The dark clouds rolled over the back drop of night darkness, swirling around the moon, casting a gray shadow over the city. The city lights spluttered with the dwindling electricity and the thriving streets of the metropolis deadened to a slow inconsistent pulse of wandering drunks and tramps, trudging aimlessly around to nowhere in particular because there was nowhere to go except to entwine in and out of the street lights casting its dismal light. This was a classy area of Townsville, but now, in the dark of night, the lights and wood paneling which seemed the very essence of sophistication and pinnacle of wealth now seemed gaudy, clichéd. If not for the limousines parked in long rows, neatly polished, not a speck of dust, this would have seemed on par with any of the slums dotted around the city. Then Buttercup landed on top of one of these limousines, crushing the top.

Turn back, there is still time. You don't need more power, besides Bubbles is guarding it.

Bubbles! That inconsequential piece of trash. She can't stop a cockroach. You'll kill her easily.

More deaths. For what. Power?

She doesn't have to die now those she. You can sneak past her. Don't you remember what you said? If Bubbles must die, so be it. It's too late to turn back now.

The door of the apartment lay slightly ajar with Bubbles nowhere in sight. A dying fire was glowing in the fireplace and as she tentatively reached in, it gave a final splutter and died off. Buttercup shivered slightly, what are you afraid of the dark now. Buttercup straightened up, keen eyes struggling to accustom themselves to the dark. After a while she started to relax. The dark is nice. In the dark she couldn't see herself, and for a few brief moments, could pretend that she didn't exist, that, therefore, Blossom was still alive. She was dead. Overcome in a sudden wave of emotion, she paused for a while, a lump forming in her throat, dispelling her fantasy in which she was dead, bringing her back to the real Buttercup. The committer of fratricide. She abhorred this Buttercup.

"Who are you? Buttercup" Bubbles voice sounded behind her. Buttercup froze, she sounded as though she had just woken up with a twinge of surprise in her voice. She twirled around facing her sister. Then a look of realization dawned on Bubbles face and she knew she was caught.

"Buttercup, that stone. It was you! You're trying to get the last one"

"Get out of my way! Please."

"Never, I'd rather die. You are really bad"

Buttercups face contorted I agony as Bubbles flew towards her.

No, not again.

Bubbles never stood a chance. She ran headlong into Buttercups waiting fists. Buttercup collapsed by the cold coals of the fireplace. Again. She stumbled into the bedroom, knowing that if he put up a fight she would be finished. She could not kill anymore. She burst in, flung open the whit bed covers, but it was empty. A surge of anger spread through her. She hurriedly flew over to and found a mahogany box, the splitting mirror image of the one she had taken hers from, and exactly like the police had found it, it was empty. Angrily she tossed the bed out of the way, I have killed Bubbles for nothing.

Tears streaming from her eyes she burst from the window in a streak of light, going nowhere in particular because there was nowhere to go.