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Tanzanite was annoyed.

She laid on her back upon the railing of what once might've been the banister of some elegant staircase, seemingly unafraid of the precarious drop off into nothingness. Ever since the emergence of the bony protrusions now scraping against the stone, she had become recklessly confident in her inability to die. How far of a fall would it take to shatter her starseed beyond any function? Would that even matter? Was there a fate from which Metallia would or could not bring her back? A fate from which she would not bring herself back?

Something in her bones itched to find out, to simply roll to the side and see if the endless void below would swallow her whole. They were passing questions, drowned out by so many other thoughts. Tanzanite had returned to a weak and disheveled Negaverse, and that reality dominated the space in her fractured mind. What had happened? How had it happened? The memory of the youma seminar made her black guts squirm. The assortment of hybrids and agents, the way they spoke as though they needed to convince someone that they were not lesser. The fact that the word 'parahuman' even had to exist made her irrationally angry, but Tanzanite was not well known for her rational happiness in the first place.

Awkwardly, she read the training guide from the seminar, holding it in her one hand and trying very hard not to roll her eyes, snort derisively, or outright laugh. Where had her guidance been, when her eyes first snapped open to blinding pain, the sound of her own desperate screaming, and the sight of Charonite looking down at her? Where was her guidance, as they fought for years over control of her body and mind? Where was her ******** guidance when the world exploded into primitive will and unimaginable power, binding her forever to Metallia's will?

And where was it now?

Tanzanite existed far beyond the scope of the useless paper, and she let the guide fall from her fingertips and into the darkness below. Nobody would inspect Tanzanite save for the Queen herself. Nobody would experiment on Tanzanite except Metallia. And nobody would ever need to assess the danger she posed.

Somehow, Tanzanite had catalyzed the formation of a new species, and her failure to stem that disease made her... even more annoyed.

Where was her Negaverse? The group of bold, strong, and proud individuals who didn't need an explanation of why they should respect what she was. The ones who would not even conceive of the idea that she was in any way a broken thing, because they were god damn focused on more important matters. Matters such as eliminating every scrap of the Order that defiled the surface of a world they had no right to inhabit. Matters that they were supposed to be focused on, rather than petty squabbles and useless torture. Tanzanite's jaw clenched at the thought, the slowly growing bones of her wings flexing and grinding against the rail as she recalled Ares, Nemesis, Leto, and the rest. Their people and her own.

Dioptase.

Marthozite.

Tanzanite shook her head as the power of Chaos continued to sweep surfacing emotions out of her mind. Out of her range. Out of her life or whatever the hell it could be called. Laying beside the railing with Tanzanite's draping skirt gathered and clamped firmly in his protective jaws, Battu growled angrily.

“Oh, hush,” the broken woman said, letting her remaining arm drop and running her hand over the horse-sized youma's head, “I'm not going to fall.”

Elsewhere in the Rift, Brise pressed her nose to the ground and sniffed eagerly, weaving her way through rock and crystals and broken remnants in search of Alkaid. When she found the Ascendant General, she knew better than to jump on the fragile woman. Instead, Brise picked up the thin fabric of Alkaid's cape and tugged it back in Tanzanite's direction, whining eagerly and knocking over a small stalagmite with her wagging tail.

“No, but I can,” Tanzanite grinned as she held up her hand as though she were being arrested, finally succumbing to the combined disapproval and rolling herself back onto the safer side of the railing. Her clawed feet hit the stone with an audible click, and Battu let go of her dress with an angry huff. It was a relief to be able to move on her own again, and she reached down to scratch the agitated wolf youma behind one ear.

“Or I will,” she grinned wildly, flexing the fan of black spikes that had begun to grow from her shoulder blades. They were a sign, and an undeniably important one. She was not simply returning to her human form, she was growing beyond it, and that made all the difference. It showed in the way she spun on one foot, a reminder that Aree Cadence had once been a young woman on a dance scholarship to Crystal Academy. Her balance had been clearly affected by her missing arm, and she wobbled to a stop and nearly fell back against the floor.

And she laughed. A loud, clear laugh free of derision or malice, a rare sound from a woman known for her vengeful nature and inclination for murder.

Alkaid was perhaps the only person to ever hear it, save for their Queen.

“Check it out,” she said excitedly, reaching up to carefully unwrap the bandages that covered her severed arm. Beneath, a familiar feature had begun to regrow. Where the stump of her shoulder once ended in a gnarled knot of black veins and pulsating flesh, there was now smooth, scaled skin.

And a familiar mouth, crossing the majority of the stump, gnashing and snarling upon being exposed.

“I do, it’s ******** gross.”

Tanzanite couldn’t stop laughing, partly at the ridiculousness of it all and partly because everything was growing back, and that meant more than even her endless laughter could express. The idea of returning to her proper form filled her with a manic glee that extended far beyond happiness and tilted dangerously close to an unhinged sort of joy. The kind of joy that evolved into the impulsive, violent behavior that got her in trouble in the first place.

And somehow, she kept it contained. There was still that eager hunger for destruction, the erratic need for pursuit and the thrill of capture, but it no longer dominated her thoughts. They were too integrated, every atom and every cell infused with the dark energy that sustained her existence.

“Oh shut up,” she said to the snapping, gnarling thing, though she failed to keep the affection from her voice. Tanzanite wrapped the bandages tightly around it, not unlike swaddling baby, and said in a cooing voice, “There you go.”

With Laurelite’s favor and Metallia’s watchful gaze, she would continue to exist, for as long as she had a purpose. That purpose shone in Tanzanite’s eyes as she turned to Alkaid and set her clawed hand upon the young woman’s shoulder. Her missing eye had been rebuilt, though with an acid green iris that stared at the Ascendant General with uncomfortable intensity.

As though the broken senshi’s presence alone had stoked the glowing embers of some slow-burning fire, causing it to flare in Tanzanite’s eyes. Whatever longing for the end that she had previously felt was gone, replaced with a sharp and vengeful focus that belonged only to General Queen Tanzanite. With the Negaverse in tatters and the promise of her full restoration, there was an understanding. An expectation.

Tanzanite had promised Laurelite that she would take back everything that the senshi had stolen, and she intended to keep that promise with miraculous success.

“It makes sense now,” she shook the young woman slightly, unable to contain her sheer excitement. Her grip would’ve been too tight if Alkaid had been able to feel, but instead it pushed the plates of her arm up with a grinding sound that didn’t seem to bother the slowly regenerating woman, “We are more than experiments Alkaid.”

We are ******** miracles, testaments of her power, and what we can accomplish together will be something this world cannot even imagine.”