Hi, NorthernMage here! It's been ages since I've uploaded anything, but I've been really busy and also working on some other stories, which inevitably have gotten out of control.
Anyway, enough about that. This is a collaboration between myself and Pokelolmc, and we've been working on it for quite a while. This time, we've got a good amount of prewritten chapters, so hopefully the wait should be smaller for part of this.
This is a prequel to Ghost of the Gallows, and I won't keep you any longer!
Lord Death: NorthernMage and Pokelolmc don't own Soul Eater.
General POV
It was a beautiful day in Death City. The sun beat down on the cobbled streets, and meisters and weapons walked through the streets. Some were returning from missions, while others were going out.
It was the thirteenth of May, 1813. Witch activity had been dropping for weeks, and the peace had been welcomed. Not long before, witches had been appearing everywhere, which meant that the very tired meisters and weapons were now able to go on missions without fearing from witches.
The teenage boys strode down the streets with their partners, some boys, some girls. While the boys talked to each other, and the all-girl teams spoke as well, there was a noticeable barrier between the members of the co-ed teams.
The girl only listened and supported their partner, regardless of whether she was meister or weapon.
Although, Lord Death had to admit, watching a lesson through his mirror, that had mixed results. At the Death Weapon Meister Academy, the situation currently happening in Crescent Moon was fairly usual.
'Quiet, Theen!' the teacher demanded, glaring at the brown-haired boy. Daniel Theen glared right back.
'As you wish, Miss Nakatsukasa.' he hissed, scrunching up the note in his hands.
'Now that Mister Theen has stopped his note-passing with Mister Alute, we can continue with our lesson.' the teacher said, before going back to talking about soul wavelengths. 'Evans, what can you tell the class about soul wavelength compatibility?'
Seth Evans nodded. 'Soul compatibility is what enables a meister and weapon to resonate, and use each other in battles against kishin. Without this, the weapon may not be picked up by the meister without the weapon becoming too hot for the weapon to hold, and on occasion they cannot be picked up at all.'
In the midst of this, Nema Tulis sat quietly, looking at her weapon Seth with complete subservience.
Lord Death sighed. 'Well,' he mumbled, 'at least they got past using each other as slaves...' People were often put into factories, but at least there was some pay, unlike the Medieval Era.
He switched to watching a mission.
This time the girl was the weapon, and the boy was the meister. He had to admit, they were one of the most powerful teams he had seen in quite a while.
As he slashed one final time, the kishin, which had been a tall, formally dressed man with a mask on, which had red lines on it around his eyes and mouth, turned into a glowing red soul. The meister lowered his weapon, panting, and the weapon, a girl named Linette, transformed out of her weapon form, which was a pistol. Linette wore a tight-fitting dress, which opened up from her waist, but was still rather thin. She went up to the soul, and ate it as her partner, Samuel, came up to her and they talked, before leaving the area.
The mirror turned blank, and Lord Death began to leave the Death Room. As he passed the door, he passed a young woman of around twenty years.
'Hello Lord Death.' she greeted.
'Hello death scythe.' he replied, pausing.
'Are you going home at this early hour?' the death scythe, Lisha Diehl asked.
'Yes, I have a few things to take care of.'
'Ah, would that be the present you were speaking of earlier?' Lisha asked. She was one of few people who knew about his son, as he was not trained yet, or had any weapons. Given she was his death scythe, however, he had seen no problem with her knowing.
'Yes. I hope that the new suit fits him.' Lord Death replied, thinking of the black suit with white dashes down the middle and over the shoulders.
'I'm sure it will.' Lisha assured him. Lord Death inclined his head as thanks, then continued on his way.
The sun lit up the sky, tinting it a gentle orange colour as it descended. Lord Death wandered through the mostly deserted streets, finally arriving at Gallows Mansion.
Opening the door, he called out. 'Hey Kiddo, I'm home!'
Death the Kid looked up from the book he was reading, Kishin Souls and their Creation.
'Hello, father.' the young man replied, attention diverted from his book.
'Did a package arrive today?' It was a surprise present for Kid, as he hadn't been home much recently.
'Ah, yes, it was delivered to the basement earlier today. Was it important?' his son queried.
Lord Death nearly said it was a personal item, but thought better of it. Kid will ask more questions then, it'll be better to say it's something about the DWMA. 'It's an important artifact that was discovered by a meister and weapon team. It seemed suspicious, so I had it sent here so I could take a look at it.
'Oh, of course. I already had dinner, I hope that does not inconvenience you.'
'Not at all, I have not been home much recently, and I regret that.'
'It has been no problem, father.' Kid insisted, not wanting to make his father feel guilty.
'Kid, I am going to make sure to spend more time with you. We have barely had any time since December to spend together.' Kid smiled slightly. It seemed that no matter how many times he explained that he didn't mind the solitude, as his father was Lord Death, and that was to be expected, his father ignored his reasoning.
It will be nice to have time to talk to him again, Kid thought.
'I have to do some work first though on this artifact.' Lord Death sighed. Kid nodded, he knew that witches were a huge threat to the Academy, and Death City.
'Goodnight, Kid. I'll be down in the basement if you need me.' Lord Death told his son. Kid nodded.
'I will be fine. Goodnight, father.' Kid bowed and started walking up the stairs to his room. Lord Death watched his son walk away as he headed down to the basement.
After all, he needed to make sure Kid's surprise present was perfect for when he got it tomorrow.
~:~
So, on the thirteenth of May, 1813, Death the Kid, son of Lord Death left for his room, frustrated at the strange soul wavelengths he was picking up. They were dismissed as drunk souls.
Lord Death was down in the basement, the lowest level of Gallows Mansion. He thought only of his son's likely surprise and joy at being given a present, and was completely focused on his task.
Little did either of them know what was coming in but a few hours.
~:~
'Father.' Death the Kid whispered, a tear rolling down his cheek.
Lord Death was by his son's bed, unable to think. The younger death god was limp on the bed, and his golden eyes were becoming hazy.
Moments before, Lord Death had been caught up in hatred, pure hatred at the witches who had dared to enter Gallows Mansion. It was the home he shared with his thirteen-year-old son, but that wasn't going to be the case in a few moments.
You see, the witches hadn't just entered the home of the two death gods.
The six witches, and their leader, Luzida, had nearly killed Kid. Paralysed, he hadn't been able to fight back, and had been helpless as they had attacked him mercilessly.
This was when Lord Death, unpacking a present for his son in the basement, had felt the souls brimming with magic. In moments he was halfway up the stairs to the first floor.
Then the witches had delivered their message to Kid: they wanted revenge on Lord Death.
At that point, Lord Death was at the bottom of the second set of stairs.
The witches had then started the final phase of their plan: to kill Death's son. One of them, Luzida, had created a lizard tongue-shaped spear out of white hot fiery magic.
She had then proceeded to stab Kid in the chest with it, too close to his heart for him to survive. Still frozen, the weaponless god had screamed, the pain making him delirious for a moment.
It had taken barely a second for his father, who had been halfway up to Kid's room, to burst open the door.
The first thing he had seen was Kid frozen above his bed, like he was suspended by invisible strings. The teen's eyes had been wide with terror, and even more so with pain, looking almost glossy.
The second had been the witches surrounding his defenceless son, grinning malevolently. Lord Death's mask warped into a shape even more severe than the one he would have hundreds of years later while battling Asura.
'HOW DARE YOU COME HERE!' he roared, seeing them. 'YOU THINK YOU CAN COME HERE AND HURT MY SON?' He lunged forward, locking into battle with the first witch.
With each one that fell, Kid jerked, like one of the strings holding him tight had been broken. It didn't take long for the fully fledged grim reaper to reach the last witch, Luzida. She cackled as they fought, but all he could think of was Kid.
They had hurt him. His son, a piece of his very soul.
'This does not feel so great when you are on the receiving end, does it reaper?' she laughed as he landed the final blow.
Lord Death was barely even listening by this point, his anger nearly consuming him.
Kid was hurt. His son was hurt and in pain.
With Luzida dead, Kid flopped down onto the bed, a choked sob of pain escaping him.
Lord Death spun away from Luzida's soul and rushed to Kid, tearing off his mask as he ran.
'What happened?' he gasped as he saw Kid's injuries, mentally running through his knowledge of everything...anything that could help Kid.
Nothing. He came up with nothing. 'Kid.' he choked out, heartbroken.
This was where they were now. The ever formal, composed teenage grim reaper named Death the Kid had his head turned slightly to the side, eyes hazy, barely seeing anything at all except his father, a black and white figure against the moonlight streaming through from the window, the black curtains parted to show a grinning moon, blood slipping out from between it's teeth.
'Father.' Kid whispered, a solitary, asymmetrical tear sliding down his bruised and battered cheek.
The hushed whisper was tainted with sadness.
No. Death thought, losing, for the first time in his life, the first battle he ever personally lost just on his own. The only enemy to ever beat the grim reaper himself were the tears brimming in his own eyes.
Kid's slow, limited chest movements came to a halt, and his rising chest fell for the last time.
Death the Kid had breathed his last.
'Kid.' Death breathed quietly, voice shaky with sobs. His wet golden eyes, exposed in the light of moon, glanced over the slender and bloodied figure on the bed. Lord Death knelt by the bedside, and gently grasped his son's pale, cold hands in his own. How could he have let this happen? Kid was so young! Not just in reaper standards; in human age he was also considered not yet an adult. 13 years old. Only 13. And now he was gone.
The older death god gazed upon the younger's face. As pale and as cold as the rest of the body, the eyes gently closed shut by Lord Death because he couldn't bear to stare into the blank, lifeless pupils anymore, and the lips pressed together in a slack line. Something wet glistened and ran down Death's face. It didn't take long for him to figure out he was crying. Those closed eyes. Those closed eyes, golden like his own, eyes that reflected his; he wished that it was all just a nightmare, and that he would wake up to see those younger copies of his own eyes open, full of life, and stare at him in confusion and concern, and for the pale lips to part, and for the male teen voice to ask, in the most formal of courteous tones, why his elder was crying. But alas, those young, golden eyes would never open again, nor would those lips ever utter another word -or even open to make way for another exhaled breath- again. Never again. It would never happen.
'Kid... I'm sorry.' the grim reaper uttered shakily, voice nearly cracking as he slowly stroked Kid's pale cheek with a big, gloved thumb. 'I am so sorry. I failed to save you, and now I shall never see you again. Oh, my son.'
Kid was sleeping, but he would never wake up. Forever he would sleep. His death. He died. Lord Death had seen so much of his namesake, he didn't like it, and it did faze him, but he could cope with it even through the struggle. However, now, there was just ONE death he could NOT cope with, and it would haunt him forever.
The passing -no- the murder of his child.
Lord Death finally recovered from crying, and stood up. He grasped his mask in one hand and pulled the bedsheets over Kid's body with the other. He headed towards the door, and with one, last, grieved look -without his mask- at the son he would never see again, the grim reaper uttered to his deceased offspring his last farewell, the overwhelming grief created as equivalent to every moment, every memory, every day they shared as even a small family filled his topaz-coloured glance, and his eight -yes, eight, Kid liked that number- words.
'Goodbye, and rest in peace, Death the Kid.'
He put his mask back on, and exited, closing the door behind him. He hoped silently that the witches were burning in hell for what they had done.