He was sent tumbling at unfathomable speeds, first away from the surface of the planet and then even away from its very atmosphere. As the little twisted tree and the remains of the field around it plummeted away from him, the figures of Alkaid and Tanzanite turning from presences with readable faces to tiny and invisible specks, the incredible blue of the sky around him transitioned to a familiar expanse of stars in a sickening blur that he barely even noticed. It was all happening too fast.

The Youma Queen had thrown him with insane, incredible force, and the emptiness of space provided no resistance to slow him down. He was doomed to drift until something came along for him to crash into, and even then it was hard to say whether he would still be alive if that happened. The ripping sensation of those claws tearing themselves out of him still lingered in his body, the only sensation he was privy to with no air to sample or ground beneath his feat -- an unwelcome reminder that he still had a body.

Alkaid's surface shrank further and further away from him, the capital city now reduced to just a tiny fleck of lost civilization in the desert and dead oasis at its edge. As he drifted out ever further, his eyes lost their focus and barely agreed to stay open. Consciousness was threatening to leave him just as quickly as the planet was.

If he had known what was unfolding on the surface, the scheme Tanzanite was hatching as Alkaid took her hand, he might have made more of an effort to stay awake.

It was the last time he'd be able to see the place, and know it as he had in the past.

Out in deep space, there was nothing around to interfere with the gentle harmony of the cosmos around him. Almost a sound, almost a feeling, it resonated through him with a pleasant familiarity that one might regard a scrapbook full of childhood memories. It was calm. Timeless. Welcoming. There was no particular part of it that resonated more with him than any other, just the subtle crescendo and decrescendo as he approached some systems and left others. Throughout his existence he had spent time immeasurable contemplating the whole, gathering wisdom that couldn't be put to words from its infinite complexity and yet very simple beauty. It entranced him now, filling his awareness, numbing him serenely from the pain in his body and absence of sensation elsewhere.

Calm.

Timeless.

He drifted off on the undercurrent of stars, sleeping in silent vigil with the rest of the universe.

And a moment later, he was awakened by a scream.

Paired with Sailor Alkaid's scream on the surface as pain unimaginable tore through her was an equally agonized, inhuman sound that skewered the fabric of the universe itself. Kurma's eyes snapped open, his breath catching on nothing. A rising tide of dread engulfed him even before the initial shock had begun to wane. The noise was horrible beyond imagination -- a million nails dragging their way down a million chalkboards -- leaving him reaching weak hands upwards and clutching at the sides of his head in a vain attempt at muffling it out. It made no difference.

The scream overtook all of his senses, making the deep gashes in his torso feel dull and insignificant by comparison. His close proximity to the homeworld of Alkaid and the star it circled meant the awful sensation hit him like a speeding train, drowning out the peaceful, subtle vibrations emanating from elsewhere in the cosmos, and showed no signs of relenting. It was enormous. It was inescapable. It was wrong.

It was as if an invisible hammer and chisel had struck against the planet, making it wail in an incredible agony. Kurma watched, horrified and speechless, as a series of delicate cracks began to spider their way across the surface. The fissures grew in number as the noise became more and more intense, each second reaching and breaking new limits for the definition of the word unbearable.

The growing web of cracks were only visible for so long, though. On the heels of that spectacle came a light: it was not a hopeful light. It was not a benevolent light. It was only blindingly harsh and scorching and desperate, pouring fourth from Alkaid's star and flooding the space around it for millions of miles.

It paired itself with the relentless cry, one last distress signal. One last call for help... one last announcement of its presence. All the Guide could to was stare weakly on as the spectacle drew to its finale. He wanted to go back -- find the lost senshi, stop whatever was happening from happening. But in the state he was in he could barely even fly, let alone teleport back.

So he watched, helpless, while the desperate symphony of Alkaid's star struck its final chord... the last resonance it would ever make. As the scream faded, and the light along with it, the pleasant harmony of the cosmos slowly but surely became detectable again, providing a background noise to something that wasn't nearly as invasive as the cacophony from before -- and was all the more terrible for it.

Silence.

"No..."

Absolute silence.

The senshi of Guidance had been lost. Now her planet, her star, her very essence, was as well.

There would be no renewal. No rebirth. No meeting again in another life under hopefully better circumstances. Kurma didn't know the senshi was still carrying on in some form in a mockery of her former body, and he wouldn't have been able to tell how long the remnants of her star would be able to burn weakly on. All he did know was that it wouldn't last. Once it had burned up the rest of the matter that held it together, that was it.

In the way he defined the word, Sailor Alkaid was dead.

And he had been one of the ones responsible for her irreversible downfall.