((After Halloween Ball Rp))

There was something to be said about corruption, and Wolfram reflected what Chaos might have done to him. It wasn't the first time he had done so. While he in no way doubted he was on the side of good, he wondered if his moral compass was straying too far from its original fixed point. There had been compromises. Had to be when it was demanded of him to gather starseeds, deal with the monsters called youma as coworkers, and fight against senshi and whoever or whatever else that might come in their path with the sole intent to kill. But he kept standards; Guiding rules that kept him in line. He didn't kill expecting mothers or those with children (that actually took care of them – not the jerks who abused their kids). If he noticed someone who clearly showed to be of some good to the world, he left them alone. He wasn't about to pick people willy-nilly and wind up wiping out all the good people that improved the city. In short, he cleaned up when going starseed hunting and excused such actions as just being like the electric chair, sending criminals to their grave – or the dumpster. Wherever he decided to hide the body.

It wasn't just to keep him in line, to keep his standards, but to make a better image of the Negaverse, a organization he was representing, and because he wasn't in any way like Wiseman, a man that he held as a prime example of what not to be. Sure, he was powerful, but not the type he wanted. The image of that tipped over crib still was vivid in his mind.

For senshi, there were no exceptions. They were interlopers, and he was dedicated to wiping them off the face of the planet – save for those who surrendered (though he was still a little unsure about those senshi). He had little tolerance for magic as a result as it only caused destruction and death in wide numbers, without any sort of screening process. The comas were a perfect example of this. The senshi were a wild group without control and hearts. However, he wondered about Chaos, as it was a form of magic in some way, but at least it had control. Never once did he see Chaos go out wildly without a Negaverser – namely the Queen – controlling it. Because of this, he was glad he could see that their magic and Chaos had no similarities. It could only be good.

But with his set ideals, he changed. He knew it, and not just in attire, in rank, in power.

A year older and a world different.

A year and he had done thing he never thought he would do in a lifetime – Become a Negaverser, an unknown, a something theorized in the newspapers and television, for starters. Killing being another big one. Fighting to the degree he was now, not to protect himself from bullies likein the past, but for his own life, for Earth, and those he cared about . – Cared about. He never thought he'd have someone like that either.

But there was still plenty he hadn't accomplished. A few on the tippy top involved someone he hated to the fullest extreme being pulverized, tortured, starseed stolen and head brought back at a trophy. His "career" had been very poor, and he hungered for something worthwhile to put on his record to prove that he was worth his promotion and the opportunity he was given to be a Negaverser. He had been and would be nothing otherwise, and he would continue to change to meet that goal.

As it was, he could take a moment to appreciate the little victories, and he happily sat on a tombstone of a forgotten pet cemetery, ("Here Lives Buddy." by the engraving) and let the coolness of his blade run across his tongue.

It had been a compulsion, and not one he would have entertained a year go. Hell, not even one he would consider when he was a lieutenant! In fact, his past self was listing the dangers on each finger, but he let it float on the chilll autumn breeze. He wasn't that person anymore. The curiosity had struck him, and he lapped the produce of a successful stab of his weapon - the blood having dried, half sticky, like though syrup.

It surprised him how ordinary yet familiar it tasted. He half expected to taste the magic on his tongue, prickling his tasetbuds like dissolving poprocks or champagne, but it had no sparks, peculiar taste, and was disappointing in how much he already knew the flavor. Matallic like the blade that produced it, and he thought how odd it was how knives and blood tasted the same. Weapons and people. War. He was hoping he could associate Castor's blood with the taste of victory, but it only tasted like anyone else.

He paused between dragging his tongue across the warmed blade. If he closed his eyes and forgot about how this blood came to be on his blade (Just a moment, Wolfram. You won't soon forget that memory!), there would have ben no telling the difference between his and Castor's blood.

And there was the truth of the matter. Negaverse. Moon Kingdom. If you p***k us, do I not bleed?

He spat out, wiping his mouth on his uniform sleeve. What a bitter, bitter taste that was.