hello hellow yellow i am proud to present to y'all this Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild AU that cosmic-absentia whipped up for reverb 2018! please head over to her tumblr and check out the amazing artwork she created and make sure to send her love! i had tons of fun working with her, this has been a rewarding project and i hope y'all enjoy this fic. and of course, shoutout to professor-maka and piercelovewonton for the betaing, i owe them my soul.
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be not defeated by the rain by redphlox
Out of the darkness Maka wakes, meeting a different kind of loneliness than the one before. Am I alone? Am I real? She can't even be sure her eyes are open; the abyss here is the same as the other: hollow, unending. Uncertainty lies everywhere. She's still weightless, floating, neither here nor there, non-existent, defeated…
Willing to die if it means living again.
It's clear she's gone wrong somewhere along the line. The mourning and guilt attached to her are permanent, but the reasoning behind them are fuzzy at best.
Mind blank, Maka opens and closes her hands, testing her body, confirming its existence, reacquainting herself with the ability to move. She scrunches her nose, contorts her face, rests a palm on her chest, searching for a heartbeat. Some sign of life. She takes a deep, long breath-
Except she can't.
Water rushes into her mouth like a ship that just struck an iceberg.
Screaming doesn't help.
With blood curdling panic, her eyes snap open for real and adjust to the murky green darkness, taking in the limestone walls around her, the faint sunlight streaming in from the surface above, and the absolute blackness below.
She's underwater.
'Swim! Swim!'
Limbs flailing out of sync, she's writhing, losing. Horror is the realization that she hasn't been breathing and might never breathe again, not with her nostrils treacherously sucking in water and her hair wrapping itself around her face every time she does manage to inch herself upwards.
She can't breathe, she needs to breathe, she can't breathe… Maybe she took her last breath a while ago, and the regret of not savoring it is only surpassed by not remembering it either.
Exhaustion hits, the urgency for air magnifying the more she moves. Which way is up? What if it's a trick again, what if this is a dream within her dream within a dream within a dream? Maka falls limp and lets herself drift lower with an arm outstretched overhead, yearning for the surface and its light. It's so… familiar. It's fading and so is she, all while there's an encouraging whisper in her head that isn't in her own voice:
'SWIM!'
Understanding dawns on Maka, a faraway connection forming in her brain as her legs scissor kick and arms fight to part the water above her. Oh, so that's how her limbs work! The phantom touch slips away no matter how fast she swims to chase it, but even that memory fades into smoke and dissipates as she breaks the surface-
Suddenly, air! And wet hair matted to her forehead. And light! Cue chest heaving, hacking, gasping for air, air, air. Once she is assured that she has mastered breathing again, Maka rubs her eyes, opening them wide, because trust is a finicky thing and she's not going to let her guard down again. Water drops slide down her face as she blinks up at the perfect circle opening above, revealing a cloudless blue sky…
A way out!
Surveying the dome-like rock walls prompt her to question her judgment once again, which glow blue the longer she stares, a vein-like maze embedded in the sediment. Following the paths for their source leads Maka to her second surprise: a small shrine behind her, carved into the side of a boulder, a pile of clothes lying there as if waiting for her awakening.
She finds her voice, finds that it doesn't shake, but echoes in the chamber. "... Am I alone?"
Of course she is, and will be. It's a rhetorical question, a statement, a fact. Now that she thinks about it, she doesn't even know her last name, what she looks like, or how she got here, though suspicion inspires the idea that she's been asleep for years. Given the stiff, lead-like state of her bones, like she's stirring from her grave, maybe it's not a far off guess.
But then… Why is she awake? Why is she… here?
Why is she alone?
Pulling herself up into the platform and out of the water, Maka collapses in a heap of coughing fits that threaten to pop both her lungs and the blood vessels in her eyes. She's unaware of her nakedness until she gathers her wits enough to inspect the clothing. Without much thought to the convenience, she pulls on the leggings and forest green tunic and can't help but wonder if guardian angels exist or if her luck is starting to take the turn for the best. When she steps into the steel toed boots and walks around in them, marveling that they fit perfectly as she stretches, the fairy statue mounted on a ledge above the platform comes into focus. It's pointing up with a small finger that looks too soft to be made of stone, a scythe held in its other hand.
Maka's hand closes instinctively at the sight of it, like she's done it a million times before.
Maybe it's true. Maybe she lost in another life and has started a new one.
After all, she did say she would die to live -
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- again!
Life is a cycle. People live, people die. Kingdoms thrive, kingdoms fall. Evil is released, evil is resealed. These all stand true for the Evans Royal family and the Kingdom of Shibusen since the contract with Lord Death.
The legend begins with the first King, a man named Asura, who becomes obsessed with power - limitless, absolute control over all things living and nonliving. At the height of his mortal madness, he offers his body to Lord Death for guaranteed immortality. Lord Death agrees, finding the agreement convenient, nesting within the human's body so It can kill Dark Evil with a single touch instead of relying on tamed Kishin messengers.
The thought never once occurs to Lord Death that Asura could overcome and take over Its power, that the human half would conquer Death itself. After all, hints of Asura's derangement had not fazed Lord Death before- not until Asura's soul encroached on Its own.
Asura defeats Lord Death in a slow mind battle of willpower, and then darkness swallows the land. Literal blackness, a fog so thick it could be mistaken for eternal twilight. Kishin, no longer under the docile trance of Lord Death, swarm Shibusen and beyond, devouring all flesh and souls in their path. Witches regain their confiscated powers and enchant humans to maim and commit unforgivable sins.
Death lives everywhere.
The world ends, but it doesn't. Not yet. It's said that Lord Death split what was left of his own soul- the silly portion of it, because the world needed goofiness to resist the dark times waiting ahead- and hid, attaching Itself to the oldest tree in the Lost Woods to nurture its wounds.
Hell continues to torment humanity and all of its creatures, both pure and corrupt. It's a curse, the people said, a curse that can only be righted by the heir with the Divine Power, a gift from a God more powerful than Lord Death Itself, may It return to reign.
The people revolt. Not against the government, but against the new immortal King, Asura. Shaman after shaman research a long forgotten legend: the Divine Beasts- spirit animals graced with heavenly control over the elements to seal away any grain of immorality. The bird, Vah Medoh, keeper of Wind. The stag, Vah Ruta, keeper of Water. Vah Naboris, the camel, keeper of Lightning. And lastly, the salamander, Vah Rudania, keeper of Flames.
No more lives can afford to be lost. The shamans gather- experienced and inexperienced, young and old- and call upon the Divine Beasts, and in a flash of light, quicker than Asura took over, he's sealed away. Whether Lord Death abstained from the opportunity to detach Itself from the tainted human body or willingly yielded to the confinement remains unknown, but the fact stands that part of him lives, healing.
Peace reigns for thousands of years, and the Evans family eventually wins the Shibusen throne back after a short lived Civil War. Though Evans after Evans lives and dies, all of them equally groomed with the hope of possessing the Divine Gift, to be prepared if or when Asura breaks free, the Chosen one still doesn't appear.
That is, until Kishin begin to surface, signaling the return of Asura and the beginning of King Wes's rule.
The night before he unexpectedly ascends the throne, a Kishin slithers into Shibusen Castle and feasts on Wes's parents as they slumber. The Queen and her husband's souls leave this Earth together, but their mangled bodies remain. It's quite a sight for their youngest son to walk into, a living nightmare for him to burst into their bedroom the next morning and trip over a baby Kishin that has had its fill. Screams steal his voice for several hours after, even after the danger subsides. Bloody footprints mark his path as he runs to the east wing, searching for his older brother, passing by other ghastly Kishin scurrying overhead like bugs or swooping down to peck his skull open like birds of prey.
When Soul Evans bursts into Wes's room, he's greeted by dejavu: another Kishin, this one in the shape of a slimy beetle, crawling all over a semiconscious Wes sprawled on the imported rug.
It just- happens. Soul's hands glow and buzz with Power. Complete, Pure Power. The Gift given to the Evans blood finally wakens at the prospect of its owner losing someone so precious. Soul seals the Kishin away by merely holding his palms at while the royal guard battle Kishin after Kishin on the castle grounds. But the vile things are endless, as if the ground opened up like an anthill and they marched out with the sole purpose to wreak havoc.
Horns sound in the surrounding towns, calling for their people to bear arms, to fight. On the other side of the castle, stirred awake from her dreams by her mama defending her from a glowing Kishin that has no business wielding a sword, Maka Albarn sprints for her life. Trespassing into the royal armory feels like more of a calling than a crime for reasons unexplained to her - she's always wanted to be a knight like her mama and papa, but this invisible pull… maybe a magnet -
Back in Wes's bedroom, Soul and Wes embrace, loathing to let each other go. Permanent separation is a risk neither are willing to take. Though they share no words, the tension speaks for them: yes, it's good the Power has finally awakened, but why did it have to be one of them? Why, when they're all they have left? Why do they have to-
In Soul's mind's eye, he sees the royal treasury, despite being on the other side of the castle. A girl walks in, peeking inside, tucking a pigtail behind her ear before shutting the door and walking up the red carpet in bare feet. The infamous Master Scythe sits in its case, the same one none have handled correctly. She dares to open the glass, hesitating as she hovers a hand over-
"OH," Soul breathes. "Maybe…" He watches her expertly lift the scythe and swing it around like she must have done it a million times in a previous life. Something about her presence fits nicely with his soul, despite never having met her. "Maybe I'm not alone in this, Wes."
And maybe… another fragment of Lord Death has broken free of Asura's control and joined It in the woods. Maybe a God stronger than Lord Death has given humanity a second-
X
-chance. A misstep could cost Maka dearly, but she's as graceful as she is dazed, and blindly following her gut instinct. Scaling the rock wall is easier said than done, especially with her limbs still partially numb and unfamiliar. By the time she reaches the ledge and admires the statue up close, scratches adorn her brand new boots, sediment dusts her face, and sweat and blood cake her palms. She wipes them on her leggings before trailing a finger on the statue's cheek, gazing into its petrified eyes, mesmerizing by the fine detail in its lashes and curly hair.
It's as if the statue could come alive at any moment. Taking the scythe from its grasp feels like stealing, but it neither scolds nor attacks Maka for removing its weapon. The old farmer scythe's dull blade and rusty rod don't inspire confidence that she could defend herself for long if needed, but it's better than nothing.
Oh - maybe she should care of the cuts on her palms before leaving the shrine. After washing off, Maka looks at her hands like she's missing something she lost long ago, but cherished, maybe a pair of-
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-gloves. It's most definitely not a sentimental gift that Soul angsted over and sacrificed both sleep and a hefty portion of his secret runaway savings funds to afford, not a gesture that stems from wanting to protect her when they're apart. Surely the gloves aren't a token to remember him by, because he would prefer anything over leaving the luxury within the castle walls to join her into the unknown.
At eighteen, Soul Evans is tethered to the crown, not to a pigtailed knight his older brother- his royal highness King Wes Evans - appointed as his body guard, the very same one that scolds him for mumbling under his breath and jabs a finger in his back to remind him to stand tall. Not only does she protect his life, but she's fun when she's not serious, and even then Soul finds himself comfortable in her presence. Safer. Accepted.
It's not that she changed him exactly, because people don't 'fix' other people, but it's easier to be compassionate toward himself when in the presence of such a kind person who sets an example. Not only has she pried him out if his shell little by little, but she's taught him to take risks, and he's held her back from a few, too.
They make a great team - or they could be, if he learned to match her talent with her scythe by mastering his powers.
But… Duties are duties.
Still, it's all about loyalty to the memory of his parents, and he inherited his duties from them. The thought that he could choose a future of his liking is dangerous to entertain, especially while watching Maka hike up an eyebrow.
"That's so… practical of you." Bright sunlight scorches her sandy hair gold as she tilts her head, thoughtful, corners of her mouth pinching.
"Your hands are all rough and calloused," he explains, willing his pulse to calm down. Everything is okay, he lies to himself. "These should protect them."
"So you want me to…" Her voice is equals parts confused and charmed. "... Have soft hands?"
"Safe hands." Self loathing is his middle name. Even his blood hates him right now. It's pounding in his ears, probably trying to clot and kill him before he embarrasses himself more. "I just want you to be safe. All of you. The Kishin that's been roaming outside the village sounds… Bad." He gulps down the word 'lethal', afraid of jinxing her. "Just come back safe."
Maka dislikes broken promises more than thunderstorms and the fact that everything she's ever planted has died- absolutely detests them more than mistreated books and the tiniest of injustices, including miscounted change, so he doesn't ask for her commitment to something she might not be able to keep.
"So…" Now it's her turn to fidget, to kick at the grass, searching for words, but coming up empty. "This is goodbye for now."
Soul notices her mouth for the first time, regret swelling in his chest. A sense of inexplicable loss blooms there, too, an afterthought. "Yeah well, don't get-"
X
"... Lost in the woods," she whispers to herself, testing her hearing for the tenth time. Again, she's doubting reality, for it's too silent amongst the trees and shadows dancing in her periphery to let her guard down. Twilight casts a glow on the patches of grass and dirt on the path, the absence of rustling wind or creeping animals unsettling. It's still. Barren. Dead.
As the seemingly only living being for miles around, Maka tightens her hold on the scythe, walking as lightly as she can over twigs and patches of grass and matted dirt. Melancholy finds a home in her chest. In the hours since she wandered out of the shrine, she's not stumbled upon any roads or signs of life, nor has she been able to climb a tree tall enough to look for a way out of the woods. It's never ending, stretching far into the horizon.
But her mama didn't raise a quitter. Maybe. Not that Maka remembers much. Perhaps she's making up the figments of a mother with long brown hair and a father with red hair, and snippets of gathering flowers with them on a glorious summer's day. There are images of herself older, without either parent, alone, a bow and arrow in hand. And there's someone else too, someone with eyes so rich and brown, they're red-
A twig snaps, Maka freezes, and she vows to hold her ground and act normal in an attempt to throw off whoever or whatever plans to sneak up on her. She scans her surroundings, pulse quickening. Fight or flight? Fight... or flight? Fight or…
Fight.
Two things happen: a dark, jagged shadow leaps at her from the tree tops- she hadn't been looking up, how could she have neglected looking up for danger? - and muscle memory takes over. She drives her scythe through the creature's face, taking advantage of the Kishin's surprise to finish the deed, twisting the blade around its skull cavity once she slams it onto the ground.
Great. Not even thirty minutes out of the shrine and she almost died. Again. And- where did she learn to use this scythe? If she hadn't, the Kishin's long, spear-like claw would have pierced her stomach.
It's… as if she's come close to meeting her fate like this before.
Anyway, now that it's dead, she's alone again. All she can hear is her own ragged breathing… And a voice in her head that isn't her own, but is equally familiar, faraway and nostalgic, becoming clearer: "Maka, remember that I'll follow you-"
X
"- to the ends of the Earth."
They're still standing in the garden, saying goodbye, the gloves not yet on her hands. Maka squints at him, a glint in her wary, curious stare. "That's romantic and all, but…"
Soul's chest bumps with impending disappointment. He eggs her on, despite wanting to throw up, wanting to face the ugly reality of his one sided feelings head-on for once. "But?"
The ease in her shrug stings more than the certainty in her bright voice. "But you don't have to, and I'd never ask you to."
There's no time to blink or conjure up a witty remark to mask his heartache. Much like her skills with her scythe, she's too fast with her words, direct and cutthroat. Soul swears the world spins as he watches her mouth move, but logic convinces him it's his nerves acting up.
"Because I'd want you to go with me." She breaks into a mischievous little smirk that catches even her by surprise, if the pink watercoloring her cheeks is a trustworthy sign. "Because you crossing the world for me implies we'll be apart, and I want us to be together for as long as we can be."
Funny how fast his pulse sped up. Lord, he must be coming down with the plague! "Oh! That's great- uh, I mean… I guess." He pauses to suck in a deep breath and scoops her into a hug when filling his lungs with spring air isn't enough.
"So you'll go with me?" comes her muffled, relieved voice.
For once Soul stops to bask in the moment instead of sitting back and wondering how much he'll miss these moments with her when she eventually outgrows him, either by her choice or at Time's will. At least the gloves should always fit and be part of her. Hopefully. His and Maka's lives overlap nicely at the moment, but ultimately, they aren't meant to last or develop further than body-guard-turned-friendship. Royals can't attach themselves too much to their knights; the latter have sworn to die in battle if needed, all in the name to protect the Evans crown and the kingdom.
Maka Albarn is no different. He can read her microexpressions better than he can decipher his own feelings. Regret shines in her eyes; she knows she's overstepped, takes it all back once she remembers their situation, wishes he'll let her down gently.
Eye contact with her has never been so hard. A split second turns a moment from sweet to bitter before he shakes his head. "I… have to stay and protect this place," is all he can manage, leaving the rest of sentence to finish sourly in his head: even though I don't know how to use my powers and I'm useless.
Her face falls for a split second before putting on a forced smile. "Okay, I'll go-"
X
"- alone?"
Maka's head snaps toward the voice, her blood icing over. Brown eyes are the first thing she sees when she lifts her head, the realization dawning on her as slow as honey that she's looking at another person. Danger lies in strangers and the night, and the unknown, and in the vulnerability of losing her weapon. Good thing swinging this scythe around comes to her like second nature. A slight flick of her wrist, and its blade reflects light on the man's face, though he doesn't supply her with any reaction at all.
"No, not alone, just…" Should she attack before he does? By the looks of his robes and his worn face, he's a traveler. "Looking for myself."
"Few dare travel through these woods after the moon has risen." He nods to the still, furry creature at her blood stained boots. "Few make it out alive."
"Hunt or be hunted," she muses, and when he nods his approval of her assessment, she doesn't miss a beat to ask, "So, which are you?"
"I am neither a hunter nor the hunted." Sorrow twists his features, though it's faint and muted, like neither the emotion nor he belong to this world. "Or perhaps I'm both and always will remain that way."
Irritation is easier to feel than disorientation, so she snarls. "Don't beat around the bush. Just tell me-"
"If you listen with your heart, you'll hear everything. You'll hear him. Maka, you're not-"
X
-alone, now that his parents are gone. Life is bland without them, but it's livable.
Barely.
Without his mother's advice over piano lessons and carriage outings to symphonies, without breakfast with her every morning, there no longer exists a reason for Soul to untangle himself from his bedsheets. The Queen prioritized quality time with her youngest son because, as cliche as it sounds, she had always said her boys ranked far more important than her kingdom. But now she's here for neither.
Despite his recent loss, Soul clings to the last remnants of hope that maybe she'll defeat Death and return from the dead. Normalcy will reign again. His father will sing and hum from room to room like always, no matter what he's up to, and will continue to spin positives out of bad news. Wes will return to his cheery self and take back his command to let Soul research the Divine Beasts and find answers for his power at the temples. He'll withdraw his mission for Soul to become someone he's not: a savior.
Until then, Soul refuses to get up. He'll raise treacherous hell from the comfort of his bed if the energy ever presents itself. As long as he's under the care of an older brother who might as well be dead too, because Wes is scarcely around since being crowned King, Soul doesn't want to live in this reality.
But…
Even with all this perfect happiness in Soul's life before the rise of Asura, even with all this love he's missing, he still…
Has a hole inside. Is stuck in a hole. Feels like the negative space in a hole.
Life has always been… boring. Snippets of joy are only a reprise from that emptiness. Apathy is a constant, lurking behind a thin facade he has learned to wear. No reason exists for such lackluster, either. It just… is. No emotion hits Soul with full impact, not devastation, not recovery. Only limbo. Only dullness.
There's a knock on his door. It opens and a neatly combed head pokes through.
"Get up. Please begin preparing," Wes says, neither a request nor a demand. He has a way of saying things and getting people to spring into action, but Soul can't find it within himself to obey. He's his own person. Rebellious, smart mouthed, tender on the inside… And wallowing in his failures, his flaws. God knows he has an abundance of those, and it's why his parents are dead and Kishin now roam the woods, why more continue to die, why his only remaining family member isn't recognizable.
"Maka went home to pick up some of her belongings, but she'll be here shortly for the journey." Wes shakes Soul's shoulder, gently and rough all at the same time. "I'm aware you don't agree with my decision-"
"She called me a piranha faced jerk," Soul montones, reliving the moment he and Wes caught her by surprise in the treasury. One look at Soul and she had dropped the Master Scythe with a squeaky yelp, scolding him for sneaking up on her and inciting a bickering quarrel as if the Kingdom wasn't currently in peril.
"I'm sure she didn't mean it maliciously." Wes smiles gently to soften his next words: "But I insist that she become your permanent guard, Soul. You must travel with her to recruit Champions and learn to control your powers. And you must get along. Her presence may be the key to unlocking-"
"I don't believe in Fate and all that." There is no harshness to Soul's voice, only a tiredness he can't seem to shake or resign himself to. "I don't like the idea of being tied to someone just because some God or other mythological person said so. Where's the consent in that? Free will? I don't want to force anything, no thanks."
"Even so, there is no denying your bond with her after what-" Wes's voice catches, instilling in Soul a glimmer of relief that his brother is still the same one he admired. "After… what happened to Mother and Father a few days ago. But together, you and Maka will save the Kingdom from Evil forever. We must ensure no one else endures the same pain we have."
Receiving no response, Wes excuses himself- duties await him, as his title of 'older brother' now comes in second.
Soul declines to follow orders to start his day, thinking too much for his own health. When he looks at Maka as she breezes into his room and sets her bags down in a corner, when he really looks at her face and easy, self-assured movements and comes to terms that she has scar tissue and veins and blood and bones and a heart and a soul underneath her skin, all he can feel is alone. How could he possibly reach her through all those barriers, how can she possibly reach him in return? He feels impossibly abandoned, but at least he's-
X
- brave, and willing to try, because it's happened before. She's heard him since she woke up. Maka's memory fails her, but bits and pieces of the past flicker on and off in the corner of her mind. Blue skies. Fields of poppies. Castle walls. The shops at the weekend market. Her bow and arrow. Her scythe. A boy who nicknamed her 'Pigtails' after he learned to tie her hair -
"Soul," she says, the name feeling right on her lips. What did he look like? Oh, right… Hair so blond it reminded Maka of white sheets, and pale eyebrows to match. Pointy teeth, a lonely air about him, and walls so high around his heart, she didn't think he required her service as his knight. He had been doing excellently on his own.
"Yes." A distant melancholy hangs in the air like fog. "My dear younger brother. He loved me, but I let him down at the very end. At my end." He sighs. "But you- he grew to love you too, despite your differences."
Maka's laugh is foreign to her own ears, but wistful as memories click into place. "Eventually we did." And it's true, he thought her to be a know-it-all goody-to-shoes. She deemed him a rude, snarky brat, nothing years of traveling together couldn't fix, of slaying Kishin and hunting their own food and sharing a tent when they lost his during a wild bear chase.
The memories crash down on her like stone walls. Inside she's exploding with the need to see him in person, to hold his hand like they did when they crossed high wooden bridges or when one of them couldn't rest because they missed their parents too much. But that's not all. Yes, now she's remembering… As they grew older and his I'm with you morphed from annoyed, preteen huffs to kind reassurances spoken in a deeper rumble that set her cheeks ablaze. The hand holding became a more meaningful gesture. Contemplating why drove her crazy until he rubbed his thumb against hers and the thoughts dissipated temporarily.
"I want to see him-"
Wes shakes his head, closing his eyes as if seeing hurt. "It's been a hundred years…"
Oh. The implications send her stomach to her feet and back again. A hundred…
"So he's dea - how am I not?"
Sadness. Loss. These are feelings that will follow her all her life, as will the love her parents gave her growing up, as will the childhood memories that hit her all at once without remorse. Mama and Papa are gone. Gone. She's alone -
"Even if he were dead, you're not alone, Maka. He managed to seal Asura away, but he… he sealed himself away too. Soul has been keeping him at bay. Please, I beg of you - Battle the Divine Beasts." Wes speaks for what seems like hours, filling Maka's blanks of the night her mama fought her last battle and lost, how her papa died right beside his wife. There's no space to weep for her parents, but she'll make room later on when she succeeds.
Because she will. If she doesn't, she'll burn from within from the injustice of it all. She must defeat Asura once and for all.
"Free those under their oppression. Then my soul and those of the Champions can move on. We remain uneasy until then." Wes sighs. "And above all... save-"
X
"-Soul!"
The last thing Wes probably glimpses before he dies is Soul running into the throne room. Later on it haunts Soul to think that his brother's last emotion had been worry. The sight of red trickling through Soul's white hair and down his face like streaks of paint must have distracted him- if he hadn't turned his head to see Soul, maybe Asura's spear would have missed Wes Evans and his skull completely.
From the brief once over, it looked like Wes was going to die anyway. Ice covered his chest, but that doesn't console Soul in the least.
It should have been him. Survivor's guilt gnaws at him as a sickening smile spreads on Asura's face. No matter how many times his parents claimed that he had been born with a Divine Gift, his continuous prayer to any and all Gods unlocked his sealing power. The only thing he's able to seal and keep away from his loved one is the despair that he's not good at the one thing fate's chosen for him: sealing away Evil.
And now, even that's glaringly obvious.
To think… mere hours earlier, he and Maka had bid each other a temporary goodbye, not knowing that their separation would cost the Kingdom dearly. In her absence, Asura rose to his greatest power by day break, despite Soul's fruitless attempts to awaken his power. The Champions each die, killed from inside their own Beasts, and everything in the castle and its surrounding town fall, decimated in the wave of monsters and madness. Fire and chaos sweep his mother's gardens and his father's study- but that's not what hurts a sentimental Soul the most.
"I'm sorry, Wes. I'm sorry I couldn't… s-save you," he mourns, a pang of self loathing thundering through his chest. Now he's more alone than ever. Tears and blood mix on his face as he takes in the devastation, the taste of iron swimming in his mouth magnified by his fear of dying next - the ultimate failure to the kingdom, his kingdom.
By daybreak, it's clear he's lost the throne. Despite his fighting Kishin and dodging Asura's attacks, he's lost Shibusen. He's lost it ALL. A desperate attempt to escape inspires him to jump off the castle wall. Landing in the river below doesn't drown his sorrows, but it does grant him another moment to grieve. He hadn't even been given the chance to bury -
X
"- Wes, I don't know if I can do this. Don't give this to me - I don't want it." Maka rubs the material of the paraglider between her fingers. Not quite cloth, not quite canvas. "I'm not ready. I'm confused. I'm-"
Wes's hand glides right through her shoulder when he attempts to console Maka. It's akin to mist, cool and refreshing, barely existent. Distress colors his face at the jarring realization. For someone who towers over her, he suddenly seems so small. The urge to protect him from reality blooms within Maka as he nods as if accepting his current state.
"I have done all in my power to help you."
In an instant he has retreated to the shadows, but she still has to admit it to herself: "No, Wes, come back! I'm..."
No, she refuses to feel alone, not when Soul is still alive out there and waited a hundred years for her to awaken and help him finish this battle. Maka closes her eyes, picturing his face, the dimple in his cheek, his lopsided grin. What other things made Soul... unique?
Hmm… he sang, said he got it from his father. He read aloud to her, and when books were scarce because they wandered into the countryside or another remote area, he made things up. Listening to his voice was - is - a secret love of hers. There's no other word for it.
"Soul, are you there?" she says to no one.
… Right here, Maka.
She squints to avoid crying. "It's you, oh my God! I'm-"
X
"- so scared!"
Maka clings to him in the woods after he finally catches up to her hours after the attack in the castle. Sobs crack his ribs - Wes is gone and Soul is alone, so alone, an heir to a fallen throne. All the blame rests on his shoulders because he's... beyond... useless.
Shushing him, Maka kisses his forehead to heal his anguish, but he's already too far gone for condolences. Her lips press against his skin with a desperate hopelessness that feels too much like a permanent goodbye. No- he refuses to accept this fate, what about free will? What about all the places they promised to explore together, what about helping each other heal from their hurt?
Soul holds on tightly to her too, memorizing her face in case he's wrong and they don't make it to safety. A Kishin with a hyena cackle bit off one of her pigtails and left three claw marks transversing her face before she brought it down. The mark is an omen, but Soul seals his mouth shut, lest he not further tempt the same Fate he once doubted. Never in their five years journeying together and fighting alongside one another has Soul witnessed Maka crumble like this, shaking like she's submerged in a tub of ice, nails digging into his biceps out of fear of losing him.
And he'll admit it that he's petrified too. Paralyzed. The woods are deep and dark and the shadows twitching around them belong to more Kishin, each one with its own unique terror. Long, blood starved fangs, razor-like nails, incredible speed, a penchant for playing with their prey. Death is a guarantee out here amongst the rotting trees and grass that never grows anymore.
Maka yanks him so hard, he's halfway wondering how long he'd survive with his arm ripped off before his feet respond and he stumbles after her. "C'mon, we need to keep running-"
The pessimist in him wants to collapse amongst the dead insects littering the yellowing grass. To surrender and meet Death sooner rather than later. Everything around them is fading fast, anyway… at least Wes went quickly. But one look at Maka's wide, fiery green eyes and Soul's will to survive wins over his initial automatic resignation.
After all, there is so much more left for him in this life, even in this growing dearth. Surely the world will continue to wither away the longer Asura reigns- Evil paints everything black over time, but he, Soul Evans, can master his Divine gift, in memory of his family and his Kingdom, for Maka, for himself -
It happens in the blink of an eye. A bloodied spear materializes out of the blue, splitting the air with high velocity and impales itself in Maka's gut. She didn't see it coming, but she's miraculously left standing, stubborn and clenching her jaw.
Soul's instinct is to protect her as she stands there in disbelief, holding the rod dug inches above her belly button - he couldn't impede his family's death because he's cursed to fall two steps behind tragedy, but this time he's ahead and he'll challenge Fate to obey his will: for him and Maka to survive. Rage boils within Soul as he tears his gaze away from his best friend to meet the Kishin responsible for Maka's low whimpers, for her careful breaths, which they both know are numbered.
It's only a shadow. All black, no definitive body - only a misty apparition with blurry edges, no face, no humanity. Opening its mouth as it dives down to eat her whole reveals more darkness, this one darker in all senses of the word.
And then it - just happens again, finally, probably too late. The familiar buzz ignites in his palms, spreading out to his fingers, and the light shoots and blinds them all. When it ebbs to a glow, he and Maka are entombed in a dome-like safety net.
Then silence. Nothing. The finality of Maka's injury hits. He'll be alone soon...
But - only if he lets it happen. For once, Soul relates to Asura and his crazed, unreasonable mission to escape Death.
"Don't pull the spear… out," he begs Maka. Leaving it be would prolong her pain but it would also extend her life. His mind races- yes, yes, there's a Resurrection Shrine nearby, if they're where he thinks they are, and- YES, it has to work, he's NOT ALONE HE REFUSES TO LOSE SOMEONE ELSE!
Still, nothing numbs the blow that this is... All. His. Fault.
Already paling, Maka flashes her best happy-go-lucky grin at him, though barely unshed tears give her true feelings away. "Guess I'll run around with this new accessory…"
Except she can't run, that's foolishness. Soul carries her bride style deeper into the woods, praying that no other Kishin assaults them along the way to the Resurrection Shrine, but none dare. Clearly they'd rather watch the pair suffer from the periphery, offering high pitched giggles and taunts and giddy screeches that muffle through the thin veil of protection he summoned.
Maka talks to him about everything and anything as they travel until she can't say another word. Until her grip around his neck slackens. Soul gulps down a terrible loneliness whenever too many seconds pass between feeling her stirring, relishing in her soft breathing, speeding up to reach their destination before it's too late.
Laying her to rest at the foot of the fairy statue and rinsing the mud out of her hair is almost like burying her. Tongue tied, Soul leans in close to kiss her on the mouth - and then changes his mind inches away. Where's the consent in that? And besides, it isn't the right time and it would feel too much like a farewell. Leaving the shrine without her reminds him too much of abandoning Wes's body at the castle, which then twists his guts into nauseating knots.
Still… duties are duties. Soul must return and seal Asura, this is a fact. He must go, even if he's alone. Perhaps he's been -
"Hey, hey, hey!" a disembodied voice sing-songs, much too chipper.
Soul tenses, nerves on high alert.
"Have no fear, young Soul! Or should I say KIIING?"
That has Soul glaring, on edge, ready for a fight. How has news of Wes's death spread this deep into the Lost Woods? And why does it bring this stranger joy? Soul tightens his grip on the Master Scythe, summoning memories of studying Maka as she trained with it, wondering if he can possibly channel her grace and agility. "Who goes there? Show yourself!"
"I'm here, in a tree!"
Soul rolls his eyes, grateful for the chance to feel something other than unbearable loss. "Don't be an assh - ugh!" A round, hard, ball-shaped something or other ricochets off his temple. The impact spot smarts, and Soul rubs it to assuage the pain. "God, you almost killed me-"
"How dare you take my name in vain?"
The longer he stares the thick trunk and its lines and raised grooves, the more it all comes together. Three circles arranged in an upside down triangle formation, the oblong face shape, the outline of a cloak carved into the tree bark…
"You're… Lord Death. And you're… actually a tree. So that part of the legend wasn't dumb buffoonery..."
"Correct."
"... Which question are you answeri- you know what? Forget it." Soul's patience for idiotic small talk borders on zero. Playing games with a God who squatted in a greedy human's body and couldn't sense the evil lurking within isn't on his to-do list.
The Great Deku Tree blocks his path with a thick branch. "Where are you traveling with such a long face?"
Soul doesn't give the tree the satisfaction of an exasperated sigh. He swings a leg over the branch, climbing over easily. "To visit your better half."
"Ouch," the Tree gasps without much emotion, probably hoping Soul won't notice a thinner branch curling around his ankles. "Maybe I'm deserving of that remark, but -"
"Let go of my leg!"
An ounce of pity enters the God's voice. "My dear frowny child, you cannot confront -"
A string of swears spouts from Soul's mouth. Unable to contain his fury, he kicks until he's escaped the tree's clutches, and when snapping a few dying leaves off isn't enough, he pounds his fists into every open part of the branch. Both Lord Death and Soul's knuckles shriek in protest, but why should it matter, why should he stop if he'll soon be dead too?
"Stop kicking me, I'm older than time itself!"
"You're an irresponsible BAST-"
"No, I think you are," Lord Death chimes matter of factly, struggling to calm Soul. "You're the one walking back to the enemy with a weapon you don't know how to use. Such a pretty scythe. Asura and the rest of my soul will love to slice you open with it. At least leave it in my care until your lovely knight awakens, my dear frowny King."
Soul halts his attacks, realizing he'd forgotten about throwing Maka's scythe and her gloves onto the ground. "Okay, that's… Reasonable."
"Now now, King, don't cry." If a soothsayer ever told Soul he'd burst into tears while beating up a tree in the middle of Karok Forest within the Lost Woods, and that it would comfort him, Soul would have snorted. But that's exactly what happens. The Great Deku tree offers him Its leaves to blow his nose while reassuring Soul it'll be okay. He's the Chosen one, after all.
"You'll restore this whole deteriorating, ugly, filthy world to its previous splendor!" When Soul refuses to reply, the Tree brushes Soul's hair back and points in the direction of the Temple Soul sealed. "So, what's her name?"
Soul sniffles, pulling himself together. "Maka."
"Last name?"
"Albarn." He can't help the defensive edge in his tone, can't help but resent the stupid tree inhabitant for ruining... literally everything. "Want her date of birth, too?"
Cue a smirk. "Is she your sweetie mayhaps, your cutie-pa-tootie?"
"Shut up and guard her," Soul snarls, fixing his eyes to the tree with a glare, slapping away the limbs from his face, and dropping down to slip on the gloves. With one fleeting kiss to the Scythe, he hands it over. "And guard this too, since you offered."
"It touches my dead heart to know love and tenderness still exist, despite my mistakes," Lord Death broods. Obligingly, the Master Scythe sinks into the tree trunk like it's being swallowed. Watching it disappear is another painful jolt for Soul- he's always thought of it as Maka's scythe, and giving it up feels a lot like giving her up by extension, especially considering what he's planning to do next...
"Keep it safe… and keep Maka safe until she wakes up," Soul orders again for good measure. He's the new King after all, and he'll assign tasks to this God and any other he crosses paths with as he pleases. The Great Deku Tree's offers a twiggy limb to seal deal with a pinky promise, and then salutes Soul as he begins the journey toward the castle, heading straight to his –
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