12
Crona is changing, and not in the great, sweeping, powerful way that Ragnarok does whenever he's consumed enough souls, nor the slow crawling way that reminds him he's growing taller (although he has grown much taller in the last few months, faster than he'd ever thought possible.) No, this is a new and terrible strangeness, stealing into him like a sickness and coming intermittently in quickenings, in waves, in small things he knew had not been there the week before.
He's growing thinner. What little fat had rounded his face and softened his arms seems to vanish overnight, leaving a fine layer of muscle laid down hard over the skeleton.
And then there are the dreams...
Finally, he goes to Medusa, trembling and clutching his arm and begging her to cure him, hoping with every fiber of his being that she would...after all, he couldn't become a Kishin if something was seriously wrong with him, right?
Ten minutes later he's lying on his bed in a fetal position, face buried as far into his pillow as he can get it, and doesn't stir when the ripple across his back heralds Ragnarok's emergence – even though this occurrence has become exponentially more painful with every year that passes.
"You totally had that coming, pipsqueak," he proclaims, close enough that Crona can feel his grin in the heat of his breath.
"Go away..."
The demon sword throws back his thick neck and laughs, adopting a high pitched mockery of Crona's voice. "'I think I might be sick, Lady Medusa! My voice won't stay the same and there's hair on my–"
"Stop it!"
"Lady Medusa, tell me what a wet dream is because I'm too much of an idiot to figure it out!"
"I didn't even say that! CUT IT OUT!"
He cringes as Ragnarok grinds his fist into the side of his head, still offering that thick chortle. "Alright, dipshit. You really want to know what's happening to your little twig body? I'll tell you, but I expect a 'thank you, Ragnarok' and first crack at your food for the next month."
Crona sits up, ignoring the demands on the rare off-chance his partner isn't serious. "She said never to bring it up again...that I had to ignore it or I'd get sicker and die." He squeals as a handful of hair is grabbed and wrenched hard, nearly enough to tear it from the roots.
"I heard what she said, stupid! Forget what Medusa said. Do you want to know or not?"
"Ahhhh! Fine, fine, I do! Stop pulling on me!" Mercifully, Ragnarok lets him go.
"Alright. Now sit up and listen, because I'm only explaining this once..."