Crona
Fear might have driven Crona to kill, but it had never given him courage.
The narrow streets were glistening stones wet from the rain, giving him path to a hunched figure. The moon, grinning wickedly, perhaps at him, was the only witness to the murder he was about to commit. No, no, not murder. He was saving mother from pain – that was all.
"IT IS MURDER, YOU WORTHLESS UNGRATEFUL SCUM!" Ragnarok, realizing his wielder's intention, came alive and screamed as though the whole world was falling down. And yes, perhaps it was.
"S-shut up, this is just between me a-and her." Crona mumbled as he frantically looked around, almost expecting someone else to interrupt, like that girl with her scythe. Oh no, no, she's the worst. She won't let me kill.
"YOU DARE TO TALK BACK TO ME! HUH? HUH?!"
Even the angry shrieks of Ragnarok became a mere muffled background when Crona stepped closer to the hunched figure.
Her blood, black like his or black from the darkness, was splattered in angry spikes on the cold stone. Locks of olive green hair, also angry, also spiky, looked as though they would come alive any second and pierce him. The most frightening of all, though, were her eyes. They were still open. Lifeless, and open.
Looking at him. Daring him to kill her.
I can't kill her, after all. She's mother! How can I kill her?
No, no, no, no, no. She's the one who taught you to kill, and she must end in the same way. By your hands. And if you don't kill her now, she's going to live and she's going to lock you up and make you kill even more. But before that, she's certainly going to step on your hands and beat you near-death for even having considered to kill her.
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
His voice ripped open and raw, piercing the night sky. Both of his hands were tightly gripping Ragnarok, hoping to receive more of its madness.
Stab
The sword hit the cold stone, missing the corpse by an inch.
Stab-stab-stab
And still it was the cold stone, receiving frantic, helpless, fearful blows from the sword.
"IF YOU'RE GOING TO KILL HER, AT LEAST DO IT RIGHT YOU DEGENERATING FREAK!" Ragnorak was certainly not enjoying the constant violent contact with the stoned ground.
Breaking out into a hysterical sob, Crona collapsed on the ground and wailed, "I can't do it after all. I can't kill her. I don't want to. But I'm scared she'll come alive and kill me, but I just can't kill her!"
Ten minutes later, the girl with the scythe that Crona had despised and mistrusted and feared and longed for came. She took off her black cape and swung it around the miserable murderer for warmth, which was the last thing he deserved.
Maka was the last thing he deserved.
But under the black blue sky seeping with orange stripes, Crona let himself be lulled to sleep by her soft "Are you okay, Crona? What happened? Are you hurt? I'm here, it's okay, it's okay…"
He was glad he didn't kill mother. Maybe, maybe… Maka won't see him as the murderer he was.
Notes. Maka here is more of a mother figure for Crona. Anyway I think Crona can truly be freed from Medusa's grips not through killing but through not killing.