She was walking through the ruins of the still-smoldering town, all was destroyed beyond recognition of its' former 'modern' glory. All around, bodies lay in odd, twisted positions, as if a gigantic toy chest had upended and flung the collection of dolls that had made up its' insides this way and that. So much wanton, meaningless destruction. Up ahead, she could hear the laughter and mischevious giggles of her comrades who had brought her with them. They were most likely basking in the destruction of all these lives, and she should have been too, as was her witch nature. However, she felt only a hollow sadness as her eyes gazed over the twisted, dismembered corpses. Here was a cat, half of its' body charred down to bone. A couple, holding hands with broken fingers barely linking them together. A mother clutching her child to her breast, both of their cries having ceased so long ago. There was the echo of the sobs of the dead, carried by the wind of their despair.
Or... was that the wind?
She listened more carefully, and found that the sobs were not so empty as the laments of the true dead. She whipped around, grateful that her hood blocked the sun's glare from her eyes. There, under the lopsided cover of an upended gazebo. A lone child was there, coated with ash and blood, perhaps his own and perhaps that of another, yet, miraculously, still alive.
Tiny pearls of tears dripped down his eyes, turning to spheres momentarily after they dripped off of his chin, then landing as only tiny splatters in the new topsoil of dust and ash. His tiny hands were gripping something on the ground, hidden from where she stood watching him.
Taking a quick glance at her 'friends' to make sure they weren't looking, she ran over to the child, carefully hopping over shiny puddles of broken glass and sharp stones with her bare feet. She knelt next to the child, slowly, so as not to startle him. He was still sniffling, he hadn't noticed her yet. Looking down, she saw what he had been gripping. It was a woman's sleeve, judging by the thin arm and tiny hand withing it. It was only the arm that she could see, though, as the rest of the body was hidden under a shelf of a crumbled roof.
She reached out and gently lifted the child's chin, wanting to see his face. He sniffled, but didn't start when her fingers touched his face. His eyes opened, blue sapphires shiny with tears not yet shed. From the closer view, she could make out lengths of blood-red hair beneath a coating of ash and dust. With gentle, slow movements, she brushed the lingering tears from the corners of his eyes. His eyes looked directly into hers, frightened and wary, yet willing to latch onto any kindness that was shown to him. Seeing the fear still remaining in the boy's heart, she stood, looking around for something that would signify her purely good intentions.
She spotted it out of the corner of her eye, a brightly colored sign, hung askew from its' former position, yet its' single message still able to be read. 'TOYS' it announced, though it was obvious nothing more would be sold from there. She saw a lumpy pile of stuffed animals behind a broken window pane. She carefully reached through the jutting shards of broken glass and rooted through the toys as best as she could. Finally, she gingerly pulled a single toy from the pile of cloth, stuffed bodies. The toy turned out to be a fox, red fur and a fluffy, white belly.
She rushed her way back to the boy, who had begun to tear up again. She placed the toy into the boy's hands, hoping to stop any further tears. The boy paused, then quickly squeezed the stuffy against his tiny chest. When he had it safely tucked into his grasp, he looked up to face her again. She pulled the hood away from her face as she looked down at him, reading his face. The expression on his tiny features was like a string of lights lighting up the world around her. She found herself reaching for him and, before she could stop herself, pulled his tiny body close to her and squeezed him gently, like he held the stuffed animal in his arms.
She heard her name being called from somewhere behind her. Starting, feeling an urgent sense of fear for the child she held to her bosom, she gripped him to her and fled.
–
The boy had grown in the years that had passed. While she had not spoiled him, he was living a rather comfortable life. She knew next to nothing about raising children, but put what little she had taken form the experience of her little sister to use. The boy had grown well, he had sprouted like a weed in the time, already the top of his head passed her hip. He had grown up quiet, reserved. He all but ignored the brightly colored toys she had obtained, ones that she had viewed human children playing with, choosing rather to sit in a corner and read one of the thick books she kept around her home. He did not, however, attempt in any way to push away her affections, with which she showered him almost every moment she had. Rather, he accepted them with all the spare room he had in his heart. He would grip her arms as she hugged him tightly, would sit still as she ran her fingers and a comb through his blood-colored locks, would never be able to go to sleep unless she was there, stroking his one hand as the other gripped the stuffy that he held so dearly.
He wasn't a fussy eater, not in the least. He would eat whatever she gave to him, vegetables or nuts or meat; whatever she put on his place would go down his throat. Any sweets were taken gratefully and enjoyed with great pleasure. He would always say please and thank-you and excuse me and all the little tokens most parents always struggled to teach their children to say properly.
However, there were moments that she had to let him out of her sight, just had to get away from him. She always cursed her older sister for doing this to her. For infecting her with madness, as a final, fatal jab from beyond the grave. She had always felt it eating at her, putting up elaborate labyrinths in her mind. Labyrinths she would have to navigate and fight in order to retain her very sanity. It always whispered, beckoned to her. Begging and wheedling for her to join the blissful, all-enveloping darkness. She always resisted, though, for the very small spark of life she knew depended on her. She feared not for herself, only for him.
She knew the feelings of a mother, had ever since she had found him in the ashes and rubble of the town where he still gripped to the lifeless arm of a lost loved one. With those feelings, she held on, her only lifeline to the real world. A world where she knew she was not cruel and vicious as the voices urged her to be. She was not like that, and never would be, as long as she had him.
–
It was a particularly horrible day for her. For whatever reason, the madness was stronger than ever. She could feel it, right there, trying to crush the barriers she had so painstakingly set up in her mind. It had been working for so long, though, and she had not put so much effort into keeping it at bay as she was now. It was too deeply rooted to be completely removed, she simply bore it and tried to push it to the farthest corners of her subconscious.
He could sense it, though. The child seemed to have a certain knack for sensing when the madness was strongest in her mind and soul. When it was weak enough, he would stay close to her side like a loyal dog. If it was almost too much to bear, he kept at a distance without even needing to be told, as she was always better able to fight it off when she had her full concentration.
Still, he never seemed to drift away, out of fear or otherwise. Rather, he seemed to draw closer after every strong bout with madness. When he seemed to sense that she was stable enough, he would crawl into her lap and lean against her, allowing her to hold him as long as she needed until she was fully in control once more. It was on one such instance that she learned the extent of his power with his soul.
It was on one of the instances when she was recovering from a fresh bout with madness. He had settled himself down in her lap, eyes closed, breathing so softly it was almost as if he were sleeping. She had begun to relax herself, feeling calmed and soothed by the very fact that he was there. Then, she felt a different sensation arise within her. She had been feeling the madness recede as she regained control and pushed it back into the furthest corner that she could.
Suddenly, a different force began pushing the madness away. It was as if light itself had begun to fill up her chest and was fighting the madness for her. She could feel the madness within her retreat and shrink, as if it were being forced into a tiny box in the far recesses of her mind and soul. She looked down at the boy in her lap, and saw that his tiny features were tight and filled with a great amount of concentration. It took her no time at all to realize that this was his doing. Somehow, she realized, his tiny soul was manipulating her own, using that power to push away the madness and darkness that she fought so hard to keep at bay.
Then, the tide turned. Somehow, the madness that the child had been pushing away struck back at him. Her relaxed state shattered as she could feel the madness turning on the boy and using its' power to attempt to corrupt his soul from her own. A great fear rose up within her, fear that she would be the cause of her innocent boy's fall to madness from an act that had to have come from his purest hearts' intentions. Without thinking, she cast a spell, and he was sent flying to the other end of the room. He hit the opposite wall hard and sunk to the ground.
She raced over to him, pushing the madness back into submission with each step. The child was not unconscious, he was rubbing his head to relieve the pain that had animated when his head had struck the wall. She scooped him up into an embrace, relieving the pain with numerous kisses as she apologized profusely. She did this and furiously made him promise, promise to never try anything like that ever again. For both his and her sake.
He promised.
–
She awoke dizzy, nauseous, and with much pain. Through blurred senses, she registered and pinpointed the main source of pain, her left arm. She lifted it above her head, saw dried blood crusted flakily along what she assumed was an open wound. She carefully poked it, saw a few red flakes break off and drift down to land on her cheek.
Red. Red. Red.
In the back of her mind, quiet sobbing registered. She lifted herself up, avoiding the red-crusted arm that shot pain up it. She looked to a corner, where she saw the source of the sobbing. She saw the tiny form shuddering with quiet crying. Feeling the motherly instinct well up, she stood on shaky feet and went to him.
It had taken over her once more. It always came more strongly in the last couple of decades, her fits when she was not in control. When the madness would materialize and become real, at least to her. She could not stop herself. She would scream and rage and throw things and cast spells. She could only destroy in this state, her only ally was herself. She would not allow him to be involved. This time, however, it seemed it was.
She paused, something was strange. Something was sticking from his back. Fear stabbed her heart. Did she do something to him? Was it a spell gone awry? A snake that had gone wild in the midst of her unstable state.
No. The curved blade that jutted from his body seemed to be a part of him, it was solidly stuck there. She reached a hand for him, hoping to comfort him and make him cease his sobs. They tore at her heart more than anything ever could. When her fingertips grazed his shoulder, he pulled back, breathing in sharply. He whipped around to look at her, eyes wide and shiny and moist. She felt her own eyes widen at the sight of him. His long locks, which were always so smooth and neatly combed due to her teachings of being neat and clean, was awry and utterly out of place. His face was streaked with tears that left shiny tracks down his cheeks. Two more curved blades poked from out of his arms, one of which was coated with blood.
Paying no mind to the danger of the blades protruding from him, she swept him into a hug, like the ones she would give him when he awoke from a nightmare. It took a moment, but he soon returned the embrace, allowing himself to weep into her chest. He stuttered muffled apologies through his sobs, gasping and sniffling in-between bouts of crying. The curved scythe blades seemed to turn white and shatter as he calmed himself, disappearing as the sparks of light vanished upon contact with the ground.
She only cared about him at that moment. Neither the open pain in her arm nor the madness still attempting to breach the sanctum of her mind. She knew what had happened, it was all her fault that the events had occurred. She had given in, just the slightest slip had allowed the madness to flood her mind and render all of her senses useless. She knew not what she had said or done, but it must have been horrible to reduce her child to this state. He was not even a child anymore, he was her child. Nothing could have ever made her think otherwise.
Still, this was good. It was a way to help him, to get him away. The longer he stayed, she knew, the more danger he would be in from, Death knew how she hated to even think it, her. He was a weapon, that much was clear as the ever-present madness in her mind. As she knelt there, stroking and shushing her child, her mind whirred and put pieces into place. A way to help at least him escape from the madness that threatened to swallow her up.
–
Her hood was drawn over her face, shielding it from both the sun and the eyes of people they passed. His hand tightly grasper hers, his other hand held onto a suitcase that he had prepared himself. He had grown to be a smart young man, strong too. His head peaked a good few inches above others would be at his age. His constant reading had left him with a voracious appetite for knowledge and a great vault of things he had already learned, along with the things he had taught him. The both of them stared up at the great building, the gigantic skulls that surrounded the front seemed to stare down at them ominously. The DWMA, Shibusen Academy, what have you. She thanked all the gods that she had no beliefs in that he had been born with his weapon blood, and cursed all the rest that her sister had imbued her with such a madness that she was forced to give her child up and do this.
She placed a hand on his shoulder, as if to comfort him, though she knew he needed no such thing. He was strong in will, he did not require such small things, though he did enjoy them. She slowly moved that hand up to his head, stroking the long red locks she had always loved to brush and stroke. He allowed this as well, as it was a familiar and warm gesture. Then, she cast her spell.
She could feel him tense under her grip, but she held him steady and did what she had to. She knew that her boy was strong in will and would do anything for those he cared about. That was why she had to do this. She took hold of his memories of her, all of them, and began to cut them up. She separated her face, name, and anything else that could identify her in his mind and cut them apart from the things she had taught him and the things he had learned on his own. She left only a vague shadow of a parental figure behind, nothing more than that. For she knew, if she left him with memories of her and what had afflicted her, he would waste his life trying to help her, to rid her of something that she could never be fully rid of. It was soon done, and she had locked all memories of herself into a small corner of his mind. He would be able to open that box, one day, perhaps when she was gone and he was in no danger from her.
She stepped away from him and looked him over; from his little black shoes, to the cross imbued with her own magic that she had fastened to the neck of his shirt to protect him from harm, to the blue eyes she had seen so much. He looked back at her, and she saw no recognition whatsoever. Knowing what was done was done, she left him there, with only the knowledge that he would find a place in the academy that loomed above them. She could not stay to watch him climb the steps, because she knew she would not be able to stop herself from running to stop him and breaking her own spell.
So, she left, knowing that her child would find a place in the world, and that she could never be a part of it.
–
He was seen as a strange boy from day 1. He was usually seen reading alone, or in the library if otherwise. His soul wavelength, with its' ability to control the soul of his meister, kept most potential partners away, as many meisters expected their weapons to submit to them, not the other way around. Eventually, though, he found a partner. His partner was someone who desired control taken away from them, as they could not control themselves. He had sensed the madness taking place within the other boy's mind and soul, and he had almost instinctively reached out to the madness, suppressing it, taming it.
They had become partners not long after. Somehow, though, it was not only the madness that drew him to his partner. There was something about how he looked, something about his tired, concealing eyes that drew on vague phantoms of memories. However, they never became more than that. His memories of before he joined the school were few and far between, he only knew his practical skills and things he believed he must have learned from before.
He did not know.
–
He grew older, and things changed, as they do when time moves on in its' steady course. He gained a new partner, became the top of the top and what all weapons aimed for, fell in love, got married, had a daughter. Lost his wife, the affection of his daughter, became known as nothing more than a laughing-stock and a bad example. Still, he found reason to be happy. He tried his best to make sure that his daughter had everything she needed and wanted, even if she didn't want him to be the one to provide them for her. She was the center of his life, and showered every last bit of his affection on her.
Still, old mistakes died hard, and he still found himself surrounded by random women. He never found a reason for it, and he did not take any stock in the old freudian beliefs. His reasons were unknown, even to him. It was simply what he knew.
He seemed to age much slower than others who had known him for a long time, retaining most of his appearance from his age of 18 years, even though more than twelve more years had passed by. His face seemed ageless, despite the tired circles that seemed to remain under his eyes, those had been with him since he was a child, and it seemed they would remain with him onward through his life. He still towered over most people who knew him, though his partner towered over him. He regained his old partner, they settled their old disputes for the newer generation who needed them the most.
He found himself another woman to cling to, the school nurse, as it so happened. It was like with his partner, something about her was so familiar. Still, she rejected him at every turn, and he was never able to get within five feet of her. Still, he persisted, despite his own daughter's ire.
This was different, though, he could not put his finger on it.
–
He was beyond angry, beyond even a fathomable expression of rage. How could this woman do this, practically torture her own child and not give him even a speck of affection. He raced forward recklessly, grabbed her by the collar, lifted her up into the air to his eye level. He cursed at her, saw no expression or remorse on her face. This only enraged him more. Still, when he stared into her eyes, even seeing the uncaring in them, he could not bring himself to say more. He shook, though he didn't know why. He could feel his soul reaching out to something within her soul against his will.
He was thrown back, something accomplished by her magic, no doubt. He could sense the focus she had on his partner, trying to break his meister. He would not allow that. He encouraged, kept control, allowed him to focus on fighting. His keeping control meant the witch's defeat.
He focused his meister's wavelength, becoming the tool as well as the controller. He held her in place for the blows he was used to strike. Finally, at the tensest moment, his meister prevailed. He felt himself slicing through her flesh, making the blood fly into the air and rain down upon them. He sliced down again, a finishing blow, and her body disappeared.
–
The little girl standing beside him, she used to be so many things. A beloved teacher, a valuable nurse, a witch. Now using the body of an innocent child as a shield, she had all the appearance and some of the stature of a child the age she inhabited. He felt compelled to pick her up by the hand if she fell down, brush her of dust if she became dirty.
She brushed these away, as within her child's body was the mind of an adult. He returned her to her cell, having seen her to his boss and back again. She spoke as stiffly and formally as she could, despite the humiliations from both him and his boss. He had cooed and fawned over her as if she truly were the child she appeared to be. Still, he really did know who she was, what she had done, and was serious and straight-faced. His fatherly instincts, which had driven him to help a young child, did nothing to affect his judgment in light of who the tiny witch truly was.
Nothing sharply affected him, stabbed open the chest locked away in the back of his mind to release the memories hidden within. He only saw the witch who had tortured a child, not a caring mother or someone to look up to. Certainly not someone who was doing battle with madness, as it was evident she embraced it fully.
Still, when she asked for something simple, a cup of water, he gave it to her, as was a basic decency he had learned... somewhere. He handed it to her, waited for her to finish, and took it away again. She thanked him cordially and stepped away from him. They found themselves looking at each other, standing still. She pulled back her hood and stared up at him.
Adult man and young girl stared each other in the eye. Eventually, he turned away and closed the door, locking it behind him with a resounding 'clank'. He walked away, never looking back. She said nothing to him through the door, did not call after him. He bowed his head and kept his eyes on the shadows, his soul from instinctively reaching out to the madness in the evil girl he was leaving behind in that dank, dirty place. For, he felt absolutely nothing for that little girl. Yet, somehow, not feeling anything for her seemed to cause him the most horrible pain of all.