Hey, guys. Sorry it took me a few days to update any of my stories, but I've been busy with my life. I hope you enjoy the chapter.
-o-
Maka was glad that it was a Saturday, considering she slept in way later than normal. She yawned as she left her room, still in her nightclothes, and headed for the kitchen to get something to eat. She was surprised to see Tsubaki and Black Star still at the apartment, Tsubaki currently standing over the oven fixing some food.
"Good morning, Maka," Tsubaki greeted Maka with a smile.
"Hey," Maka said. "What are you guys still doing here?"
"When Kid and Liz and Patty left, these two insisted on staying the night," Soul answered as he munched on some toast.
"It sounded to us like those guys who attacked the academy were after to you," Black Star stated with one of his rare serious tones, though he still had a cocky grin. "I figured you'd like to have the man who will surpass God as your bodyguard until further notice."
"Oh. I see." Maka sat at the kitchen table, where Tsubaki soon handed her a plate of eggs. She thanked her and began eating. These eggs were much better than what Maka usually cooked, she admitted to herself as she ate.
"How'd you sleep?" Soul asked her.
"Fine. No bad dreams."
"You sure?"
"Yes. I'm fine."
Soul didn't look entirely convinced, but didn't pry. He knew that she probably wouldn't tell him no matter how hard he tried to get her to talk, unless she wanted to of course. "All right," he said simply. He quickly finished eating and headed for the living room. "I'm gonna go watch TV. Just call out if you need anything."
"Okay." As Soul left the room, soon followed by Black Star, Maka crossed her arms on the table and rested head down. She felt terrible about not telling Soul or anyone else the whole story, but she had been asked not to by Lord Death himself.
"Is something wrong, Maka?" Tsubaki asked.
The young meister faced the dark-haired girl who was one of her closest friend, looking her right in the eye. "No," she lied. "I'm fine."
-o-
Something wasn't right, Kid thought as he searched throughout the library. The fact that Maka somehow knew of the enemy had been bothering him, and the way she had been so secretive about her conversation with his father only made him more suspicious. Just how much did Maka really know? Who is this Circe? Just what did Maka and Death talk about that he and the others couldn't know about? He had to find out.
He had already gone through about twenty books regarding the known history of witches. He was currently reading a book regarding the Salem Witch Hunts, but found nothing that could answer his questions. He sighed as he closed the book and stared up at the ceiling. Something was afoot, and he had a feeling that things are far worse than what his father let on.
He got up from his seat at the desk and went to try and find some other possible sources. He scanned through numerous shelves, finding nothing of any true interest. He was just about to give up. It didn't seem like the academy library would have any of the information that he needed. Just then, he heard strange whispers coming from behind. He turned around, but saw nothing. Until he heard the whispers again. His eyes narrowed, and he followed the noises.
He soon found himself facing what appeared to be an ordinary bookshelf. It didn't seem too special, except for the fact a few of the spines on the books were blank. "Fourth shelf," a voice whispered to him. He looked around again, but found no one. "Third from the left. The knowledge you seek shall be there."
"Who's there?" Kid called out. He waited a few moments, but received no answer. Still suspicious of that voice, he looked for the book it had described, finding a dusty old tome with a brown cover. He pulled it out, but it would only go about halfway before a soft clank was heard. The wall to his left suddenly opened like a door, revealing a set of stairs leading downward into the academy's underground. How did he not know about that?
He looked down into the dark abyss. There were torches on either side of the wall where the light wouldn't be able to reach, and (thankfully for Kid's sake) they were aligned symmetrically. After a few moments, he headed down into the darkness.
-o-
It felt as though he had been walking for hours. The torchlight was dimmer the farther down he went, and he was eventually forced to ruin the hall's symmetry by taking one of the torches so that he could see.
This passage was simply huge. It just kept going and going and going with no end in sight. Eventually, however, he found a huge door before him. It was intricately carved showing a pair of demonic skeletons in poses as if to act as guardians. Upon the door was a carved sign that bore a message in what appeared to be Latin: Mors tantum sanguinis porta aperiretur.
"'This gate may only be opened by the blood of Death,'" Kid translated. The carving appeared to be as old as the pyramids of Egypt that he had once visited. But the DWMA was just over 800 years old. Was this chamber built before the academy was?
Under the sign, he noticed a small notch big enough for his whole arm to fit through. It was probably designed for his father's large, blocky fingers. He narrowed his eyes once again. Considering he was the son of Death, maybe his blood would work to open to the door. He put his arm into the hole and waited. He felt a light sting as something pricked his arm, and he pulled out. For a few seconds, nothing happened.
He was almost going to try again, but the door then opened slowly outward, revealing the chamber within. The room was surprisingly well lit, he thought as he entered the room. In the center of the room was a single pedestal, upon which an old-looking book lay. He approached it, holding his torch just enough so that he could see the book without burning it. on the cover was a single word written in the fanciest cursive he had ever seen: Diary.
An old diary? Kid thought curiously. What would such a thing be doing down here? And whose was it? He was considering picking it up when the thought came across that this room may be booby trapped. He took a deep breath and took hold of the book, gently picking it up from the pedestal. He waited for something to happen. Flamethrowers, giant boulders, collapsing floors, anything. But there were no results. He gave a breath of relief and left the chamber, stuffing the diary into his shirt in a way that wouldn't completely ruin his outfit's symmetry. He would examine the book once he got back home.
-o-
Within a large, Gothic castle, a woman in white sat upon what seemed to be a regal throne. She slowly opened her eyes, not once losing her emotionless expression. The Grim Reaper's son had found the diary. "Soon," she whispered to herself.
