.foray into the past : death the kid.
A God of Death cannot bring life into the world. The domains of Life and Death are meant to exist side by side, their realms to intertwine and touch, but never to mingle. Such a disruption in the careful, perfect balance would throw the world into chaos. In one, and only one respect do the two domains cross, in a paradoxical relationship that ties the two together: the God of Death lives, whilst the God of Life lies dead.
But all things that live must die, as none know better than the living Lord of Death, so there must come a time when the Reaper retires from the world. To preserve the balance of Life and Death, then, a new Lord Death must rise as the old falls. Which brings one back to the original problem: a God of Death cannot bring life into the world.
Thus, when the time comes—the Reaper, to whom the precise hour of death is revealed, knows instinctively when this time is—the God of Death, through a process known only to him and possible only for him, removes a piece of his soul.
This soul shard is inserted into a body of the Reaper's making or choosing. Lord Death may select the body of a fallen comrade, or build one from the materials of the earth, as the first beings are said to have been made, or create one in the manner of humans. The soul shard provides the body sufficient energy to spark its vital functions. Over time, the piece of the Reaper's soul changes and grows and becomes an independent, individual soul. And then, on its own, it gradually acquires Life.
Consequently, when Death the Kid was called the son of Lord Death, the nomenclature was only partially and (perhaps) metaphorically correct. Lord Death may have fathered (or created, or selected—Death the Kid had never asked) Kid's body, but his soul had once been a part of Lord Death's. And since, by one definition, the soul is the essence of the person, it might have been more accurate to say that Death the Kid was Lord Death.
Or, to be even more precise, he had been and would be Lord Death.
The reaper process of acquiring life and the human process of growing up are, in many ways, similar, yet disparate. For example, the early years for both human and reaper are critical for the development of self-awareness and social functioning. However, while for humans these changes are, for the most part, gradual and smooth, reapers tend to experience growth in these areas in leaps and bounds. Furthermore, there is enough difference in human and reaper rates of growth that, from infancy to adolescence, reapers are noticeably more mature than their human peers in some areas yet rather immature in others.
The first thing that a reaper knows is the Balance. The Balance of the World; the Balance of Life and Death; the Balance of Yin and Yang; the Balance of Positive and Negative Forces. Balance. The awareness of this Balance comes before even self-awareness and shapes the reaper's development. Young reapers instinctively feel the call to maintain the Balance, and, without the temper of experience, crave perfection. It is not uncommon, therefore, for young reapers to be afflicted by symptoms of neuroses in their uncontrolled desire for perfection unattainable in this imperfect world.
The instinct to maintain the Balance manifested in Death the Kid as an obsession with symmetry. At first, this mania was so strong that Lord Death had to keep the child confined in the mansion that he had built for his son, for the boy could not bear the asymmetry of the outside world for even short periods of time. It was difficult enough for the child to learn to deal with the three white, horizontal Lines of Sanzu that curved around half of his head, destroying Kid's personal symmetry. The young child suffered bouts of depression whenever he caught glimpses of himself in the reflective surfaces that could not be entirely removed from the mansion.
At the age of six, Death the Kid experienced a spurt of mental growth that allowed him to cope better with his obsession. He was taught to read and write, and, despite the troubles his symmetry-focused complex gave him in the subject, was reading texts that a human might read at the college level within the year. Lord Death, anticipating a certain problem with numbers, held off teaching Kid math until he turned eight.
When Death the Kid was ten, having gone through several more jumps in psychological maturity, Lord Death introduced him to the human world for the first time. Immediately, a sense of isolation overwhelmed the child. He knew a great deal about humans from his reading, but he had not been prepared for how differently their minds worked from his own. He felt that there was some similarity, some parallel between the reaper and the human, but the connection was achingly just beyond his grasp. Humans were alienated by his preoccupation with symmetry and precocious mind; he could not identify with the complexity of their emotions and social interactions.
So Death the Kid learned the lot of a reaper: always separate, always distinct, yet unable to escape the longing for that elusive bond between human and god.
Succinctly, loneliness.
Death the Kid's contact with humans over the next few years remained minimal. His focus on learning the duties of the God of Death allowed little time for social intercourse, and he found himself reluctant to put forth the effort to socialize. The general disregard for symmetry among humans made him edgy, and their hesitancy to accept him and his idiosyncrasies was not particularly encouraging. Lord Death gently pushed Kid to find a weapon to work with, but the boy felt uncomfortable fighting with asymmetrical weapons in an asymmetrical style. More often than not, Kid took on his missions alone. He was quite capable of destroying pre-kishin without the aid of a weapon, and he preferred the solitude to the awkwardness of resonating with someone who did not truly match him.
Lord Death watched his son with worry that he could not entirely hide behind his skull mask. Death the Kid listened to his father's cautions about opponents that were too strong even for the strength of a reaper if that reaper fought alone, and he promised his father that he would continue to search for a weapon he could connect with. Secretly, however, Kid despaired of ever finding a weapon on which he could rely, a human with whom he could relate.
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.foray into the past : elizabeth patricia thompson.
She didn't remember what her original name was. Maybe it was Elizabeth, maybe it was Patricia. Could've been Elizabeth Patricia or Patricia Elizabeth. She wasn't sure if Thompson was really her last name, or if she had just made it up. Hell if she cared.
She didn't remember her parents, or any family at all, for that matter. Maybe she'd been abandoned and learned how to survive on her own, or maybe whoever had taken care of her had been killed. It was possible that she had run away from some ridiculously wealthy family, but she was more inclined to believe that she had grown up on the streets. Felt like street sense ran in her blood; you didn't get that kind of instinct from pampered rich kids, even the tough, smart ones. But she didn't know, didn't remember. All she knew was that she was alone.
She didn't remember who that person was, didn't remember why she cared so damned much. It didn't make it hurt any less. Love was built on tougher stuff than memory, and dead was dead.
She didn't remember how she had lost her memories. Head wound, trauma? There was no specific evidence, no way to prove anything, so who gave a shit? Those memories weren't coming back, and there wasn't a damned thing she could do about it. No point in dwelling on things she couldn't change.
She did remember the blood. How it trickled down the drain, stained that person's clothes, splattered on her, coated that monster's teeth—
She remembered Kid. In fact, that's where she remembered her life starting. With Kid. So maybe all that other crap from before, maybe it didn't matter. She could live with not remembering.
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.convergence point.
"…never worked with a meister that had Soul Perception before. I had no idea it would be so useful! I've never managed to track down a pre-kishin so quickly! Usually I have to do a bunch of research to figure out where its usual lair or haunts are, and then search from there. It can take sooooo looooong…Once, it took me three weeks to find my target. By the time I found it…"
Death the Kid heaved an internal sigh and tuned out the endless blather of the scythe at his side as he traveled though the night-shrouded streets of Death City. He kept his mild irritation in check, hoping that the other boy would not be able to sense it on his soul wavelength. The young weapon was already nervous just from being around the reaper, and it was intensifying his natural proclivity for chattiness. Kid wondered how someone who liked to talk as much as this human could stand to go without a partner. Perhaps no one else could bear his constant prattle, either. He immediately chided himself for his ungenerous thoughts and reminded himself that the boy had quieted down and proved capable of unwavering focus during battle.
Lord Death had specifically requested that Kid aid the as-of-yet-partnerless scythe with this mission. The pre-kishin in question had left the first weapon-meister pair to hunt it severely injured, and the God of Death did not wish to place another student in harm's way. Kid suspected that his father had ulterior motives in this particular request—namely, once again trying to help him find a weapon—but had reluctantly agreed to temporarily pair with Darwin rather than seeking permission to take the mission alone.
As expected, the pre-kishin had been no match for Death the Kid's power. Kid could have taken it down on his own without trouble, though he could not honestly say that the scythe had not made the task easier. Kid had found that, although it was impossible to wield a scythe symmetrically, it was the easiest of asymmetrical weapons for him to use. It was the traditional reaper weapon; perhaps his soul remembered the connection. Nevertheless, Kid had no intention of remaining partnered with the talkative Darwin. The very prospect of it made him shudder slightly. Fortunately, the scythe at his side did not appear to notice.
"…was raining, and the pre-kishin was sticking to the rooftops. As if slippery tiles weren't enough to worry about, there was lightning, too. I thought I was going to get zapped the second I brought out a blade! I seriously hate thunderstorms. That's the last…"
Something twanged at the edge of Kid's Soul Perception. "Darwin," Kid said sharply, cutting off the scythe's monologue. "Please excuse my interruption. I'm sensing something, and I need to concentrate."
"Er. R-right. I'll be quiet now," the weapon stammered. "But, um, my name is, uh, Drew."
"My apologies," Kid replied absently, fiddling with his Perception, trying to get a lock on the abnormality that had caught his attention. The signal was weak and quite a distance away, but something about the wavelengths it emitted made the young reaper's gut clench. "I think it may be a pre-kishin," he murmured. He summoned his internal map of Death City into his mind's eye and layered it with the information coming through his Soul Perception. "This way," Kid declared. "We're going after it." Without another word, he set off, compelling the scythe to jog to keep up with his long stride.
Kid cut through alleys, scaled walls, and jumped fences as only an experienced meister on the hunt could. The young weapon behind him struggled not to lose him in the maze of city streets. Kid's feet automatically traced the shortest path to his destination; his mind was entirely focused on zeroing in on the wavelength his Soul Perception had targeted. As reaper and scythe neared the suspicious soul, Kid held out a hand. "Darwin, transform," he commanded.
"It's Drew," the scythe reminded him as he shifted into his weapon form.
"Ah, of course." Kid caught the scythe's shaft and twirled the weapon expertly around his hands. He rested the scythe on one shoulder, grimly forcing himself to ignore the asymmetry of the position, and broke into a dead run. Close, so close. The young reaper's insides squirmed with unease. Without hesitation, he darted around a final corner and skidded to a halt. As he tried to make sense of what his eyes revealed to him, several feelings warred in his chest before at last yielding to sweeping bewilderment.
Kid had clearly been too late—for someone. Bloodstains streaked the sidewalk and blossomed on the wall of a drugstore. The window of the pharmacy had shattered, the jagged edges red-tinted and glittering in the dim yellow light of a cracked streetlamp. Slashes and holes scored every surface, even the asphalt of the street. Some distance away, a trashcan rested on its badly crushed side, lid missing, contents strewn across the road. And, just before Kid, a broken body lay crumpled on the cement, delicate, lifeless limps bent at sharp angles dramatized by the heavy shadows. A crimson soul hovered over her body.
The picture was wrong.
Kid loosened his grip on the scythe. With a flash of light, the boy returned to his human form, staring at the scene with huge eyes. Paying him no attention, Kid stepped forward and crouched beside the woman's body, gaze traveling from her ravaged face to the scarlet orb floating above her. It was definitely a pre-kishin soul; the deep color was a dead giveaway even without the evil wavelengths pulsing powerfully in Kid's Perception. But Kid knew perfectly well that the bodies of pre-kishin vaporized upon death. The dead woman had to be human, but where was her soul? If someone had defeated the pre-kishin, why would that person take the human soul but leave the kishin egg behind? Evil creatures that consumed innocent souls did so mainly to boost their power; just because they preferred to eat uncorrupted souls did not mean they would ignore a free meal. What kind of being was Kid dealing with, here? Could it be a witch? What could her motive possibly be?
The young reaper rubbed his aching temples with the tips of his long fingers. His gaze chanced upon the bloodstains on the ground beside the corpse. His golden eyes sharpened as he noticed an irregular pattern. He traced the strange streak away from the body to the entrance of a small alley not far from the one through which he had arrived. Ahhh…It appeared someone had been bleeding as he, she, or it had dragged itself away from the scene. He focused on his Soul Perception...searching...and…there!
Two souls, very close together, moving slowly but steadily away from the murdering ground. One was extremely weak, but plainly human—probably the soul of the dead woman. As for the other…Kid frowned, trying to get a clear reading. The wavelength was a mess, a jumble of churning emotions. Pain, fear, anger, hatred, and bloodlust jarred through Kid's Perception, eliciting a wince from the young reaper. The typhoon of emotions was overwhelming, drowning out the soul's very identity. Kid could not determine if the chaotic wavelength belonged to a human, pre-kishin, or witch.
"Darwin," Kid began.
"Drew," the scythe corrected glumly.
"Right," Kid sighed. "I want you to take this kishin egg and go directly back to the DWMA to report to my father. Tell him our original mission was a success and explain what we have seen here. Show him the kishin egg before consuming it; he may be able to extract some information. I am going to follow...a lead."
The scythe nodded his understanding, carefully picked up the pre-kishin soul, and set off for the school at a trot. Kid slowly rose from his crouch. He looked down at the unfortunate woman one last time, a hint of sadness in his metallic gaze. He had been too late to save people before, and he knew that in the future, it would happen again, but he could not help but regret the waste of life. The woman's features were badly mauled, barely recognizable, but he could see that she had still been fairly young. She might have been beautiful, too, with the delicacy of her bone structure and the rich golden-brown color he could still glimpse in the blood-matted locks of her long hair.
Kid exhaled. A tragic waste it may have been, but he had no time to dwell on it. He closed his eyes slowly, counted to eight, then snapped them open again. Time to hunt.
The two souls pounding in Kid's Soul Perception served as his beacon, the bloodstains as his path. As he followed the crimson splashes on the ground, his heart beat in time with the pulse of the wavelengths. Had he been seen, an onlooker would have thought him a ghost flitting through the shadows, with his deathly pale skin and bright irises glinting with purpose in light of the grinning moon. He moved swiftly, the trail of blood easy to pursue.
Kid's chase led him through the narrowest, dingiest, darkest streets of Death City. His footsteps clattered loudly on the uneven pavement, the clamoring echoes seeming to urge him on. The young reaper wondered at his target's ability to continue moving despite the amount of blood it had lost. Scarlet smears and gory handprints betrayed how heavily Kid's quarry relied on the walls to support itself. Something powerful drove it to its goal.
However, despite its determination, the being, whatever it was, was unable to advance quickly, undoubtedly due to its heavy injuries. Kid found himself rapidly catching up. When he sensed the erratic soul wavelength enter a long alley that he knew had only one exit, he quickly calculated a new route that would bring him there before it. Scaling the back wall of a seedy pub—even the bars were closed at that ungodly hour of the night, the usual drunkards already unconscious at home or in the gutters—Kid reached the rooftops. For meisters and criminals, the rooftops of Death City served as a second network of "streets," pathways that led to places none of the main thoroughfares could approach.
In minutes, the reaper arrived at the dark, quiet pawnshop where the alley once again coincided with the open street. Death the Kid prowled over to the edge of the roof and crouched down to wait, still and silent as an ominous gargoyle. The turbulent soul steadily drew nearer. The strength of the fitful wavelength was beginning to disrupt Kid's own soul. The young reaper felt a pang of nausea as irregularities forced their way into his usually rhythmic, precise wavelength.
Kid's sharp golden eyes, probing the gloom, at last caught sight of a dim glow. His ears picked up on the faint sound of ragged breathing and cloth scraping over the rough alley walls. As his eyes adjusted, he was able to make out a dark figure lurching toward him. His Soul Perception told him that the source of the muted light was the soul of the deceased human, shielded behind the figure's hand. His mouth tightened. Making no more noise than the gentle rustling of leaves in a light breeze, he leaped from his perch on the edge of the roof and landed directly in front of his quarry. He straightened slowly, eyes crackling, countenance forbidding. The figure jerked back. Its hold on the human soul shifted, allowing the light to escape through its fingers and shine on its features.
She looked ghastly. The eerie blue illumination of the soul she cradled against her chest bleached her face of color, magnifying the stark contrast between her pallid skin and the dark crimson liquid splattered all over it. Her eyes stood out, wide and wild, and her teeth were bared in a silent snarl. Blood slicked her short, tangled hair. Her clothes were in shambles, badly torn and coated in grime. One hand pressed against her side in an unsuccessful attempt to staunch the bleeding from a deep gash just under her ribs. She was leaning against the alley wall, legs trembling below her. But despite the monstrous appearance lent by dirt and blood, beneath the gore was recognizable a mere girl, no older than eleven or twelve.
Not a pre-kishin, Kid thought. Which meant that she was either a human...or a witch. Kid's muscles tensed. Unconsciously gathering a commanding aura around himself, Kid spoke quietly but clearly: "Release that soul."
The girl clutched the human soul possessively as her own soul flared with anger and hatred. "You can't have her," she growled. "She's mine!" Her wavelength stabbed painfully into Kid.
Suppressing a wince, Kid took a step forward and stretched out his hand, palm upturned."Give it to me!" he demanded again.
The girl stumbled backwards. "No!" she shouted. She yanked her bloodstained hand away from the wound in her side and pointed at Kid as a child might aim a mock gun, index and middle fingers trained at a point directly between his eyes, thumb cocked like the hammer of a revolver. "S-stay back," she ordered shakily. "Stay back!"
Kid frowned, bemused. Even for a witch, this behavior was eccentric. Cautiously taking another step forward, ready to dodge a spell at any moment, he asked, "What purpose do you have for that soul?"
The girl backed away as Kid slowly advanced. "I'm going to protect her," she snarled. "I won't let anything happen to her! Stay back, I said!" She staggered another step away from Kid and slammed into a wall. Her chest heaved as she panted, on the verge of hyperventilation. Her eyes widened even further as Kid took yet another step closer. "Stay back!" she yelled. She dropped the human soul, which sunk a few inches before floating calmly in front of her. The girl now aimed two finger guns at Kid (a perfectly symmetrical pose, a small part of Kid could not help but note).
The reaper hesitated. Nothing about the girl's behavior indicated that she was anything other than a hurting, terrified, confused, but very human child. Her raging wavelength seemed only to confirm this theory. Nevertheless, Kid did not let down his guard as he lifted his palms in a placating gesture and said in a slightly gentler voice than before, "It would be for the best if you relinquished the soul to me."
The girl's arms trembled. "I—SAID—NO!" she roared. Light erupted around her hands. Kid reflexively threw himself to the side. His pupils shrank to pinpoints as he stared directly into the burning heart of the light. Within the crackling sphere of energy, the girl's hands distorted, as though seen through a thick haze. Then the flesh began to change. Her index and middle fingers fused, thickened, and lengthened. Pale skin turned gray and shiny and hard, finally becoming recognizable as the barrels of twin handguns. Her ring fingers twisted unnaturally and curved in on themselves, morphing until they had become triggers resting beneath her pinkies. Her palms and parts of her wrists blackened and developed a rough, regular texture. She swiveled toward Kid and sighted with her thumbs even as they shrank and silvered. Kid found himself staring into the muzzles of her now very-real handguns.
A weapon! Kid berated himself. Why hadn't the possibility even occurred to him? Was it because of how long she had waited to transform? Or did it go all the way back to the uneaten kishin egg? No matter, now was not the proper moment for retrospection. He was somewhat relieved for the confirmation that this girl was not a witch, but weapons brought with them complications of their own. Although not naturally evil—they were human, after all, and just as liable to lean toward right as wrong—they could be extremely dangerous, especially when they were as agitated as this girl. Kid needed to calm her before she lost the last shreds of control.
Keeping his hands up peacefully, Kid took a respectful step back. "I apologize for frightening you," he said soothingly. "I will not attempt anything without your permission." The girl eyed him suspiciously, not relaxing her stance. "Permit me to ask," Kid began cautiously, hoping her silence meant that she was listening, "what exactly you intend to do with the soul?"
"I'm going to protect her," hissed the girl insistently.
"How?" Kid asked softly. "Surely you don't mean to carry her with you forever. How will she find peace?"
The girl glared at him. "I'm bringing her to Lord Death," she snapped. "I'll deliver her into his hands myself."
Kid blinked, caught by surprise. Although it was no secret that Lord Death gathered the souls of the human dead in addition to hunting pre-kishins and witches, few people dwelled upon it. Humans possess a remarkable ability to erase from their thoughts that which is unpleasant, even if it stares them in the face daily. For a traumatized young girl—even one who was a human weapon—to have considered this less-acknowledged capacity of the God of Death, and, moreover, to have decided to go to him herself despite her own poor condition, was simply incredible. Kid searched the girl's expression for fear—surely, exhausted, injured, and on the verge of collapse she could not approach Lord Death himself without fear—but the reaper found only grim determination on that small face.
Something stirred in him then, something Death the Kid could not name. It was more than respect, more than admiration. His countenance softened, and a hint of genuine compassion warmed his metallic eyes, lending them humanity. The girl sensed the change, though she did not entirely understand it; she continued to level her handguns at Kid, but her muscles loosened slightly. "I can help you," Kid told her quietly. "Will you let me?"
"You just want to steal her away from me!" accused the girl.
"I will not," Kid promised. "But I will help you safely reach the DWMA, if you allow me."
"I don't need help," the girl countered harshly. "And why the hell would I trust you?"
Kid gazed at her evenly. "I am the son of Lord Death," he said simply.
The girl stared, disbelieving. "You're lying!"
"Why don't you check my soul? You are a weapon; it should be within your capabilities."
The girl narrowed her eyes at Kid. For a moment, he was able to pick out a clear note of uncertainty in her chaotic wavelength before her entire soul shuddered under the stress of her tempestuous emotions. She is not sure she can match her wavelength to mine at the moment, Kid realized. "Calm down," the reaper instructed. "Try to collect and hold your feelings. Control your wavelength."
"I can't," she snapped.
"Yes, you can," Kid retorted.
The girl glowered at Kid. For a moment, he thought she would ignore his advice and refuse his help. Then, abruptly, she wrenched at her emotions, hammering her wavelength into a manageable shape. Without warning, she jammed her soul into Kid's. A gasp of pain tore from Kid's throat. "Control it," he bit out through clenched teeth. "Not so—forceful—"
The girl gritted her own teeth, struggling with her soul. Little by little, she wrested it into alignment with Kid's. There was one horrible moment when their souls screamed with dissonance, sparks of energy flaring as the discordant wavelengths ground together, on the verge of rejection, and then—
Something clicked. It felt like the whole world had been teetering, but suddenly slid into place. An overwhelming sense of rightness flooded Kid's Perception, and his soul swelled with energy. It took him an indeterminate amount of time to comprehend what was happening. Soul Resonance, he realized wonderingly. Not the basic soul resonance that even imperfectly matched weapons and meisters could reach, a simple connection of wavelengths, but true Soul Resonance, the state achieved when two souls pulsed in perfect harmony, to the point where they functioned as one, a state of enormous power and potential, one that many meister-weapon pairs never managed to achieve.
This is...impossible, Kid thought numbly. It took years of practice and relationship-building for most partner sets to master Soul Resonance, yet this girl, an utter stranger to him, had somehow managed to unite her chaotic wavelength with his own careful, measured one. Tentatively, Kid allowed his consciousness to swirl around the bond, exploring, probing. The girl's emotions swept over him, harmless, no longer causing him pain. Kid slipped past them easily, searching for the core of her soul, her essence. He found it almost immediately. A thousand half-formed impressions surfaced in his mind. None was sharp enough by itself to snatch his attention, but as they gathered together, a shape began to materialize. There was something...different about this soul, something special, unique. It was divided, yet whole, separated, yet balanced...Kid looked closer, fascinated…
...and with a gasp, the girl severed the connection. Kid's eyebrows quirked slightly in surprise only to lower again as guilt stabbed at him. Caught up in the moment, he had forgotten that the Soul Resonance had probably been an accident; the girl had not technically given him permission to delve so intimately into her soul. "I am sorry," Kid apologized, mortified by his own behavior.
Slowly, the girl lowered her guns. Her head cocked to the side, and an odd expression crossed her face, as though she were trying to figure something out. The whirling vortex of her emotions began to subside. Her painful feelings neither disappeared nor weakened, but they settled, no longer wreaking havoc on her wavelength. For the first time since her soul had registered on Kid's Soul Perception, he was able to read it normally, to sense that she was human, to discern her emotions without being attacked by them.
"You'll...help me?" the girl whispered hesitantly. "You'll help me...bring her soul to Lord Death?"
Kid nodded mutely. The girl stared at him for a few moments longer. "Okay," she said at last. "Okay." With a small flash of light, her hands returned to flesh and blood. Gently, she wrapped her fingers around the soul still floating in front of her. Taking a few uncertain steps toward Kid, she stumbled. Kid was by her side in a heartbeat, thin hands catching her by the shoulders. Both girl and reaper stiffened at the contact. Their eyes met, reflecting one another's apprehension. Then, slowly, they relaxed. Kid inspected the wound in the girl's side.
"This looks bad," Kid murmured. "I do not think it would be wise for you to walk much further. I will carry you." The girl swayed on her feet, not replying. Deciding to be grateful for her lack of protest, Kid knelt and helped her climb onto his back. Her thin arms crept around his neck; her hands held the soul of the dead woman over his heart. He could feel the faint thrum against his chest through the girl's fingers. Rising, Kid was about to set off for the DWMA when something occurred to him.
"What's your name?"
The girl shifted against his back. A peculiar feeling crept over her soul, as though it stood on the brink of something important, oscillating between two choices.
"Pat...ty…?" she mumbled, more to herself than to Kid. Her soul wavered. Something Kid couldn't quite describe welled within her, almost like a certain part of her soul was gaining dominance. Her wavelength changed subtly, then steadied. "No," the girl said quietly. "Liz. My name is Liz."
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[.ten point something.]
"It took awhile to understand the dual nature of her soul. Well, actually, I cannot claim to fully understand it even now. But our partnership simply...fell into place. After that first, unexpected Soul Resonance, we both subconsciously knew that we were weapon and meister. We never even officially acknowledged it. Once her injury had healed, we started going on missions together, with my father's full approval."
"Yeah," Liz said with a shrug. "It wasn't that complicated. We just followed our instincts. There were a few rough spots, though. We had to build up our trust, and even though we had managed Soul Resonance once, it took us a long time to master it." Kid nodded in agreement.
"So…" Tsubaki began hesitantly, "you never found out who that woman was?"
Liz stared off into the distance. "No," she replied softly. "I never did. Neither her body nor soul could be identified." Tsubaki's eyes filled with sympathy, and she scooted closer to her fellow weapon, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. Liz glanced at her and gave her a small, tired smile.
One by one, gazes turned to Soul and Maka. Soul sighed and absently rubbed the stump of his leg. Reaching through his bond with his meister, he sent her a silent question. Ready?
The feelings she returned matched his exactly. No. But it's time.
A/N: I offer my sincere apologies for the long delay in updates, but excuses bore me, so we won't go into those. I can no longer promise quick or regular updates, but I assure you I have no intention of dropping this story. Now, onto plot-related issues. No, Elizabeth Patricia will not be regaining her memories. You are welcome to review with theories on what exactly her story is—I'd love to hear them. Also, Elizabeth Patricia is not necessarily her original name. It is simply what Kid calls her in his mind, because it sounds best to him.