Stein spends his time outside the Academy locker rooms turning his screw over and over and over again. His body is strangely tight, muscles tense with worry and anticipation and concern. He's never felt this way before a fight. It's reminiscent of his conversation with Medusa in the infirmary, the lingering residue of his racing, reckless panic while they danced, and it is settling so deep into the fibers of his body that all the jumbling of his thoughts does nothing to displace the sensation. After a minute of failed attempts he gives up, leans against the wall and shuts his eyes. Without the interruption of the shifting gears his thoughts land back on Spirit, as they always do, but it is more of a comfort at the moment than anything else.

I hope he made it out. The thought is half-directed inward, to the invented voice in his own head, and half out, along the trickle almost-Resonance that must eventually lead back to the weapon. I'll die if I try to fight Medusa without him.

You might die with him, the higher voice offers. He doesn't respond to that.

Maka is the first one out, impressively quick at changing out of her formal heels into her favored boots. Stein glances at her sideways. "You ready?"

"Yes, Professor." Her eyes are firm and steady. She might not entirely understand what's she's walking into but those eyes say that she doesn't need to, that she'll accept whatever they come across. That's good.

Black*Star and Tsubaki emerge almost at the same time, the meister carrying the last of his equipment while Tsubaki is tugging her hair down from its careful arrangement. Then the Thompson sisters, breathless and straightening their shirts. Finally Soul, and then in a surprisingly short period of time Kid. Stein had been ready to send one of the others back in to pull him out bodily if needed, but either he managed his clothes perfectly on his first try or he is getting better at pushing aside his aesthetic panic under duress. Interesting. Worth investigating later, possibly, but now is not the time.

Stein takes the lead down the corridor as soon as the door opens to announce Kid's presence. He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't have to; all seven students drop in behind him, half-walking and half-jogging to pace his longer strides. The stop to change into backup clothes was inconvenient but necessary; time is of the essence, but walking into a fight in formalwear would have been nothing short of insanely foolish, at least for the meisters involved.

It's not far. The air drops in temperature as they descend the final stair, going past the floor where Stein and Spirit found the Demon Tool that took them to Italy and down a dusty corridor lined with melted-down candles and spiderwebs. No one speaks. Stein hopes that's because of focus and not fear, but there's no more time to train the students behind him. They will have to survive as they can, however much he wishes he could do more.

He slows to a walk as they approach the final entrance. He has been down this far only once, years ago, when he became a three-star meister and Lord Death revealed the grand secret of the DWMA. It had been just as poorly lit and foreboding then, but Stein hadn't been as tense as he is now. Being told about something and going to confront it are two very different things.

He comes to a halt, facing the blood-red outline of the entrance in front of them, and the footsteps behind him stutter to silence as well. He keeps his gaze fixed down the darkened hallway past the square opening. He doesn't sense anything coming up, not yet, but that could change at any time.

"This is the entrance we need." He offers for the benefit of the children behind him. They deserve the truth. His mental voices blend in perfect harmony. "Our enemy is powerful. If you aren't prepared for what lies ahead, then you may die." His fingers close around a cigarette. It's nearly the last in the pack. That might not matter anyway. He runs his tongue over his dry lips before setting the paper to them. "If you want to turn around, better do it now." The matches are easier to find, the box almost full. His hands are steady as he lights the match in spite of his expectations; the light blooms hot on his face for a moment before he shakes out the flame, blows out a puff of smoke, tosses the match into the shadows of the corner. "Are you ready to fight against fear itself? Will you cross beyond that door? Let your souls make the decision for you."

He can't get as clear a read on their mental states when he isn't looking at them; by rights vision should have nothing to do with Soul Perception, but in practice it is hard to pick out details without the assistance of sight, even if only due to the psychological crutch of habit. But he can feel the press of conviction at his back, reminiscent of fights years past, and he doesn't have to hear Maka's response to know their decision.

"We're coming."

He turns to look back at them. The scythe-meister's not the only one with that determination across her face; for all their disparate appearance, all seven of them look like siblings for how similar their expressions are.

His hand is still steady on his cigarette. His adrenaline has spiked high enough that he has leveled off, breathing slow and calm because if his heartrate were following his panic he would have passed out. "Good."

It helps to run. The darkness past the entrance opens up into a steep staircase and it takes all of Stein's focus to keep his balance steady as they all race down the descent. The weapons transform without him saying anything and the meisters follow him in similar silence for a few minutes. When it becomes clear that they still have some distance to cover, Maka clears her throat from behind Stein.

"Hey Kid, how did Lord Death seal away this Asura guy in the first place?"

"First my father tore off Asura's skin, made a tightly sealed bag out of it, and then stuffed Asura inside." Kid's voice is perfectly level. It is a special kind of uncanny to hear those words in a child's voice, and for a moment Stein has a very clear impression of how he must have seemed to those around him as a child. "Then he rooted his own soul and body here, inside Death City, to keep the Kishin from ever breaking free."

Black*Star chimes in. "And because of that Lord Death can never leave the city?" Huh. He picked up on more of the situation than Stein thought he had. The boy is continually exceeding his expectations; it's pleasant to be so constantly and casually impressed.

"What if the seal was broken, and the Kishin managed to break free? Would Lord Death be able to go wherever he wanted?" Maka's voice is almost plaintive, reaching for hope in the worst-case scenario.

"That wouldn't work," Stein supplies. His thoughts are only half on the conversation; the rest is given over to watching the space in front of them, reaching out for a witch wavelength, worrying absently about how is going to fight empty-handed, how long he can last against a witch with no weapon. "Lord Death has attached his soul to this town. I suppose you could even say he's become one with Death City."

"So it's like he's become trapped inside himself." The student-tone is coming out between Maka's words again, the slightly distant focus on information rather than the present.

"If he wanted to go somewhere, he'd have to find a way of giving the city legs. And I don't really see that happening anytime soon, do you?" They are all focusing on the wrong thing, anyway. This is incidental; if the Kishin awakens there will be no positive side. "You can't even imagine how disastrous things would be if the Kishin is revived." Stein's mind briefly spirals down through the repercussions, the sweep of chaos across Death City, the country, the world. The collapse of his own ever-fragile hold on sanity. "Its madness is like a plague."

His thoughts wash out in a haze of red, for once too dark to be associated with Spirit, flickering from black to red until the two are one and the same. Something purrs in the back of his mind, not a usual voice but something else, something new. The intrusion is awful, like an unexpected voice in his ear or an unfamiliar touch cold under his skin. He shoves it away and it subsides out of the range of his senses, but his skin still prickles with horror.

This is to be expected, Spirit's voice points out. You are walking towards the Kishin.

They make it the rest of the way down the stairs in silence, just the even breathing of the meisters and the sound of feet hitting the stone underfoot as they pass through an archway into a high curved hallway. And then his vision flickers bright and he stumbles to a halt, Maka's footsteps stopping behind him as abruptly as his own.

Black*Star is asking a question that Stein doesn't hear. His vision has gone white-blind with the approaching light and his body is so limp with relief that he is barely staying on his feet. Maka says something - his name - and he responds generically since he has absolutely no idea what she said.

"Yeah."

He make a conscious effort of will to listen to her, to pick up the meaning from her words and not just the sound of them. "I've got something. It's a soul just beyond those shadows."

Stein can see it clearly enough, but he lets her go on. "There's something there. I know that soul. I'm sure of it. That nasty, despicable feeling," she goes on. It is an unnecessary cruelty but oddly funny in the moment; Stein has to very consciously lock his face still so he doesn't laugh.

And then Spirit is there, stepping forward into range of normal vision as well as Stein and Maka's Soul Perception. Black*Star goes loose with relief behind Stein, but Stein is only barely aware of the sigh from the boy.

"Papa." Maka makes the endearment a curse, and Spirit cringes back. When he speaks his voice is tight with defensive hurt.

"I'm not nasty. Or despicable."

Stein agrees, but when he opens his mouth the words that come out are carried on his relief rather than his heartbeat pounding too-fast with more than fear now. "How did you manage to escape from the trap they set up there?"

"When it comes to chasing a woman, no one's faster than I am!" Spirit's voice has dropped into his seductive range, purring over vowels and sliding consonants into liquid notes in his throat. His wavelength flickers. Something about that isn't quite true, but the tell is gone too fast for Stein to catch what, exactly, and it doesn't really matter anyway.

"I should have guessed," he offers, trying out flat sarcasm. "It is a relief to see you, though. I wasn't sure how much I'd be able to do without my weapon around."

Fuck. He hadn't meant to use the possessive. He's been thinking of Spirit that way for nearly two decades now, though, and his stress is too high for him to properly consider his words before they escape, and his mind is keening for the weapon, his palms itching to touch Spirit, human-form or weapon-form makes no difference, and this is not the time to be distracted but the gap in his thoughts feels worse, somehow, more clean-edged and bloody when the missing piece is so near.

Spirit doesn't say anything out loud. His eyebrows flick up, just briefly, and then he makes a noncommittal sound of agreement. Stein steps in - he can't not, not when Spirit is so close - and the weapon doesn't move away, lets him close until Stein could reach out and touch his cheek if he wanted.

"Whadda we got?" Stein asks, trying for casual and trying very hard to keep his hands to himself for now. "Are they up ahead?"

Spirit angles down the hallway, following the line of Stein's gaze into the shadows. "Uh huh. Lying in wait for us." And he transforms, just like that, without taking his hands out of his pockets or looking at Stein at all. Stein's right hand comes forward with no conscious act on his part; he doesn't entirely realize Spirit is transforming until his hand closes around the scythe handle, and then Spirit is there, the gap is gone like it never existed at all, it's just him and his weapon like they used to be.

Spirit grins and the motion is so near that Stein's own mouth tries to turn up at the edges. Nice reflexes.

Thanks. He glances sideways at the cross-shaped weapon in his grip. Where's the blade?

Spirit preens. Stein can feel self-satisfaction pouring off him even before it seeps into his voice. I learned a thing or two when I became a Death Scythe.

Right. Stein rolls his eyes but the grin is catching on his face, euphoria pouring through him as his heartrate slows slightly to match Spirit's.

"Listen up," he says aloud. "From this point forward there's no telling what will happen. It'd be best for you weapons to not return to human form during the battle. When you're vulnerable, a single blow could be the end of you."

I hope they know that already, Spirit puts in. They really are just kids, though. The worry is warm with affection but painful, striking unfamiliar chords of emotion in Stein's head. He ignores the comment, tries to ignore the delight at having actual Spirit's voice in his head and not just an imitation of it.

"Why are they sitting up there waiting for us?" Black*Star asks. Some of the confident boom has left his voice, although he isn't whispering; the decreased volume speaks well of his ability to judge the situation when he needs to. "I thought they were on their way to the Kishin."

"No. They would have left some behind for protection." That's absent too, but there's a wavelength coming up the corridor, too far to see clearly, and Stein is trying to get a read on it. He knows who he suspects, is hoping he's wrong.

"Hey. Do you hear something?" Black*Star asks again, a moment later.

"Hear what?" Maka asks.

The ears on him, Spirit mutters. I can't hear anything.

That's because you're in weapon form, Spirit. Stein responds. The name is pronounced like an insult but underlined in affection. With Spirit this close he can't hide the ripple of pleasure at saying the weapon's name, even in his own head. Spirit doesn't pull away, just goes quiet so for a moment there is no sound at all.

Then there is a faint whisper, skin on stone a long way off. Maka's voice comes in, hard with focus. "Yeah, I heard that."

"It sounded like footsteps to me," Kid says in his careful precise speech.

"So they're finally showing themselves." Black*Star's voice is saturated with expectation, low and pleased. "Who's it gonna be."

Stein knows. The newly familiar sensation of fear is prickling over his bones, aching like bruises under his skin, icing over his thoughts, but Spirit is in his head, Spirit is in his hands, and that is enough to push off the crippling panic. With Spirit, he can do anything.