Welcome to Gaia! ::

((Note: Permission was given for a lot of puppeting/GMing in order to make the battle move faster and not drag on. So any GMing that occurs was done intentionally and with permission!))

Finding any random senshi in Destiny City was like finding a needle in a haystack. Finding Castor, however, was like finding a much louder, obnoxious needle in a much smaller haystack. More specifically, it was like finding a costumed needle in a haystack made up of harlot, whores, and the filthy streets of Destiny City's red light district. As she made her way down the narrow alleys, from brothel to filthy brothel, Tanzanite shouldn't have felt nearly as out of place as she did. With thigh-high boots and a dress short enough to shame many of the working girls she'd been questioning, those few square blocks were perhaps the only place that the sub-Lieutenant did not look even slightly out of place. Only the jumper cables, gripped at both ends and looped around the back of her neck, marked her as an oddity

Hell, even those could be explained away as some strange fetish.

Fortunately, Tanzanite did not need to search the haystack. She needed only to find the thing that would draw Castor out of it. The women of the streets were well acquainted with the Super Senshi, as the lonely, love-stricken boy was apparently a frequent savior of a some of the women when they got themselves into trouble with their rough clientèle. It was those women Tanzanite had come in search of. One of those pretty, favored few. She only needed one, a familiar face to drag along to a certain bench. One poor, unfortunate girl whose miserable life she could slowly end, whose screams would fill the night to draw dear, darling Castor out of hiding.

It had taken hours of questioning and a great deal of lying, but eventually she had been pointed in the right direction. The girl she sought worked in a small brothel on the east side of the district, in the house Tanzanite now stared at from the front step. It was two stories, lit only by scented candles and dim, red bulbs. They flickered in the windows, drawing men and the occasional woman in search of the comforts that lie within. The outside would have been inconspicuous in the daytime, but at night the simple white exterior was betrayed by strands of red and white christmas lights and a flickering neon sign that formed the silhouette of a naked woman.

Tanzanite ducked her head as she stepped through the open front door, pushing a beaded curtain aside. The scent of incense and sweat almost gagged her, and for a brief moment she wanted nothing more than to retreat into the comforts of the cold, open air outside. Her nose wrinkled, her face twisting into a mask of disdain. She'd entered into a small waiting room that, had a family lived here, would have been a den. However, instead of a coffee table and tacky knick knacks, there were low-back chairs and piles of dirty magazines. Only one man occupied the area, looking nothing like one would expect. He was clean shaven and well built, dressed in a suit that must have been custom tailored to fit his wide frame. The jacket hung from the back of his chair, the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up to exposed muscular, tattooed forearms.

The man lifted his gaze, looking her up and down in a way that was more suspicious than lecherous. He grunted – a sign of dismissal, perhaps – and returned his gaze to the magazine. Not a customer, then. A guard. Tanzanite glanced to his waistline and found the gun tucked behind his belt, no attempt made to hide it. Judging from the military emblem tattooed upon his left arm, he likely knew how to use it. She suppressed a contemptuous sneer and flattened her expression into one of disinterest.

“We're not hiring,” came a voice from the side, and Tanzanite spun to face it. She was jumpy, clearly nervous, off of her game. Her life as she knew it was all riding on things going perfectly. No mistakes. No ******** ups. If she was too slow, if she misspoke, if she made just one mistake... well, not even the power of the Negaverse could bring you back from a bullet to the temple.

The woman who had spoken was an older one, and she sat behind a small desk going over what appeared to be a guest registry. With graying hair pulled back into a bun so tight that it nearly smoothed the wrinkles from her forehead, she looked like a woman clinging desperately to her fading youth. She hadn't looked up from behind her horn-rimmed glasses, licking her thumb to flip a page of the book. Her lips were colored a bright red and glossed to a shine, eyes so thick with liner and mascara that Tanzanite thought her similar to an hairless, wrinkled raccoon. It took a long moment before the woman finally snapped the book shut, peering over the rim of her glasses.

“A girl like you ain't east side material, sweetie. Oh, don't look at me like that, it's a compliment.” She had taken note of Tanzanite's sudden glare, and waved a dismissive hand. “Check the north edge, there's a classy place up there that could use a fresh one like you.”

“I'm not looking for employment,” Tanzanite responded coolly, “There is a girl here. Christine. I need to speak with her.”

“Well, you're gonna have to wait,” the woman sighed, flipping to a page in the book and running her thumb down the long list of clientèle, “She's booked past midnight. Three hour block just started, so it's gonna be a while. Have a seat if you want to wait, but don't get your little buns in a twist if customers ask you for a quickie.” She waved one wrinkled hand, each finger laden with a gaudy piece of costume jewelry, towards the chairs. Tanzanite took the one to the immediate left of the guard, positioning herself close.

Everything had to be timed perfectly. The man glanced up, watching as she reclined back into the chair, loosening her muscles as though relaxing for a long, boring wait.

One, two, three...

She sprung with speed that only the Negaverse could account for, plunging one hand into the mans chest with practiced accuracy. He didn't have time to reach for the gun before the fingers of her free hand were wrapped around it, those of the other hand clutching his starseed. It was a dim thing, worthless in its power, dulled by a life of corruption. Still, he went out like a light as she ripped it from his chest, the other hand tearing the gun from his belt and leveling at the Mistress. She had no idea how to use the thing, or even whether or not the safety was on. However, desperate times...

“Hands on the desk,” Tanzanite snapped as the wrinkled, bejeweled fingers groped for what she could only assume was a gun hidden beneath the desk. The woman complied, staring at her with a narrowed, venomous gaze.

“You come here to steal my money when you still got a body that can make your own, honey?” The woman rasped, clicking her tongue with the casual attitude of a woman who had seen so much vileness in her life that nothing in the world was cause for alarm. “Ain't that a shame. We all gotta make a liv-”

“Oh, shut up.” Tanzanite sighed, rising from the chair. She'd never been much for small talk, and she certainly didn't have time to listen to some sob story that was being told for all the wrong reasons. “I've got much more pressing concerns than your money. What room is the girl in?”

“What do you want w-”

Tanzanite closed the space between them with a few quick steps, pressing the barrel against the woman's temple hard enough to leave a bruise.

“Room number.”

“Alright, alright, no need to get fussy,” the woman said, her fake lashes unblinking as wide eyes turned to the registry. She flipped a page, scrolled her finger down a column of names. It stopped on one, and her thickly glossed lips parted. The name never left her lips as she felt the chilling, violating sensation of Tanzanite's hand slipping into her back.

The gun was left tucked behind the belt of the now comatose guard, her fingerprints polished off with the use of his jacket.





The rooms had names. Names that made Tanzanite's stomach churn with the images they provoked. The Oasis. The Red Room. The Dungeon. From behind their closed doors she could hear the telltale noises of the profession. It was a chorus of soft moans and the occasional fake, passionate cry. Everything she loathed about the world she had largely left behind her. A world where some had everything. All the money. All the power. All of the fortune and prestige. A world where others – girls, most of them – were left to sell their bodies just to live.

It was a grim reminder of what she was fighting for. Why she had given up everything for the Negaverse. To have the power to forge the world the way they wanted it, to bring an end to the corruption that gave some people everything, born into privilege while others scraped and scrounged just to starve to death in the end.

It was only the senshi – those damnable, misguided children – that stood in their way.

Tanzanite stood outside the door of The Feather for a brief moment, looking at the thin wooden door with an expression of utmost disgust. Fingers gripped the handle, sickened by the thought of what hands had preceded her own. There was no need for caution with her fingerprints. So many patrons went in and out of those rooms each and every day that the fingerprints would be so mixed and so many that narrowing down a single suspect would be nearly impossible. Even if they managed to lift a fingerprint, she was not in any criminal database to be identified. There was so much DNA evidence for dozens of people.

It was so easy.

With a mix of desperation and hatred pushing her forward, Tanzanite shoved open the door. The woman she sought squirmed beneath a man whose face she could not see, his naked body convulsing in the throes of his purchased passion. Christine screamed, and it paled in comparison to the sounds that game from The Dungeon. Just another faked orgasm. Another girl doing what she did best. The man did not even glance up, thinking himself the most amazing of lovers.

At least he would die happy.





On the east side of the park, there's a bench flanked by planters. You can't miss it.

Tanzanite stood there now, her fingers twined painfully in the hair of the bloody, beaten girl she had taken from the brothel. It was a mercy, in her mind, to end the young woman's life. It was a release from the shameful life she had been forced to lead. Her other hand gripped the girls shoulder, thumbnail pressed into a deep wound made by the heel of her boot. She pressed the nail in hard, twisting it into the deep, bloody hole.

Christine's screams filled the cold evening air.

“Caaaaastooooor,” Tanzanite's voice rang out a moment later in a sing-song tone.

As it turned out, she wouldn't have to wait long. Castor was within sight, a fact that sent a shiver down Tanzanite's spine. With another painful twist, she pulled her thumb from the wound, placing the bloody hand beneath the whore's slender chin. She was a thin girl, fragile, and it was painfully obvious what Tanzanite was about to do, even before she tightened her grip on the girl's chin.

“Castor,” Christine said, her weak voice thick with relief. She opened her mouth as though to speak again, but the words were cut off by the voice of her captor.

“Anything for you, Castor,” Tanzanite drawled with a sickening sweetness, before twisting the girls head with a sickening snap. She might not know how to use a gun, but Tanzanite could think of a dozen other ways to kill a person, and the whore was no exception. Christine's body went limp, released from her painful, tortured existence, and crumpled the the ground at Tanzanite's feet. The sub-Lieutenant did not so much as glance down, stepping over the warm corpse as she neared Castor. Her lips were pulled back in a grin that did not fit properly on a human face, eyes wide and wild.

She was so close. So close to having everything she wanted. All she needed was Castor, dead at her feet along with the girl who had hailed him as her personal hero.

“I mustn't forget to thank Linarite for letting me know exactly where to find you.”

She lunged, hoping to catch him off guard with that statement, barreling towards him with every intention of tackling him right at the waist. And if not... well, there was no need for words now. Tanzanite had proven herself to be everything Castor loathed with that one cruel act.

There was no turning back, so they might as well get on with it.

Castor prevented a shower of blows from raining down upon him with that one simple act. He manged to grab her hands, preventing her from taking advantage of her position. Still, she was largely beyond words, beyond reason. There had been so much building up to this moment. Weeks of humiliation, demotion, and subservience. The threat of being handed over to Obsidian now loomed on the horizon should she fail, and Tanzanite did not need much foresight to know how that would end.

She would not fail. Could not.

It was a coping mechanism against his attempts to reason which brought his attacks on Nealite to mind. Nealite, who had practically rescued her from herself, who had been the only person willing to take her in when she had pushed herself too far and given too much. Nealite, who was now more than just the Negaverse alias of Ursula Johnson. Nealite was Beryl, and Beryl was her Queen. The woman on whom the entire future of the Negaverse depended.

And Castor had tried to kill her. Castor had tried to kill Nealite. Her best friend. Her Queen. This was more than Charonite's personal orders, or the assignment that would redeem her for her previous ******** up. This was personal.

Tanzanite did not respond to his question. Whatever small amount of compassion he was trying to appeal to did not rise to the bait as it had before. It was squashed down beneath a landslide of anger and hatred, all of her self-loathing for her previous failures being turned around and channeled into the fury that she used against him. Tanzanite brought a knee up, attempting to strike at the most obvious target; his groin.

He kept talking. Why did he keep talking? Tanzanite didn't want to talk. She didn't want to discuss just what the hell was going on. She did not want to be talked down or reasoned with. Tanzanite's single-minded focus came in handy as his words sunk in, as the realization struck that Castor – the enemy – was trying to be a friend. Trying to give her a chance. Were it not for her own stubborn willpower, perhaps she might have listened. As it were, only the sudden collision of Castor's fist with her face caught her full attention.

With her hands previously in his grasp and her judgment clouded by desperation, she didn't have time to block the blow. The best she could manage was a last-minute attempt to dodge that brought his fist up under her jaw rather than straight into her face. The pain struck home in a way his words had not, preceding the familiar taste of blood as she bit down hard on the inside of her cheek. Her head rocked back momentarily, and snapped forward again to allow narrowed, angry eyes to focus upon the senshi.

“Not yet, you aren't,” she snarled more than spoke, spitting a mouthful of blood at his face, “But you will be.”

Her free hand moved quickly, with speed that made up for the strength her thin frame lacked, and grabbed hold of the fist that had drawn first blood. Some people might have punched him in return, others might have moved away to regroup and prepare a new assault. She was so close, though. Too close for logic to overwhelm the exhilaration she felt at being so very, very near to everything she wanted. Redemption. Power. A second chance. And so Tanzanite, driven by an inhuman desire to kill, pulled herself in towards Castor, teeth bared, and attempted to take a bite right out of the senshi's throat.

Like Castor, Tanzanite was not one to plan ahead. While she was a fighter through and through, her combat capability tended to be dependent on an attack-dog temperament and relentless determination. Thus, she was not making any attempts at guessing what Castor was going to do next. Her thoughts were singular, focused. One loud, chanting voice repeating over and over again: kill, kill, kill. The words thundered in her head, timed to the furious beating of her heart.

Kill. That was all she had to do. To make Charonite proud. To regain her status. To protect her Queen. She did not need to think. To plan. To capture. She needed only to kill.

However, if she had been attempting to guess what Castor would do next, kissing her certainly wouldn't have been on the top of the list. The action took her by surprise, her body freezing as though turned to stone by the touch of familiar lips. Her stillness might have been easily mistaken for a realization that she was wrong, or perhaps some momentary doubt. If so, Castor would find out just how wrong he was as those jaws tightened, aiming to sink her teeth into – and hopefully through – his bottom lip.

The familiar taste of blood was sweetened by the knowledge that this time it was not Tanzanite's own. Bloody lips twisted into a horrible grin as she was forcibly pried away, and did not fade as Castor's foot came into contact with her stomach. Tanzanite rolled off of him, and for what seemed an eternity she struggled to catch the wind that had been knocked out of her, all the while attempting to scramble to her feet.

You can't beat him. Said Aree loudly in her mind, drawing a snarl from the gasping sub-lieutenant.

“I have to.” She snapped back audibly, rasping voice ringing out through the evening air.

You're going to lose.

“I won't,” Tanzanite gasped, licking the blood from her lower lip. Her eyes were focused on Castor as she finally rose to her feet.

You're going to die. The teenage girl said back, an almost smug edge to her mental voice. Tanzanite could feel her there. All of her weakness. All of her failure. All due to what remained of the girl she used to be. The girl who had failed the Negaverse. She heard the mocking tone in the voice that mimicked her own.

“Then so will you,” she growled, taking a step towards Castor.

There it was.

It was the way his eyes narrowed just slightly, the set of his brow that transformed him from harmless, silly, womanizing Castor to the Senshi of Hail that he was destined to be. It had been turned on as though a switch had been flicked in the boys brain, and that switch had been the still warm corpse of a girl he had spent countless hours trying to protect. Trying to help. Trying to save. Only to be shown that it was pointless. No matter how many times he had come to her rescue, she still ended up as another lifeless body thrown aside on the streets.

Soon enough, it would be more than Castor. It would be the world. Each and every living, breathing individual would understand that their lives, their dreams, their inflated egos and self-importance did not matter. It was all pointless.

Only the Negaverse mattered. Only their goals and purpose would serve to make the world into the place it should have been. With Beryl, they could finally make it happen. Only the senshi stood in their way. Only Castor stood in her way of being a part of it all.

It was that thought that drove her forward rushing back at him with the slight increase in speed afforded by her Negaverse power.

Don't, cautioned Aree's voice in her head, her smugness fading to an almost pleading tone. The plea went unheeded, and Tanzanite flung herself at Castor, ignorant of the words that preceded his attack. She was blind to everything that might keep her from wrapping her hands around his throat and choking the life out of him.

They met like titans, each fueled by the principles that made up the core of who they were. There were so many similarities to be found between Tanzanite and Castor – their loyalty to those they cared for, their willingness to fight for the few things they truly believed in - and yet somehow the two could not have been more different in that moment. Castor fought for something beyond revenge or power, something wholly good and righteous. Tanzanite fought because fighting was all she knew. Violence, hatred, and loyalty to the Negaverse were the things that made up all that she was right then. The only human part remaining in that heated moment was the tiny, screaming voice in the back of her mind.

You can't beat him.

Castor's fist slammed hard into her stomach as the senshi easily evaded her anger-driven, predictable blows.

He's stronger.

She hit the ground hard as a blow to the face knocked her off balance, lashing out with her legs in an attempt to kick the senshi away. Every moment she could feel herself slipping. With each passing blow she could feel her strength fading, muscles unable to keep up with the pace at which she was pushing herself. She'd fought too hard, too early, when Castor could still easily evade a majority of her attacks. Tanzanite clawed at the dirt as she pulled herself up onto weak, shaking legs, every muscle burning with the effort.

This is it, said the voice, little more than a resigned whisper in the back of her mind, This is where we die.

“No,” she growled, finally pulling herself up. She did not know how long they'd been fighting, or how many of her attacks had landed, but she could feel the world spinning around her and a burning ache in her chest that suggested broken ribs. She had been too slow to evade most of his attacks, and too weak to defend them. She was a Lieutenant... a sub-Lieutenant, and no amount of experience could compare to the strength of the super senshi. Still, she could not accept defeat.

The memory of Charonite's threat rang in her skull.

You might as well not bother ******** show your face again, if you fail me this time.

This was it. This was all she had. With wild abandon, Tanzanite threw herself at Castor again. Again. Again. She landed only a few of her blows, but each time she assaulted him, the super senshi came out on top. Only when she had crashed through the bench where Linarite had once sat with her sworn enemy and a piece of wood had lodged itself in her upper thigh did Tanzanite fail to get up. She tried, oh how she tried. She screamed and clawed, struggling to move limbs that would not comply.

This is where we die, the voice of her human half echoed again. She sounded so calm, so pleased, the smug little b***h. Yet as Tanzanite stared up into Castor's eyes, eyes filled with a sadness that she seemed so incapable of understanding, she could not find room to argue.

This is where she would die.