Soul Eater
He jerked awake when the crow flew into the window. He watched as it slid down and fell to the ground below. The room around him lay covered in filth, dirt and blood filled every grimy inch. The creaky bed he sat on had blood on the sheets and pillows. He wondered if it came from him. It didn't seem to be fresh, and he didn't feel any fresh wounds on him. Who was he? He didn't have the faintest idea of his identity, it fell beyond his grasp of thought. All he remembered was the feeling of forever falling, into the black and waking up here. Where is he anyway? At the foot of his bed sat a disfigured teddy bear, with patches of dried, crusty blood on his fur. His stomach turned when he saw the long, blood smeared needle stuck in one of the poor bear's eyes.
Beyond his bed there stood a bloody IV bag on a rusty stand. His eyes scanned the room horrified. The table opposite of the bed was haphazardly covered in things on it that looked vaguely like medical supplies. There, an out of place envelope with bloody fingerprints stood propped against some test tubes. He rose from the bed silently and gingerly picked up the envelope. There was a name scratched on it with blood. Soul. The name ricocheted in his hollow chest until it fell into its own niche perfectly. It was his name, of this he had no doubt. A poorly repressed shudder rolled down his back. Soul gently picked the seal off the letter.
Inside there was a scrawled note from someone who called herself Tsubaki. She begged Soul to escape the asylum he was in. Someone named Maka needed his help desperately. His gut twisted with this news as a scream tried to force its way out of his mouth. His Maka was in trouble! But who was she? A rush of images ran behind his closed eyes as he sank onto the bed. Books. Fighting together. Blonde pigtails blowing in the wind. Piercing emerald eyes that sparkled when she smiled. A sudden stab of pain flashed through his head and cleared his mind of the comforting images. He had to get out of this disturbing room, and make sense of everything.
In a flash he jumped onto his feet again and began to yank on the door that kept him trapped. It refused to budge. With strength he didn't know he possessed he took a step back and kicked the door open. The lock gave in with a crack as the wood splintered. The sound echoed in the dim corridor. The cobwebs and dust covered every inch of the hall. The flickering lights did nothing to make it welcoming. A door on his left stood slightly ajar. On his right moonlight streamed through a poorly boarded up window.
The first thing he saw through the grimy film on the window was the cloud covered moon. He seemed to be on the second floor of the derelict building. Below the window was a large, distraught courtyard that had seen better days, guarded by a foreboding gate. There was also a tall structure across from him, on the far side of the courtyard. It was veiled in such darkness that it seemed black and he felt all the warmth in his body leave with a chill on the nape of his neck. The only warmth he found was thoughts of the girl, Maka. Soul had to find her, protect her, hold her. Maka needed him.
It became evident that there was another resident in the room behind him. The mumbling sound started soft but crescendoed louder before diminishing to a whisper. Soul gently pushed the faded white door open. The room was similar with the one he had found himself in, but this one was oddly organized, almost symmetrical in its arrangement. On the bed a kid curled into a ball sat, rocking back and forth in a straight jacket. Even this close Soul couldn't make out any words, just senseless mumbling. The boy had three odd horizontal white stripes in his black hair, but only on one side. It had a disturbingly asymmetric effect in contrast with the symmetrical room. His eyes held no life in their dark depths, and gazed at imaginary sights. Soul backed out of the room slowly, and shut the door with a click.
At the end of the spooky hall was a flight of stairs, and he crept down, keeping his footsteps quiet and soft on the worn wood. Soul prayed they wouldn't squeak under his weight. The stairwell was dark and he fumbled with the door at the bottom. After a searching without sight his hands found an icy, intricate knob that twisted left and jerked open. The light in the lobby blinded him for a moment. He saw the old-fashioned wicker wheelchair first, then the heart drawn in blood that dripped down the wall. The exit door looked far too solid to just kick open. Soul searched behind the countertop for some sort of key to unlock the door, but soon realized the door did not have a keyhole on the inside. Just a single slot too big for any coin he had ever seen. He turned to survey the room and found nothing else of interest.
Soul paced in circles while his hands tapped out a rhythm only they knew. He wondered if he had ever played the piano before. He paced for what felt like ages and eternities before he realized that there was a loose tile that rocked under his feet. Immediately he dropped to his hands and knees to see what was under the tile. A golden coin lay entombed under the tile. It glimmered in the low light of the lobby. Soul deposited the gleaming coin in the slot. It was a perfect fit. He could hear the sound of the locks clicking open while the coin turned the mechanism.
Soul pushed the heavy door open with a grunt. Before him lay the courtyard. There were many grey uneven cobblestones and wild untrimmed bushes. The dark cathedral he had only glimpsed through those boarded up windows, rose as an imposing guard of the grounds. The fountain in the middle of the courtyard no longer had flowing crystal water, the putrid liquid seemed to ooze out of the spouts and the cracks. The moon hung high in the sky, laughing at his troubles while the heavy clouds formed an eerie halo in the night sky.
Soul set out to maneuver through the crumbling statues, downed tree limbs and fought his way through the foliage. The closer he got to the cathedral the more large and imposing it seemed. The high black roof sported menacing gargoyles with ruby red eyes that seemed to follow him across the courtyard. Ravens, black as night, sat on the eves while bats hung underneath them, mirroring the scene. The tall ebony doors were carved intricately with scenes that could only have come from the mind of someone who had visited hell, so nightmarish were the depictions. Even worse they seemed to contort and move, eyes following him and flames flickering with phantom heat. Prisoners silently screamed while their tormentors laughed.
The door fell outward the moment he touched it, beckoning him in. The cold from inside brushed past him and sent uncontrollable shivers all the way down his spine. Before him lay a hall that went on forever, imposing arches one after another until the candle-lit altar at the end seemed leagues away. Soul inhaled a deep shaky breath and took his first full step inside. The heavy door immediately slammed against his back and knocked him forward onto the cold pavers. He jumped to his feet and began to slam his fists against the door futilely. What stopped him dead was the haunting laugh that chilled him to his core. It came from nowhere and drifted out of the shadows to taunt him.
Soul turned to face the aisle. The pews were in disarray, smothered with cobwebs and often broken and upturned. He slowly approached the altar. In place of the usual cathedral trappings was a large ornate mirror, covered in dust, surrounded by yards of weathered red velvet. Someone had drawn in the thick dust. "Forty two, forty two, five sixty four, Whenever you want to knock on Death's door." Soul knew he had heard the creepy rhyme before. He tore off a bit of the heavy red drapes to uncover the surface of the mirror. He dusted the surface of the mirror carefully, he even wiped the cobwebs off the dark wood frame. Soul stood back entranced by his reflection. Before him stood a tall young man dressed in a black pinstripe suit with a blood red shirt and black tie. He had shocking white hair and deep red eyes. The man's teeth had been sharpened into triangular points.
So stunned by his own appearance Soul did not immediately notice a red tint that was slowly engulfing the mirror. He did see a small black mark in the previously pristine mirror, and it was growing larger. Soul reached up to feel the surface, he was sure he had removed all of the dust and soot. His heart throbbed when he saw there was a person reaching up through the red mirror. Startlingly, the whole world pitched over and Soul fell onto the surface. Now the ground, spread for as far as you could see was blood red mirror, no buildings anywhere. He began to pound on the the mirror, his fists rebounding on the surface . Unexpectedly, it yielded to his beating and sucked his arm in the red waters beyond. The girl under the mirror was much closer now. Soul reached to help her with his arm reaching as far as he could. It was Maka. He knew it in his soul.
Closer. Almost there. Together they reached until they brushed fingertips. They clasped their hands together with practiced familiarity. Soul tugged on her arm as hard as he could and grasped her strong hand with both of his. At her touch their souls began to resonate automatically. This resonance cleared Soul's head of all confusion, the calm of routine sank in. He knew who he was again. He was Soul Eater Evans, Demon Scythe. Partner to Maka Albarn, the girl he was trying to save. Soul was caught off balance when the void trapping Maka gave way. Soul caught her, but only just barely and sank to the ground with her in his arms. The mirror world around them melted away and he was back at the Asylum, sitting on the front steps of the Cathedral.
Through the open doors of the Cathedral behind him, Soul saw that the mirror was gone. But he no longer cared. Maka was asleep in his arms and look no worse for wear than the last time he had seen her. She was wearing his favorite black dress, with black ribbons in bows on her pigtails and her black gloves. Soul carefully picked her up and walked toward the large gate that lay behind many thorns and bushes. Before it was locked tight but as if by some strange magic it was now wide open. With Maka cradled tightly in his arms, Soul left the asylum behind, the dancing wind playing a haunting lullaby in the abandoned place.