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Were Tanzanite awake, she might have been trembling. Certainly, she would have been on her knees, her neck bent and eyes focused on the stone floor that was somehow both more comforting and yielding than the gaze of either of the Negaverse's leaders. Beneath the gaze of Charonite, only a fool stood in defiance. Beneath Beryl.. only a dead man. Tanzanite had looked into those eyes only moment after taking the hit that would have split Nealite's head clean in two, and had found nothing. There was no gratitude, no sadness, not even the slightest trace of pity.

There was only a darkness, empty and cold as the Negaverse itself. What she had done had not been a favor, it had been a duty, and her cold-hearted queen likely expected no less.

Fortunately for Tanzanite, she was not awake. Hell, she was just barely alive. Her eyes did not flicker with the rapid movements of slumber, but were still and sunken. Her already pale skin was white as a ghost, and to the touch it would have been cold from the loss of blood. With the sole exception of the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of her chest, Tanzanite looked like a corpse. Hell, she should have been a corpse. It was only by Beryl's mercy that she was not.

Mercy did not number among the many things for which Queen Beryl was known.

"It was Kunzite," he snapped back. "With all due respect, it was Kunzite. What do you want the Lieutenants to do, fling themselves on his sword? I gave the order. They were to retreat. Kunzite could have taken Tanzanite out in his ******** sleep." His fist clenched around the starseed. "The moment you sensed the Captain, your majesty, you should have gotten the ******** out of there. You should have ******** left. You know Kunzite. You know how he operates."

Was Charonite actually blaming her?

"He's a ******** assassin, for ******** sake!"

And now he was staring down at Tanzanite's still, breathless body. But then he had taken Beryl's arm: hand clasped around her wrist, which was an incredible indignity. It was a breach. He never touched her like this. But then, abruptly, he seemed to make the same conclusion, dropped her delicate wrist and transferred the starseed to the other hand. "So be it," he said.

When it touched the empty, raw stump of her arm, the starseed fused over it like candlewax. And then Charonite reached down into Tanzanite's chest, a moment she probably would have treasured in terms of what it meant for her power, but she was unconscious and gone.

And his hand was wrapped around her starseed.

She was twitching, in agony, even asleep. Her entire body was convulsing, lips blue, and every single vein was rising to the surface and outlining itself in deep black-violets. The sealant was leaking out of the stump at her shoulder, and now was growing, shifting, parasitic --

And Tanzanite's eyes flew open, and she was screaming. Charonite's other hand went down over her mouth and held her down.

"I know how he operates, but this pitiful body you provided for me doesn't."

One eyebrow arched as he touched her - had he forgotten his place? He held a higher position than he formerly had, but she was still the Queen. Not even Kunzite had been so bold when he was Captain, and Endymion's mind had been little more than soup while under her control. Perhaps she was too soft on him. Perhaps Ursula's influence lingered within her. There were several things to perhaps over, and that meant several perhaps too many.

The same hand that had been touched reached out and took hold of his arm, currently buried deep within Tanzanite's chest. "But that will change, in time. She's already giving in to me; it won't be long before I can fully claim this body for my own use."

Her nails were digging into his skin, eyes focused on the convulsing girl with twisted fascination. The starseed that had connected with her arm was forming itself, creating a new attachment onto the young woman who was busy screaming like some terrified banshee into the General-King's hand. She could have coaxed power into him, assisted in his task. Instead, she merely stood there, nails pressing into bare skin as her focus moved back towards his face, finding amusement in attempting to goad a reaction out of her highest officer.

"They were all paltry, the bodies you offered me. I had expected better of you, Charonite. Actually, I should be insulted, my only remaining General-King trying to force the soul of his Queen into a senshi, of all things."

There was a chuckle, and then at long last the hand removed itself from his wrist, shifting down to touch the squirming black form that was extending itself from the lieutenant's arm. Touching it lightly, she urged her own power into it, strengthening it, helping it grow.

"But I will make due with your shortcomings, dear. Seeing as we're... how do they phrase it these days? Involved? Such strange words they use, it's a wonder how this planet hasn't destroyed itself with its stupidity. We'll change that."

Tanzanite didn't even realize that she was biting down on Charonite's fingers instead of her own tongue. It was an ignorance for which she was grateful, because while some people might say, 'You don't know where those fingers have been,' Tanzanite was Ursula's friend. That meant she did, in fact, know exactly where those fingers had been. She knew far better than she would like to, and oh dear Raptor Jesus Charonite's fingers were in her mouth.

If she hadn't been seizing like an epileptic five year old watching the PokeRap, Tanzanite certainly would have been vomiting. Fortunately, the pain that felt like her bone marrow had been replaced with acid and every inch of skin was being simultaneously exposed to a belt sander occupied every bit of her conscious thought.

It seemed to go on for an eternity as the foreign entity wove its way into her body; bone, sinew, finally ending in an armor-like skin that extended into sharp spikes at the shoulder, long claws at the fingertips. It was a monstrous thing, beautiful only to those who judged beauty by power over physical symmetry. The process left Tanzanite gasping for breath as Charonite withdrew his hands, wide eyes staring at the ceiling with a wild expression. The General-King had been right; nothing was the same. Her hair was wild, her skin a touch paler. Those grey eyes were a tad darker, and she looker around with a gaze so manic and wide that her irises seemed allergic to her eyelids, for the two did not meet at the edges.

She had no intention of sitting up, but that newly formed limb gripped the edge of the crystal slab and pushed her body into a sitting position before Tanzanite knew that it was even moving. The long, sharp fingers flexed on their own accord, spreading with the palm faced away from her as thought to present itself to Tanzanite. What was left when Charonite had finished with her was, once again, two wills fighting for control, but neither was Aree Cadence. The part of that teenage girl that had not yet been consumed by Tanzanite had been shoved out. There was Captain Tanzanite, and there was something much darker.

It was that much darker half which struck out at Charonite, faster than she recalled her original appendage being able to move. Tanzanite had no control over it, but she could somehow feel its intentions. It was going for his throat, trying to sink those sharp claws into the soft pit where his neck met has clavicle. The Captain watched in nothing short of absolute horror as her own arm acted out against the man who had helped grant it life. She tried to pull it back, but the muscles did not respond as they should.

It was Beryl's hand that caught it at the wrist, still several inches from its intended target, and held it fast. Tanzanite felt a shame that was not her own, a sense of submission that came at Beryl's touch. It caused the spikes at her shoulder to quiver silently and lay flat against her neck. The arm flexed and relaxed as Beryl pushed it away, setting it back at Tanzanite's side. It did not move again. The newest Captain was staring at her queen with the wide-eyed gaze usually reserved for a priest and a crucifix. It was a gaze which spoke of amazement, fear, and the level of blind devotion that men based wars upon.

“My Queen,” Tanzanite said, and even her voice seemed darker than before, as though there were a slight echo behind each word. “General-King,” the dark, gnarled arm lifted and placed one spiked fist over her chest, “I...” There were no words. There was no way to place her gratitude into any tangible format which could be presented to the two of them. So she said only what she could, bowing her head low.

“Thank you.”