War

Kian stepped into Lord Death's office with Rachele by his side. "Good morning, sir."

Before Death turned around, Soul had about-faced with his arms crossed and shifted his weight. "Well, if it isn't Mr. Tough Guy." He gave a sharp-toothed smirk and a low "hmph."

Kian sighed and brushed back his nearly white hair. "I apologize. I was a little out of control."

"More than a little," Rachele added with no discretion.

Soul's crimson eyes looked between them before giving a loose shrug and casually rolling up the sleeves of his plaid shirt. "Eh, whatever. No big deal. As long as you're not here to cause my meister trouble, we're cool."

"No trouble. I just have some questions." Kian turned his silver eyes to the Reaper who had yet to turn away from his mirror. From the Ghost and his meister's perspective the mirror was black. However, Death stared into it intently. Rachele cleared her throat. "Sir?"

After a delay the headmaster popped around to face them. "Good morning! How are ya?"

"Fine, thank you… How are you?"

"Oh, just dandy! Dandy indeed! What can I help you with, hmm?"

Kian sighed and swallowed. "That night of the party… You and Soul were fighting Avetta, weren't you."

The Death Scythe looked to his meister. His meister stared with hollow eyes for a moment. "Yes." His tone sounded more serious now.

"Why did you want me to believe she was dead? Were you trying to protect me?"

"Partly. Yes." When Kian and Rachele both questioned with their eyes, he went on. "I'm aware of your rash behavior. Though I trusted Rachele to contain you in the event of you challenging a powerful witch, I didn't want to make room for the opportunity to arise. But not letting Avetta have access to you is just as important."

"Why did she want me to become a Ghost Scythe? Why did she kill me?"

"I can't be certain of her true motives. However, Kian, it is possible that she sensed that you would become a very powerful weapon when you died. And her plans were simply to push you into the powerful weapon you are now and recruit you for her own use. Or Kishin Carvalho's—as I'm sure you have learned."

"Yes," Rachele quietly breathed.

The Reaper straightened his posture even more with his hands behind his cloaked back. "I'm afraid I cannot say much more. My request is that you please do not seek her out. And let the experienced meisters of the academy handle these matters."

When Kian sighed, Rachele lifted her head again. "Lord Death… What's going to happen now?"

Soul barely huffed through his nose with his hands in the back pockets of his skinny jeans and he looked to his meister. The Reaper lifted his head an inch and looked over all their heads. "War."


William's eyelids fluttered for a second—long enough for bright fluorescent light to enter in and cause him to slip out of his nightmare. He jerked and sat up on the examination table with his chest heaving. He only glimpsed Dr. Stein in the corner of the lab before lifting up his shirt and checking to make sure all his skin was still intact. He touched his face and neck and waited to feel prickly stitches but he did not. He whipped his head around and slung his layered dark hair to stare at the doctor. "Why the fuck am I in here."

The scientist remained seated in the corner with his head bowed. One knee was bent on the floor, was up next to his cheek. A shadow hid his features from William. "Don't worry… I didn't do anything," he said without lifting his head and without moving his arms from his sides.

William's head suddenly started to swim with images from his dreams—flashes of faces he hadn't seen in ages and several new ones in ways he never wanted to see them. He maintained his labored respiration. "Where's… Odette,"

"I sent her back to her room last night. I didn't let you go with her." His chin barely came up. "I wasn't sure what you would do when you came to."

Something in him stirred. A voice in his head began to argue. Just have at him. It will calm you down when you're done. You'll feel better if you just break his face. William groaned into his palms when he rubbed them over his eyes, cheeks and mouth. That skin-crawling, heart-racing, blood-boiling feeling was taking control. And he could usually just shake it off. Right now was not the same. His fingers shook at wanting to just destroy and dismantle. His head felt lazy and droopy. He felt relaxed and excited at the same time. Something about this feeling was just addicting. It was home.

"You feel lethal. Don't you."

William turned to look at him again.

Dr. Stein lifted his head a little more. A glare shone off of his glasses. "You were right. I thought I could show you how to resist the madness. But instead… our insanity… was feeding off of each other."

William exhaled heavily to try and breathe through this vibrating craze. "What… do we do now."

The instructor stood up with difficulty, favoring his left arm and keeping it tucked against his middle. "The blood transfusion. It will buy us time until I can get Lord Death's help with this matter."

William rolled his head on his shoulders. It felt like it might float away. It felt really good actually. Like he was high without having a bump or a shot. "I guess… I should thank you… for keeping your scalpel in your pocket."

Dr. Stein tapped a cigarette out of the carton and stuck it in his lips before lighting it. "I didn't."

The student watched him. That's when he noticed. In the moment the scientist's arm had raised to light his smoke, the sleeve of his coat fell enough to reveal a vertical line of stitches in the middle of his arm under his wrist. He looked around for blood but there was none. He looked back at the instructor. "Did it tide you over?"

A wily smirk flashed into presence as if it had been contained for too long and had finally escaped. "We'll see."

William left his office before the sun even came up all the way. Right now he didn't want to see anyone. He didn't want to do anything, he didn't want to interact with anyone. Instead he went outside and hopped on his motorcycle and left campus to go into Death City and order a coffee. Not think, not talk. Just sit and do nothing. Maybe if his mind was doing nothing he could stop the crawling under his skin. Not that he genuinely wanted to. But he knew it was for the best. It was like some drugs he had tried before. The consequences of it later didn't mean anything for how it felt right now. There was no frame of reference for whether it would be worth it or not. But from past experience, he attempted to resist.

He parked his bike out of sight and walked up the small incline of the cobble street. There was a pleasant chill in the air and that kind of helped. But he still couldn't stop thinking about the past—about a time when he was a weapon of mass destruction and didn't care because he felt nothing. Nothing hurt inside. That wasn't the case anymore. Pain can't be felt if there isn't a place for it to occupy. But living here, with Odette and all the rest, these people he had come to know… and care about… What a set up for disaster.

He stopped when he heard a scuff behind him. A familiar male voice, smooth and kind of low struck his ear. "Long time no see." William exhaled and turned around. The man's arms were crossed still sporting his signature brown workman's gloves that appeared to extend the reach of his arms and fingers. He rolled his neck while his sandy spiky hair stayed still and the dawn's light glinted off the piercing on the bridge of his nose. He spoke again. "You're up pretty early."

William subtly glanced around. "What are you doing here."

"Honestly? Looking for you, pal. What the hell are you doing?"

"I'm taking a walk, what the fuck does it look like." He checked around them again to make doubly sure the street was clear of civilians but that didn't guarantee it was empty. "Who's with you."

The man shook his head. "Just me and you."

William sighed and the blood-boiling seemed to have stopped now. "What do you want?"

"I wanted to talk to you! Things are getting pretty dicey, wouldn't you say?"

He shook his head. "I didn't start this." He waved his hand around at him. "You all did."

"No, motherfucker, you started it!" He chuckled, "Don't you fool yourself on that one, mate! What the fuck are you doing palling around with that Reaper and those punk kids, huh? Why the hell didn't you come back? Don't give me some sob story of how he saved you and how you have friends now and you like it here." He shifted his weight and smirked, flashing a set of sharp teeth. "Carvalho's pissed." He grinned after his last remark.

"I don't care," William retorted with a wrinkle of his nose. "Why does he even care what I do? What, are you his weapon now? Did he pick you as his Demon Scythe?"

He shook his head. "No, man. Not me. Somebody else you don't want to fuck with."

William flicked his chin up. "Who."

The man huffed and swiped an oversized gloved finger under his nose. "It doesn't matter. Shit's about to go down." He cocked his head. "He's giving you an option. You come back now. Or Death City is gonna be ashes."

William blinked and furrowed his brow a little. "You can tell him I said he should go fuck himself."

The man stared with dull eyes for a moment. By now the sky had turned more gold than red. He gave an almost sad nod before turning. "I'll send the message." He started to walk, his boots scuffing the cobblestone while he pulled up his damaged blue jeans a little.

The student watched him walk away. "… Giriko."

The other stopped but didn't turn around.

"Don't do this. Come back with me. You don't have to put up with his shit anymore. There's… more here for you." He swallowed.

Giriko looked over his shoulder. "I don't put up with anybody's shit."

William sighed silently and held his gaze.

They stared for a moment in the silent beginning of the war. "I hope you get out of it alive." He looked as if he had something else he wanted to say, but for fear of compromising a certain image William knew he continuously wanted to convey, he did not. And he kept walking.

He watched him until the sun got too bright to see without squinting. He looked back in the direction of the castle. The dawn of battle was nearly upon them. And it really was his fault.