Disclaimer: We do not own Soul Eater.

Words Like Knives
by. Lacrow & Poisoned Scarlett

How long had this been going on? One hour, two, three, four? They were both unrelenting, focusing all of the hatred and bloodlust for each other in one single fight. They needed to space this out, pace it right, but both were reckless; both wanted to watch the other slowly succumb to their blade.

How long had this been going on and how much longer before the victor was crowned…?

"Let's finish this, Giriko!" Soul roared through pants, garnet eyes sharpening something dangerous. "That's why you called me out here for, right?" The blades that protruded from his arms trembled with power, with a withheld bloodlust that was visible in the way the blades darkened to a crimson black. Giriko could almost taste the animosity that thrummed in the air between them. It riled him up. He could barely keep his own bloodlust contained, being stared at with such hatred. It fueled him.

"With pleasure, you damn punk. You're gonna' pay for killin' the only thing I ever fuckin' loved." Giriko grinned madly, gripping the chain to his saw tightly enough to draw blood in his fingers. "I'm kickin' it to second gear, you ready?"

Soul grinned back, lifting his arms in defense. "Just second gear?"

Giriko threw his head back with cackles. "Don't fuck with me, kid! Like you can take third gear!"

"We won't know until you try, right?" Soul snarled back.

"HAHA! IT'S YOUR SOUL, DUMBASS!" Giriko grinned, teeth like knives. He pulled the chain back with horrible zeal, the chainsaw's roar louder than Soul's own heartbeat. It drove fear deep into his bones but Soul only pulled on an even wider grin of madness.

"Now we're talking!" Soul jeered, enhancing the blades in his arms; making them as sharp as they could be, as strong as they could without breaking. He was pushing himself but this wasn't going to be like last time. He wasn't going to lose to him again. He wasn't caring for Maka tonight – she was back at camp, going around in circles trying to solve the mystery of his disappearance.

She was probably worried: it had been two days since he vanished. Giriko had planned their separation well, but he would not hurt his meister in his blind thirst for revenge. No, he would have to go through him, and this time no one would stop him. There was no one around to stop them; no collateral save for the trees, the plumes of dust that rose with every sharp step of theirs, the crisp air that ripped through their lungs like knives.

Their blades crashed with a resounding pang in the darkness of the night, blood pouring from wounds that had been dug deep into their flesh when the battle had first started so long ago. Nothing but adrenaline kept them going, that and the promise of the victor making it out alive. But for the one with white hair, whose eyes shone as red as the blood that trickled down his chin, there was more on the line that his life. The other knew this, and with each successive strike of increasing ferocity the blonde haired weapon grinned wider with sharp teeth that reminded him eerily of himself.

Alone, the shadows roving across the ground like spiders, they fought and ignored every shaky grind of their muscle.

In killing Giriko, Soul would foil his plan for revenge. The thought kept him focused. Maka would live even if he had to die for it to happen. With each dodge of his opponent's roaring saw, the scythe weapon kept his eyes on the prize waiting for him at the end of their battle: Giriko's head, his right to live, the thought of seeing his meister again. All these things spun through his head as he reeled in place, catching the demonic chainsaw as it came towards him with the intent to kill.

"FEELIN' THE HEAT, FUCKER?"

"SHUT UP AND FIGHT ME!" Soul roared back. They struggled for dominance, the blonde clearly dominant over his fair haired opponent. But Soul wouldn't back down, not in the face of that fucked up grin he'd seen enough of in the past few hours as they fought. No, he could not sit down and admit defeat. He'd rather die, no: he'd rather kill. Cut that bastards lips off for smiling as he put him through hell, and then his nuts for laying a finger on his meister all those years ago. The Deathscythe was furious to no end, and blind with rage he kicked back on the pitiful excuse for a weapon before he had the opportunity to finish him off.

They both stumbled but it was Soul's turn to attack. He recovered quickly, breaking into a crouched run as two blades made the air whistle on either side of him. By the light of the cloud-guttered moon he found his target, skidding across the dirt as his scythes came within inches of sinking into the blonde bastard. Giriko barked out into the night, somehow finding it within him to dodge the attack by jumping into the air. He grabbed hold of Soul's shoulders as he flew over him, using him to support his escape while he continued his charge underneath him.

Soul was pushed forward like a kicking-off point, sending his face grinding into the ground as Giriko barely cleared his landing. He too fell to the floor, his back skidding along rocks and dirt as he crashed. And for a moment the two weapons hissed in pain and anger, tired of this drawn out fight and ready to end it by killing each other. Soul pulled his face up and stared the chainsaw down, his face cut up and bloodied beyond recognition. The chainsaw held his shoulder, trying to keep his blood from pouring out of the open gash his enemy had opened an hour or two ago. Both were tired. Neither would give.

They would continue to fight until their bones collapsed, if it came down to it.

"Give up, you cocksucker." Giriko heaved.

The Deathscythe sucked in air. "I'm not gonna' die tonight, you motherfucker."

"I said give up!" His opponent snarled viciously. "This is what you get for killing my meister!"

"The only thing I'm getting is the satisfaction of killing you for touching my meister!" Soul roared back.

Neither wasted any time in jumping back to their feet, though both practically fell back down due to the dizziness of blood loss. After a fraction of a second they were back to fighting form, already charging back at each other with blades and killing intent in excess. Clangs of metal striking against itself filled the heavy, death-filled air, the scythe and chainsaw giving one another their all in a desperate attempt to finish things off. Maneuvers climbed to a supernatural speed; faster than the eye could see they lunged at each other, and even quicker were the dodges and parries they pulled off mid-stroke.

Soul's eyes widened as his heart pumped the blood faster and faster out of his body, knowing that with each passing second the wounds Giriko had given him would soon end the battle whether he wanted them to or not. Likewise, Arachne's former weapon knew that his opponent was slipping. And were it any other day, the chainsaw would have relished in the thought of killing an opponent at a disadvantage. But there was a problem: Soul was a dangerous enemy when desperate, and he knew it from the way they had exchanged blows deep into the night.

"Just die, would you?" Giriko growled.

"You'd like that, huh?" Soul hissed through his teeth. He pushed back with his blade. "Not happenin', dickhead!"

The fucker was cold like him, Giriko decided. He was protective of his meister like him. And worst of all, he was loyal like him; willing to put everything on the line for one single goddamn person in this whole fucked up world. He hated him for that, and with each swipe of that fucker's scythe past his head, Giriko's rage grew at the realization of them having more in common than he ever could have realized. This fucker killed his meister! Soul and his meister, they killed Arachne, and then the white-haired fucker ate her fucking soul. Ate it – just like that! ATE IT! How could he be anything like him! He needed to kill him, right here and now, tear his guts out of his body and write out a message with them to his whore meister for killing Arachne. There was no way he was going to lose to this guy, no fucking goddamn way!

"WHY WON'T YOU FUCKING DIE!" Giriko bellowed as he dodged Soul's attack, dropping to the floor as the chainsaw in his leg revved to life.

Soul couldn't react quick enough. In his head, all he could think was shit as the feeling in his legs left him. He threw his head back and screamed out into the night, eyes closed so tightly that he couldn't see as Giriko ripped the flesh away from him with his blades. With no support the Deathscythe fell backwards, leaving himself completely exposed in the front as his opponent quickly rose. Still screaming and writhing from the pain, Soul was silenced as a new level of suffering hit him in the stomach. Chainsaws ripped through him as Giriko brought his leg down, tearing out half his torso.

"Just hurry up and die," the demonic weapon hissed, looming over the silent boy as the roar of his blades started to die down.

Nothing seemed to register: not Giriko's words, not even the feeling of the man's foot as it slowly pulled itself from his insides. All that Soul could sense was his life as it slowly started to drift away from him, sight blotting from the edges as eyelids fell closed. The image of Giriko standing over him was the last thing he could remember, and likely the last thing he would ever see. Just how had he lost the fight like this? He told himself that he wouldn't die, and he'd even told Giriko. He made a promise, to himself and Maka, that he'd make it out alive. Cool guys don't go back on his word...but he did.

Was it alright to not make it out in the end? Giriko was always a better fighter when it was one on one, and Soul never thought it'd be an easy fight. From the very beginning, he wondered if he'd even make it out alive in the first place. How could he fight an autonomous weapon? He was a Deathscythe, but nothing he could do was ever on the same level as this guy. All Soul could do was what he'd done since he first found out he was a weapon: protect his meister with his life. And at least he'd done that in the end, with Maka safe and sound somewhere far away from the battlefield. She was alive.

Alive without him.

The thought made his eyes snap open, much to Giriko's bitter surprise. In his head and heart, Soul blanked into a state of mind where everything became loud and clear. How the fuck could he lay down like a wet dog and accept death when Maka was expecting him home safe and sound? How could he die knowing that she'd regret ever going into the fight without him? She'd blame herself for everything, he knew she would. Maka was stubborn; that's what he loved about her. He knew she would be, and he knew that he couldn't let things end now. Not until he at least dragged Giriko down to hell with him.

An angry snarl escaped the chainsaw's mouth as he leaned over the beaten and mangled Deathscythe. "Why. Won't. You-!"

Soul didn't give him the chance to finish. His eyes slit. A blade formed in his right hand and with every last ounce of strength he had left, the scythe threw himself forward and skewered Giriko in the one place he knew he'd never recover from. Arachne's former weapon withered as the air left his lungs, unable to breathe as metal stuck from one side of his body out the other. Soul wheezed, not taking his eyes off the hole in Giriko's heart as he pulled his scythe out of the man's torso. With all of his energy gone, the boy fell onto his back yet again. Only this time, there would be no more getting up.

Because before he even had a chance to settle on the ground, Giriko's body quickly fell on top of him. Soul growled in pain as the pressure hit him directly in his open wounds, but there was nothing he could do. They were both at death's doorstep now and one was certainly closer than the other. There was no need to get the demonic man off him, since they'd both be going to the same place soon anyway. So in a strange twist of fate, the two enemies found themselves sharing the same bit of space. Unable to move and unable to hate each other any longer, they somehow found camaraderie in death.

"You're a piece of shit, you know that." Soul wheezed, turning his head away from the spiky blonde hair in front of him.

Giriko coughed up some blood, adding to the quickly growing pool surrounding them. "If...I am, so are you...fucking Deathscythe."

From the way he sounded, the bastard probably wasn't going to be alive much longer. In fact, Soul could already feel the man's head start to slump off him and towards the ground. To himself the scythe gloated, proud that he'd be the last one to go. Though that feeling quickly was ruined when he realized that in the end, he'd still die anyway. Maka would still be upset, like that time when he took Chrona's sword in his chest. Actually it'd probably be worse this time: she wouldn't be able to smack him in the forehead with a dictionary when he got better and tell him he was an idiot for putting himself in such danger. She wouldn't be able to do anything because he would be dead.

The thought hurt more than any wound Giriko had inflicted.

"You're...thinking 'bout...your meister, right?" He heaved, his forehead already touching the pool of blood. Soul didn't respond, deciding instead to stare into the star filled sky as Giriko continued: "Heh...you're just like me."

"I'm nothing like you, you psycho..." The demon scythe coughed, starting to feel his life slip away.

"...You'd do anything...for the brat." Giriko said calmly in his final throes. "I'd do anything for Arachne."

Soul's eyes widened, but only shook his head. "There's a difference...between what we'd do."

"That's bullshit kid. Because...the way I see it...you just killed a man to stay her weapon!" He laughed hoarsely, coughing and spitting out a splat of blood.

This time, Soul could ignore him no longer. He looked down on Giriko, finding only the man's blonde hair as the only thing left to greet him. He stared at the motionless body on top of him, feeling queasy as he realized his face was completely submerged in the blood they lied on. It took him a moment to realize that this person whom he'd been fighting for hours on end was finally dead, and that soon he would be right behind him. The back of Soul's head fell to the ground, himself tired with everything and uncomfortable with what Giriko had just told him before his passing.

There was no way there were alike. Sure, he'd follow Maka to hell and back, but that just made him a good weapon. A loyal friend. Not some demented, obsessive follower who'd do anything for his meister. Even though he would die for her. Hell, he'd just died for her right now. And he'd done it willingly, too, as if it were his job to. Which it was, of course, because it was a weapon's duty to protect their meister. But, at this level? To throw one's life away and have no problems with it whatsoever? Was Giriko this way? Arachne meant the world to him but was Maka just as important to him?

Soul coughed up something; he knew it was blood. Time was quickly starting to run out for him, but at the time he just couldn't bring himself to worry about that. More important to him was the dirty thought of being anything like this psychopathic killer laying on top of him, because in his battered heart he knew that there was some truth to what Giriko had told him. They were more alike than either would have liked to admit, and Soul couldn't help but fear that someday he might turn out just like that demonic bastard: obsessive, possessive, and loyal to a fault. Or was he already like that right now?

Lost in thought, halfway between this world and the next, the Deathscythe didn't even notice the grass rustle from the footsteps of a few visitors as they approached the torn-up battlefield. On his back and unable to turn, he had no way of knowing of her presence until the woman's sharp breath cut through the still, night air. When Soul heard it, he immediately sucked in one as well: it was Maka. He heard other sharp intakes of breath. Their squad.

They had stumbled upon this gladiator fight accidentally, Soul thought to himself. He would apologize if he wasn't nearing his end.

"S…"

He recognized the way she pulled in air when something horrified her; having been by her side long enough to. An ironic grin pulled on his lips. No different than Giriko? Perhaps Giriko was right, to an extent. Perhaps his loyalty to his meister ran deeper than the blood he laid upon. He just killed a man to avenge her honor, to protect her; he was dying her for, for the second time. But it was easy, to sacrifice himself for her. Everything that came down to this was so easy for him when it involved her – he just didn't mind, not one bit.

Can't believe I'm agreeing with you, you psycho. Soul thought to himself, as footsteps approached him rapidly. But there's a difference between us. Goddammit, there has to be.

"Oh god—!" She shrieked with her hands over her mouth, not knowing if he was alive or dead. "Soul! Wake up! Soul, SOUL—!"

"—Maka! Calm down...I'm still breathing." He croaked through a halfhearted grin, suddenly feeling alive. He felt the dead weight of Giriko's body push off him, his lungs suddenly filling with the air he had been slowly starved of. "Maka?"

"Soul!" Maka rushed, leaning over him. There was that look in her eyes; a reckless panic that always told him she was going to do something uncalled for.

"Don't," he warned, weakly. His hand twitched, moved to rest over the gore that covered his stomach. "The hell are you doing here? I thought I told you – to stay put!" He chuckled through the swell of iron up his throat. He felt light-headed. He couldn't feel his fingertips. "You never listen…"

"Soul, listen, you have to –we have to get you out of here!" Maka shouted, reaching over to grab his shoulders. A strangled scream escaped his throat when she tried moving him and she immediately stopped, apologies that sounded like sobs whispered through trembling lips.

"Maka, move." Professor Stein demanded, kneeling beside the fallen weapon. Soul rolled his eyes up to the professor, unable to focus on him properly as the doctor assessed his wounds. There was an uncertainty to the doctors movements and Soul knew why.

"Quit with the act, doc." Soul softly said, startling the group that had formed around him. It was now that Soul was aware of Maka standing rigidly with her hands fisted by her side; Kilik standing somberly beside her, Jackie turned away sadly, Harvar and Ox staring at him, tight-jawed and bitter. "I'm dying." Soul managed a weak grin as he stared at the sky. "I can feel it…"

"NO!" Maka barked, shoving her way to his side. She fell on her knees, grabbing his hand. "No! Soul, you're not dying! You're not dying – we need to get you back to Shibusen! You're going to be o-okay, you—!"

"I'm not," Soul softly quieted her, shifting his eyes to her. "I did what I've been dying to do since I saw that bastard. I killed him….for you," he smiled weakly at her incredulous, watery, eyes. "He won't hurt you anymore."

"N-no, you bastard DON'T YOU DARE! DON'T YOU DARE, SOUL!" Maka snarled furiously, slamming her fist into the ground. "I told you not to pull this shit anymore! I told you! Why won't you ever listen to me? Why? I'm your meister – YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO LISTEN TO YOUR MEISTER!" She shrieked through a sob, sucking in deep gulps of air as agony gripped her heart. "Why don't you ever listen to me?" She pleaded.

"Guess I'm just stupid," Soul whispered, forgetting the beautiful sky dotted with diamonds. He focused his last bit of energy on Maka, as blood pounded out of his body. He was soaked in it; how could they not see his coming death? He could barely spot Stein waving his hands at someone frantically. It was useless, however. He was too-far gone to be saved, wasn't he? "Maka…"

"What?" Maka ran a hand under her runny nose, leaning over. "What is it, Soul?"

"I… I'm not like that guy, am I?" He finally asked, needing this conformation from her before he passed. Emotions seemed to leak back to him, thick and desperate. He couldn't hold them back. They appeared in his voice in the undercurrent of despair: "I'm not.. not some psycho, right?" He croaked, vulnerably. "Maka…"

"What? No, no, of course not, Soul!" Maka shook her head, her hand touching his forehead tentatively. He felt her take one of his ice-cold hands in her warm one. She gave a wobbly smile. "You're nothing like him. You've never been like him, Soul, don't think about that! Save your energy, don't talk—!"

"Good," Soul coughed, unable to overlook the fresh pain that crossed her face when blood climbed up throat hot and wet. "Hey, it's kinda' too late now, but…"

"W…what?" She asked, voice barely breaching a whisper.

He noticed a flash of pink, barely caught Kim's face draining of color at the sight of him. Kim the medic, Soul thought as he began to shut down, now what was she doing here so late? He could feel himself slipping; he used too much energy. He needed to say it now before he was gone. He couldn't leave her with just that – she'd go insane trying to figure out what he meant to tell her. That was also unacceptable. He needed to do this right – go out with a bang, like the cool guy he was, right?

"Maka, move! Maka, I need to heal him NOW!" Kim shouted, kneeling beside him as well. But Soul's eyes stayed focused on Maka's the entire time, even as Kilik and Ox began to pull her away from him.

"I don't regret it… I never will." The next three words were mouthed but he saw her watery eyes widen in heartbreaking disbelief before his vision faded and his consciousness sunk into a deep pool filled with cold black water.

A/N: Lacrow let me have this story of his because he lost motivation to write it midway. After a few weeks of having it in my documents, collecting dust, I reopened it and continued it. Now, I could have made this longer but I decided to leave it here for various reasons: one, if I continued it, it would've been huge. Secondly, it would sort of kill the mood we'd both set up. Thirdly, I thought it was a great place to leave it lol

Many of you are probably cursing me to hell for killing off Soul Eater right now... except I left a mighty load of hints up there to give this a hopeful ending. After all, Kim is a witch with advanced healing abilities, hmm? ;D

Scarlett.