Author's Notes:
OK GUYS! Let's keep this short. First time writing Soul Eater, a really short, dark drabble that popped up out of nowhere. Seriously, it's depressing and ends pretty abruptly. This is based on the thought of, "What if Maka and Soul hadn't made it into the barrier in time, (during the finale) what if something happened and they got knocked out for the remainder of the battle, thus not defeating the Kishin until later? WELL, this is how I wrote so much angst ! Flames are welcomed, bring it on.
Disclaimer: I DO NOT AND NEVER WILL OWN SOUL EATER! May the force be with you…
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He was curled into a tight ball, a shaking mess on the bloodied floor. He was crying and screaming right in front of her, and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. And boy was it a frightening sight to behold. Maka Albarn can honestly say she didn't expect things to turn out like this, so horrible. It wasn't her intention for her blunder to cause him so much anguish, even if she was only gone for a very short time. Too bad her mistake caused him to be "left behind", as she would call it, as well.
If only she had been there. But they didn't belong here anymore. She knew that, so very well, as she ran to Soul's side. The scythe was nearly pulling his hair out from the stress of all those "if only's" running though his own mind. And she tried, fought so hard to make his pain go away while keeping her own under wraps by clutching him close to her chest.
She tried to sooth his shattered soul, despite the pathetic whimpers ghosting past her lips, and crystalline tears bursting from her emerald eyes. They cascaded slowly down her cheeks as something occurred to her. She wouldn't even Maka-Chop him if he called her "Tiny-Tits" right now. If those cries and shrieks of agony he was emitting would seize, she would welcome the hated nickname with open arms. The red-eyed teen seemed to, finally, notice her presence.
Both still battling the inner turmoil, he encased his Meister in his own arms possessively, grasping desperately for someone he knew that was still there. It was in return for her earlier attempt at comfort, but then she made a lapse of poor judgment by looking where she shouldn't have, somewhere that wasn't Soul. Or his eyes, or his hair, or the surprisingly un-punctured chest she was leaning into. Whatever it may be, she should not have taken a glance to the side. For she would see was what war looked like.
The destroyed battle-ground, the array of bodies surrounding them, most being stiff corpses lying at odd angles. There were very few that were recognizable or weren't a total inhuman catastrophe. It was so much worse, unbelievably more painful when she found she could actually identify a few marred, but familiar faces among the rubble.
And a blood-curdling scream finally ripped from her throat, disturbing the stillness of the dead air. Soul only squeezed tighter and ran shaky hands through her discolored ashy-blond tresses splashed with red, his own white hair stained and tainted with blood alike. He didn't dare look around. If his courageous meister could not fathom even a glance, it would break him completely. Besides, who else would comfort the terrified girl in his arms? The world had evolved from that time they both knew so well in just a few hours, one of "weapons" and "meisters". It was unbearable, too much to take in at once. Everyone was gone.
Tsubaki, with her bright smile and kind personality, vanished. Maka needed that smile so much right now, it could light the darkness her and her weapon were being engulfed by. Black Star and his confident claims of surpassing God… had been silenced. And Soul wondered how that blue-haired, dear, strong friend could have been broken down so effortlessly. Liz, easy-going, nail-painting Liz, was nowhere to be found. They needed to hear her voice, feel her soothing, mother-like nature.
Patty…why couldn't she come and spout some nonsense about giraffes? If she was here, laughter could be brought to the surface again. So why, why wasn't that innocent girl spared? And both girls' meister, the young, so very young, shinigami Death The Kid. How the pair wished he would materialize in front of them. Then throw a depressed tantrum about Maka's pigtails being completely asymmetrical, and proceed to fix them like everything was totally normal and right in their world. Even Lord Death, her Papa and the other Death Scythes, Sid, Stein, Blair, and Chrona had dropped off the face of this stupid Earth.
And it was they, Soul and Maka, who were to blame. Or so they tell themselves, because they weren't there, didn't make it in time to somehow elude this tragedy. They beat the Kishin, but the cost of their screw up was far too great. If only they had arrived before the damage could be taken, not hours later when it was over and done with. If only she were faster, fast enough to get through that ever-closing barrier and save even a single one of their beloved friends... just a few seconds faster!
If only I was stronger, Soul thought to himself. If only he weren't so afraid. Not so terrified of losing his sanity- or worse, Maka. If only they could teleport back in time to, at the very least, unleash all words left floating in the air, unspoken between them because of dread and doubt, the madness created by the Kishin himself. But there is no use in wishing for a different outcome. The damage had been done and could not be reversed, not now, not ever.
At least they still had each other. They weren't totally alone on this twisted planet. But what if that would never be enough? What if time could never heal this, heal them? What then? Maka brokenly whispered this to Soul, and he could only come up with one answer.
"We've got to keep pushing forward… somehow. C'mon Maka, it's time to let go." Then he kissed her for all it was worth, roaming through forbidden territory that he'd never dared go into before. Soul was done being afraid, he couldn't afford it. He had to be stronger for this girl in his arms. The bold, desperateness in the action was worth a whole lot to Maka, who soon gave in and pressed her lips harder to his, craving his touch and clinging to that boy like a lifeline. The reason she existed, that was what he had now become to her.
With that, they rose from the battle-field, covered in blood and worn from all those futile attacks. And you could see two figures, with hands meshed and linked to form one. A girl's pigtails swaying in the gentle breeze, as a white haired boy's shark-like teeth glistened in the moronically chuckling sun. They kept on walking lazily, but with purpose, out of a vacant Death City and into the cruel Nevada desert. They would never turn back.
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