1 Splintered
Following the man was fairly easy. His calming voice and beckoning hand were simple to obey. Going where the stranger wished was just within the tiny realm of things Chrona could deal with alone.
However, figuring out who the person was had proved to be more than the meister could handle.
His voice was gentle, but his mouth was hidden by a long woollen scarf. It had tassels. Chrona wondered if tassels were difficult to wear – what if they tickled, or got tangled, or fell off? (Being personally terrible for losing cufflinks.) And what were they for? They seemed decorative but then Chrona knew plenty of ornamental things had darker purposes. Like snake tattoos.
His eyes were shadowed by the tips of a long black fringe, itself disguised under a different, tartan scarf. How worrying that the man couldn't see where he was going. Medusa had always hacked off her child's hair just so the eyes could see clearly and be unimpeded in battle – any other stray strands were ignored.
His hands were sheathed in clean white gloves with red piping along the seam. They reminded Chrona of Ragnarok's gloves, and the bruising knuckles hidden beneath.
Perhaps the man wasn't so easy to follow after all.
As the strange duo reached the outskirts of Death City, Chrona slowed to a halt and began to twist from side to side, trying to see behind to Shibusen. "Um…um…ano…" whispered the technician quietly. Come to think of it, the guide hadn't mentioned a mission he was taking them to, or Maka, or Shinigami-sama, or even a task from Medusa. Anything other than that and Chrona didn't know what was meant to be done. The teachers and officials of the city tended to keep their new resident under the watchful eyes of other meisters, or shut in a room somewhere. Just like Medusa used to. Rather than being restrictive, Chrona saw this treatment as normal, even kind – not really aware of how else to behave. But now the unfamiliar visitor was trying to make them leave that comfort zone.
"I…I…I don't…I don't know about this…I don't w-want…I…don't know how…?"
As his charge began to shiver and stutter, the heavily clothed man turned round to face the faltering child and smiled unkindly. Chrona could tell he did this because of the way his red eyes thinned and tightened, as the scarves bunched up around his face. A gross mistake must have been made, because he wore the expression people showed when they were about to enjoy doling out punishment.
Chrona tried to edge backwards, not sure how to proceed, not sure what to do when ignorant of the wrong committed. "R-R-R-Ragnarok…"
A long flesh-coloured ribbon stretched out to cut short the retreat. The man gave a haphazard laugh that made Chrona's skin crawl. Pulling off one of his gloves, he held out the back of a hand for his captive to see. His captive saw three black eyes inked into the skin, briefly, before they were covered up once again. The man fell into a hunch, and all appearances of gentleness were long gone.
The air around them strummed with insanity.
Ragnarok pulled himself out of Chrona's skin to find his symbiotic wielder flailing wildly at something no one else could see. Then he was gripped, moving into sword-form, and the shifting ground became visible.
It was full of hands.
Red, raw, wriggling hands; digging their way out of the earth and creeping towards their prey, leaving crimson smears trailed in their wake. The bony fingers clutched at Chrona's shoes and hems, crushed bones with their powerful grip; pulped the technician with a single touch.
Ragnarok could feel fear and nausea and pain flooding the black blood he shared with Medusa's brat, yet did not attempt to retaliate against the dismembered attackers. Instead he opened his scarlet-lipped jaws wide and bit the closest hand. Chrona's.
Chrona gasped and looked around feverishly. No juddering ground. No pulverising hands. No broken bones.
Just the Demon God, looming within arm's reach.
His prisoner, Medusa's prototype for his second coming, threw a black blade into the sky and screamed in pure panic.
"SCREECH GAMMA!"
Sssss
