Happy December, dearest Poke, and merry Christmas even though you don't celebrate it! Enjoy this strange little AU-ish creation o' mine, ma petite amie.
"Burn the witch!" they cried. She run as fast as she could, the giant scythe in her hands. Her long black cloak billowed behind her, snagging itself on the occasional twig sticking from a fallen branch. The entire population of a small town was after her, armed with torches and pitchforks and out for blood.
"Turn right here!" A nervous whisper came from the scythe. The girl hurled herself to the right, into the shadows of the forest. Even if they could outrun the mod, their footprints would lend a clear path. Before them stood a small cabin. The snow in front of it was packed down, covered with a maze of footprints.
"It's unlocked. I'll show you where to go once we get in." Not bother to ask for any explanation, the girl entered the cabin, leaning against the door as she slammed it shut. In a quick flash of white light, the scythe she was holding transformed into a boy, about her age. While she tried to slow her breath, he searched around for some sort of trapdoor.
"Aha!" With a soft click, he revealed a ladder inside of a cupboard leading down into a dark hole. "Come on, they'll get here any minute."
As if on cue, the sounds of the angry townspeople came from outside. They banged on the door, yelling furiously.
"Open the door, we know you're in there!" The door just hardly clung to its inches as the two crawled into the cupboard.
The boy closed the door behind them just as the townspeople burst into the house. They'd never never think to search a tiny cupboard, let alone suspect it held all that it did.
"Where are we going?" the girl whispered a couple minutes after they'd just barely managed escape.
"You'll see," he assured her. A light began to reveal itself at the bottom of the hole. Finally climbing down the last of the ladder, they were greeted by a bunch of people. At first glance there was nothing special about them, but the girl, she knew better. They were just like the two of them—outcasts of this hate-filled world.
Death weapons and their meisters.
"Great to see you're back Soul!" A blue-haired boy came up to the boy she'd entered with, doing one of those bro-hug things that seem to be popular with guys. A black-haired girl ran up behind him, a small smile on her face.
"Hi," she said softly. "You must be a friend of Soul. I'm Tsubaki."
"Maka," the girl said, still stunned by what she was experiencing.
There were more people like her? For years she thought that being able to see wavelengths from people's souls was all in her head. That was before she met Soul, just a week ago—before he'd ruined her life. The moment they met she knew there was something something about him. He'd explained to her the concept of death weapons and that he was one. They were destined for each other, he'd told her.
"Well, Maka," he said, interrupting her thoughts, "welcome to the DWMA."
Soul introducing her to the DWMA was one of the best things to ever happen to Maka. The academy, as they called themselves, served the purpose of providing a safe place for death weapons and meisters run out of town because of their abilities. Apparently Soul had been a part of them his whole life, and had dedicated his time searching for weapons and meisters on the run.
Funny enough, he claimed that he and Maka were compatible with each other. She was the only meister who could wield him, and he was the only weapon she could wield.
"What happens if something... happens to a weapon or meister?" she'd asked him one day.
"Well..." She could tell he was hesitant to answer. Changing the topic, he said something along the lines of "Hey, I think there's something going on. We should go check that out."
Sure enough, it seems she didn't have to ask him to find that out after all.
Several years after her initial introduction to the DWMA, Maka had decided to join Soul in finding weapons and meisters.
"What's this one's name again?" he asked. It had become typical of him to be careless and forgetful, a trait Maka would never let be associated with herself.
"Chiyoko. Lives at one of these apartments up here." The two approached a line of identical-looking buildings.
"Freeze!" Turning, they saw a police officer, aiming a gun at them. "You're under arrest for conspiracy against the central government! Do not attempt to resist—I will not hesitate to shoot!"
"Heh; as if." Doing just as they'd practiced so many times, Soul transformed into his signature scythe form, landing in Maka's hands. The cop opened fire, each shot blocked with the great scythe.
The officer ceased fire momentarily, speaking into a walkie-talkie attached to her shoulder.
"This is Officer Gorgon, requesting backup at the Roosevelt complex. Two suspects are resisting arrest, considered dangerous." Hearing some garbled static-y mess, she nodded, pointing her gun back at the two teens.
"Alright," she spat. "If you two stop, I'll just bring you with me and we won't have any trouble. Otherwise, I'll shoot you both dead."
Maka contemplated the cop's words for a moment. Years ago, she would've considered going along with a police officer. But that was before she'd joined the DWMA, before she'd dedicated her life to being a meister.
"Like hell I will!" She charged at the cop, who had begun opening fire again. She hardly noticed as bullets grazed her skin, focusing only on destroying her enemy.
A bullet fired, right towards her chest. She hardly registered it drawing closer and closer. But Soul did.
"No!" He let out a struggled sound as it entered his chest. Maka stopped short, stumbling into Soul. He crumpled to the ground, chest heaving with pain. Slowly, he tried to gather the energy to speak.
"M-Maka... R-Run..."
She didn't have to be told twice. Turning heel on the cop and Soul's body, she sprinted towards the woods. Shots were fired after her, tears streaming from her eyes, but she kept running as fast as her legs would take her.
Even as sounds of sirens and gunfire died down she ran as fast as she could. A huge building loomed in the distance, great clumps of ivy covering the walls. Grasping the vines she climbed to one of the empty window frames. She climbed in, sobbing as she slid onto one of the rafters.
Her legs hung lazily off the rafter, breath condensing into a whitish cloud. Below was an empty ballroom. The ornate floor was cracked and littered with broken glass and debris. In the frigid winter air, the tattered curtains hardly moved an inch. The room's centerpiece—a shattered chandelier atop a crushed statue—finished off the feeling of death and despair.
Sirens echoed outside, red and blue lights illuminating the ruined ballroom. They'd follow her trail of blood, finding her and either killing her or detaining her for the resto of her natural life.
It wasn't supposed to be like this.
So how did it end up this way?