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There was a reason, Dr. Franken Stein mused, tasting the warm night breeze, why it was called Soul Perception. Not Soul Vision, or Soul Sight, or Soul Scrying. Soul Perception implied so much more than an ability tied to the power of one's eyes. Eyes, after all, could so easily be deceived. Humans—from the extremes of purity and corruption that seemed mere distortions of humanity to the whole range of lovely, chaotic in-betweens that seemed to define it—were so easily blinded. Sight was narrow, limited. Dr. Stein had to give his students some credit on his tests when they tried to describe Soul Perception as the ability to see souls—after all, few developed their Soul Perception enough to understand it beyond the scopes of vision—but he took perverse pleasure in docking a point or two from students who would otherwise receive perfect scores. Still, there was a twinge of disappointment; not a single student seemed to really understand.

Soul Perception was so much more.

It was the sound of a soul's unique vibrations—the more musically inclined might call it a soul's song. It was the singular smell a soul exuded, faint to be sure, but lingering for as long as years in places where a soul had experienced intense emotion. It was a taste carried on the air currents, a taste even weapons could not sense when they ate corrupted souls, and a feeling, a ghostly brush against the skin like fur or scales or leaves or stone. It was a tightening in the gut, the stirring of instinct. Soul Perception relied on all of the senses. That was why it was so damned hard to fool.

Stein? What're you thinking about? The voice transmitted through the cold metal of the huge black scythe the doctor held casually in his hands. An image appeared in the long, graceful blade, an image of a man with chin-length red hair and bright turquoise eyes. Hey, Stein, you listening to me? asked the man in the scythe.

Stein blinked behind his large, circular glasses. "Hmm?" His lips twitched into a smile that looked out of place on his face, characterized as it was by emotionless eyes and marred by a large scar that curved across his left cheek. "Yes, I'm listening, Spirit."

Focus, Spirit Albarn chided. We're on a mission, remember? We can't afford to mess this up.

Stein sighed, twisting the huge screw that poked out of his messy gray hair. "Of course."

Soooo…are you picking anything up? Spirit wanted to know.

"Yes," the doctor replied. He inhaled deeply through his nose and listened intently to the noises of the city below. He rose from his crouch on the roof of the church. "They're on the move. They're heading east, through the slums. They may be aware that they are being pursued; it is difficult to be certain just by reading the emotions they are emitting."

Of course they know they're being chased, Spirit grumbled. They must've known they would be the minute they stepped foot in Death City. What I don't get is why they came in the first place. Are they suicidal, or something?

"It does seem a rather illogical step," agreed Stein, frowning slightly. "And they must have some measure of cleverness to have evaded capture for so long. I wonder what they're planning." He squared his shoulders and readjusted his grip on Spirit's staff. "I suppose we'll find out soon enough. Are you ready?"

Spirit smiled dangerously. Let's go.

Stein took off at a run, heading straight for the edge of the roof. He used Spirit's staff to pole vault over the gap between the church and the next building over. His long white lab coat, crisscrossed with large, uneven stitches, flapped behind him. Stein landed easily, off again almost the instant his feet connected with the hard shingle. Eyes closed, he moved confidently forward, guided unerringly by his Soul Perception.

So tell me more about these two, Spirit enjoined Stein. I know they're a runaway Death Scythe and meister, but I wasn't paying attention to the rest.

"You were unconscious," pointed out Stein, amused. "You were being irritating, so Lord Death gave you a Reaper Chop."

Totally undeserved, Spirit muttered. So, you gonna tell me or not?

Without bothering to open his eyes, Stein told Spirit what he knew. "The two were affiliated with one of the DWMA branches. The one in Japan, I believe. They weren't enrolled as actual students, but they took on missions and were working to collect their one hundred souls."

Is that even possible? asked Spirit, frowning. I thought all technicians and demon weapons had to train and take classes at the schools.

"Yes, it is possible. Although it is rare, some meisters and weapons work outside of the school system. They are, essentially, bounty hunters, or mercenaries. They are unable to achieve rank, so there are fewer missions they officially qualify for, and they are unable to use resources such as the libraries. They must follow the rules about only killing those on Lord Death's list and protecting the innocent. If, against all odds, they succeed in creating a Death Scythe, the weapon must be turned over to Lord Death, and is registered officially at a school to begin training."

I don't see why you wouldn't become a student and get the training in the first place. Hunting pre-kishins and witches is dangerous—the schools' classes are meant to help you survive, Spirit said.

"There are various reasons not to enroll. But you are correct; if your ultimate goal is to create a Death Scythe, the best course of action is to sign up as a student from the very beginning."

So what's the story with these two? Spirit asked, bringing the conversation back to his original question.

"They managed to collect all ninety-nine of the required kishin eggs in just two years, quickly even for regular students. Then they took on a witch—unofficially, since the mission called for a two- or three-star pair. It appears that they somehow managed to defeat the witch, but afterwards, they disappeared instead of reporting in for Death Scythe training. They were declared rogue and have been on the run from DWMA agents for the last seven months."

Have they caused any trouble?

"Not that we know of. But we do not know what they are up to. They may be in collusion with enemies of the DWMA. We have to keep tabs on all Death Scythes. They are powerful tools of destruction, no matter whose hands they are in."

I know, Spirit replied. Besides, running off like that betrays Lord Death's trust. The number one loyalty of a weapon or meister should always be to the Reaper. Running looks suspicious at best.

"Exactly."

So, what else do you know? Names, ages, genders, appearances?

"Not much. The technician should be a female, the weapon a male. The tech uses the initial 'M,' which may refer to a first name, a last name, or simply 'meister.' Beyond that…we have nothing."

Then how the hell are you tracking their souls? demanded Spirit. How can you be so certain it's them we're chasing?

"Death Scythes have a very distinctive…flavor…to their souls. I have met all the registered Death Scythes, and this soul wavelength does not match any of them."

…Oh.

The two fell silent. Stein ran quietly but quickly, leaping from rooftop to rooftop effortlessly, even with his eyes shut tight. Spirit listened to the vibrations the doctor was giving off: curiosity, excitement, calculation, and a hint of bloodlust—not a lot, just enough to get the job done, but Spirit would keep an eye on him anyway, as he always did, to make sure that the man didn't get too carried away. Stein was a genius, the best technician the Death Weapon Meister Academy had ever seen, but his recovering mind had not yet fully stabilized.

Stein stiffened abruptly, and his eyes snapped open. "They're here," he told Spirit tersely, upping his pace. He jumped the gap between a restaurant and a bakery and skidded to a halt at the edge of the roof overlooking the street below. His piercing hazel eyes scanned the deserted street below. "There," he murmured as his gaze fell upon a small, dark figure bearing a large scythe emerging from an alley across the street. As if the doctor's low voice had somehow carried, the figure started and looked directly up at Stein and the Death Scythe. Immediately, the fugitive took off running, skirting around the yellow pools of light spilled by the streetlamps. "And so it begins," Stein muttered, a note of hungry anticipation in his voice. The doctor leaped fearlessly off the roof, landed with a soft thud on the cobblestones below, and took off in hot pursuit of his quarry.

The target kept to the shadows, skillfully navigating around every patch of light. She—Stein assumed, because he couldn't get a clear view—had obviously had a great deal of experience with this sort of situation. She used her surroundings to her greatest advantage, knocking things over with the butt of her scythe as she passed to impede Stein's progress, slipping through narrow gaps that the larger man had to find a way around, taking routes that passed over rickety boxes, fences, and planks that threatened to collapse under Stein's greater weight. Nevertheless, Stein knew that he was slightly faster than she was, and if he had tried, he might have been able to catch up with her. But Stein had quickly noticed that his quarry, despite her attempts to lose him, had a specific destination in mind. Her stride was far too purposeful for someone with only escape in mind, and her detours always curved back towards what seemed to be a predetermined path. Deciding to see where she intended to go, Stein let her keep the lead.

Hey, Stein…Spirit said slowly, looking at the familiar buildings and streets as they raced by. This place…

Stein nodded sharply. He recognized the area, too. "What are they looking for here?" he wondered aloud.

You don't think…

"That would be highly unlikely."

But minutes later, Stein was proven incorrect. The rogue meister whipped around a corner and turned onto a street dominated on one side by high concrete wall that looked as though it had been sliced apart and sewn back together by a giant with unsteady hands. She ran right up to the gate that bisected the wall and, using her scythe to propel herself into the air, cleared it easily. What do you know, Spirit remarked grimly. What do you think she wants at your lab, Stein?

"I don't know," Stein replied, equally grim. "Shall we find out?" He sprinted toward the gate. He didn't bother to unlock it, opting for the faster method of launching himself over with the help of the scythe. A small cloud of dirt puffed into the air upon his landing on the other side. He straightened, Soul Perception drawing his eyes immediately to his prey, though she had retreated into the shadows of the front porch of his laboratory and home.

"Are you done running away?" Stein called to her, resting the butt of Spirit's staff on the ground and leaning against the Death Scythe as though settling in for a long chat. Spirit knew that beneath the relaxed demeanor, Stein was completely alert, ready to spring into battle at a moment's notice.

"What do you want?" The rogue meister's voice was definitely female. She sounded much younger than either Spirit or Stein had expected. Her tone was hard with determination and a world-weariness that didn't fit her youthful voice.

You know what we're here for! snapped Spirit. Don't play stupid!

"Humor me," the girl said coolly.

"Easy, Spirit," murmured Stein, feeling the weapon's soul bristling. Addressing the rogue meister, he said in his driest tones, "We are here to take you and your Death Scythe into custody. You will be questioned, by myself and a Death Scythe, and possibly by Lord Death. Your fate will then be determined. To be perfectly frank," he added, eyes narrowing, "it doesn't look good for you. Your flight from duty is an act of treason; you will likely be stripped of the souls you have collected, and you may face incarceration."

"I cannot allow that to happen. I will not." The runaway scythe technician stepped forward out of the shadows, and Stein and Spirit finally had the opportunity to examine her and her Death Scythe.

The girl was a study of contradictions. She was probably in her late teens, but her small stature and two sand-colored ponytails made her appear much younger. Fierce green eyes that had clearly seen too much in a short lifetime belied the soft innocence of the rest of her face. She wore a demure white blouse and sleeveless yellow pullover with a green-and-white-striped tie, but her red plaid skirt was cut perilously short. She had combined her school girl look with a long black trench coat and heavy-duty combat boots. She was built along slim, delicate lines, but she held a scythe that looked heavier than she was with obvious ease.

The scythe's appearance was unusual as well. Most weapons' coloring followed the natural shades of the materials they were made of—a range of browns for various woods and gray, silver, black, and the occasional gold or copper for metal. The blade of this scythe was divided by a jagged line, above which the metal was jet black, and below which it was a bold scarlet. At the meeting of the blade and the staff rested a large, circular eye with a crimson iris. A decorative gold piece framed the eye with rays like a sun. The staff was a bright silver where it was attached to the blade, but about a foot down the metal changed abruptly, losing its bright sheen and darkening significantly.

Stein was particularly intrigued by the pair's souls. The meister's, at first glance, looked absolutely normal, which in and of itself set off alarm bells in Stein's head. A meister who had accomplished as much as this one should have anything but an ordinary soul. But this girl's soul was small, apparently unexceptional. Stein took a moment to look into the soul's character, and found a personality as contrary as the girl's appearance suggested: serious, but inclined toward cheerfulness; innocent, but distrustful; intelligent, but impulsive; fearful, but determined; honest, but not open. He filed the information away in case he could use it later and made one more attempt to probe her soul, seeking the secret he was certain was locked away in the depths of her being, but he detected nothing unusual, just a fluttering sound and a feeling like feathers brushing against his soul.

The doctor turned his attention to the weapon. Unlike in the case of the meister, Stein could immediately name this soul's abnormality. The very nature of this soul was twisted and dark. When Stein tried to penetrate it with his Soul Perception, his mind felt like it was being stretched into a ribbon and then turned and twirled and wound into a knot. The harder Stein pressed, the further he was drawn into the soul's convolutions. He hastily pulled back, frowning. He could list a handful of reasons why a soul might become so tangled, but this did not feel like insanity or a highly complex personality or purposefully designed defenses. It felt more like…claustrophobia. How perplexing.

Stein was so focused on his study of the souls of the renegade Death Scythe and meister that it took him some time to notice the distress of the weapon in his own hands. However, as he disengaged his Soul Perception to mull over what he had found, he picked up on Spirit's agitation. "What is it?" he murmured to the Death Scythe.

The girl…breathed Spirit. He sounded dazed.

"Isn't she a bit young for you?" prodded Stein, when it was clear that Spirit was too distracted to continue.

She…she looks like…Kami.

Surprised, Stein looked at the girl again. He hadn't known Spirit's wife very well, but they had met a few times before she had disappeared almost eighteen years ago, and Spirit had shoved plenty of pictures of her in his face. Yes, he now saw that the girl bore a very strong resemblance to Kami; he ought to have noticed before. "It is possible they are related," Stein said thoughtfully. "Her daughter, perhaps? She looks young enough. Perhaps Kami found another man after she left." Stein felt Spirit flinch at that possibility through their soul link.

The girl cut into their conversation. "You're not…the man who lives here, are you?" Stein and Spirit turned to her. While they had been taking in her appearance, she had been studying them just as intently. It didn't surprise Stein that she had drawn this conclusion; the building that contained Stein's laboratory and the concrete wall that surrounded the perimeter were covered in the same stitch patterns that marked Stein's clothing and face.

"I am," Stein acknowledged.

"And you work for Shibusen?"

"I do." Stein didn't miss the bitter disappointment that flashed across the girl's face, as though a hope she had cherished had suddenly been snuffed out, though the girl quickly buried the emotion. Resignedly, the renegade meister readied her Death Scythe. She murmured something to her weapon that Stein did not catch before meeting Stein's gaze once more, eyes glinting with resolve.

"I assume I'll have to fight you if I'm to go on my way," she said tonelessly.

"That is correct," Stein affirmed. He tilted his head, and the moonlight gleamed menacingly off his glasses. "Shall we begin?"

Without replying, the girl charged forward. Faster than lightning, Stein dropped his relaxed stance and swung Spirit up into a block. The two Death Scythes slammed together with a ringing crash. Stein blinked, surprised by the force behind the girl's blow. She was much stronger than she looked. He snapped a leg up and under the locked scythes, aiming a knee at the girl's stomach. Immediately she spun out of the way, fluidly turning the dodge into another slice. Stein parried easily before twisting Spirit around to swipe at the girl's legs. She jumped over the sweeping scythe, ponytails swaying madly, and chopped down at Stein's shoulder. Dodging, he swung the butt of Spirit's staff toward the girl's ribcage, but she knocked the blow away.

Stein constantly analyzed and reanalyzed the girl's movements as he exchanged strikes and parries with her. To the untrained eye, her fighting style seemed simplistic—a mixture of traditional scythe weapon forms and basic martial arts techniques. But her flawless execution, exquisite timing, expert exploitation of weaknesses, and unique combinations would spell catastrophe for the one to underestimate her. In short, she was strong, fast, smart, and deadly, and Stein felt a glimmer of respect for her. It was time to stop messing around.

The girl angled her scythe for an upslash. Stein flipped Spirit around his hands and thrust the Death Scythe into a block. The moment he felt the collision of the two weapons, he twisted Spirit to lock the scythe blades together. In the space of the two heartbeats he knew the girl would need to free her weapon, Stein released one hand's grip on Spirit's staff and jabbed his open palm towards her abdomen. His wavelength shifted, concentrating in his hand, manifesting in crackling white sparks skipping off his skin. The girl tried to jerk away, but Stein was too fast. The heel of his hand slammed into her stomach. "Soul Purge!" he shouted, releasing the pent up wavelengths into the girl's body. The crackling light exploded; the girl was knocked off her feet. She hit the ground hard and skidded back several yards. Her grip on her scythe never loosened; almost immediately she scrambled back to her feet.

"You can attack directly with your soul wavelength," the rogue meister rasped. She coughed, grimaced, and spat a mouthful of blood on the ground. "Damn," she muttered under her breath.

Stein lifted an eyebrow. "Not many would recognize that attack," the doctor commented. The girl shrugged, readjusting her grip on her Death Scythe and sliding her feet apart into a defensive stance. Interpreting this as his cue, Stein darted forward to engage her once more. The screech of metal against metal once more rent the air.

Crimson and black streaks burned into the technicians' vision as the Death Scythes whirled in an endless dance in which one misstep could mean death. The speed and ferocity of the blows intensified, while blocks grew ever more aggressive. Stein and the renegade meister traded offense and defense so quickly that the one soon blended into the other. The girl was good, Stein had to admit to himself—good enough to provide a refreshing challenge. She wisely was keeping herself well out of reach of his Soul Purge attack. The thin trail of blood trickling from the corner of her mouth testified to the internal damage Stein had done with the first hit; many more of those, and it would be a corpse he and Spirit brought before Lord Death.

Cloth tore. Stein stumbled slightly, blood welling up around a gash on his thigh. It hurt like hell, but it didn't feel deep, so he chose to ignore it. He aimed a sideways slash at the girl, whipping Spirit's staff around towards her head when she blocked the first attack. She dodged and aimed a left hook at his diaphragm. He caught her fist and yanked her towards him, pulling her off balance. She smoothly transformed her stumble into a forward roll, hitting the ground briefly before surging instantly back onto her feet. She whirled around to face him, bringing her scythe up to defend herself, but wasn't quite fast enough. A ripping sound filled the air as Spirit's blade sliced through layers of clothing like warm butter. Cold metal bit into flesh, burning its way down to bone. The girl let slip a strangled sound of pain and pulled back, hand clamped over a deep wound on her collarbone. Teeth gritted, she pulled her bloodstained hand away from the injured shoulder and fastened it once more on her scythe, just in time to yank it up and block Stein's next attack. There was barely a tremor in her guard.

The battle was reaching the point where both fighters needed to draw on their extra reserves of strength. The power behind their blows did not falter, but neither was moving as quickly as before. Stein picked up cuts on his hand, calf, and biceps. The girl bled from deep wounds on her side and hip; blood oozing from a scratch over her left eye threatened her vision. Both were layered with bruises they didn't remember receiving. Beads of perspiration speckled their skin.

Stein darted around a diagonal slice and threw himself into a counterattack. The girl backpedaled, spinning her scythe around her hands to deflect a storm of rapid jabs. Stein aimed a powerful blow at her hands, which she avoided just in time, and then kicked at the girl's injured shoulder. She ducked just a hair too slowly; the kick grazed her wound and made her stumble backwards. The whirlwind of calculations, analyses, questions, and plans in Stein's mind began to slow, calmed by a wave of crystalline focus that spread through him like cool liquid. His heartbeat quickened minutely. Stein recognized these signs; it meant that his body sensed imminent victory. The girl was fast losing ground. Her breathing came in labored heaves. Blood dripped steadily from her wounds, painting the ground beneath their feet scarlet. Her blocks lacked their previous force, and she attacked with less precision. Despite her best efforts, she favored her wounds.

Somehow, the renegade meister kept fighting, even though her expression said that she knew she was losing. Her eyes retained their steely glint of determination, and every line of her body spoke of defiance against the inevitable. A flicker of admiration invaded Stein's mind. He quashed it immediately, hardening his already icy heart. He hammered at her defenses relentlessly. Side sweep. Overhead chop. Jab. Jab. Slash. Upper cut. Side sweep. Jab. Stein felt the girl's arms shake as she knocked aside each blow. With every attack, she was driven back another step. Upper cut. Low strike. Thrust. Down slash.

The girl slipped slightly on a small pool of her own blood. It was all the opening Stein needed. Energy roared through his veins as he slammed Spirit down on her scythe, smashing through her guard. Spirit's staff crashed into her ribs. Cracks assailed Stein's ears as the girl's bones snapped like dry twigs underfoot. Impossibly, she managed to stay on her feet, but the gesture was meaningless. In the next moment, Stein was right in front of her. For a single eternal instant, his hard, ruthless eyes stared right into her stubborn, pain-clouded ones. Then Stein thrust both hands forward, stabbing his fingers into her abdomen.

"Double Soul Purge!"

White hot light blazed, and a thundering boom shook the earth. The rogue meister was blasted backwards. Blood spurted between her lips. Her weapon slipped from limp fingers. She landed in a crumpled heap, bad shoulder jammed against the ground, hair spilling over her face, and lay still. Her Death Scythe fell, clattering, several feet away.

MAKA! MAKA! MAKAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

The deep, rough voice cried out heart-wrenchingly from the fallen Death Scythe. Raw panic shone visibly in the weapon's huge red eye. Stein slowly approached the defeated meister, keeping one wary eye on the weapon. The Death Scythe in his own hands glowed for a moment before disappearing, replaced by a tall, redheaded man with turquoise eyes.

No! shouted the crimson and black Death Scythe on the ground. Stay away from her!

The redhead glanced at the other Death Scythe. "Aren't you going to transform and defend your meister?" he asked. "That's what I would be doing." He followed after Stein. The two men stood shoulder to shoulder, looking down at the girl, who was barely conscious.

"She probably won't make it back to the school," Stein commented. "She's losing too much blood. It's fortunate that our orders didn't specify whether to bring her back dead or alive. It might be better if I…" He began to bend down, a hand stretching out toward the girl's unmoving form.

NOOOOO! roared the rogue Death Scythe. Intense light glowed around the weapon. Stein paused to watch. For several long seconds, nothing happened. Then the scythe's outline started to shake, to twist and stretch. Both Stein's and Spirit's eyes, riveted on the transfiguration, widened. Something was very, very wrong. They stared as the heel of the scythe bubbled and writhed and slowly morphed into the head and shoulders of a boy with a mane of bone white hair. Half of his face pressed against the ground, the boy wrenched his shoulders, struggling to pull himself free of the weapon. The surface of the scythe blade rippled, and a single arm ripped itself from the metal, still glowing as though it wasn't sure it wanted to remain flesh and blood. The moment it was loose, it scrabbled on the earth, straining to drag the boy's partially transformed body toward the fallen meister.

"Maka…Makaaaaaaa…" the boy strangled out, voice pulling itself painfully from half-formed chest and lungs. His lips parted in a grimace of intense concentration, revealing jagged teeth. The glow around the scythe blade brightened, and the metal at last yielded to a second arm. The arm scraped over the ground as the boy began to crawl. Little by little, the bright silver part of the shaft melted into skin, until the boy's torso was almost complete. The dark part of the staff remained stubbornly unchanged, the light dimmer around its dull metal. It dragged pitifully behind the boy as he strove to reach the girl he called Maka.

Stein and Spirit watched silently, petrified. They had seen many horrors before, but this eerie scene shook even their toughened souls. Weapon transformation was supposed to be instantaneous, effortless. The sight of this weapon's struggle to return to its natural human form, the shape in which it had been born, was gruesome, perverse. The sound of the boy's ragged gasps grated on their ears. The metal shaft scraped over the ground with an awful grinding noise. The boy's arms shook with the strain of moving his malformed body. He was unable to even lift his bare chest from the cold earth. The glow around his staff pulsed weakly. The fifteen-foot distance between him and his meister took an eternity to cross. Face contorted into a fierce snarl of determination, the weapon heaved himself forward, inch by painful inch.

As he drew closer to his goal, the weapon's staff finally finished its transmutation. White light hid the dark, dull metal, and the shape shifted, widening as it prepared to become human hip and leg. There was one final flash, and the boy's body convulsed. Fully human, he half-lunged, half-fell across the last few feet separating him from his meister, landing gracelessly beside her. He brought his palms underneath his chest and roughly shoved himself up, turning his body to shield the girl, back hovering over her, one arm braced against the ground, the other flung to the side as if to block the fallen meister from her enemies' view. There were two sharp intakes of breath as the doctor and the senior Death Scythe at last beheld the weapon's human form in its entirety.

They first noticed the eyes, no longer hidden under the shadow of the weapon's wild white hair. It was a true testimony to their power that they drew attention away from the rest of the boy's body even for a moment. The blood red eyes seemed to shine with their own inner light. They burned with such intensity that one wondered how it was that anything that became the object of their gaze did not immediately ignite. The ruby depths churned with a vortex of raw emotion—fury, pain, loyalty, terror, despair, hatred, sorrow, guilt, rebellion, resoluteness. As when he had looked upon the weapon's convoluted soul, Stein found that he had to turn his eyes away. What they fell upon was a nightmare.

Clad in only dark, threadbare jeans and an amulet dangling from a black leather thong around his neck, the young Death Scythe shivered, despite the warmth of summer night's air. The history of a difficult life was written in battle scars crisscrossing his exposed skin. The thick, ropy scars, like the one running from his left shoulder to right hip, spoke of how close he had come, multiple of times, to losing his life before reaching his twentieth year. But it wasn't the scars that made the breath catch in Stein's lungs.

Scraps of dark, dull metal were embedded in the boy's flesh along the right side of his body. One scrap was buried in his hip. Two strips traced the curves of a pair of ribs. Metal bulged from his collarbone and shoulder, and more spiked down his right arm. Slivers were nestled along his jaw and sliced across his right temple. Tanned skin blanched where it met the dark shards. The metal seemed to be the same as that which made up most of the weapon's staff in his scythe form, the same metal that had been so reluctant to transform into human tissue.

Stein's eyes travelled down the young Death's Scythe's body, noting each place where metal distorted flesh. Then his gaze fell on something he had not spotted earlier, and he felt all the moisture depart from his mouth. The weapon's right leg…it was gone, cut off halfway down the thigh. The boy's jeans caved in, empty, beyond the stump.

Crippled. By the Reaper, it was a crippled weapon. Stein felt bile rise in his throat as an unfamiliar, unwelcome feeling swept through him. Pity. It tasted foul. At his side, he could feel Spirit's soul reeling with a similar, but much stronger emotion. That wasn't surprising. After all, the redhead was a weapon, too, and more prone to feelings like kinship and empathy. Neither man could tear his eyes away from the sight. The boy seemed to be struggling to hold himself up. His feral red eyes narrowed with pain even as he glared at the two men from whom he shielded his meister. His muscles shook uncontrollably. Sweat ran in rivulets down his body. Every shallow breath he drew in rattled loudly in his chest.

"I…won't let you…touch…my meister," the boy hissed through clenched teeth. A shudder tore through his frame, and he almost collapsed, keeping himself hovering over his meister only through sheer force of will.

There was a quiet rustling behind the weapon. "Soul…" a faint voice whispered, barely loud enough for Stein and Spirit to hear. "Don't…" The meister, somehow still conscious, coughed weakly. Blood spilled from her lips. She tried to reach out to her weapon, but could only move one hand enough to brush her fingers against his.

Without warning, the weapon doubled over, a muffled groan forcing itself from his throat. The metal in his skin began to glow. "No…" he moaned. His trembling muscles began to spasm more violently. He strove to pull himself upright, but his body refused to support his weight, and he thudded to the ground. His fists clenched until his knuckles were white and the tendons in his arms stood out visibly beneath his skin. His sharp teeth tore into his bottom lip until it bled as he fought his own body. The glow spread from the metal to his skin. "No!" he roared. The light dimmed and brightened as he fought the transformation back into his weapon form. His back arched, and he cried out once more in agony and frustration. Then his body went limp as he blacked out. Immediately, the white light overtook him and he changed back into a red and black scythe.

"Soul," the girl called softly. Her fingers slid over the scythe and slowly clenched around the staff. Her eyes drifted shut, and she followed her partner into oblivion.

Author's Note:

First: I tried to write a chapter story once. It sucked. I didn't finish. That was a couple of years ago, maybe? We'll see how this one works. I actually have a plot planned. I'm going to try to update once a week. Most chapters will not be this long.

Also: I am looking for a beta reader for this story. Tried to get one…waited two weeks for a reply…got really impatient…sorry! I am a horrible, flawed, impatient human being! Anyway, I am looking for someone mean who will give me the honest truth when I write something that sucks or doesn't make sense. You'll probably need to be really good at editing fight scenes ('cause I suck at them. See evidence above.)

Penultimate: I am happy to take suggestions. Please. Ask away.

Last: I pray to my deity that this is the longest Author's note I will ever write in my life. Ever.