Author's Note: The torture sequence continues into this chapter and ends here. In case anyone is worried, no one dies here, and the most descriptive parts (with regard to the torture sequence) are in the previous chapter. Still trying to keep my lead, but I have started to catch up to myself. With luck I'll gain some momentum back! And with that, thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy this chapter!
"You're making a face, Franken. Did I overcook the meat again?"
"The meat is fine, dear. Need I remind you that you've not once overcooked to meat since we've been married?"
"But there was that one time when we weren't even engaged yet! You made such a fuss about it."
"As I recall, you were the one making a fuss. Rather like you're doing right now. I've already told you the meat's fine."
"Then explain your face!"
The DWMA's greatest meister, most decorated professor, and resident mad scientist, nearly sprayed the aforementioned meat across the table and directly into his wife's huffy face. He managed to contain the laughter, which was good because Marie did not look like she was playing. As was her way, she was deadly serious and incredibly invested in some minutia beyond Stein's comprehension. He did not mean to laugh at her outrage, she was just one of few people who even could make him laugh. Covering the noise with a napkin, Stein settled back into his passive dignity and cleared his throat.
"Marie," he answered, deadpan. "This is how my face always looks."
"But you're thinking about something," she accused, poking her fork at him and narrowing her golden eye.
"Again, I'm always thinking about something."
"Something you don't want to share with me?"
"Would you like to hear it?"
"Of course I would like to hear it!"
"And you promise you won't get upset?"
"Franken, tell me what you were thinking that caused you to make such a face I will now live forever in fear that my cooking is subpar."
"No matter how long I teach the students continue to amaze me with the ingenuity they display in doing the labs wrong."
"Franken," Marie chastised, flailing the fork with more ferocity. "That is unkind!"
"I had a student cut their tongue with a scalpel."
"They… what?"
"On a dare."
Marie dropped the utensil dramatically so she could press her face into the most available palm. Stein allowed himself to smile freely, picking his own knife back up and going for the steak. He was definitely going to be able to get a few bites in while she rampaged about that one. And at the moment her fork struck the plate with a sharp clatter, Vera appeared between them such that the table was passing through her abdomen.
"Fuck," she yelled, squeezing her eyes shut and twisting her fingers in her coal black hair.
"Oh my," gasped Marie, standing up and jumping back in surprise.
Her restraint was comical next to Vera's profanity, so much so that Stein was tempted to laugh again. But he controlled himself, sobering rather quickly as he evaluated the situation. Best-case scenario Vera had been practicing and become lost on the astral plane. Her party dress, though, told him that something much worse had happened.
"What time is it? Damn it, it doesn't matter. I don't know what time it was- used to be- fuck! I don't know when it happened but you need to go now! Use your what'd-it-called and find him!"
"Find who, Vera," probed Stein, much less disturbed by the fact that there was a young woman poking out of their fruit salad than Marie. "Calm down and tell us what's happened."
"They've got him, that's what's happened," Vera snapped, moving to hit the table for emphasis, but her hand just went through it and she ended up awkwardly hunched. "Ethan and whoever else he was with drugged everyone at the party and took Crona."
"Took Crona," Marie repeated with her own sharp urgency, coming around to Stein's side and steeling. "Where? Why?"
"If I knew I wouldn't be telling you to find him, now would I? As for why, well, not for anything good. I know Ethan from after my parents died; best I can figure he's out for revenge."
"I can't pick Crona out from a distance," Stein said coolly, lacing his fingers and frowning. "Not with the kind of accuracy we'd need. That's one of Maka's gifts I'm afraid."
"Then go wake her up! Look, they were saying something about eating and they dropped these bombs of white gas. I think they drugged the food because I didn't have anything to eat and the gas had no effect on me."
"If you didn't pass out due to the gas then how are you-" Marie started, but Vera cut her off tersely.
"Probably a god damn concussion. Now will you hurry up to the Gallows Mansion? Kid's the only one awake but he's not operating on all cylinders if you catch my drift. I don't know what he's doing… I don't… wow I'm tired."
"It takes a lot of energy to manifest your astral self. Rest now and we'll be there as soon as we can."
Vera nodded at him, already looking paler than she had when she'd gotten there. Closing her eyes, she let her chin lull onto her chest and faded like a mirage when the sun goes down. Stein tilted his head so the panes of his glasses glared, obscuring his expression and response to the casual observer. Marie, however, was neither casual nor did she need to observe. Without looking at him, she placed a knowing hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze. No words were needed; they were both scared for Crona.
When they got there Kid had recovered the vast majority of his faculties and was seeing to regaining the rest. Or a more appropriate phrasing might be his body was seeing to the rest. He'd finished arranging the unconscious bodies of the partygoers at least, collecting them into heaps of eight which formed a figure eight in the middle of the atrium. Presumably to make the math work, those by the stairs were excluded from this arrangement. Marie found him purging into a mostly empty salad bowl, shaking with effort and anger. The sight and smell of it gave her cause to worry she might join him in that endeavor, but she kept her composure. She approached him as Stein went immediately to Maka, checking her over.
"Can you speak," she asked gingerly, placing a light hand on his back and reaching out with her Healing Wavelength. "Kid?"
"Those bastards," he growled, gripping the edges of the bowl tightly and straightening. "Those vermin, they'll pay for this outrage."
"Who were they? Did you see them? Do you know where they went?"
"No… no I remember nothing after Crona's speech until just now."
"How about before that," Stein probed without bothering to look at them, calculating Maka's pulse with a wristwatch then opening his bag. "Unusual people, peculiar odors, someone suspicious by the punch?"
"Maka's caterers were not skilled," Kid answered after a moment's thought, releasing the salad bowl and straightening. "The food tasted strange, like they'd added far too much cilantro even though I could see no evidence that any had been used at all. Then there was that gas just after Crona introduced the memorial candles, white and wet but without any detectable scent."
"I see, so things are as Vera described," nodded Stein, pulling out a set of unlabeled glass bottles containing clear liquids of various viscosities.
"Oh Vera!" Marie's exclamation caught the still recovering Kid off guard and he jumped, heaved, then spun around to relieve himself in the salad again. "She'd been hit in the head! Where is she?"
"Vera," Kid inquired when he was able, watching Marie search his piles of people with a perplexed interest. "So she's how you knew to come here. And where is Crona? What, exactly, has happened?"
"You've all been drugged with a crude dose of a niche street drug called Surprise. It's actually a combination most commonly dispersed at parties; the precursor is orally ingested, then the P450 metabolite combines with the inhaled activator in the blood stream to produce the desired effect. Supposedly the anticipation and uncertainty of who was and was not drugged is as desirable as the euphoria."
"I would not describe the experience as euphoric."
"That's because everyone here suffered an overdose to ensure that both yourself and Crona were incapacitated. I suspect there will be no permanent damage, though you may wish to remove these people from your home before they wake up and start vomiting. The more pressing matter is that Crona's been kidnapped and the only person that can track him down instantaneously is unconscious in a party dress."
"Found her," Marie exclaimed, tugging Vera to one of the pillars and propping her up. "Vera, Vera wake up. She doesn't seem to be bleeding anymore but it looks to be a bad blow."
"I will be there momentarily Marie," Stein said, finally settling on a liquid based on some unknowable criteria and pulling out a sterile syringe. "Right now someone should bring over a bucket."
Kid caught on faster than Marie, though he was indecisive about which substance he wanted on his floor less: a million and one croutons or Maka's puke. Frowning deeply, he made a quick calculation, removed 24 croutons, then scattered the rest onto the floor and brought the empty bowl to Stein. He accepted it readily, rolling Maka onto her side and positioning the bowl strategically. Finally and without ceremony, he pulled 3.5 mL from the bottle, flicked the plunger a few times to dislodge any bubbles, expelled those and any liquid to 3 mL, and plunged the needle into Maka's neck. Ten or so seconds passed in tension before her eyes shot open and her reflexes kicked in. Rolling to her hands and knees, she hunched over the crouton bowl and ejected almost the full bowl's volume. Much to Kid's relief, it was just the once.
"Wha-" she tried to rasp, but Stein saved her the effort.
"You were all drugged heavily and Crona's been kidnapped. We are unsure of the timetable but it's doubtful they've left the city. He must be found quickly; are you able to sense his soul wavelength?"
She slid her eyes sideway's and upward, giving a wrathful glare that wasn't meant for him and flaring her nostrils. Then she processed the second half of the information and sat up, settling with forced relaxation. In her mind she pictured the blue lights of souls, flickering like flames all around her, floating and sprawling outwards to the edges of the city. Dense and glowing. She searched for a pink one that burned brighter than the rest, for the red thread that bound it to her own.
"Yes," Maka answered after only a moment, rolling her lips together. "Yes, I can sense where they've gone, I can feel his soul. It's distorting…"
Grimacing, she trailed off and refocused her stare on the Professor. Her mouth opened with one demand or another, but whatever it was was drowned out by the sounds of Vera and Soul screaming in unison. Soul arched his back beside her, his unconscious hands clawing at the scar on his chest, perhaps trying to contain the sudden outpouring of Madness from the stitches, perhaps helping to release it. Vera's eyes shot open, milky and opalescent, and the veins on her right hand turned black, bulging.
"Take Beelzebub," Kid commanded, stretching out a hand and allowing the skateboard to materialize from the haunting specters it produced. "There's no time for anything else."
Maka nodded wordlessly, pulling off her shoes and tying up her dress in a careless but expert fashion. Barefoot and pale with fear and exertion, she grabbed the board from Kid and bolted into the night.
"It's funny, you'd almost convinced me," mused Eric, tilting Crona's head back and forth and watching his blank eyes move with it, empty and unconcerned. "Even though I knew better, even though I have this profound clarity about what needs to be done, I'm still a little surprised to see you again. Isn't that funny?"
He released Crona's chin forcefully as he straightened, knocking it against his shoulder and causing his tight neck to crunch in protest. Still there was no response, no awareness from the swordsman. Smiling triumphantly, Eric gave the group over Crona's shoulder a quick look and a nod before returning his focus to his target. They were close, but not finished yet. There was one more part to the plan before their dream could be realized. Folding his arms, Eric looked down his nose at their captive, evaluating.
"Tell me demon," he asked nonchalantly, his lips twisting in joyless amusement. "Are we going to need to untie you to execute Rule #3 of our game or could you get out of these restraints if you wanted to?"
Crona's wide blue eyes rolled in their sockets, upwards and then around to Eric, and he blinked once. A second tear of Black Blood glittered and broke free when his eyelids pressed together, pulsing along the path left by the first and reaching his sharp chin. Other than that he gave no sign that he'd heard the question, let alone understood it. Still, there was something about him Eric couldn't explain, some wisp of defiance that blocked either his will or that of the phantoms Crona was seeing. And defiance, especially when they were so close, could not be tolerated.
"Show me," he commanded in a low tone, dropping his chin and hunching his shoulders. "Remove the restraints if you can."
Now Crona did respond. He raised his head and turned his face to Eric, lips parting in a tiny gasp and brow tensing. It wasn't a frown, not yet, merely the prelude to more intense emotions. That was the extent of his answer… at least at first. Then more movement, but not from the meister; Crona's body didn't so much as twitch, his arms remained relaxed and his fingers rested lightly on the armrests. No, it wasn't Crona's body that was responsible for the subtle alterations to his state of being. It was the steel cables. They were shivering and… unbraiding. The more progress they made the longer the frayed tails got, whirling through the air in an ethereal tune. Eric had not been expecting this, hadn't known Crona was even capable of it. He'd expected pikes of Black Blood to shear through the metal or something along those lines, something violent and quick. Instead the individual wires were mesmerizing, almost beautiful in the way they swam around Crona, expanding outwards. Out to the place he stood.
"Ahg," he grunted, wincing as the tip of one tail flicked across his cheekbone, drawing forth a thin line of red blood. His body tried to do two things at once: bring up his forearm to defend himself and step away from the swarm. It only succeeded in one before a second wire whipped towards him, the sharp edge slicing a trail from his elbow along his ulna and across his palm. Eric barked in unexpected pain and the steel threads froze, hovering for just a moment before falling out of suspension.
"Are you hurt?" Crona's voice was small and high, childlike as his pale eyes fixated on the bright red (always so much brighter than he expected) glistening and pulsing from Eric's arm. "I hurt too. Always I hurt in one way or another. Fear is a kind of pain, don't you think? But-" the words caught in Crona's throat and he grimaced, forcing his eyes to close and his fingers to curl into fists, pulling the Black Blood on his face back through his skin. "I don't want to hurt anymore! And I don't want to hurt anyone else! You can't force me to! You can't make me do this!"
"You're so endearing when you're in denial. So frustrating and difficult to control. I'll give you that, but you and I both know with enough time and effort anyone can get you to do anything. It's in your blood."
Crona flinched violently, eyes snapping open in response to the hot breath he could feel on the side of his face. That voice- it couldn't be- There was a soft jingle of brass bands and then she ran her tongue up his cheek, licking away his salty tears. He was only free of the cables from wrist to elbow; he couldn't get away. She came around behind him, sliding possessive hands down his chest and leaning against him with her chin on his shoulder. Her dark curls seemed to shine in the gloom and her garnet eyes glittered like actual gems. She, like Lady Medusa, couldn't be here. And like Lady Medusa, she was. Pendra.
"Silly boy should've known it wouldn't be that easy, not with how defiant you've gotten. They've really let you go wild, haven't they? No sense of obedience. It'll take more than a few pokes with a cattle prod, but I remember how fragile you really are. Why not just give them what they want and be done with it? It is what they asked for, isn't it? And you know how satisfying it will feel, how it will satiate the metastasizing hunger inside you like nothing else can. Honestly it seems like a win-win to me."
"You're wrong," whispered Crona, staring at the floor intently and trying not to appear insane. But he couldn't let these accusations go unchallenged. "I'm not hungry. I don't know what you're talking about."
"You've always been a terrible liar, my child," Lady Medusa laughed, snapping his gaze up to her face with nothing but the sound of her voice. "What is it you think you've been trying to suppress? What do you think causes that hollow ache inside you which you've been trying so desperately to dull? What lies at the center of soul resonance, magic, and Madness?"
"Come on Crona," Pendra giggled, nibbling at his ear and savoring his shudders. "You know this one. You know so much more than you let yourself understand."
"Please stop," he moaned, willing his eyes closed again and hunching forward as best he could. "Please, everyone, just stop."
"What do all three have in common," pressed Lady Medusa, placing a hand in his hair and causing him to shudder again.
"You know you have to answer the question. Rule #1, remember," teased Pendra, following his retreat and pressing her chest to his back, like the chair wasn't even there. "More than that, you know you're going to answer, so why put it off? Why keep denying your own needs in favor of the superficial morals imposed by others? Just do it."
"Destruction," he whispered, trembling beneath the witches' touch. "Soul resonance, magic, and Madness, the result of all three is… destruction."
"That's good Crona," Lady Medusa praised with false honey, making his upset stomach clench dangerously. "You're doing very well. Now understand I made you with this in mind. Deformed, disgusting, and perfect. You are a synthesized monster and no amount of struggle or delusion can change you nature."
"Don't call me that! Don't say such a thing!"
"How many times have we been through this? How many times are yet to come? Defiance gets you nowhere."
"Go on, Crona, finish what you started. Finish all of it. Begin with these sad little humans. No one is giving you a choice here; do this one tiny thing and then you'll feel better. You know it's true. Destroy them and you'll feel amazing."
"If that's what it takes to feel better then I would rather suffer. Just let me suffer. Just let me go home to Maka. I want to be with Maka now."
"How dare you!"
Lady Medusa curled her fist in his pink locks and yanked his head up, forcing him to confront her again. Only it wasn't Lady Medusa anymore. Eric stared down at him, outraged and pale, making the red line of blood stand out vividly on his cheek. A hair's width trickled across his flesh to his jaw line, but that couldn't have been what was making the viscous dripping noise that filled Crona's ears. There wasn't nearly enough for that, not on his face.
"How dare you," he repeated, lower this time, dangerous. "You still think this is about your suffering? You think that's why you're here, so you can suffer more? For one entire year we've all been walking around with our souls rended from our bodies, unable to live and unable to die. Don't you understand that it has to be you? Haven't you figured out that you're the only one that can send us to our friends and families? We will see them again, but only if we take their path into death. That's the only way to be sure, the only knowledge that's gotten us this far. And you would deny us salvation for what? Your sanity? Sanity that's already in ruins- we can all hear you, mumbling like a crazy person. Can you hear yourself? You're talking to someone who's not here."
"I know that," whispered Crona, blinking and vulnerable. "Don't you think I know that? Don't you think I want to help you? I can't do what you're asking of me. I can't let myself become that again, even if it means denying you the salvation you seek. Please let me go back to Maka, let her burn back the Madness inside me and make me a person again. Please come back with me. The DWMA has preformed miracles for me, maybe they can help you too. Maybe you don't have to die-"
"Be quiet," Eric snapped, livid and seething and then suddenly soft, releasing Crona's hair. "Be quiet. You have no idea what you're talking about and no right to talk about it. And it's pointless to try and make you understand. I won't deny that I've enjoyed this little session of ours- we all have to some extent or another. It's nice to see someone be punished for what happen. Now, though, I'm tired again. We've just been… so tired since it happened; existing when you shouldn't is exhausting."
"I understand that. I've often felt that I, too, shouldn't exist. But I do exist and so I have to make the best of it. Maka would tell you all to do the same."
"We're not going to talk about what your lover would or would not say. I don't want to empathize with you. Believe it or not I don't even want to be doing this to you. All I want is to follow my brother into death and you're my only way to do that. Aren't you tired of this game yet? Do you know for how long you've been communing with the voices in your head?"
"It's only been…" Crona frowned, calculating. "It's only been forty-five minutes since the party."
Eric laughed outright at that, a jarring and rich sound that caused Crona to flinch away in anticipation of the punishment that was sure to follow such an apparently outlandish answer. He didn't understand what made it so outlandish. Thirty minutes from when they took him to when the game had started and fifteen minutes of playing. The first part was a fact and the second sounded reasonable. Yet the way Eric was laughing… Crona didn't like it. When Eric met his gaze again it seemed to Crona that his green eyes were made of glass, shining but lifeless.
"You've been mumbling for thirty alone," Eric said flatly, squatting to retrieve his cattle prod, though his words stimulated more fear than the pain ever could.
"You're lying," Crona breathed as best he could through the mounting panic. "Don't lie to me. It's confusing and I don't like it."
"But he's not lying, is he," giggled Pendra, nuzzling her nose into his neck in a horrible imitation of Maka's caresses. "Don't play dumb Crona, it's unattractive. You know full well that time perception is the first thing to go in an altered state of mind. Though if you'd like more evidence I'll help you with the experiment. You remember how this works."
She stretched her mouth wide and brought it close to his pale and clammy skin, warming it first with her hot breath and then the tip of her tongue along his carotid artery. For a second Crona thought she was going to bite him, then the heat turned into a hundred small, bright red legs that skittered across his skin. He thrashed violently, shaking his head in an attempt to dislodge it but to no avail. The centipede coiled itself around his throat and, once secure, sank its forcipules into his flesh. Igniting his Black Blood.
"No," he howled, eyes rolling as the hunger he'd been trying to deny burst into a boil within him. "Please no. Please not again."
"I hoped you'd talk yourself into whatever Madness induced frenzy you need to achieve to finish our game," Eric continued, unfazed. "But you were really starting to piss us all off. We had a meeting, actually, just behind you, and decided we don't have time for that. So we'll try pain again, since that seemed pretty effective. Still I find it interesting that you don't even know how far-gone you are."
"I'm not far-gone," Crona insisted, panting and sweating anew. "I won't let this happen again. I'm not tired at all. I can control it now. I'll fight it off."
"You deceive no one, my child. Understand that you have no power to stop what is to come. Admit that you want to do this just as badly as they want it done. Embrace your purpose in addition to your origins and become whole."
"Shut up! All of you just shut up!"
"I'm not going to do that. I won't stop until you give us what we want. You're so steeped in blood already, what's a little more? Have you forgotten what it tastes like, is that the problem? Maybe I should remind you."
He brought up the source of the dripping noise, the arm lacerated by the cable strands. The cut was razor thin, deep but not so much so as to cause major blood loss. Still, it looked bad, the pulsating current collected on his palm and in between his fingers, dripping slowly from his nails. There's a lot of blood in the human body, someone Eric's size had to have a good five liters, so what Crona could see now was little more than pocket change. Yet there's an uncontrollable, instinctual reaction to the sight of blood, inflating the volume and severity of any wound in the primal eyes. Crona didn't like blood, not outside the body where it didn't belong, didn't like the way it thickened in air into slimy globules. He'd avoided it with clean kills so the soul evaporated the blood before it could coat him, but there were always tasks that had not been clean. The Little One over and over, so small and afraid just like he was, still warm and limp when it reformed before him, clotting red in tufts of white fur. The spray from Soul's chest in the moonlight, more red in white when he crumpled into a puddle of his own making. The betrayed look on Maka's face when his thorny vine pierced her shoulder, so much worse than the imperceptible redness that was devoured by the black when he'd pulled that vine out.
"Stay back," whimpered Crona, desperate to move or retaliate but terrified of what compulsions would overcome his mind if he did. Pendra's centipede curled more tightly around his throat, pressing chitin segments into his racing pulse as if to intentionally increase the speed with which the Black Blood delivered its toxins to the rest of his body. "Stay away from me."
"There's only one way that's going to happen and you know full well what that is. Rule #3. You're always closer to the edge than you pretend, closer to losing control than you believe. Remember what you are already and finish this!"
He grabbed Crona by the face again, smearing blood across his cheeks, mouth, and nose. Some of it hot and fresh and some cold and clumpy. Crona squealed through tight lips, throwing caution to the winds and thrashing. And just as he was about to surpass his ability to deal with it the pressure let up; Eric let go and stepped back, mirthlessly smug in the victory he could sense was now assured. Sputtering and shaking so badly his teeth chattered, Crona gagged as the smell filled his nostrils and the flavor coated his tongue- more than that, as they slid across his thoughts with a horrible, fatalistic familiarity. Soon there would be quiet, then her creation would backfill into the vacuum. Breathing in tiny pants and releasing hot tears, he looked up into her hard golden stare. There was no point in begging anymore, no point in resisting or pretending there was an alternative. No one was coming to save him and even if they were, they wouldn't make it in time. Crona had lost.
Lady Medusa stood before him, smiling at her victory and legacy, hypnotic tattoos coiling around her arms. Her fingers caressed the skin of one inner forearm lightly before digging in, sharp nails slicing open the arteries and bringing forth a writhing swarm of serpents from her flesh. They hissed and squirmed and ate each other before Crona's wide blue eyes until only one remained. That one she held out to him, to his stomach. Crona didn't even wince when it burrowed in, tearing into him and setting his insides into a gelatinous rigidity around her directive. There was no point. Her snakes were always inside him, his nature could not be changed no matter how hard he tried or how much he wished. Might as well just… let it happen.
Crona's body didn't jerk or twist like before, in fact for a split second Eric wondered if he'd killed him. But no, his chest was rising and falling with the regularity of sleep- he couldn't be dead. Asleep didn't make any sense either though; the current rips at the muscles not the mind. He should still at least be seizing. Then Crona came to life, free hands reaching for the cattle prod, spider long fingers curling around it and pressing it even harder into his gut as he raised wide, pitch black eyes to meet Eric's stunned gaze. His lips pulled back into a massive, gash-like grin, releasing a mouthful of Black Blood to run freely over his chin as more oozed out from his hairline. Eric let go of the rod and jumped back, startled, and Crona giggled, high and child-like. His tongue reached out from between his teeth towards his cheek, lapping up Eric's blood as his own extruded thin vines from his arms and through the metal cabling. With a high-pitched shear they tore through and he was free. Standing, he advanced on Eric, growing darker with each step as the blood seeping from him turned his white suit black. As the black devoured even the red smear across his face.
"Did you know my blood is black," he asked in that deceptively immature voice, tilting his head off to one side as thorny vines grew from and around him. "I'll bet you did. And you probably know that yours is red. But this will be new for you: they taste the same. I just think that's really amusing. Yours can't protect you like mine, though, even though they taste the same. You were expecting that, weren't you?"
"Yes," it was Eric's turn to whisper, his turn to recoil in instinctual fear. "Yes I was."
"And what about them?"
Crona's devouring stare slid over his shoulder and his vines followed, diving for the others he'd always known were there. Watching but not playing, at least, not until now. Some restrained, coiling like his mother's serpents around arms and legs and torsos, thorns biting into cloth and skin alike. Others impaled, just flesh wounds, just enough for him to get a good look at the blood that welled up. Their screams, too, were delicious. Choral, almost.
"Looks like it's red too. That must be why you've had such a hard time understanding my feelings. Don't worry, I've learned a lot since then. Now I can help you."
"Don't hurt them," cried Eric, lurching towards Crona and losing his balance, though he was effective in drawing the swordsman's attention back. "Don't make any of us suffer anymore. Just end it quickly. That's what we want from you. That's the deal."
"End it quickly? I thought we were playing a game. Stop contradicting yourself, it's confusing and I don't like to be confused. Just when I started having fun. This is what you wanted, this was the deal: me as I truly am. You were right, and they were right, even though it took so much. Centipede venom in my veins, snakes in my gut, in my head, the Black Blood set free from my own pointless morality. There's no right and no wrong, there's only hunger. I am hungry. I have to eat all I can, then more. And more. I can't stop. The ultimate act of destruction isn't death. It's dissolution. That's your fate, and mine, and everyone's. Do you see now? Do you see what a fun game you started?"
"If you want me to beg then I'll beg," he insisted, sparks of life and humanity coming into his green eyes for the first time as he quite literally groveled on the floor. "You're awake now, you can set us all free- do it and be done! It doesn't matter if you or anyone else understands; I have to see my brother! If I could do it myself I would've but it has to be you! Send me there, you're the only one who can, so please."
"You should understand games before you start them," Crona scolded, sending his vines to restrain Eric's limbs as well, absorbing him into the web. "This is a game of control. I know because I've played it before, over and over and over. Did you think you were the first? Did you think it would be different for you? It's not. The rules of this world don't apply to me- I can't abide by them, so I flip the board. Everyone reacts the same, so shocked and so satisfied. You've won the game but you're not in control anymore. And I'm not either. Now there is only hunger-"
"Crona stop it!"
He flinched violently, tightening his vines and creating a symphony of screams and moans. Though that brought him no satisfaction. Crona's nostrils flared and he tucked his chin, regarding the air just before him with a unique kind of suspicion reserved for obvious danger. It grew denser under his stare, shimmering and distorting and reordering into a person. She looked different from earlier, carmine hoodie and worn dark jeans. And opal eyes that outright glowed in the dusk, lamps shining from behind a curtain of coal black hair. When she moved the air swirled and distorted around her and when she walked she caused ripples to flutter through the floor.
"Go away," snarled Crona, standing his ground and baring his bloodstained teeth. "I didn't ask you to come after me. I didn't bring you here."
"Yeah you did," Vera answered softly, stopping just within arms reach. "Not the you that you are now, though. I came to help the real you, the one you want to be- the one you choose to be, when you have a choice."
"Don't interfere," yelled Eric, squirming in the vines and cutting himself on the thorns.
Red against black. Just like the Madness.
"Quiet! You will be dealt with later," Vera spat, shooting him a livid and unearthly glare before returning her attention to Crona. "Listen, you haven't done anything you can't take back yet. Stop now. Maka's coming and she'll be here any second."
"Maka…" he choked on the name, his breath catching as something that didn't belong anymore sparked in his chest.
"I can feel how painful this is for you, even if you're past that, but you need to hold out for just a little longer."
"I can't… everything I try fails; I can't do it anymore. I can't stop. And you can't stop me."
"No," Vera agreed, taking a single step closer and willing the Black Blood in her right palm into life, waking it from its dormancy and allowing it to seek out Crona's. "You're the only one that can stop you, I know that. Still, at least for a little, I can contain you."
Like lightning she reached up and grabbed Crona's head, pressing the scar of Black Blood into his forehead and digging her fingers into his scull. He gasped, but didn't struggle, void eyes going wide as she initiated the connection and started to tug on the threads of his will. Or maybe it was the Blood's will. Vera remembered how it was done, remembered how he'd stuffed himself inside her in the sand guarding Pendra's lair, feeding his Madness into her Blood. It was a battle of wills and normally she would've been easily outclassed. But in her astral form she was entirely composed of will. There would be consequences- there were always consequences. For now she forced the exposed Black Blood on his face and hands back through his skin and, though she couldn't make the vines retract, she loosened them so they didn't bite their victims with as much force. Madness and magic raged against her, livid and rabid and denied. Crona, though, Crona relaxed, sinking to his knees and letting his eyes close. Like a blessing.
