26A/N: I do not own Soul Eater or Tim Burton's The Nightmare Before Christmas, directed by Henry Selick and scored by Danny Elfman.
'Poor Jack' is my favourite song from the film, and due to the amount of material I need to cover with so limited an amount of songs left in the film, it's spread out throughout the beginning of this chapter and used repeatedly to build suspense, like cut scenes in a film. Hopefully this doesn't get too annoying.
It's here! The third installation. This is where it all ends . . . (Potterhead FTW). Thank you for all the support I got in writing this, you guys were awesome! So, hopefully this doesn't disappoint as a result.
So long. Such a long time to write. I'm so sorry for the wait.
EVERYBODY SCREAM
Spoiled all, spoiled all.
Everything's gone all wrong.
Breathing. It seemed like a simple enough chore. Done all the time, right? Just in, then out, in, and then out?
Then why couldn't he do it right? He could let it out in a cry, or gasp in pain, but he couldn't keep it solid. It felt all wrong, all of it. He'd been useless all his life, and now he couldn't even breathe properly. Typical. Had he ever been good at anything? It felt like there had been a time where he'd succeeded, some time ago, but whenever his mind tried to grasp at what felt like pleasant memories, they slipped away. Soul could visualise the colour green, and something like . . . blonde hair? Pigtails? Why would that make him good at something? Maybe it hadn't. Maybe nothing had.
That was why he was in this Black, right? There was a voice echoing in the back of his head, telling him to do something, now, before the Black Blood collapsed and he truly lost it. But who was the voice? It sounded gravelly, and he imagined horns whenever it sounded . . . Maybe it was the Devil, and he was in Hell. Maybe the Black was Hell. It hurt like it.
When had he been like this last? Was it when his chest had been cut open? Why did he have a scar like that? Did it hurt because he was stuck here? Did he deserve to be here? Would he get out?
Questions he couldn't answer. Breaths he couldn't take properly anymore. And everywhere, all around, nothing.
Nothing but Black.
What have I done?
What have I done?
Her footfalls were getting heavier and heavier. Black*Star was asking her something, about whether she was okay, or maybe he was just hurrying her along. She didn't know. She didn't care. All of Maka's concentration was on one thing – locating Soul.
After Kid had told them that his soul might be – that it might not all work out all right – she'd started to send out her Soul Perception at full range. She hadn't been able to sense her partner's soul before their discovery, but now . . . Now she had to. There was no alternative. She needed to find him before there was nothing left to find.
But again, even as she sent out another probing wave of her Perception, her result left her with nothing but the souls that she'd sensed so many times before in the city. They were people she knew, people she even cared about in some cases, but none of them were him. The wavelength was wrong. She gritted her teeth, hanging her head as she continued on her mad dash. She'd failed again. This was by far the most important thing she'd ever used her special ability for, including trying to locate the Kishin Asura, and she couldn't even do it right.
Black*Star had made it to the top of the stairs by now, and she picked up her own pace. They were heading to Shibusen, all of them, so that they could regroup with Kid and discuss what to do. After all, they had nowhere to look now, did they? They'd thought they were so clever, solving that riddle in no time, but they'd been wrong, horribly and pathetically wrong! Nobody had even considered the fact that Hook Cemetery may not be the place in which Soul was being kept. They'd rushed out blindly, fuelled by panic, like the stupid children they were.
"Maka! Come on, we don't have time to be slow!" Black*Star yelled as she met him at the top of the impossibly long staircase. "Soul's waiting for us!"
"Just shut up," she said bitterly, breathing heavily from exhaustion. "For once in your life, just shut up."
He looked as if he was going to say something in reply, but at that moment Tsubaki began to glow. Maka shielded her eyes as the other girl transformed, landing lightly with a grim expression on her face. "Let's go, you two." Her eyes were pitying as they turned on the scythe-meister, but she couldn't take that. The pitying expression of one friend was almost as bad as the constant obnoxious yelling from the other. With quick steps, she pushed past them both and entered the school.
His face seemed to haunt her as she ran past the lockers. How many times had they stood here, arguing about stupid things or saying little comments that didn't matter? They'd talked about his partnership offers, her appeal as a girl, assignments and their friends, all of it. She'd taken all of those little moments for granted, never thinking that they might really come to an end this quickly, on Halloween of all days. She would never be so stupid again.
The Death Room was right there. Maka practically kicked the door open in her panic and hurry, and consequentially found herself in a half collision with her father, of all people. He looked down at her in surprise, but his expression quickly melted into one of sympathy as he took in her hunched shoulders and haunted eyes.
"Maka. Shinigami-sama is waiting for you," he said in a low voice, stepping aside. She nodded briskly, passing him without another look. He would become just another pitier soon, and she couldn't take that. She would make sure that there was no reason for anyone to pity her. A pitying face . . . that was like saying they'd all already given up.
Her steps slowed only when Kid and the Thompsons came into view. The Shinigami was clutching a thick tome as he frowned. Liz was glancing at it over his shoulder, and Patti was pointing to Maka to alert everyone else that she'd arrived.
"We need to figure out where he is," Kid said blankly, with no preamble. His shoulders looked slumped, but she ignored this. It looked too defeated. "We were clearly wrong about the riddle, in regards to Soul's location. We just need to re-think this, without acting rationally."
She nodded sharply again, not wishing to speak. Loud footfalls behind her alerted her to the other team's presence, Tsubaki giving the Thompsons and Kid a quick bow. "So," Kid pressed on. "Do you have any ideas?"
"Let us see that riddle thing again," Black*Star demanded, striding past Maka to snatch the piece of paper that Liz held out. "'A place that sees no light.' Huh. If not the cemetery, where does that mean?"
"Hmm . . . how about somewhere underground?" Spirit chimed in, having made his way back to the teenagers. "There sure isn't any light down there."
"That doesn't help us," Maka said irritably. "The whole city could still be in range, if that were the case. We need to narrow it down."
"Well, what's the deal with the part talking about dead guys?" Liz queried, taking the paper back from Black*Star. Maka clutched her own photocopy, staring intently at the words. "If not a cemetery, where else are we going to find dead people?"
"There aren't any other burial plots around," Kid confirmed. "That could be the only place. Unless they don't mean it figuratively . . ."
The gears in Maka's mind were starting to churn as she looked down at the burgundy ink. Something about the deliberate usage of the words seemed strange to her. While it fit with the rhyme, using the term 'will greet on their night of freedom' seemed sort of odd. What kind of a phrase was that? Besides, the dead didn't really get up and walk around on Halloween. They weren't really free. The only person who could be considered to have absolute freedom on Hallows Eve was Death, because it was a holiday celebrating his practices, but he was right here . . .
Oh.
"So, do we investigate the cellars in the school – ?" Black*Star was asking, but she cut him off without a second thought, her voice loud and shaky as she came to the realisation that should have hit her straight in the face in the beginning. She was an A grade student, after all.
"Shinigami-sama."
"What?" Kid said in confusion, turning to her with a frown. "I know that you call me Kid instead of my official title, why start now?"
"No, not you, Shinigami-sama!"
"Wh – my father? What does he have to do with this?"
"There's a passage beneath the statue of Shinigami-sama in the city, isn't there? Where his tomb is held and where they keep all of the gifts and ceremonial items that they lay out on the memorial day?"
"Yeah," Black*Star said, "so?" But Maka could already see the realisation starting to dawn on Kid's face, and Liz was gripping his shoulder tightly now as it sunk in for her too. 'A place that sees no light; where the dead will greet.' It fit. It all fit. The tomb was visited on Halloween, because a memorial ceremony to the former Shinigami-sama was performed at the midnight hour signifying the beginning of All Hallows Eve. That would satisfy the 'greet' part of the riddle. And there would be no light down there, would there? It was in an underground room, after all, like her father had said. That would be an ideal place to hold someone who was kidnapped, because it would be spacious and dark. It fit. It had to. She didn't know what she'd do if it didn't.
Kid blinked once before opening his mouth and taking a deep breath. She thought he might speak, but he looked troubled and let it fall closed again. Black*Star looked between them confusedly, trying to catch up with whatever they'd both figured out.
"It has to be, doesn't it?" Maka said desperately. "Kid, am I right? It's got to be."
He shook his head slowly, but he still looked grim. "I agree. It fits perfectly – but . . ."
"But what?"
"What if we're wrong again?" he said, unwittingly speaking the exact fear on her mind. "It's already quarter past four. That leaves us exactly two hours. We don't have time to be incorrect, not again."
"Wait – so you think he's underneath that statue of the former Shinigami-sama, the one in the middle of the City near the fountain?" Liz cut in, her eyebrows drawn together as she read the riddle. "Well, I guess it kind of fits . . . ?"
"So, if that's what you think it is, then why aren't we heading there already? Tsubaki, transform!" Black*Star commanded in a sharp voice as the girl turned to a bright flash of light. "There's no time to waste!"
"How long did we waste at Hook Cemetery?" the Shinigami inquired rhetorically. "If Soul isn't being held under the statue, we won't have time to think of any other options. We need to get them all out in the open now."
Maka interrupted once again, her arms crossed in agitation. "Kid – I think this is it. I think this is the answer to the riddle. Look at the by-line."
"What about it?"
"Jeno refers to this as a game. He's playing with us. He hated your father, right?"At the Reaper's solemn, she sighed. "What better thing to do to add to this horror than desecrate your father's tomb? It only makes sense."
Kid paused once more, but she could see his conviction of his own principles waning. Maka was right and she knew it. There were no other options than to check out this lead, especially because all of the pieces of the puzzle seemed to click with their solution. The young Shinigami nodded once, his shoulders slumping as he gave a jolting, symmetrical nod. "You're right. It does. We need to investigate this."
"We?" Black*Star probed. "So, you're coming too, even though you're a . . . even though you're meant to stay here unless shit gets really fucked up?" He'd caught himself before he could admit that his friend was a God. Crisis or not, it was Black*Star. That rivalry would always fuel the two boys' interactions.
"I am," the other meister nodded once, and Maka felt a half-smile grace her solemn and serious face. These two would never let anything happen to Soul. She should have known. "Death Scythe, you'll be in charge here. I want you to contact Stein and alert him of the situation, as I couldn't reach him before. Also, call in Kilik and the Pots if you can, in case we need them for back-up."
"B-but Shinigami-sama!" the red headed man protested. "Shouldn't I go with you if you're going to fight?"
"Liz and Patti will be my weapons for this. We took down a Kishin; we're more than capable of destroying one warlock," he replied with a grin. Liz and Patti nodded behind him, the younger raising a fist in the air joyfully at the thought of going out to fight again.
Spirit sighed resignedly. "Yes, sir. I'll make the preparations."
"Good. Now, you guys, let's go!"
"I'm going to kick that warlock's ass!" the ninja meister said with a determined grin, clenching Tsubaki in his fists and nodding. He turned to leave the Death Room, Kid following even as Liz and Patti transformed for him to catch. Maka started to go too, impatient as ever to leave and do something to get Soul back, but was stopped by a hand on her arm. She looked up to her father, who was staring into her eyes with an uncharacteristically serious face.
"Maka – are you sure you should go?"
She wrenched herself from his grip immediately, her eyes widening in shock. What was he saying? "What do you mean, 'should I go'? How could I not, Papa, it's Soul!"
"Exactly," the man replied, not shaken in the least as he watched the Shinigami follow Black*Star out of the Death Room. It was only the two of them now. "I don't know if you can handle this."
"I've fought countless witches, I fought Asura –"
"And how many foes have you fought without him?"
That brought her up short. Stinging tears welled in her eyes, but she fought them down. It was pure anger, anyway. She needed to leave to save her stupid scythe now, and yet her own father of all people was trying to tell her that she wasn't strong enough? She didn't have time to let self-doubt creep into her system like it was now! "Papa," she said icily, making him flinch. "Move the Hell out of my way."
He looked as if he wished for nothing else than to obey her, but his eyes were apologetic like his hand movements as he said, "I can't. Not until I'm sure you're up for this. Now wait a second," he hastily said as she opened her mouth to yell at him, "I'm not saying you aren't tough enough, Maka. I know my little girl isn't so little any more. You're just as good, if not better, than your mother."
The flattery went unfelt to her as she continued to glare heatedly at him. He swallowed and continued, his gaze finally dropping from hers. "But – this isn't going to be like all of those other times. Soul has been influenced by this magic, if you're right, for three hours."
"All the more reason why I don't have time to listen to you!"
"What condition do you expect to find him in?" the Death Scythe finally managed, looking at his feet wearily as he reached out and put his hands on her shoulders, making her feel like a child again. "Honey, there's a good chance that he – that he might not be okay after all of this. It's serious spell-work. I've seen this sort of attack before, and usually it doesn't end well."
She froze in pushing him off of her at that. Her entire night had been spent focussing on a positive outcome for all this. She hadn't allowed herself to entertain those doubts that had been niggling away at her resolve. They were her own private fears that were better left unencouraged, so it was almost surreal, in a horrifying way, to hear the words come from someone else's mouth. Spirit cringed once more, lifting his head. His hair shadowed his face as he looked at her, and she could see dark rings of sleeplessness under his usually sparkling eyes, so much like hers in colour*. The one thing she'd gained from him, he'd always said.
"I'm sorry, Maka, but there's a possibility that he won't make it, and I don't think you're capable of being there to see it if that happens."
His words made sense. She knew they did, and she knew that, if things really did end so grimly, she would probably get herself killed by the warlock in seconds. But that would be worth it. Just a few seconds, because . . . Because if Soul died, what was her purpose anymore? She wanted to grow stronger for him; what was the point if he wasn't there to see her shine, and to be just as bright alongside her?
Spirit was obviously surprised when she lifted her own head, her eyes free of tears and her fists clenched not in grief, but in determination. "You're right," she said in a clear, hard voice. "If that happens, then I probably won't be able to stand it. But it won't. Soul made me a promise, you see. He told me he wouldn't leave. He wouldn't be game enough to break that promise, not as long as I've got books near me – I'd follow him into the next life and kill him." She smiled wryly at her own words. "I'm going to get him back, Papa. It's what you'd do for Mama."
The man sighed, but a small smile had lit his features as well. He let his hands drop from her shoulders, although one came to rest on her head affectionately. "Go on, then. I bet he's waiting for you."
And as he watched his daughter disappear down the corridor leading to the great doors, he couldn't miss the glow of passion that lit her features in a way that he hadn't seen for a long time. Not since she'd extended her hand to him, smile lighting up her features as her determined, hard eyes locked onto his.
"My name's Kami."
In a million years they'll find me.
Only dust, and a plaque.
There was a distinguishable moment in which they all stood silently in front of the statue, pausing as they contemplated what they were about to do. All six of them would be forcibly entering the passages underneath this monolith so as to gain access to some of the most sacred rooms in the City, and maybe even the country. While it wasn't illegal to go down into the chambers here, seeing as Kid was accompanying them, Maka couldn't help but feel a shudder pass over her at the thought of needing to enter the room where the former Shinigami-sama's tomb was kept. While 'tomb' would be a loose phrase to describe the great thing, seeing as the Death God didn't have a corporeal body to bury, there was a large white marble slab with a few of his most precious items and the shards of his mask that had remained encased inside. It would be like entering a room where his body was on show for all to see. Something about it just wasn't right.
Kid, too, looked like he was suffering at the contemplation of defiling this place, battling in underground rooms where he'd knelt to visit the remnants of his father, but after a moment they shook their heads and made for the entrance. This came in the form of a great slab of stone that needed to be manually removed, built into the side of the base of Shinigami's statue. It was a bronze sculpture of him in all his glory, wearing his customary cloak, his mask seeming even in metal casing to radiate warmth and joy to all who paused to nod their heads respectfully at the monolith as they passed. Black*Star pushed aside the slab easily with his supernatural strength, and all three meisters were left to peer into the inky blackness that resided below.
"It's so dark," Patti said from her weapon form. "How are we going to see down there, Kiddo?" And she was right. There was no source of light anywhere to be had. It was already hard enough to see on the streets of Death City, due to the moon giving no natural opposition to the dark shadows anymore. Trying to make anything out in the tunnel before them was impossible.
Or so they thought. Before anyone could comment, the Shinigami meister closed his eyes. Little masks similar to that of the one he wore in the daytime emerged from under his dark cloak, and blue light shot from the holes of the eyes. They provided only a dim glow, but against the total blackness of the tunnels and the night sky that their eyes had adjusted to, the blue seemed to the group like the bright shine of a miniature sun. Without another word, the Death God began to descend the stairs leading down under the base, giving back a warning to the others to ensure they ducked their heads against the low ceiling.
"Like Maka's gonna' have that problem," Black*Star snorted, pushing past her to get down there. Letting Kid go first couldn't have been easy, no matter how much he'd grown up, and how much worry he held. She sighed, waiting for him and Tsubaki to pass before she, too, put her feet to the marble black staircase, half-closing the stone slab behind her to ensure nothing followed them down into the crypt.
The team was silent as they made their way through the corridors, which – thankfully for their craned necks – morphed into a higher ceiling as the steps went on. It didn't take long to reach the bottom, despite their descent leading them quite far underground. After they gathered on the lowest step, a brief quiet ensued. It just seemed wrong to speak in a place like this, so hallowed.
But she had to. "Right," Maka whispered. "We don't know if anything's down here, including Jeno. We need to be quiet and split up to look for Soul."
"Should you really go by yourself, Maka?" Tsubaki asked fretfully. "If you run into the warlock, you'll be defenceless."
She snorted. "I'm tired, Soul's missing, and I'm angry. You should be more worried about what'll happen to that guy, if I run into him first."
Kid bobbed his head once tersely. "Good plan. Can you sense anything with your Soul Perception? I'm picking up something, but I can't tell what it is."
"Hold on." She closed her eyes, concentrating on stretching out her Perception through all the winding corridors of the underground labyrinth of rooms. There seemed to be nothing but a haunting silence, a dark coldness, a – That spark. "Yes. There's someone down here!" She focussed harder on the wavelength she could feel, her heart picking up speed as she contemplated it being Soul. "It feels pretty powerful, but there's something off about it."
"Like it's been twisted?" Black*Star asked sharply, but she shook her head. It wasn't Soul, she was almost disappointedly certain.
"More like – it's dark. It's like there's some form of Soul Protect on it, but I can almost pass that in any witch by now. It's not making the soul feel human – it's making it invisible."
Kid sucked in a breath. "And it's moving this way, quickly."
"Shit!" the other boy cursed under his breath. "We need to split now! Tsubaki, katana mode!"
"Hai." A bright light showed Tsubaki's transformation.
"Which way is that guy?" he asked under his breath. Maka pointed silently and he grinned. "I've got him. You guys look for Soul, okay?" Before he left, he laid one rough hand on Maka's shoulder. "He'll be fine. Just be quick." And with that, he was gone. Seconds after he left the blue light Kid was emitting, he became all but invisible to the other two.
Kid turned to her. "He won't need to see in this darkness, but you will. How are you going to navigate the corridors?"
She paused for a moment before an idea came to mind. She hadn't gotten changed like the rest of them before setting out on this desperate search, so in her now-gruesome attire, there was no room for a flashlight or anything of the kind. Her eyes flicked around desperately, trying to find something to aid her.
There was a heavy torch hanging from the wall, and she quickly wrenched it away, holding it in her hand. It would have a good swinging weight, she decided, meaning it could be used as a weapon if the situation called for it just as much as a light. Kid regarded it for a second before raising his hand, using his powers to manifest his wavelength. He wouldn't dare risk setting out a shot in this kind of environment, not with the wavelength presumed to be belonging to the warlock steadily gaining on them, so he merely pressed his hand over the torch and it sprung into life. Maka thanked him with a quick bow of her head.
"Good luck," she said, before disappearing down the corridor closest to her left. Black*Star had taken the right, and from the corner of her eye she saw Kid go straight forward. Right in the middle – I bet his little symmetrical mind is singing, she thought. They were all separated now, working toward the same goal.
Bring Soul back. Defeat the warlock.
As she began to earnestly run, adrenaline kicking in at the thought of Soul's name, her heavy heart weighing her down further with her trepidation and need to see him all right again, she couldn't help but shiver at the thought of what she might find. He'd be okay. She'd make him be okay. But this was a place of burial, where a white marble tomb stood among seas of black, and it was chilling to contemplate the fact that there was a very real possibility that after tonight, there could be more than one final resting place down here, for the souls who had plunged into Death's cold chambers, whether it was for Jeno Vussien, for one of the team, for Soul, for her.
And by God,
I'm really going to give it all my might!
He had to be dead silent. Blend in with the black surrounding him like only he could. Use his senses to guide him, his skills to aid him, his soul to steady him. He could feel her, too, warm in his hands as he slowly advanced around another corner, his breath bated in anticipation of meeting the enemy. Black*Star gave Tsubaki a quick flip from one wrist to another, his ears straining to make out any sounds in this complete dark.
He'd visited quite a few rooms, trying to scout out this damn warlock, but he'd seen nothing besides the usual sacrilege equipment, the lecterns for speeches, and in one room, what looked like a great block. He hadn't wanted to examine that one too closely. So far though, no warlock, and no Soul.
He hoped Maka reached the scythe first. By the look on her face, she needed to see him as soon as possible, and as Black*Star knew of Soul's feelings for the girl, he doubted that he would want to see anyone else. If he could still sense her at all. If he was even still alive. While he had his faith in his best friend, he couldn't deny that the situation was bad. With tortures like the ones listed in that spell-book lined up, it would be hard for even a God such as himself to escape unscathed. What would it do to the weapon, who was already so full of Black Blood and so experimented on by witches?
That thought set the assassin's teeth on edge, and he had to concentrate on not letting a growl slip past his lips. Soul had already been through so much. All he wanted was for his bro to be able to be happy. Hadn't he and Maka suffered enough? Why did bad things keep happening to good people? He couldn't say, in his lifetime, that he'd seen that many truly good people, not outside the staff of Shibusen – even if Professor Stein had his days and Death Scythe was scum when it came to thinking of others – but Soul, he was one of them. He was selfless, he was strong. While Black*Star was thought to be fairly unobservant and overall, an idiot, he wasn't. He could see the way his best friend gave things up for others. When Maka had befriended Crona, not a word was said by him on what he'd suffered. When Maka was chosen to fight Arachne on Medusa's squad, despite his protests, Soul had gone, for a swordsman who had infected him with liquid madness and ruined his chances of ever being completely sane again. He always gave things up for others. While he himself may have been a Bushin, and Kid was a God of Death, Soul would always, somehow, be the best of them, even if he never saw it.
Well, that, and he had some fucking restraint, taking all of those Maka-Chops without crying like a little bitch.
"Black*Star," Tsubaki whispered to him, sending his thoughts and focus down to her immediately. He could feel through her soul the slight twinge of an approaching wavelength, fainter than it usually was by far. Still, he melded into the shadows once more, holding his breath and waiting for his opportunity to strike. Here was the bastard that had hurt Soul, therefore breaking Maka, caused Kid to have to raid his own father's burial place, and made Tsubaki cry in worry. He was going to kill this fucker.
Right there, right then.
But as the wavelength approached, increasing speed, and became more clear, he realised it was more than just one. While his first thoughts were on the excellence of a bigger fight, he also noticed that there were three oncoming intruders. Three that were almost too familiar as he jumped out, ready to fight, to cut and slash and . . .
"What are you doing?"
He eyed Kid, who was staring at him in shock, having narrowly avoided his killing blow, and let out his breath. Damn. He'd been about to claim the spotlight in this fight, but it had been just another rehearsal. He shrugged at Kid, pressing his fingers to his lips to signal quiet. "You're the one in the way. Just be quiet, I know this warlock dude is around here somewhere!"
"That he is," a cold, amused voice said before Kid could get a word out. "But don't worry about being quiet. It's a little late for that, anyway."
Both meisters turned towards the source of the voice, and were met with a bright green light radiating from the top of a cane, thinly outlining the silhouette of a man. Not much could be seen of him except his odd dress style, the cane, the tips of his black hair, and his eyes, which gleamed like coins in the harsh glow. Black*Star felt Tsubaki tense through their connection, and he felt his hand tighten on her grip as he stared at the green light the cane was emitting.
"Aw, fuck."
Let's shout,
Make a fuss,
Scream it out!
She was facing what felt like the fiftieth dead end, clenching her fists in stressed frustration, when she heard the large shot. Maka's head whipped up in shocked surprise, immediately using her Soul Perception to check on her comrades. All five of them were still fine, but she could also tell that the flicker, that irregularity that they'd pinned down to be Jeno's wavelength, was with them. Did that mean they were fighting him now?
Her bangs fell forward to shield her eyes as she stared at her feet, conflicted. While her common sense and battle urges were telling her to hightail it over there and help out Kid and Black*Star, her heart was just screaming to find Soul, find Soul, find Soul now! What should she do? The searching hadn't got her anywhere yet, and although it had only been twenty minutes, every second seemed like two hours. It was almost five in the morning now, which meant they had under an hour and a half left to find Soul, and work out how to get rid of the plague on his soul wavelength. The riddle had said that if they got to him before sunrise, he'd be okay, but what did they do to ensure that? Did they have to defeat Jeno? Capture him and force him to remove his own spell?
Another explosion sound made the walls shake slightly, and Maka covered her head as dust rained from the ceiling. Was this really safe, fighting down here? Probably not. Then again, workplace health and safety while fighting wasn't really her top priority at that moment. She sighed, feeling tense with nerves. Whatever happened, it seemed that finding Soul would be useless for now, if she didn't know how to save his soul. She cursed herself for not thinking of this issue before. How could she be so rash and stupid? He was always teasing her for that . . .
No. Stop. One hand's fingernails dug into the flesh of the other forearm and she flinched, using the pain to ignore her consuming thoughts. There was only one course of action. She'd have to help her teammates fight Jeno Vussien.
Maybe it was always going to come to this. The riddle may have been aimed at and targeted at Kid, but in the end, this was always going to be her battle.
Maka growled as she turned, using her Soul Perception to navigate the dark halls, glad that she now had a definitive destination to reach. That's it. Soul, when I find you, and when we fix you up, you are going to get the biggest Maka-Chop of your life. And nobody is ever fucking with my partner's life again.
If Soul could hear the vulgarity of the language her thoughts contained as she headed for battle, he would have cheered.
The crashing and explosive bangs only got louder as she approached, not worrying about being too stealthy and instead preparing herself for fighting without her weapon. She could hear voices, too, yelling in anger. That was a good sign. It meant Black*Star was pumped up, so he'd probably have the warlock in pieces by the time she got there.
Wait, no, she thought in horror. What if we need him, what if Soul needs him to be alive? She picked up her pace, her feet hammering into the hard ground with every heavy, powerful step. If that idiot ended up ruining all of this because he couldn't keep his Death-damn egotistical bullshit in step . . .
"Crap!" she hissed, ducking reflexively as something white-hot flew over her head. Had that been a bolt of . . . energy? It sure didn't feel like a wavelength shot, like Kid produced. The corner was right there, and she could see light glowing, as if someone had gone further down the tunnelling labyrinth and lit something on fire.
"Maka!" she heard Kid call, obviously sensing her presence. "Be careful, this is dangerous!"
Maka stepped around the corner cautiously – and paused. The sight before her was, in one word, bewildering. There was an unfamiliar man standing with his back to her, dressed in a classy dark-grey suit. His dark hair was almost resting on his shoulders, and he held one arm in the air lazily. It was crowned by two large-jewelled rings on his index and ring finger, and he clutched a thick book. In his other hand, he held a thin cane with a silver handle. There was some sort of pattern on it. It was glowing a bright green as he read from the book. That was slightly irregular, as far as sights went, but she was preoccupied with gawking at the two meisters in front of her.
They were in the air. It was like they'd been tied up with invisible ropes and strung up there, because they floated unnaturally as the two boys struggled. Black*Star looked livid, and she was astounded that he would be able to be held by one man. But then she saw it, the thin strand. It looked almost like fishing wire, and was tied around his left wrist. It connected to . . . Tsubaki's. The weapons were in their human forms, suspended in the air in the same way. It took only seconds for Maka's mind to deduce the situation. If Black*Star used his strength or his wavelength to free himself . . . it would shock Tsubaki. There was no way the ninja would risk hurting his weapon, she knew. Jeno had somehow played the ultimate trump card. Kid was in a similar situation. Liz and Patti were being held – and her stomach rolled at the sight – by their necks. Their other limbs were supported, but she guessed if the Shinigami moved too much, his weapons would pay the ultimate price.
The warlock did not immediately respond to her advance, instead muttering words from the book. It must have been the spell book he was renowned for, she realised. "Cthiájon des nasuké. Jonbon des nasuké."
"Shit," Liz hissed as she slipped slightly in the grip she was being held in. As Maka slowly began to creep towards him, she saw his features sharpen into a grin. He was angularly handsome, with his cheekbones and burning green eyes. Her stomach welled with hate.
The man chuckled, making the hair on her arms stand up. "I really do like playing these games with you children," he purred in a smooth voice. "That's why I stayed. I could have been freed, away from your little friend, untraceable. But I wanted to savour in the sound of his screams."
Maka bit the inside of her cheek to keep from screaming and attacking idiotically, hard enough to taste blood. This asshole.
"You're all so predictable. Death taught you skill, but not cleverness. That is resigned to us elders. And yet," he cocked his head mockingly at Kid, "what does that make you, young Shinigami? For you are one like us. But I see that you are just as trusting and full of folly as your father. A fragment of a soul, exposed to more weakness."
Black*Star eyed Maka, opening his mouth to say something, but she shook her head furiously, hefting the torch and pressing a finger to her lips with the other hand. Jeno thankfully did not notice the blue haired meister's distraction as the blonde kept creeping closer.
"All of you are weak. Even you," he said, twisting his hand in Black*Star's direction. The boy stared as the cord on his wrist was jerked, and Tsubaki gave a small cry as blood welled on her wrist. "Ah, you fell for the weakness of affection. The most fun to manipulate." With that, he tapped his hand against the thread lightly, and the glow transferred onto the wire. "Cantellás." The light shot up the binding onto Tsubaki's arm, and the poor ninja weapon leaned forward in her holdings despite herself, a harsh yelp coming out of her throat.
"Tsubaki!" the assassin yelled, before turning his eyes on Jeno. "I'm gonna' fucking kill you – shit!" The twined wire had pulled on his partner's arm even more. Fat drops of blood hit the floor."
Kid was staring at Maka intently as she watched with wide eyes Tsubaki's torture. He gave an almost imperceptible nod of the head, and she lifted the torch heavily.
The warlock was almost gloating in his aristocratic voice now. "A Bushin, a Shinigami, a Dark Arm, the famous Devils of Brooklyn. All of you, just toys. The only one of you that put up a good fight was the Death Scythe. And where might he be? Corroded, collapsed, with a wavelength that has fractured beyond repair, waiting for those who never came. Well, it will be fitting. I've defiled the once-great Death's final resting place. Why not decorate it with the blood of the team who defeated the Kishin, and the only son that he loved so dear? You and Soul can be a matching set!"
The mention of Soul's name coming from those lips, along with the warlock confirming all of her deepest fears regarding her partner, brought forth a sort of animalistic rage from Maka. Her coherent thoughts and plans to incapacitate Jeno flew out the window, along with her pact of stealth. She let forth an enraged cry, swinging her arm. The warlock could only half-turn in shock before she screeched with fury, tears burning in her eyes as she brought the heavy torch down to his face. The impact was severe, smashing into his jaw and throwing him back. The invisible wires suspending her friends slipped, and Tsubaki fell to the ground with a thud at the same moment that Kid caught Liz from choking to death. Patti wrapped an arm around her sister worriedly, rubbing her own neck.
Black*Star took one look at the blood on Tsubaki and her pained expression, and gave an inarticulate roar. He pushed Maka roughly out of the way as she stood above Jeno, and laid his fist into the other man's gut. As the warlock spit blood angrily, preparing to stand, the ninja pushed his wavelength into his stomach in a sickening blast. "Soul Force, you sick motherfucker!"
"Black*Star, no!" Maka screamed, but the assassin did not hear her. He continued his attack, and Jeno tipped his head back in a silent cry as his body was fried. A moment later bright lights joined in with the carnage, and the blonde meister was helpless to watch as Kid began firing his twin pistols into the warlock's body, supporting his friend's attack.
"You will not defile my father's tomb! You will not treat my friends this way! You will not hurt my girls!" he yelled in an uncharacteristic way, firing with more vigour. "I will end you, in the name of Honourable Father!"
One great light erupted from the boys' combined attacks, and Maka shut her eyes, screaming for them to stop, but it was no good. Seconds later, the sound of the explosions halted completely, and they pulled back, wiping grime from their faces.
Jeno had . . . exploded. There was no other way to put it. He had tried to fight the Bushin and the Shinigami of Shibusen, the forces powerful enough to defy gravity and change the physics of battle without batting an eyelid. What a poor idea. He should have just escaped when he could of. If only he weren't so immersed in his riddles, and his games . . .
His soul was greenish-tinted. Green like the light of his cane, which lay snapped in half beneath it like a faithful watchdog. It contrasted with red showering the wall, the three meisters and the weapons who all breathed heavily as they stared at the work that had been done.
All Maka could manage was, "No," before she sunk to the ground, tears beginning to fall as she stared at that little ball of light. They'd destroyed him. She was sure they would need Jeno to save Soul. And they'd destroyed him. They'd torn apart the chance to save her partner. The blood make-up on her neck and dress mingled with authentic lifeblood as the rest of her team turned to her in shock.
"Maka, what's the matter?" Black*Star asked worriedly as he crouched beside Tsubaki, helping her stand. "That guy was just lying about Soul, time's not up yet – "
"You've ruined everything."
Kid leant forward. "What?"
"You've ruined everything!" she screamed, lifting her head suddenly. "You idiots, you fucking idiots, you – you've – how could you?" And with that, she put her hands to her mouth to stifle back sobs.
"What are you talking about?"
"Jeno – how do we remove the spell from Soul now?"
The other meisters stared at her for a long second. The moment seemed to stretch out as the horror dawned on them. "No," Black*Star said roughly. "No."
Kid had begun to cuss. "How could we not think? Maka, I'm so, we're so sorry . . ."
"It doesn't matter! You've fucked everything! How could you?"
The ninja fell to the ground, Tsubaki leaning heavily against him as both let their own guilt hit them.
"Maybe there's still time," Liz cried. "We just need to find him, we can figure something out, we have an hour left."
But Maka didn't hear it. Because in her sudden passion, in her pain, she had reached out for Soul, desperate, horrified, terrified.
And she had felt his wavelength.
Her head tipped back completely, her eyes blanking as she gave all her energy to his soul. Where, she'd seen it, she'd felt it – there! "Shut up! Soul!"
"What?"
"I – Soul!" she cried out again, shooting to her feet. All other thoughts left her mind once again. Find Soul. Now.
She was running, no light to guide her, before the others could even blink.
My dearest friend, if you don't mind,
I'd like to join you by your side.
Where we can gaze into the stars,
And sit together,
Now and forever.
She stared. It was hard to look at, and yet she couldn't tear her gaze away. Her eyes burned for looking so long.
The manacles were bulging from the wall as if he'd tried to tear them out. There was a thick caking of dried blood on his wrists. His hair looked dirty and there was more blood on the crown of his head, as if he'd hit it against the wall. His arms were the only things keeping him up. His red waistcoat, once so stunning on him, was now ripped and splattered in dirt and a much darker tint of scarlet. Within seconds she was on her knees beside him, her hands reaching out to touch him, ensure that he was real. It had only been about eight hours since she'd seen him last, but now she had to assure herself that he was real, he was here, he was alive.
He didn't look it. In fact, his pulse was so weak that if it weren't for the tiny sparks of his wavelength that she felt when touching him, she'd have thought he was truly gone forever. But he wasn't. He was here.
All that time searching, and he'd been under Shinigami's statue all along. Directly under it, in a room that had been overlooked because the door was to the right of the staircase. Jeno must have been cloaking Soul's wavelength while he was still alive, and now it was too weak to support itself. All Maka could do was reach out her hand helplessly, her lips mouthing his name as she stroked his hair back from his face.
Her hand froze in shock when she saw that his eyes were open. The red was dull, the gaze unfocussed, but he was staring at the ground between them. "Soul," she whispered in a tiny voice, waving her hand in front of his eyes. "Soul. Soul, look at me."
No response. He was too far gone. She closed her eyes. If this was how he was going to be, she had no choice but to resonate with him and pull him back. She'd done it before. She focussed in on him, the scent of blood, his cold skin against her palms – and paused.
There was nothing to connect to. His wavelength was too distorted. It paused, and the steady tempo that she knew him for, the unbreakable rhythm set into him by his musical nature, was silent. He would have been fuming, had he been awake to hear this calamitous failure at scoring. It was not Soul at all. His soul shuddered, shook and at times felt so close to the brink of crumpling in on itself that the blonde meister had to catch her breath in her throat to stop herself from screaming.
Kid, Black*Star, Tsubaki, Liz and Patti were all waiting outside. They'd accepted what she could not, and wept silently. It was her time to grieve. She had known him like no other, loved him like no other.
But they were wrong. She still did know and love him. He wasn't dead, damn it! She tried resonance again. Once. Twice. Three times.
Nothing.
Silence.
An erratic beat, with no structure.
Silence.
A wavelength that was crumbling.
Silence.
A boy that was dying.
Silence.
A girl that was dying along with him.
"Soul!" Maka cried out, ignoring the tears of frustration and grief that rolled freely from her face. "Soul! Soul Evans! You wake up right now, do you hear me?" She let her anger give way and roughly shook his shoulder. His manacles creaked, but he didn't move, staring into nothing, silent.
"Soul! I'm fucking talking to you! Are you listening? Death, you never listen!" More shaking. More silence. "I hate you! How can you sit there right now? Can't you see I need you? Now wake up!"
She was furious. Blindly so. She had not spent her night and morning in such efforts to lose now. Maka Albarn never lost. Soul may be an idiot to try and stop her, but he wouldn't succeed. She'd win this argument. "Get up, you lazy idiot! I need you to get up!" There was so much left to say.
I love you. Don't leave me.
"You never let me tell you!" she cried out suddenly, clutching his shoulders and slamming him against the wall, once, twice. "You told me, Soul!" She was breaking. He was silent. "You said! You promised! Was that all just bullshit from you?" Once, twice, breaking, silence. "You told me you would never leave me! You told me you'd be different to my father! You fucking promised to stay! Soul! Are you listening? Are you just going to break your promises like that?"
His eyes were blank, he was blank, he was silence, he was nothing. She screamed in frustration, her hands dropping from him and her words coming out in broken, disjointed sobs. "I love – you, I always did and I – can't go on without you – and now you're gone when you said – you wouldn't go! You're so full – of shit! I need you – I don't mind when you – leave the TV on when you go to – bed, or when you have a nightmare and I – sit up with you to eat cereal, even if I say – I do! I like your – stupid hair and your music – is the most beautiful thing I've ever- heard! You make me laugh – when you sing along to musicals on the television – with the funniest voices, and your – bed hair isn't stupid, I only said it was because you looked cute and I didn't want you to – to – know, and you're a good cook, you're just – bad at desserts, and you aren't – lazy, and you're the best partner ever, and – I – I – I love you! Come back, now!"
If her life were a book, he would wake to those words. But it wasn't.
He didn't.
"Soul!" she cried, but when she grabbed him again, it was to cradle his head against her. "I love you! I hate you! I do! Come back now, or I'm never talking to you again, got it? Now!"
Nothing.
"I am your meister and you will do what I say!"
Silence. At this point, his bloodied arms were so lubricated that his hands slipped from their manacles, the torn skin shedding. He fell against her completely and she held him close, her face buried in his neck, her tears hot and thick-flowing, her voice mangled and furious. She'd come so far.
"No! I hate you!" She held him closer. "You said you'd never lie to me, and lying isn't cool! You taught me – I trusted men again, after you, and now it was all a lie? You bastard!" She'd fought so hard. "Bastard!" She clutched at his neck with one hand, feeling his wavelength short out for a longer period than before as his pulse slowed – slowed –
Stopped.
Her face froze in his neck. His wavelength froze in time. There was one unbearable moment in which all she could think was NoPleaseNotHimNotHimTakeMePlease. And then.
"Maka – CHOP!" She smashed her fist into his head, dropping him. "Maka Chop! Chop!" Her arm fell heavily onto him. "Chop! Chop!" She persisted in her abuse. "Chop! Maka-Chop! Chop . . . chop . . ." and then she broke. She leaned down and pressed her lips roughly against his. He tasted of blood. Her mouth slid off of his, breaking her empty kiss as her head bowed down to the ground, her cheek against his neck, her hands around his head cradling it and her body collapsed in the picturesque image of a destroyed human being.
Everything was over.
She was over.
It was all over.
His pulse on her face was her only comfort as she held herself against him.
. . . His pulse?
She gasped, sitting up hurriedly and staring down at him. Something thick lined her face and when she stared at his wrists, they were no longer red. They were black. Like night, like his blood. It took a moment of desperate searching, hoping, needing –
And then his wavelength erupted behind her eyelids in the most brilliant resonance she had ever felt. The sound, feeling, sense of his soul surrounded her, taking her breath away and making her fall back. It felt so foreign at the same time that it was natural. She took it in greedily, like breathing, her eyes closed, her fists clenched as she desperately held onto this link. Had she died? She didn't care. This might have been a dream, her losing her sanity over his body, but she didn't care. It didn't matter.
He was alive. In this moment.
" . . . Ugh, fuck, what the fucking fuck did you fucking do to my fucking head?"**
Her head whipped up, her eyelids springing open, as she watched the Black Blood replace the red in Soul's hair. He was half-sitting, breathing heavily, clutching his head and looking around him in complete and utter bewilderment, as if not knowing how he got there at all. When he moved his hands he cried out in pain, staring at his wrists as his Blood began to heal them. Dimly, her mind registered that the contact with her Grigori wavelength and his Black Blood must have restarted his systems. His soul must have been supported. If she'd checked, she would have found her partner's soul surrounded by his Blood, knitting together the fractured wavelength and fixing his body. If she'd looked into his eyes, she would have seen the blankness of mind be replaced by the memories of what had happened to him, and the sheer look of horror on his face. If she'd checked behind her, she would have heard Kid gasp at the sudden ability to sense Soul's presence again. If she'd looked at her lap, she'd have seen the tears that had accumulated there. If she'd been glancing at Soul, she'd see that his body sagged as the pain caught up, his eyes lighting up as he went to reach for his chest.
But she didn't.
Because she was already smashing her face into his chest, her arms wrapping around his stomach. He hissed in pain for a second, but then his nose was pressing against her collar bone, his arms encircling her back and his grip tight as he breathed into her neck, inhaling the smell and the feel of her, both covered now in blood, neither caring.
"Holy shit," he whispered, his lips touching her skin lightly. "Holy shit, holy shit, what . . ."
"Soul!" she cried into his shirt, clutching him and sobbing, and she could feel the brokenness of his breathing pattern, his panic increasing as he held her. "Don't you ever, don't you ever do this again! I fucking – I fucking hate – I hate you . . ."
He was alive. He was face-deep in the makeup she'd put on for her costume, she was dirty and sore, they were in a dark cellar where the only light came from torches beside them, it was so early, she'd had no sleep, she'd fought without him, she didn't care, she loved him, he was here.
He said nothing, his words subsiding into merely saying her name once, his head tipping forward more as his body sagged onto hers, his full pain finally taking over him.
They did not move when the rest of the team came in.
They did not move as Stein and Spirit arrived with Kim, Kilik and Marie, Kilik running down quickly into the chambers to locate them and pull them out to safety.
They did not move.
They did not need to.
There was no blood, no pain, no nothing. Just her, and him, their souls meshing as their embrace did, the silence filled. The Black lightened.
Distantly, above the tunnels of Death's memorial tomb, the sun peeked over the skyline, and for once, they did not hear its heavy breaths.
For it is plain as anyone can see,
We're simply meant to be.
They stood solemnly in front of the white marker, their heads bowed, their hands clasped tight. It was for only a moment, before she felt him squeezing her palm, and she nodded, the two leaving the room with slow echoing steps. They did not glance at the black walls, cleaned and now free of the blood and gore, nor the doors that led into rooms they wished they'd never visited. Both just kept their eyes on their feet until they reached the top stairs, pushing aside the stone slab and leaving the stone corridor with a duck of their heads at the low ceiling.
His bike was waiting for them beside the fountain. He climbed on and she got on the back, her arms weaving naturally around his waist. He leaned back for a moment, and she pressed her lips against his cheek. She felt him grin, his hand cupping her knee that sat beside him from their position on the bike.
"Where to?" he asked with the smile aimed only at her, only ever for her.
"Wherever you want to go," she replied with a grin. "Maybe we should get some lunch?"
"Good idea. I'm starved."
"You're always hungry."
"Shut up, you."
"You know," she said as she rested her cheek against his back, him starting the motorbike up with a dull roar. "Liz was talking about holding a Ball this time next week to celebrate the New Year . . ."
"No,"he cut her off. "Don't even think about it. I'm not going. No."
"I was just saying . . ."
"No. I'm sleeping through it."
"You hate all holidays now."
"With good reason!"
"Don't be such a party pooper!"
"That's what you said last time, and look how that went!"
"Ugh, whatever," she said, pressing her face into his shoulder blade. "Just shut up and drive. And by the way, Merry Christmas."
"And a crappy New Year," Soul grinned, turning and giving Maka a quick kiss. She smiled against his lips, putting a hand on his shoulder –
And then he leaned back on the bike, flipping the kickstand and causing her to fall off, flat on her butt.
He wouldn't survive til New Years with the look she was giving him.
Maybe this is where I'm meant to die, after all, he said, pressing down the pedal and driving off before she could jump up, laughing all the way like a madman as she screeched and began to chase after him, whipping out a book from under her trench coat. "Soul! Get back here, right now!"
"Merry Christmas to you, too!"
Everybody Scream.
In our town of Halloween.
END.
Footnotes
* - In the manga, Spirit has the green eyes Maka inherits. Not her mother.
** - I am so sorry for the absolute exploitation of the 'potty-mouth' Soul here, but he got Chopped about ten times. And beaten up. And killed for a few moments.
10,000 word chapter. Ouch.
Thank you for your support through this. It was amazing.
Happy (late) Halloween, happy Thanksgiving.
Love (or mutual like if you're socially awkward like me and can't deal with emotions),
Lisp.
