Pain came to her before consciousness, dull and aching in her throat and muscles. By now she was used to that, but there was something about this pain that gave her pause. It wasn't… different, yet her perceptions of it were. The pain seemed more focused, more real than before. When she was Pendra's thrall everything had come to her through a haze of magic, echoes instead of sounds and phantoms instead of people. Everything seemed a surreal nightmare from which she could only escape in sleep. Everything except for the witch. Her presence was always sharp, her will like broken glass in Vera's mind. So where was the glass now? What had happened to the sharp edges that had torn into her and the fogged panes between herself and the world? Why did she care all of a sudden?
Next in line, interestingly enough, was an awareness of her hands. She became acutely aware that she had hands, that they were sluggish and dry. Her fingers curled in response to her will, slowly yet decisively, obeying signals that came from her mind. It was her idea to curl them, then to straighten them, flexing experimentally. There was something bulky applying pressure to her left pointer finger, clamped around the tip, and each knuckle felt stiff. Other than that her hands seemed to be functioning. Vera moved her focus up her arms, to something stuck into the crook of her left elbow, then down her ribs to her legs. Feeling her body as if for the first time, experiencing what it was to have a body.
It was only then that true consciousness hit her, flinging her eyes wide open like windows in a storm. Panic coursed through her blood and crushed her chest. Adrenaline coursed into her weak muscles. Pendra had left her mind, but that didn't make her free. And without freedom she wasn't safe. Padded restraints around her wrists and ankles held her in place as she tried to get up, intensifying the fear. Her amber eyes swept this way and that, taking in every unfamiliar detail with terrifying efficiency. She was in some kind of infirmary, that much was instantly apparent. Beyond that nothing was clear. Where was she and how had she gotten there? Why was she suddenly her own person again? What had she done? Why wasn't she dead?
"Good," drawled a voice from behind a white curtain. "You're awake."
A large, pale hand pushed the fabric aside decisively, revealing a tall man with round glasses and narrow, olive eyes. His flesh was marred with stitch-like scars and his face was unreadably neutral. Vera thrashed.
"Let me go," she demanded in a voice that was much calmer than she felt. "Let me go!"
"I can't do that just yet," answered the man, shoving his hands into his pockets in an attempt to appear less threatening. "Don't misunderstand; you're not a prisoner."
"Then why am I tied to a bed?!"
"Because you've been through a traumatic ordeal and we were concerned you might wake up and hurt yourself, rather like you're trying to do right now. Now please stop squirming, you're going to tear out your IV."
"I want to leave," she said flatly, though she did decide to his point about the IV was valid and stopped flailing. "Now."
"You can't. You're still very sick and if you leave now you could die. This is a medical center and you are receiving the treatment you need. Once you're healed you'll be free to go, though something tells me you'll prefer to stay within these walls."
"Are you threatening me?"
"Merely stating a hypothesis. I assumed you'd understand and be grateful for our help… and our protection."
"Protection," Vera repeated, wilting. "You mean from the witch? Or from… Crona?"
"Interesting. Why would you need protecting from Crona?"
"It's not just me," she shot, trying to shake her coal black hair out of her face. "We all need protection from that monster."
"You are aware that Crona is a student at this academy."
"Maybe he used to be. But that's not what she has planned for him. I assumed you all had figured that out by now. You have figured that out, right?"
The man she assumed was the fabled Professor Stein moved in closer and she flinched away. She didn't know what she was expecting, only that it was going to be unpleasant. However, he merely leaned over her and undid the restraints around her wrists. Notably, he left the ones around her ankles intact. Then he put his hands back in his pockets and gave her a critical look.
"We are aware that up until recently you were a pawn for the witch Pendra, who has taken an interest in Crona. We know that that must have been difficult for you."
"Difficult," she repeated incredulously. "Are you serious?"
"We are also aware," he continued over her. "That you attempted to do something to Crona before being released by the witch. It is very important that you tell us what that something was and whether or not you succeeded."
Vera went rigid. Stabbing in her chest, blood in her mouth. The sound his skull made as she cracked it against the brick. The stunned expression on his face which slowly went blank, rather the way she imagined her own face must've looked that first night. Suddenly, she wanted to vomit.
"I can't talk about this," she whispered, dropping her gaze to the floor.
"You were badly dehydrated and malnourished, not to mention suffering from a severe reaction to magical proteins. We've given you as much time as we could to let you recover, but now that you're awake we need to know what you remember."
"Why are you asking me?! Don't you know already?!"
"Know. What."
"About Crona. Hasn't he gone to her? Or do you have him locked up like me?"
"Crona's fine, he's at home-"
"He's free," she shrieked, lurching violently.
She would've fallen out of the bed if Stein hadn't caught her. Vera grabbed him by the shoulders, pressing her fingers into his muscle so hard her nails went white. Her eyes were wide and crazed again.
"Listen to me," she said, voice once again surprisingly steady. "You need to lock him up. Now. He's not fine. He's not safe."
"We know you must blame Crona for the death of your parents-"
"This isn't about that! This is about the centipede she made me put inside him!"
"Crona's blood tested negative for magical proteins-"
"Of course it did! The centipede disintegrates into chitosan coated magical proteins that can stay hidden in the plasma. They won't become hydrophobic until activated, you couldn't have seen them!"
"How do you-"
"I just know, now will you shut up and listen to me! The centipede is inside Crona and it will activate the second he becomes too stressed and drops his guard. He's a time bomb and you need to lock him up now!"
Professor Stein looked at her dangerously, analytically, evaluating her, but she didn't care. She'd switched sides on the board and now this school's safety was her's. Self preservation kicked in and she screamed:
"Now god damn it!"
"I don't understand why I'm here…" Crona trailed off, looking around with an evident and acute discomfort.
The room had a distinct cubic structure and a faint, green glow. Stairs led to platforms that didn't line up and blue lines made angular webs on the walls. And at the center a platform decorated with fire and a yellow rug. Outside he knew the trees were encased in green fog, their dead branches like arrows pointing every which way. The entire area was designed to mislead, but he had always been able to find her no matter the circumstances. He remembered this place in his dreams, the arrow through his abdomen, the cold sensation of draining.
"You wanted to know if your dormant Madness could be forcibly reactivated without accessing your behavioral conditioning," Lady Medusa said matter-of-factly, folding her arms and coming up beside him. "This is the last journal, and your being here causes me to conclude that the procedure didn't work, but I had plans."
"Plans to kill me," he said bitterly. "I already know what happened here! I don't need to see it!"
"Why are you so agitated? We're not here to relive whatever you experienced and even if we were, you cannot be injured within these pages. Surely you remember that. Now quit your fussing and follow me."
"What if I don't want to go," he said after a pause. "What if I don't want to know about your plans?"
"That is your choice. But you shouldn't lie to yourself about such things. You've come so far; you can't stop now. This is the last journal, the end of what I can tell you, will you really let something petty like death stop you?"
"Answer my question here," Crona whispered, still not moving. "Can you forcibly activate dormant Madness? Once I have my solution will I be safe?"
"Yes and no. If you want to know why, you need to follow me."
There was another long pause and she turned to face him, sighing in mild frustration. Crona grasped his arm above the elbow, recoiling from her disappointment as if it was a physical blow. Even now… she wasn't the Lady Medusa he remembered but she remained Lady Medusa. She was his mother.
"I was very weak," she started, giving him a wry smile. "Trapped in the body of a child, only a fraction of my former self. And you had gotten so strong, Crona. You'd always been a defiant child, but this was the first time you'd been stable enough to turn on me. You never liked being controlled and I respected that. Still, I couldn't let it stand. Neither could I utilize your behavioral conditioning; your mind was too sound for mere verbal commands and my magic insufficient to activate the programming inside you. I needed an alternative. I needed to reintegrate myself into your life."
"I came here with Miss Marie. I came… to stop you."
"Of course you came. I knew you would, one way or another, and I knew restraining you would be difficult in my state."
Something inside him snapped and he dropped his fists to his sides, scowling.
"Restraining me?! You tried to kill me!"
Her reptilian eyes blinked at him, slowly, her expression darkening.
"Is that really what you think? No Crona, I would never kill you. You are my child-"
"Don't say that. Not ever. I still have the scar from where your arrow almost cut me in half," he hissed coldly, pressing a hand to his stomach. "I still remember you standing over me with your Vector Blade. I still have nightmares."
"Where is the scar? There, across your abdomen? Clearly you survived, so why are you so upset? Follow me and I'll show you what I had planned for that night. If you don't believe me now, you will after you see it."
With that she turned her back and moved off across the stone, leaping nimbly from one platform to another, propelled by black arrows she manifested on the floor. After a moment of consideration, Crona's curiosity overcame his anger and he went after her. The plates felt wrong under his feet, the surge of magic around his body like a damp fog. He didn't like it, but he did it anyway. Hunger gnawed inside him; he had to know. How was he supposed to move forward if he didn't know? What was he supposed to do?
Lady Medusa pressed a hand into the back wall and an invisible panel slid open. Without checking to see if he was following, she slunk in, disappearing. Crona tried to take a deep breath, but his ribs were so tight it just whispered across his lips, echoing against the stone. For the first time, fear of knowledge curled in his gut. He was so certain of what had happened that night, at peace with it even. But what was beyond this door… it could change everything and he wasn't sure he wanted things to change. Truth always seems desirable until it's looking you in the face. Something told him to leave, to flee the journals and never come back, yet the hunger pulled him forward. The need to know was like a biological imperative at this point. He couldn't deny it.
Inside there was a single tank filled with bubbles and pale blue liquid. Needles attached to fine tubing squirmed like snakes in the current, flicking independent of gravity as the bubbles pushed them around. She stood next to it, a hand pressed against the glass, eyes pale in the dim light that filtered through the water. The room was dark otherwise.
"Everyone has Madness," she started in a low voice, not looking at him. "But you, Crona, you're special. You were engineered with Madness in mind. And yet that girl purged it from you. I knew of her Anti-Magic Wavelength, I knew who her parents were and what she was capable of. It really was a shame that she stumbled upon those capabilities while fighting you. Despite your origins you've always been a gentle child, so difficult to persuade. Once she made those traits dominant and you'd attached yourself to her, I knew there was no going back for you. So I was going to have to either destroy you or remove her from your mind."
"What are you saying-"
"That that girl took you away from me!"
She snapped suddenly, her hand forming a fist against the glass as her eyes darted to him. The intensity in her gaze was such that he recoiled, taking a half step back. He had never seen her angry like this before, not once.
"I could never allow her to have you. I could never let you be controlled by anyone else, not another witch and most assuredly not some stupid little girl. So I created a treatment plan that would purge your memories. Wipe her from your mind, eradicate all traces of stability and sanity her presence had deposited in you. Once you were blank you would be mine again and I would be able to reintegrate your Madness. Things would return to how they were meant to be. Just you and I."
"I would never let you do that…"
Crona said the words without considering them, allowing them to simply flow from a place inside his chest. He was too confused to do otherwise, too consumed by a thousand feelings he didn't know how to deal with. What was she saying… what did it mean?
"Of course I was well aware of that," she spat, though the irritation in her voice had begun to subside. "So I would need to subdue you before the procedure. I was going to have to hurt you to get you back."
"Hurt me? I almost died. I would've died if it hadn't been for Maka and Professor Stein. Nothing you say can change that."
"But you didn't die. I designed your body; I know exactly how much physical damage it can take. Even after the Black Blood is deactivated, which would have needed to happen for me to make even the slightest impact, your body is nearly indestructible. It heals quickly, can survive extreme temperatures, malnutrition, severe blood loss. Perhaps to you it seemed like death, but any wounds inflicted by me would not have killed you."
"Stop it… Don't say another word…"
"I needed to incapacitate you, then place you in this tank where over the course of weeks your mind would be rewritten through continuous exposure to my magic and blood. Just like when you were a child. I was going to make you mine once again."
"Stop! You're lying!"
She turned fully to face him such that the light from the tank was behind her, casting her face into shadows. But her voice was soft and wrong and terrifying.
"I can neither hurt nor lie to you. I would not have killed you. You are my child, Crona. My pride and my legacy. You are the greatest thing I have ever made and I wanted you back."
Crona snapped the journal closed, trembling and gasping. He felt sick, light headed, as if all the blood had drained right out of him. His mind was reeling as the world spun all around, the pieces of his shattered reality glinting like a mirage on the floor. It wasn't true- it couldn't be- it wasn't. All this time he'd thought she'd tired of him and the only way to survive was to kill her. Of course there were other factors, the guilt that still squirmed inside him for one, but an undeniable facet of selfishness had been the prime motivator in his decision. If he wanted to live she'd had to die. But that hadn't been accurate; returning to her was an option. He'd had a choice and he'd chosen to kill his own mother.
No, that wasn't right either. He hadn't killed her- hadn't even managed to harm her. The anxiety took fistfuls of his gut and twisted them so hard he thought he would vomit. Muscles constricted in his throat and chest so tight he couldn't breathe. Sensory information flooded in so loud he couldn't think. Memory distorted in a monstrous reenactment and above it all someone was laughing.
"Isn't that interesting," giggled a voice he'd come to recognize yet still couldn't place. "And all this time you thought her death was unavoidable, the right thing to do even. Things aren't so simple now, are they."
Blinking hard, he looked up, allowing his gaze to become entangled in a garnet stare. Dissonance rang in his head, because he recognized the person standing there, but couldn't fathom how she'd come to be in their living room. Nor could he connect the voice to her body. Because the witch Pendra wasn't there… and yet she was. Her smile was wicked and gleeful, her brass bracelets jingling harshly as she moved towards him. There was no sensation when she touched his face, running one finger along his jaw to his pointed chin.
"Now it wasn't something that had to be done. Now it's murder. And you've been sleeping with your mother's murderer."
"Crona," said Maka curiously, giving the trembling sword meister a sideways look. "What's wrong?"
He didn't answer, or even acknowledge the sound of her voice. His eyes were wide and blue and staring straight forward, his face and hands ghost white. Soul set down the dish he was about to put away and turned, expression dark. Gingerly, Maka reached out to brush Crona's shoulder.
"Don't touch me!"
She pulled away sharply, holding her fingers close to her chest in sudden surprise. His shoulder was covered in thorns too small to see, but she could feel them. A bead of bright crimson grew on the tip of her pointer, glinting in the electric light. Lurching forward, he stumbled to his feet, letting the journal he'd been reading so attentively clatter to the floor.
"Don't touch me," he repeated, whispering this time. "Don't touch me…"
"Hey man, what gives," called Soul, advancing towards the couch from the kitchen.
"She killed your mother," Pendra's voice echoed in his ear as she came up beside him. "Your mother wanted you back and she killed her."
"Stop it! Shut up!"
"Crona, who are you talking to?! What's going on?"
Maka was on her feet, hands held out defensively, emerald eyes focused and hurt. Behind him Soul was still advancing, face set in rigid concern as Madness throbbed in his scar. Crona could feel it inside himself too, past the sickness, an escape from all these whirling emotions he didn't know how to deal with. The abyss yawned out at him, calling him, devouring him. Something wet chilled his fingertips and, still trembling horribly, he looked down. Black Blood shone like tar in his nail beds, draining out of him, escaping his control. Shrieking in earnest, Crona fled. Nimbly he dodged between Soul and Maka, bumping into the side table and tripping over his own feet on his way to the bathroom.
"Wait! Crona, what's happening," Maka shouted, tearing after him.
She hesitated when she got to the closed door though. The knob was slippery with Black Blood, the white paint streaked with it. Terrified, she looked back over her shoulder at Soul. The weapon swallowed hard and made a move to join her. Then he froze, grunting in pain and pressing a hand to his scar.
"Go away. Go away! Just get out of here! Go," Crona sobbed from behind the door.
He curled up in the bathtub, pressing his face into his knees and his hands over his ears. Still her voice came, whispers, things he didn't want to think about. Then she grabbed a fistful of his hair and jerked his head up, forcing him to confront the thing he most feared. The other Crona stared back at him, smiling a wide, gash-like smile, eyes void. His hands cupped Crona's face and he brought it so close to his their noses touched and Crona's insides turned to cold worms. Terror kept him still and quiet as the other's mouth stretched wide, panic paralyzed him as something like liquid caught the light in the back of his throat.
A sphere of Black Blood shot out of the other's mouth and into Crona's. He let out a gurgling scream, eyes rolling back as addictive power coursed through him. Soul yelled, collapsing onto the floor in sudden agony. Maka threw caution to the winds and kicked the bathroom door in.
At first the room appeared empty, as if Crona had made some kind of impossible escape. White, incandescent light glimmered on the porcelain surfaces. Water dripped in the sink. And the ground was slick with Black Blood leading to the bathtub.
"Crona," she called uncertainly, stepping onto the wet tile. "It's okay. You're okay. I'm here; tell me what you need."
Fingers crawled over the edge of the tub. They were followed by a hand, then another. Blood pulsed from the place where the nail burrowed into the flesh, dripping, running down the shining white side. Next came a face she didn't recognize, wild and pale, framed with pink hair. The mouth was twisted upwards grotesquely, teeth stained, and the eyes were massive and pitch black. More blood ran in thin streams from the corners of those vacant eyes, from the mouth, and from the pink scalp. Slowly, the creature oozed from the tub and onto the floor, giggling a low, manic giggle.
"You killed her…" the thing moved its lips and Crona's voice came out all wrong. "She raised me on blood and milk, she gave me life and purpose, she was my world, and you took her away from me."
"Crona," Maka said, fighting to keep her voice steady as fear made a nest in her intestines. "Listen to me. You need to calm down. This isn't who you are-"
"But it's who I'm meant to be. Don't you see? You killed her and I felt… so free. I never dreamed I could be so free. This is what she wanted for me. This is why she made me, her pride and legacy. Isn't that funny?"
"Crona stop it."
Her voice was firm, but her body was retreating, stepping backwards as this thing that was the person she loved crawled towards her. It was inhuman and terrifying and unrecognizable, but it was still Crona. She could reach him. She knew she could. He didn't stop. He screamed:
"You took her away from me! And before that you took me away from her! You're too bright for a pitch black being like me! You burned me into nothing but ash and shadow and still she wanted me back! What gave you the right! Why did you destroy me?!"
She slipped on the bloody tile and landed hard on her tailbone. A yelp tore free from her throat, but Crona was unfazed. If anything he seemed to enjoy her pain, chuckling in a low, sinister tone. Slowly, crawling on all fours, he advanced. Maka scooted back, her palms slipping out from under her, retreating until she'd exited the bathroom.
"I don't understand," she cried, giving him a pleading, agonized look. "I don't understand where this is coming from! What's happened Crona? Please, tell me. Tell me what I can do to help you!"
"You? You did this to me. You made me think I was something else but I'm not. It's your fault, all of it, everything, it's your fault…"
The blood on the floor came alive with thorny vines that swayed through the air like serpents all around him. They curled and uncurled lethargically, yet at the same time seemed to vibrate with intensity. Maka could feel the Madness emitting from them, saturating the air. Fear like she hadn't felt since the Kishin hammered in her chest, then sank when her back hit the wall.
"Maka," grunted Soul, his voice just barely making it out of his curled up form. "Run."
"Crona," she tried again, soft, plaintive. "Please. It's me. It's Maka. Don't you recognize me? Please stop this."
"There is no stopping what has begun. There is no turning away from the way she made me. The only thing a pitch black being like me can do is…"
One of the vines pulled itself from the pools on the ground and sped towards her. She didn't even have time to react. From Maka's perspective there was just a flash of black and then a horrible, stabbing pain in her shoulder. Still, she didn't scream. Not until she looked down and saw the pike of thorns poking out from the place just below her right collarbone. Even then, it was more of a moan. He hadn't done anything beyond superficial damage, yet he'd broken her heart. Maka looked at him, emerald eyes filling with tears, and a void looked back. Slowly the vine withdrew, pulling her forward and towards that blood stained smile.
Soul's fist closed around the vine and, grasping her firmly by the waist, he tore it out of her. Crimson blood sprayed the air, his and hers, and Crona's vacant stare followed the droplets. He looked… confused. His smile flickered. Then he seemed to remember thy were there and his pitch black eyes returned to their cowering forms. Snarling, Soul reached across Maka and pressed his bleeding palm against the wall behind her, inserting himself between her and Crona. His eyes flashed with rage.
"I will not let you hurt my meister," he growled in a low, savage voice. " Even if it's you, I won't let you hurt her!"
Crona froze, going rigid. The Black Blood contorted with his features; the movement of the vines became frantic. His fingers tensed against the tile, bleeding cuticles going white.
"Even if it's me," he repeated. "But who is me?"
No one had time to answer. There was the crash of wood splintering, a whirl of stitched white fabric, and then Professor Stein's charged hand met Crona's face. There was an electric sound that mixed horribly with Crona's scream as he was launched back. His head collided with the porcelain edge of the tub with a dull crack, his eyes stretching wide before his body hit the floor again. For a long, suspended moment they all watched his still form, holding their breath, thoughts racing. First his fingers twitched and their hearts stopped. Then, cautiously, he pushed himself up onto his knees, frowning. Black Blood lurched across the ground and ran over his skin, returning to his body. When he opened his storm cloud grey eyes there was no trace of the monster who'd been there moments before.
Blinking hard, his lips parted as if he was going to say something. Instead a convulsion seized him and he retched. The force of it brought him close to the ground again, hands pressed into the tile. Muscles contracted around his abdomen, arching his spine and squeezing his ribs with such power Maka could see the bones move through his black robe. Once again Black Blood dripped from his lips, but it was for an entirely different reason; something else was also glinting on those lips. A black chitin carcass with bright red legs emerged, slowly, each contraction of his visibly trembling frame expelling it from his body. Finally, after what seemed like minutes but couldn't have been more than thirty seconds, the dead insect hit the floor with a sick, splattering noise. And Medusa's child, breathing hard, collapsed next to it.
Maka, Soul, and Stein looked at his unconscious form with varying shades of fear, hurt, and pity. Who, they couldn't help but wonder, would he be when he woke up?