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”EL!” If he had given it a moment of his time, if he even cared to notice, Helio would have noted the beauty of the crystal. Long sculptural pieces, both dainty and imposing reached outward like a sea urchin’s spines. Whether it promised the same pain as the ocean creatures hadn’t mattered an iota. Heliodor’s ability to rationalize anything disappeared as guilt, shame and sorrow enveloped him in its entirety. The crystal was an eerie reminder of the starseed he had looked at only months ago. His boy motionless in the chair, now motionless within the confines of a crystal structure.

It was all too much. He barely registered Albite and Taenite as still being neaaenite was mere inches away when their boy crystallized in purple stone and fiery flames. Whether the others had caught up to the three senshi was unknown. All of the Senshi of Ryuto’s attention was on his husband. A husband in title for less than 24 hours.

Heliodor rushed forward, practically throwing himself at the structure. Clawing and grasping at it in an attempt to get to his boy. Tears formed clean runs on his face, pushing around dirt and sweat out of their way from a battle that resulted in nothing. Absolutely ******** nothing because of him.

The crystal was like a fortress. Unforgiving and unrelenting to his pursuits. Never allowing him an inch closer to his husband inside. Instead it dealt out blows in the form of cuts and abrasions. Smoke and fire swirled within the confines of the purple formation, heating up the structure beneath him, burning his hands, arms and any other bare skin that came in contact. Fabric was scorched, holes were made via touch of the heat and fabric catching upon the sharp sprays. “I only just got you back. Please!” His voice caught. He hiccuped.

In his attempts he was rewarded with only a singular piece of crystal that had broken off in his hand. It was tiny, barely the size of half of one of his own fingers, clutched so tightly in his hand that he’d impaled the small piece there, blood welling. He didn’t notice. It didn’t matter. “I am sorry.” He began repeating, as his own energy began flagging. Sorrow and despair taking over. “I am sorry. I am sorry.” His voice quiet as he sank to his knees in front of Faustite.

Super Taenite

It wasn’t as though they had time to consider going slower. He could feel the way Faustite was changing in his arms, could feel the heat starting to become too unbearable, even for him and the little magic gem he and Faustite had created together.

The yank of his hair was strong enough to have him coming to an immediate halt, a slew of enraged curses spilling from his mouth as Faustite was torn from his arms--

Except maybe it wasn’t just the motion of stopping, but the crystals growing quickly to consume him.

The spikes were too close, too many, too sharp, and Taenite stumbled backwards into Albite behind him. He turned to look up over his shoulder at the other man in both misery and gratitude, then reached behind him to grab hold of his hand -- the same hand Albite wore the ring from Faustite. The same hand Taenite wore his ring on.

Displays of emotion or vulnerability wasn’t something he enjoyed for himself. He wasn’t weak. And he’d spent years of his life building up the walls around him. But now in the Negaverse, he could feel it slowly chipping away with the relationships he’d developed, even if he refused to acknowledge it if he could help it.

He didn’t like feeling helpless. He was used to being able to buy his way out of any problem, but how could he buy Faustite out of being turned into a youma?

He’d heard Roselite’s offer, but even that didn’t sit well with him. Heliodor was wailing, throwing himself at spikes trying to get to the crystalized General.

“You don’t think your General dearest wouldn’t dust him every chance he got?” Taenite scoffed, his frustration with the situation building. No, Faustite wasn’t dead, but making sure he had a worthwhile life when they were Senshi was going to be difficult.

Eternal Kamacite

Kamacite hated him. Hated Heliodor for everything he’d ever done. It had been Heliodor’s fault there was no longer an Elex, and now it was Heliodor’s fault that they didn’t have a chance to see if they could have Faustite de-youmafied. It was Heliodor’s fault that there wouldn’t be an Eion.

What else had Heliodor ruined? Had others disappeared because of him as well? Had he sabotaged some other mission that caused others to perish? Kamacite didn’t want to think about it because the misery would be too much for him to handle. His heart already felt like it was going to stop completely.

He wanted to tell Cymophane how much he appreciated his comfort and support. He wanted to tell Roselite that he was kind for offering Faustite the role of his personal youma, although he didn’t use so many words.

At least with Roselite, Kamacite knew Faustite would be treated well.

The crystals forming had been alarming, but he’d never seen someone turn into a youma before. He didn’t shout out in despair like Heliodor, but the agony he felt was physical. He stumbled forward, trying to reach the crystal formation. He knew there was nothing he could do. He didn’t even know what might make the transition be easier for Faustite.

Because he could feel him. Faustite was there, just… out of reach.

Tears streamed down his face as he wrapped his hand around one of the spikes, held back from getting too close by Cymophane. Maybe if he could push some energy into it. Maybe it would give Faustite a little bit of relief. A little less of Faustite’s own energy.

He didn’t know how, but he could feel the way the energy in the Rift was shifting all around them, almost electrifying.

Kamacite didn’t care that his arms and hands were blistered or bloody. He wrapped them both around the tip of the spike and closed his eyes. He’d never focused his magic’s energy into such a concentrated point before, but he didn’t want to blind anyone with the energy transfer.

Shock breakout he thought to himself, keeping his fingers laced tightly over the point so the brilliant light was caught in the crystal instead of being reflected outward. It was his most powerful attack, but it contained a great amount of energy. He would just do what he could to focus on absorbing the negative parts back into himself but--

The crystal broke, and a shuddering sob escaped Kamacite as he clasped his hands around the small piece of the now magic charged crystal. Faustite wasn’t able to tell them if it helped or made things worse, and he didn’t have the energy to try it again.

Teeth grit tight together as more tears fell. He turned to glare at Heliodor.

“This is your fault!” he cried, just as he lunged for the other man. He didn’t know what he wanted to accomplish. He knew anything he did would only result in more pain for himself as well, but he was beside himself with grief and no longer thinking logically.

It wasn't expected. Not that expectation would have mattered. It's hard to find a will to fight back when you knew the vitriol spat at you was true. Hard to find the energy to want to fight back. He was exhausted emotionally and mentally with his soul and heart having been rendered into pieces.

No, Helio didn't even put an arm up to protect himself as Kamacite lunged for him. He deserved all of the hate for what had transpired. There was no self-pity for himself. Whatever was dealt to him was just punishment.

Nothing would ever actually be enough of a punishment for what he'd done.

Roselite stumbled back, away from the crystalline structure, seeking safety near those better equipped for offering it than he was.

He flinched at Taenite’s words, at his derision. Taenite wasn’t wrong, of course. Bloodstone would not be happy. (Bloodstone was never happy.) He likely would try, if Roselite came back with a youma of flame, but Roselite wouldn’t stand for it. Roselite might be weak. He might be shy. He might prefer to take a passive role within the Negaverse, but he could find his spine when it came to defending his friends.

“I won’t let him,” he told Taenite. Somehow, he managed to keep his voice steady.

Roselite studied the crystal, drew close enough to examine the structure, but he didn’t touch it. He stayed on his guard enough that he could draw back at the first sign of danger. He was hesitant and cautious, but intrigued by it, too, distracted from his perusal only by the sudden scuffle initiated by Kamacite.

Grief was painful — painful to experience, painful to witness, painful to even consider. The tears had not yet dried from Roselite’s face, dampening his lashes and cheeks, but their descent had slowed.

He wondered if he should step in, if Kamacite would regret attacking Heliodor. Was that even for him to decide? General King Jet seemed unconcerned by it, and why wouldn’t he be? He could put a stop to it at any moment. Perhaps he thought it best to let the emotions run their course before coming between them. Cymophane was there, too, to offer Kamacite his strength and comfort. Roselite would not be as effective at offering the same.

So he stayed near Taenite and Albite — a bit in front of them, to protect them from the youma that might eventually appear, though he seemed shrunken and meek beside the pair of them.

Maybe, when the aura of a General became that of a youma, when Faustite emerged again, as something other but new, maybe he would remember something of what he was, and Roselite’s offer, coupled with this wordless promise, would be accepted.

The tears disturbed him. The drama of it all set him off balance. Aquamarine did not offer comfort, or hope, or guidance. They wouldn’t find warmth or kindness in him, should any of them turn to him for it. This wasn’t the intended outcome, but it was what they got; it had been a possibility even if they’d been able to attempt their plan. The only thing to do now was deal with it.

Aquamarine was a stoic presence. With Jet, he offered a perimeter of safety. He frowned when Jet could not get in touch with Arles, looking out into the horizon for any sign that they might need to make a hasty retreat. He let the skirmish between Kamacite and Heliodor play out, however one-sided it might end up. Heliodor could consider it part of whatever discipline would be enacted. Perhaps Aquamarine would include it in his report: Allow Kamacite the honor of selecting an appropriate punishment.

He gazed upon the crystal, and when his path brought him near Jet again, Aquamarine muttered, “What happens now? He turns into goo and pops out as a flaming butterfly?”

A heavy pressure filled the air with such force and speed that it felt like plunging into a deep pool with no warning. The Chaos was so thick it felt smothering, disorienting. For a few brief seconds, it was impossible to read any energy signature nearby.

They warped, flaring and twisting together.

Purple lightning seared the sky above them, and the hazy, distorted excuse of a sky rumbled with electricity and clouds that moved like bubbling tar.

The Rift was silent, but there was a rumbling around them. Youma in the distance scattered over rocky ledges and cliffs. The ground didn’t quite tremble, but as the sky rolled viciously above them, something seemed to churn beneath them as well.

When Laurelite exited the Hall of Shadows, her energy signature bled in with the rest of them. It was only when she arrived at their circle that things began to settle.

The Rift reverberated around them, humming with energy that seemed to creep from every direction.

Laurelite was unfazed.

She walked with purpose and drive, but she was unhurried. She wore the crown of Queen with dignity and class, and the abundance of pride that radiated from her was nearly palpable.

Her eyes were on Faustite, but she spared a brief glance at all that surrounded him.

Her path led her to him specifically. She didn’t kneel, but she extended a hand to help him up.

“There you are. I was looking for you, General King.”

Eternal Confused Albite, Corrupt Senshi of Retribution

Albite was dizzy as he wept, all his hopes for the sudden stillness dashed into messy little pieces while chaos unfolded around the stalagmite that his husband had become; everything came tumbling down, melted out, and he sobbed like he was eight all over again and leaving his home to somewhere strange and new. To live with strangers in the terrifying newness of it all. Alone and misunderstood and not loved the way he wanted. For all that he could acknowledge the many who loved him? He thought Faustite loved him most honestly - loved his every silly thought - and mushy butterfly feeling - every bit of his uselessness.

Drew him ketchup packets while he got on his boy's last nerve. Explained things slowly. Didn’t call him stupid for it in any way that lacked anything other than true fondness. Faustite didn’t judge him. All the people who said they loved him and then would turn and leave him once they realized the truth of how resistant he was to change— to any change at all. He loved people, always, no matter what! Whether they stayed, or left, or made other choices or ran to the ******** moon…

They never loved him back the same.

Faustite had, maybe, and he’d gone and ensured the man's ruin – the big, horrible ‘thisness’ of it all – because if Faustite loved him for who he was, no matter what? Then he could return that the ******** same and mean it! Even in this, even if Faustite was a youma forevermore. All the ways that ******** hurt and he didn’t have it in himself to hide all his upset as the skies roiled and the earth shook like it was trying to crack his broken soul. Couldn’t put his feelings away even as Laurels – sweet ******** Metallia personified - *Laurelite* - rolled up like she meant to fetch them all home cause they were late for supper, or had forgotten their rain coats, or –

Albite had never been so confused in his entire life. <********> wet hack of useless letters and ugly sound, he suddenly needed to sit down in the oil-mud-slicked Rift dirt before he fell there like an axed up tree.

He didn’t understand what he was seeing anymore –

He held Taenites hand a little longer as he slumped sideways against the tall senshi’s legs and just – tried to process anything - just, anything at all! “Fafls — Helio…” ugh, and he hated how he looked when he cried! Hated how he sounded, always, every single time. His clotted little asks and sniffles of names because he desperately desired something – for all the people who knew better n him to explain – so he didn’t make things worse by sizing up their beautiful Queen and speaking utter nonsense.

“Kama...a-anyone seriously, please..…” he didn’t get it, didn’t trust his burnt out eyes or his frayed n fried as ******** senses or his silly beaten mind. Cause for all he expected a youma would rise up from the floor to meet them? (Prayed his boy would sit on ice n remain the General of being paused a little longer so they could try more ways to save him! As if wanting *badly enough* had ever worked!?!) What he was seeing, and feeling, and h e a r i n g – didn’t seem like any ******** youma he’d ever met in his entire life!! But what did he know about youma anyhow? Not a single damn thing, really. Just that he loved *this* one, that he’d married this one, that he wanted to go home with him and go to sleep and never face the world again…

At least for a little while.