Chapter 7: Clarifying first steps

It had been a warm day, four years ago. On the cusp of summer, the weather in Death City, Nevada, was beginning to get a little steamy early on in the season (not that Nevada was ever nice and cool). The day had been beautiful, the sky a pristine cerulean that seemed to stretch on forever. Not even a cloud obscured the sky or it's panting, heaving sun.

That day had been gorgeous, indeed, but it had differently been a day for weird things to happen.

Spirit Albarn, the loyal Deathscythe, was confused. Well, to be honest, he was more shocked than confused. What stood before him was a boy. Not only a boy, but a thirteen year old boy who was standing before him with the grandiose title of "Deathscythe."

He had to do a fact check in his mind. Deathscythes had to collect and consume ninety-nine Kishin infected egg souls, plus one dangerous witch soul to make a whole grand total of hundred. Doing this task was not an easy thing to do, even for an adult. The red-headed Deathscythe stuck a finger in his ear, attempting to clean out all of his earwax. Shinigami-sama couldn't have possibly said...?

"So, Spirit-kun," Shinigami-sama shrilled in a high pitched, warbling voice as he had hopped over, standing behind the small and fragile looking young child. He placed his large white hands on the boy's shoulders, completely covering them up and making the boy appear even smaller than he already was. "This is our new Deathscythe~! His name is Justin Law~!"

Spirit blinked. He slowly raised a shaking hand and rubbed the back of his neck. The boy, named Justin, was staring up at him with the strangest expression on his face. It was blank, completely devoid of emotion. His startling blue eyes were deep and wiped of all expression. He was like a robot, a non existing being slapped inside of a living, breathing body.

The boy himself was a little strange looking. Beside his blank persona, the boy had a messy crop of hair as golden as sun drenched wheat. His face was still somewhat impish, like he had yet to mature a little more physically. He was a little tall for his age but, at the same time, he was still short compared to the towering Deathscythe and the immense Death God. Dressed in the normal attire Shibusen allowed (a slightly baggy sweater, khaki slacks and scuffed up sneakers), his normal appearance was completely destroyed by the fact that he had a strange pair of earphones jammed in each ear. The thin cords trailing down from the devices drooped down and crept into the boy's pocket where the iPod was safely nestled. Spirit winced-- he could hear the boy's pounding music even from where he was standing, a few feet away.

Spirit had to wonder why the boy chose to listen to his music so loudly? Did he want a straightforward ticket to becoming deaf before the age of twenty? He sighed, shaking his head. Over all, he was amazed that Shinigami-sama would allow the boy to wear them in his presence since he was a student of his school. Then again, he thought, if he really is a Deathscythe now, he'd get a lot of privileges. Perhaps this was one of them?

There was a long lapse of silence, and it hung in the air like a raincloud ready to give birth to a monsoon. Spirit, trying to be a good comrade to a new inductee (no matter how insane it seemed that a boy his age could achieve such a high status), smiled warmly. "Welcome, Justin, to the league of Deathscythes."

"Thank you," Justin said, not evening flinching a hair. He never smiled, let alone blinked. His voice was soft, gentle and quite soothing, and it dripped off of his tongue like honey. "I'm happy to have made it this far."

Grinning a little wider, Spirit felt more at ease. It seemed like the kid wasn't some stoned buzzer, drugged needle pusher, psychotic dust sniffer or anything else of that sort. After all, with that sort of placid gaze the boy had, no one could quite tell. "Well, Justin-kun," he softly murmured as he bent over, lowering himself more towards the boy's height. "Tell me," he said, adapting a lilting tone that he had always used for kids. "Where's your Meister? Didn't he come with you today to receive the same honor?"

"I don't have one," Justin replied rather quickly. He blinked once, staring up at the man quizzically. Why was this man treating him like such a child? He knew he was mature for his age, and he felt a little miffed to be treated like some baby.

Spirit stared at the boy, an eyebrow rising towards the heaven. Was this boy joking with him? No one had been able to achieve the legendary Deathscythe title without a Meister. If he did, it would not only be a first but, at his age, an utmost miracle. What was this kid, some manic genius prodigy with way too many idiosyncrasies to even count?

"I-I'm sorry," Spirit said, nervously chuckling. "What was that again-?"

Clucking his tongue in his nonexistent mouth, Shinigami-sama tilted his head to the side. "Ahhh, well, Justin-kun is a special case, Spirit-kun. It seems that there was never a Meister who could connect with his soul wavelength, so he ended up fighting on his own."

Fighting on his own?! Standing back up straight, Spirit crosses his arms over his chest. He had heard of some weapons being able to fight on their own- for a short period of time, that is- if their Meister was away. However, did this boy truly master the technique to where he could fight on his own? He killed ninety-nine Kishin egg souls on his own? He ensnared a witch's soul with his own bare hands? There wasn't a way. It couldn't be true!

He ran his hands through his bright red locks. Spirit was unabashedly confused. He glanced back at his God, and he saw the blackened being nod. He returned his gaze back down towards the boy and he could sense a strong, immense soul wavelength from this child, but he couldn't quite tell how strongly it throbbed and pulsated with energy.

"Justin-kun," Spirit softly said. "I would like to know- what weapon are you?"

"A guillotine," the boy replied back.

"A-Are you serious?!" Spirit yelped. The image of that ghastly, horrible and bestial device of execution wavered in the back of his mind. He was a demon weapon, for sure, but how could anyone who was a guillotine operate on their own. "I don't think that's-"

"I'm a guillotine," Justin drawled back, wasting his breath in repeating those same exact words. He knew this man wouldn't take his words as proof. A tired, disheartened and weak grin crept along his face. This adult didn't believe him, and neither did anyone else. It had been a sad trend all of his life. The reason why no one had ever chosen him as a weapon was because not only could they not connect with his strong wavelength, but no one could believe in whatever he said of his abilities. They had mocked him, calling him a liar, saying that no one of his age could possibly take down a ring of ten enemies on his own.

Justin not only could do that, but he had indeed accomplished such things whenever he had been cornered.

Lowering his head a bit, Law raised his small little arm. There was a vicious flash of light. With the schhhlick of sharpened, grazed metal, Justin had manifested a cruel looking blade that stuck out of his arm.

Spirit's eyes widened. His own image, visage warped from the gleaming shimmering side of the metal, gaped back at him with a look of sheer shock. He had seen other Deathscythes become their forms, and it had become a sort of second nature to witness it. However, something in this boy startled him. The second that blade appeared, Mr. Albarn knew there was something quite eccentric about the young boy.

"E-Excuse me for a moment," Spirit said, motioning over to Shinigami-sama.

The Death God sighed, but he obeyed his Deathscythe's orders. He followed the redhead until they stood off to the side. Raising a thick finger he laid it on his skull mask cheek. He let out a disgusted sort of sigh, rolling his words when he said, "so, you still don't believe him, mwyes~?"

"W-Well," Spirit said, trying to hide the embarrassed blush. "Listen, you know what a guillotine is like. In order to operate it, you need one or two people to pull down on the cord to release the function for the blade to fall down."

"Yes," Shinigami-sama tensely replied. "I know of that."

"That boy is the weapon. He'd need a Meister to pull that off!" Raising his hands up in a sort of shielding gesture, he spread his fingers apart. "To my knowledge, once he turns into his weapon completely, even he can't pull that off. The same goes to me when I transform. I can't be used-"

"-unless someone picks you up and wields you." The Grim Reaper raised one of his giant hands, putting it over his mask to stifle a yawn. "Yes, yes, I'm well aware of that. However, despite his current handicap not having a Meister, Justin-kun has managed to work past that hump and has found a way to do everything on his own~!"

"Then how-?" Spirit, still confused and left with his questions unanswered, leaned to the side so he could look past the spiky black bulk of his God. He wanted to see what the child was doing.

Justin had been innocently standing there, quietly waiting for when the next assault of disbelief that would be thrown upon him. He had made the blade that had been previously protruding from his arm to sink back into his flesh and disappear within his body. There wasn't a need for it anymore. If the older Deathscythe didn't believe him at this point, then was there really any benefit to have even something as physical as that for proof?

Spirit blinked as he saw the boy look up towards the ceiling. Justin proceeded to just stare upwards, eyes his roaming over the virtual mid afternoon sky that forever swirled within that room. The look in those blank eyes... there was something hidden beyond them. It was a little tragic, and he wondered why the boy decided to use a mask to hide from the world.

However, after that particular day of their infamous first meeting, Spirit rarely got to get a glimpse of Justin to even see if he had changed at all. As the years passed, and the various missions roared on, the Deathscythe had learned that the young guillotine had been given the title to oversee Europe and to protect it, body and soul.

Spirit Albarn had all but forgotten about Justin. Even when he did see him from time to time, the meetings were so brief. Sure, the hapless boy did change. He had grown, finally reaching a suitable height. His face still retained that round, almost pudgy but boyish look. As skinny as ever, he still looked incredibly frail and weak.

By the next time Spirit would truly spend more time with the boy, the older Deathscythe was shocked. Justin had done a complete makeover. Back then, currently at the age of sixteen, the lanky young man had styled his hair in a version of a monk's tonsure cut, leaving his locks messy and flyaway. His baggy uniform thrown away, he had chosen a completely different path. He had donned some rather form fitting (or, at least, in his opinion) robes, and had more or less become a servant of the Lord and a man of the holy cloth.

Spirit, being American, wasn't quite used to the Priestly garb that those over in Europe wore. He had known that Justin had come over originally from Europe--England perhaps? His voice was underlaid with a soft melting sort of accent, but Spirit couldn't quite tell from where it was from or what exactly it was. It was quite obvious that Spirit was suffering from culture shock the first time he saw Justin dressed in a skull cap, a crisp white mantle and a heavy black and gray robe. Everything about him stood out, making him seem more like a wayward flower in a sea of weeds.

Finally, around the time Justin Law had turned the ripe old age of seventeen, Spirit noticed he was seeing the boy a lot more. Since he was much older than his inducted age when he was thirteen, he was allowed to receive a few more missions from his beloved God.

The older Justin seemed to have not changed as much, compared to his thirteen-year-old counterpart.

One evening stood out in Spirit's mind. To him... it had been that one definitive moment that the hands of fate slammed down upon his shambling book of events that lead to that final path he'd take in his life.

The ill wind of a cooling fall brushed down the twisting and winding streets of Death City, Nevada. The gust wound around the buildings and tumbled up the steps of the Shibusen Academy school. There, descending the grandiose stairway leading up from the street to the large, expansive building was the entire team of Deathscythes.

They had been called to a meeting. Nothing more, nothing less. It had been a rather boring one and even the intelligent and precise Yumi couldn't help stifling a warbling yawn behind her slender hand.

Spirit, shoving his hands in his pockets, watched as the three- Yumi, Marie and Justin- began to descend and part their separate ways. Since he was stationed within Death City as the overseer of America, he had to stay. Watching Marie laugh, patting Yumi on the back... a sudden pang hit his heart. Stein-hakase, his current Meister, had been off on a short mission. Because of this, Spirit had been alone.

He hadn't had anyone to talk to. He wanted a friend, right then and there, to support him. The day before Maka had cornered him outside of another brothel. He had begged her not to scream, weakly assuring her that he wasn't there to dive into the depths of some wily female in constant heat. She hadn't believed him and, in a flourish of anger, she had stormed away, leaving the redhead alone.

Alone... I'm always alone these days. He sighed, watching the backs of the departing Deathscythes. I want someone to talk to. Someone, anyone... I don't care who it was. I need someone dearly right now. He lifted his head up a bit. A thought came to his mind.

"Hey, guys," Spirit said, taking a step to the edge of the top stair. He raised his hand, waving it, catching the attention of all three Deathscythe comrades of his. They turned, gazing up at him with curious stares. "Does anyone want to grab a beer or two with me at a bar? You know..." He lowered his gaze, a blush forming. He tugged nervously at his tie. "I just wanted to share some stories with everyone and, perhaps, catch up with how everyone's doing."

There was a moment pause as the two females- Marie the demon tonfa and Yumi the demon crossbow- nervously glanced at one another. Spirit Albarn had had the reputation of being quite the womanizer and skirt lifter, not chaser. Once blasted to heck and back with alcohol, the possibilities of his awakened perverted self was endless.

Much to Spirit's dismay none agreed to go with him, each and every single one of the Deathscythes had some sort of excuse. However while Marie and Yumi's reasons seemed somewhat rushed to reply, Justin's was calm and giving a truthful feel about it. 'I'd love too, Senpai, but I'm still a minor.'

The boy's words replayed in his head. Did he really want to? The red-haired man asked himself mentally, Or did he just say 'he'd love to' not to let me down so hard. I know the girls were lying when they said they had plans, so it makes me wonder… Was Justin telling the truth, or did he not want to hurt this old geezer's feelings?

At last he decided it was best not to ponder on it, after all either way it was with the kindest intentions, right? As he walked along the side of the road, his hands placed in his pockets where they could usually found, his mind began to wonder off about friends. He let himself be consumed in thought over this subject, until finally it came down to one big question. He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, his gaze falling to the ground. 'Do I… even have any?'

Sure there was Stein, but it was a bit difficult to tell what was going on with the stitched up man. Spirit also wondered if Stein just liked having him around for entertainment. After all he had told him so many times what an idiot he was. And then there were always those dissections, perhaps Stein was only getting closer now because he wanted his test subject back. Then he had Shinigami-sama, but, sometimes it was difficult to be friends with someone who was also your boss. Lately due to his divorce, the Death God seemed to be getting on his last nerves with the weapon. He had comforted him at first, but now only gave him a direct noggin Shini-chop whenever he cried out for his ex-wife and daughter, Maka…

Maka, He loved her so much. And yet, she seemed to hold no place for him in her heart now-a-days. Not even his own family seemed to care about him. 'No family... No friends…'

Violently the man shook his head before starting to walk again. He shouldn't be thinking about this. He was an adult, not some angst teenager who thought the world was against him. But… sometimes he couldn't help but wonder… "No, get a hold of yourself. People care… they do."

'Name one..' he demanded from himself mentally.

Not one name came to mind.

The memory of the rest of that evening was foggy but the highlights he was still able to remember with ease. He was on his way home, stumbling along the side of the road after spending the evening at the bar. The man had been drinking away while trying to forget his ex and daughter, the roots from which his depression and loneliness came from. He loved them both so much but at the same time they made the red-haired man feel like a miserable failure. Spirit had finally gone off the deep end, depression consumed his life and the only way out was alcohol, or anything else that might numb the mental pain he felt. It was an unhealthy habit indeed, but at least it made his days fly by quickly.

The next thing he knew he was laying in the middle of the road, cuts and scrapes covering his hands and arms. When the Deathscythe glanced up through squinted eyes he saw a light, and a sense of relief washed over him. Perhaps now his pain would be lost forever and he could live in peace. However something wasn't right, along with this light there was a rumble coming from the same direction, as well as it getting louder. It was then he realized these weren't the gates of heaven but the headlights of a fast approaching car. Bracing himself for one last excruciating impact before his long awaited death the man closed his eyes tight, as a final prayer was muttered from his lips. Suddenly the screech of skidding tires rung through his ears before the vehicle came to a halt the engine rumbling awfully close to where Spirit lay.

When the red-head peaked up with one eye he saw that a figure had hopped from the driver's seat and was rushing to his aid with what seemed like concern of his condition. 'Someone is concerned? They're concerned about me?' he thought with a fuzzy mind, 'they could've ran me over, ended my misery, but the stopped to help…'

"Spirit-Senpai!" A young man's panicked voice cried, "Wh-… What happened!? Are you alright? … For the love of Kamio-sama, please, tell me you are alright!"

It was his fellow Deathscythe, Justin Law. "Justin…?" Spirit slurred barely feeling conscious, "W-Why isya owut so latee…?"

"That's not important," Justin replied now seeming a bit calmer once hearing his voice as he helped the older man to his feet. He allowed Spirit to use him as something to lean against and keep him up right. "Do you need me to drive you home?"

A snockered smile curled over the man's face, new thoughts filling his mind. Perhaps he was desperate, or perhaps it was the alcohol, whatever it was Spirit suddenly needed something from the under aged priest. He had been alone for far too long now, and his intoxicated mind wasn't helping him think all too clearly. "Thats would be vwery hewlpful"

This new smile that appeared on the elder man's face worried the boy, and it showed in his expression. His offer now created regret to build within him; however he didn't hesitate to continue to help his Senpai, after all what could possibly go wrong?

Chapter by: Wolf and Sporkie