed her. She begged silently in her mind for death, praying to whatever gods there were to never let her wake again... because she knew if she did, it would not be her that awoke. Or at least, not for long...

When the struggles wound down to nothing and the body went slack, Shadeite eased up her garotte's hold to allow the body to breath, listening to the tell tale groaning gasp as air returned. Good. Efficiently done. She congratulated herself. Winding fingers into the thick black hair, the General-Queen extended her arm to the side, slanting a glance back to where Zircon waited.

"Captain Zircon. Take this prisioner to a cell and bind her arms. Her weapon is her gauntlets, I want her unable to summon them." She said calmly, seemingly unhurried. One down, three to go.