A/N: ...welp, this is a thing. What an unexpected return. Ten years later, and the original fandom that liked this shit is probably old as fuck and fretting over neighborhood zoning laws and inflation.

So the first two chapters of this story were written in early 2011, right just before SE manga chapter 85's Tezca/Justin fight and before we understood Justin's character arc was "he's alone so therefore he went crazy".

(… For the record, I called it.)

As such, terms like "Shibusen" has been updated to "DWMA" and "Insanity Fusion" has been changed to "Madness Fusion" because... IDEK what happened to Soul Eater in the decade of my absence. I'll go back to Chapters One and Two and change shit whenever. Also, I literally forgot everything about Soul Eater except for, like, the Noah gang, and had to research this shit all over again.

So yeah. Here you go. A new chapter to a dead fandom about a guillotine priest and a chainsaw and some big-titted OC that nobody wanted. This story takes place around chapter 72.

Cigarettes really did take the edge off his nerves, Stein reflected as he took another long drag. This was the third one he had lit up since the Spartoi entered the Book of Eibon. The imported brand was hard to come by, so Stein had bought out the shop's entire stock. There was a literal closet in the patchwork laboratory dedicated to nothing but cigarettes, much to Marie's dismay.

"Ehh… is it wrong for me to be worried?" Stein heard Spirit groan next to him. "I mean, I know Maka's a Death Scythe now, but we don't know what we're dealing with here. Maka… WHAT KIND OF SITUATION HAS PAPA PUT YOU IN?"

Stein blew out a trail of smoke. "Is Tezca ready yet?" he questioned Death. "We should head out to Noah's base as soon as possible."

Shinigami looked over. "Oh~ Actually, plans have changed. Tezca requests that we wait a while longer before sending in our forces. He's sent a third party to Noah's location."

At the topic of business, Spirit straightened up. He stuck his hands in his pockets, his eyebrows furrowing. "A third party? You mean like another Death Scythe? What, did Tsar Pushka finally respond?"

"She was Justin Law's former meister."

"Justin Law had a meister?" Stein and Spirit said simultaneously with alternating stares of mild surprise and full-blown shock. Stein adjusted the cigarette with his teeth contemplatively. Spirit looked like he had a botox injection.

"But Justin was a genius prodigy!" Spirit exclaimed. "He became a Death Scythe all by himself at age 13!"

Shinigami's face fell. "Yes… well. That was embellished. While it's possible for an exceptionally talented individual to master autonomy, it's almost never at that young of an age. When Justin-kun first entered DMWA, he partnered with a meister. Only a few months had passed before the two of them came to me with the most unusual proposal: she would train him to become autonomous. They agreed to keep the whole ordeal under wraps."

A few seconds of silence passed as the two DMWA staff members let the revelation sink in. Finally, Spirit piped up again.

"Even if she was Justin's meister… that was nearly five years ago. What would sending her in accomplish?"

"Tezca thinks she'll be able to talk some sense back into Justin," Shinigami responded.

A dark alarm immediately crossed Stein's face. "Is Tezca out of his mind? Does he want her to be killed?"

"Even if there was a chance to get through to Justin, a teacher should've accompanied her," Spirit protested.

"I have faith in Tezca's decision." Shinigami smiled beneath the skull mask. "And besides… What was it you said about sending a bunch of kids to do an adult's job~?"

3 – praying to the acid

"Meister?" Giriko repeated dumbly, the word sounding foreign on his lips. He rounded to the younger boy. "So you mean… you used to be her partner?"

Justin remained silent. His eyes were fixed to the wall, as if trying to erase an unpleasant memory. He was drowning in voices again. The clown was looming menacingly over his shoulder, pinning down the other two with an intimidating stare.

"Oi, bastard. I asked you a question!"

"It was a long time ago," Jeanne snapped, shooting Giriko a tired glare that lost its intensity before casting her gaze down, her voice softening. "But…that doesn't change things, Justin… I've always thought of you as my partner."

At least, those were the words the clown repeated to him.

Partner. The word stung like antiseptic pressed against a wound. What a lie.

Jeanne was prattling on some more, and Justin mentally waved the clown away before the sentimental crooning could be translated to him. Shifting around, he waited until her mouth stopped moving to speak up.

"…sorry, but you'll have to repeat everything you've just said. I couldn't read your lips."

Jeanne broke off into a stammer, her face flushing in humiliation that Justin drank right up. Giriko sneered quietly, leaning back against the wall, satisfied with being a bystander to this drama for now.

Justin turned fully to face his former meister, his dull blue eyes piercing into her. It had been a fun little diversion at first, but she was quickly wearing out her welcome. Mon petit frère? Disgusting. For Jeanne to call him a little brother, for her to come here out of some insipid worry made his skin crawl.

He was sick and tired of this, these sentimental types coming out of the woodwork and trying to appeal to his pathos, offering up their so-called relationship as proof why he ought to return to DWMA. Tezca had just pulled the same shtick on him, forcing him to reminiscence with his accursed mirror while mumbling some gibberish beneath that bear mask. At this rate, Justin wouldn't be surprised if Shinigami himself rolled up to Noah's hideout.

He clenched his fist.

(Where were they when he had needed them.)

A beat. Insanity's whispers retreated back into the corners of his mind. His fingers relaxed and he was hollowly placid once more; there's no love lost. A smile fixed to his face.

"I'll ask you this again, Jeanne. Why are you here? Is it only to visit me?"

She was at a loss for words. A medley of emotions flickered across her features, guilt and fear and embarrassment all blended together. She could feel the clown's wavelength and it took all her resolve not to visibly shudder.

"I…" she trailed off, shrinking beneath Giriko's taunting eyes. I didn't want you to be alone.

"You've gone through a lot of trouble just to come and see me. We weren't anything." His words were blunt, his lilting tone slightly malicious. "We weren't friends. We were barely partners."

The way her expression just crinkled in hurt satisfied the hunger in his soul.

"Justin…"

His music thrummed pleasantly in his ears.

"…I just wanted to see how far you were gone," she finally admitted. "Tezca said you committed some atrocious acts… You killed people…"

The mention of murder apparently warranted amusement from both members in Noah's gang. Justin's smirk widened as Giriko sniggered knowingly. After a second, the clown even sort of grinned, a jagged smile.

"I see," Justin drawled with mirth dancing in his eyes. "Well, do you believe the rumors now?"

"You didn't hold back in trying to kill me a moment ago," she replied faintly. "Maybe I should take the hint."

"That would be a welcome change for once." Justin tilted his head, sighing dramatically. "Unfortunately, you've always been a bit slow on the uptake, Jeanne. The window for escape has closed." The blade glinted on his arm. "You're going to learn the consequence for your foolishness."

But, no, the heavens didn't permit Justin to finish the job. There was a roar of the motor and a chainsaw-laced leg pivoted down like a boom barrier, blocking Justin from advancing.

"Hey—whoa—not so fast there, priest. Rein in your killin' boner for a damn second, why doncha?"

Justin frowned but kept his composure leveled, affording his comrade a sideways glance. "What's the meaning of this, Giriko?"

"You just seem awfully eager to ice some helpless girl! I mean, look at her." The chainsaw grinned, flourishing his arm at a bewildered, albeit relieved Jeanne. "She can't hurt you. Why don't you have a bit of fun with her first?"

Justin couldn't muster up an eye roll. Of course Jeanne would be an enticing distraction for the lowest common denominator. Not bothering to take the bait, Justin gave Giriko a deadpan stare.

"Are you serious. Are you really going to protect her just because she…" He looked Jeanne up and down, searching for the right words. "…titillates you?"

"Me? How 'bout yourself?"

"Hardly."

"Even after the chick poured her heart out with this partner crap? Well damn, and all this time I thought I was the most heartless bastard of this bunch."

Justin let out a soft scoff. "I'm going to kill her because she knows of our location."

"Hell, you think I give a shit about that?! I want the skull-faced bastard to send his toddler gang here so I can wipe 'em all out."

A sinister gleam glinted in Giriko's eyes as he relinquished his place against the wall and stalked over to Justin, leering over the guillotine. Behind Justin, the clown's wavelength rolled off in folds, thick and oppressive, but Giriko was treating it like foamy waves lapping at his toes.

"Nah, I betcha got another reason to silence the girl. Heh. Who would've guessed Mr. High and Holy actually had a partner this entire time…"

The mention of a partner made something splinter in Justin's expression. Oh, this was bad timing. Justin could whittle away a whole afternoon deflecting insults from Giriko, but his patience was razor thin; she was here, the source of his ungodly headache, and Giriko continued insisting on interfering. Whether motivated by spite or horniness, Justin didn't know, but he wished Giriko understood just how thin the ice was that his thick feet were squatting on.

So he broke into an empty smile. "It seems like you're trying to imply something, Giriko."

"Glad you can read between the fuckin' lines." Justin didn't flinch as Giriko leaned down, bearing his teeth in a sharp grin. "I'm sayin' what kinda autonomous weapon needs help to fight?"

"Why don't I show you just how autonomous I can be?"

A cackle and a rev of the motor. "Bring it on, you shitty father!"

"Hey." The feminine voice broke the standoff, causing Giriko to gear towards Jeanne with Justin following his line of sight. "Why don't you fight me instead?"

Giriko raised his eyebrows in interest and Justin's smile drew into a taut line, all humor dissolving from his lips.

"… You must be joking."

"You still owe me a sparring session."

At that, Justin suppressed the hard urge to roll his eyes. The makings of a sigh formed at the base of his throat. She was still hung up on sparring.

"This is hardly the time for fisticuffs. So why don't you stay out of this and enjoy the little time you have left?" he commented dryly, glancing at Giriko whose attention remained vexingly fixed on Jeanne.

"It sounds like you want to prove your independence, Justin. What better way to do so than a fight with your former partner?"

Giriko snorted. "She's got a point," he quipped, dialing back the hostility to his neutral level of aggression and shooting Justin an approving look. "…'Sides, I could run my chainsaw through your guts any ol' day of the week. But this—shit—this is a fight I'd kill to watch!" A toothy throwback to Jeanne. "You've got some real Grade A timing, girl—I was gettin' bored of just sittin' around on my ass and waiting."

"…" Justin could barely repress his disbelief.

Was he surrounded by idiots. Why were they both acting like this was even a feasible scenario, as if this girl could hold herself in battle with a Death Scythe for more than a heartbeat? Did she think he'd hold back against her? The clown was whispering sweet murder in his ears and Justin inhaled through his nose—no, no, not right now.

There was a twitch and then a drawn out breath. "You'll be julienned in the first five seconds," he finally murmured.

Jeanne's gaze flicked down to his guillotine arm. "No. No blades. No wavelength attacks. Just you and me, mano a mano." Her lips curved into a faint smile. "Or do you need that much of a handicap you can't even fight a girl unarmed?"

Giriko let a soft guffaw slip from his mouth while Justin bristled at her taunt. After a tense moment, the blade retracted into Justin's arm and his smile returned, now tainted with a hint of sadism.

"Fine. Have it your way."

What a stupid decision. A blade would've been merciful and quick. Instead, she was prolonging her own suffering.

A snap of the fingers and the clown retreated back into the shadows for the time being. Justin turned around and began treading down the hallway, jerking his chin for the others to follow. Jeanne released a breath she didn't know she was holding in as the oppressive atmosphere lifted from her shoulders. She snuck a curious glance at Giriko who caught her gaze and shrugged. Giriko waited until her footsteps had all but faded to tag along.

Justin led Jeanne and Giriko to an open area of the church where the crescent moon grinned down upon them. The two former Shibusen students circled one another while Giriko retreated into the background as a spectator once again, cackling over the absolute entertainment fodder this reunion was shaping up to be.

Tension filled the space between the demon weapon and his former meister. A gentle breeze coiled around them, kicking up the folds of Justin's robes and ruffling the pleats of Jeanne's skirt.

Justin's usual smugness wasn't there. There was a hint of bloodlust merged with something resembling exasperation, miffed that he was forced to do this. He considered her with sharp angles, his earphones thrumming the bassline of electronic music.

"What are you trying to prove, Jeanne?" he uttered in a low enough voice that Giriko couldn't hear.

"…I want to make you remember."

He arched a brow. "Remember?"

"You always forget about me, Justin. Every year."

"Ah." At least Jeanne was consistent in her complaints, he'd give her that.

"To be honest… I can't tell if this is the insanity talking, or if it's just you being your usual aloof self." A flit of pain that was quickly walled off. "It hardly matters, I suppose. Fighting is how we solve our problems in this world, isn't it?" She stretched, looking far too relaxed for the danger she was presently in. "I'll make you remember me, or I'll get some stress relief. Or perhaps both. It's a win-win situation either way."

Justin regarded her with a bland look, eyeing the fringes of her skirt in disapproval. For all her griping over his fashion choices, she always dressed like a Catholic school girl in her white blouse and plaid skirt.

"Are you really going to fight in a skirt?" He was half-convinced it was the sole reason why Giriko insisted on keeping her alive.

"Do not get me started on your priest robes," was the flat reply.

Touché. Releasing a controlled sigh, Justin slid into a crouching stance. This girl really had no idea what she got herself into. Honestly, she should be grateful he was even going to honor the conditions of their fight at all.

Only beat her. Don't kill her. Drag her through the dirt, perhaps. Humiliate her a bit. He smiled internally at the thought.

"Be warned, I won't go easy on you, Jeanne."

"I wouldn't have it any other way."

Spirit had always been fond of the blond Death Scythe. They hadn't been particularly close—heck, Justin wasn't close to anybody regardless of Tezca's heckling—but Spirit kept an eye on his colleague. Or he tried. He once invited Justin out for a drink, only to be immediately turned down by both the age restriction and his teetotaler status. It slipped Spirit's mind just how young the kid was, sometimes. Justin had always been uncannily mature for his age.

Spirit wasn't certain how to feel about Justin's betrayal either. Justin had been one of Shinigami's most ardent supporters turned traitor. What was running through that head of his? Really, it shouldn't have shocked anybody, given how little they all knew about Justin.

He stole a glance at Stein who was standing in a veritable pile of burnt cigarette butts and staring in the distance, seeming… morose?

"I don't get it," he finally admitted to the reaper in the mask, causing Shinigami to turn to him. "We taught Justin. How come we don't ever remember seeing him with a meister?"

"Ah. You might actually remember her," Shinigami responded, "Her name's Jeanne Arnett."

Off to the side, Stein's eyes lit up in hazy recognition. The name sounded familiar…

Spirit snapped his fingers. "Oh, I remember Jeanne! She had a fantastic rack on her."

"…" Shinigami chewed on some ellipses.

"She had a lovely accent as well~ Always calling everyone 'mon chéri' and saying other cute French words~"

Spirit's description actually rang a bell: Jeanne was the tryhard with the big boobs. Stein had been gripped with the overwhelming urge to draw dissection lines on her chest every time he saw her. He vaguely remembered her distracting some of the other boys in the E.A.T. class. She'd obtain a perfect score on the Ultimate Written Exam, which he chalked up to some simps slipping her the answers. Justin had also got a perfect score, but that was already a given.

Jeanne was… decent at fighting as well. Or at least dedicated. The girl had only joined the class for several months before vanishing off the grid permanently and Stein had dropped from the DWMA teaching staff to pursue his research shortly afterwards.

He nibbled on the cigarette. How the years flew by…

"Oh yes, and Jeanne also worked at the Deathbucks Café! Master said the profits skyrocketed through the roof during her time there—the clients couldn't get enough of her! She even created her own drink: café de la mort sacrée~!"

"…" replied Shinigami.

Spirit immediately sobered up once again. He cleared his throat. "Um. Right. So what happened to the two of them?"

"Fate was against them, it seemed. Jeanne was an excellent fighter, but her wavelength was too weak to provide Justin-kun with optimal offensive support." Shinigami shifted. "Then there was the matter of his weapon form…"

"A guillotine," Spirit reaffirmed seriously, "How does someone go about wielding a guillotine?"

"You don't." The reaper tilted his head ever so slightly. "A bona fide guillotine isn't exactly a mobile weapon. For Justin-kun to be properly handled, his natural weapon form had to be modified."

The memory was still fresh in Death's mind of a young French girl and her even younger partner, the champions of that year's battle festival. Death had asked for a demonstration. A flash of light and she spun around an enormous crucifix-shaped staff affixed with a guillotine blade.

She was ecstatic. He wasn't.

Jeanne, for all her maturity, didn't seem to recognize the toll transforming took on Justin's mental state. Shinigami could see it in the young boy's eyes: the trauma of visualizing himself as this broken, deformed artifact, Picasso's cubism on acid.

"It was… an uninspired hotchpotch of weapon parts. He was most likely embarrassed by it."

A beat.

"Somewhere along their journey, Justin-kun expressed a desire and the potential to function as an autonomous weapon. Jeanne had the ability to help train him. It turned out she could use a rare wavelength technique called Soul Stigmata."

"Huh? What's that?" Spirit asked as Stein perked up.

"Interesting. Invoking an obsolete art like that."

"Oh? You know about it too, Stein?" questioned Shinigami, craning over to look at the professor.

"I've read about it in books," Stein replied plainly. "You know the history of weapons, right? The soul of a witch was used as a catalyst to combine a weapon and a human to create weaponized genes. Soul Stigmata is the result of witch's research gone awry. A meister who can use Soul Stigmata has dormant weapon genes. As a result, they can essentially 'house' a demon weapon inside of their body. The demon weapon visualizes itself as its most core components, deconstructs itself, and inhabits the body of a willing meister in their deconstructed state. They would be able to see and feel everything the meister can. It takes the adage 'A meister and a weapon share the same body and mind' literally."

"That's amazing." Spirit seemed genuinely impressed. "But what's the point of it?"

"There is none. Soul Stigmata wasn't an intentional creation. As the name suggests, it was used a religious ritual in Europe during the High Middle Ages. Once inside, the weapon transforms partially from within the meister's body in designated areas as a form of self-flagellation."

"Ah." Spirit's enthusiasm dropped. It fit Justin's M.O. quite neatly. Religion-flavored torture.

"In the later medieval period, partly as a response to the Crusades, experimentation was done on utilizing soul stigmata in combat. Theoretically, once inside the meister's body, the demon weapon could concentrate on creating their weapon part on only the external surface of the meister's body. If performed correctly, the meister would be able to use the weapon as an extension of their own body. Conversely, if the utmost caution wasn't exercised, the meister's body would be ripped to shreds from the inside out."

Spirit and Shinigami took a moment to process that gruesome imagery. Stein repressed the sinister grin at the mental image before continuing.

"The success rate was marginal to say the least. It required a highly proficient demon weapon with precise control of their transformation. Any slip-up could result in permanent injury of the meister."

It was a rare technique since all the practitioners who used it died. The fact Jeanne was still alive and breathing spoke to Justin Law's talents as a demon weapon. Stein's mood darkened. Honestly, with a weak wavelength and an impractical skillset, Jeanne would've been better suited to stay in the N.O.T. class. Stein was surprised she hadn't accidentally activated the ability and hurt herself.

The scientist adjusted the screw in his head as he wrapped up his exposition dump.

"Soul Stigmata is an exceptionally useless technique in the scheme of things. The cost of failure is too high, and the applications are too limited." He gazed at Shinigami. "But it was the perfect solution to Justin's problem, wasn't it?"

Death nodded, seeming a bit crestfallen that he was robbed of his chance to exposit.

"Yes. Justin-kun spent most of their missions inside of her body. Jeanne concentrated on the hand-to-hand combat while he focused on maintaining his partial weapon transformation and provided aid with his wavelength attacks. The immersive experience helped him understand what it felt like to move and fight while partially transformed. Over time, Justin-kun took control of her body during their missions and then eventually fought on his own."

"Took control of her body?" repeated Spirit.

"The weapon would be able to manipulate the actions of the meister if given consent," Stein pitched in again. "In that respect, Soul Stigmata isn't that far off from Soul Possession. I suppose the main difference is that the meister allows themselves to be willingly taken over by the weapon. … No souls are consumed either."

Spirit scratched his nape. All of this explanatory dialogue was giving him a headache. "It sounds like Jeanne went out of her way to help Justin. Whatever happened to her?"

"Jeanne transferred from DWMA soon after Justin-kun became a Death Scythe. Despite her best efforts, she struggled as a meister. She was only able to enter into the E.A.T. class through sheer determination… and because I thought she could keep Justin-kun company~"

Shinigami brooded for a moment, before brightening up.

"In any case, we wait. Who knows, maybe Jeanne will come through after all~"

With that, Shinigami turned away. The silence that was adopted hung with an unspoken understanding as Spirit and Stein exchanged concerned looks.

But Justin had always sat alone in class…

And as the back of Justin's head collided with the church wall for the sixth time, it sort of hit him—the memory of Jeanne fighting.

Justin had only been a kid then, not even in his teens yet. At the time, Jeanne seemed so tall and strong to him. He had… looked up to her.

Jeanne was a tireuse, a practitioner of a French martial arts that blended together boxing and graceful kicking techniques. The result were elegant movements engraved into muscle memory from endless hours of repetitive exercise. Justin recalled her training tirelessly, pushing her body to its limits to perfect her form, her obsession to compensate for her lack of wavelength control—to prove herself at Shibusen—consuming her from the inside.

"We're not all geniuses like you are, Justin," she had once said to him.

…clearly not.

Shaking off that memory, Justin straightened up and dusted off his robes. He readied himself once more.

Jeanne was far weaker than he remembered. She didn't hold a candle to fighters like Black Star or Franken Stein, the latter of which whose battle still lingered in Justin's bones. Her strength was nothing to write home about—but she was good.

Despite himself, Justin had to admit that he was… struggling. He growled at the thought. It was infuriating. He could wipe the floor with her in a blink of the eye if it hadn't been for these restrictions. Justin wasn't accustomed to moving in this manner, restrained to only his human body, essentially forced to don kid gloves in combat. His combat experience was more frenetic—more aerial fighting, explosions, ranged attacks, and non-humanoid bodies. Fighting like this was… mundane.

And of course, Giriko was yucking it up in the sidelines, feasting on the sight of two blondes beating the shit out of one another.

"Ready, love?" Jeanne asked coolly.

The thrumming of a bassline and the tightening of his clenched fists were her only answers. Jeanne lunged towards Justin with a series of aggressive punches, two to his midriff, another one to his head—all of which he blocked, only for a right hook to be slammed into his jaw. Justin staggered back, absorbing the blow and maintaining his stance until a strike below the inner knee swept him off his feet.

Like clockwork, Justin found himself intimately acquainted with a surface yet again, his Kishin pendant landing squarely onto his chest with a light thump. His head throbbed in pain. Jeanne peered down at him, unimpressed.

"Really, Justin. If this is the best of your ability, then I really ought to have trained you more."

Justin didn't even bother reading her lips; his focus was on catching his breath. He could feel the coppery blood on his tongue stemming from a loose tooth.

"…I didn't realize you were this atrocious of a fighter." Jeanne let out a small sigh. "Your footwork is horrible and your fighting pattern is predictable."

"SHIT, I SAID THE EXACT SAME THING—!" shouted a voice from the peanut gallery.

Jeanne kept a straight face and Justin was still huffing at the sky.

"How exactly did you win all your battles these past years? Did you just flail your arm blade around and fire your religion death beam at anything that moved?"

"OI, that's pretty fuckin' ACCURATE!"

She deflated. "…I see."

Huh. Jeanne stole a sideways glance at the chainsaw, who was now fisting a bottle of whiskey amid the jeering. The question crossed her mind: when had Sou fought Justin? Actually, there were several questions that needed answering—but they were all put on hold when Jeanne spied the Death Scythe regaining his footing. It wasn't clear whether or not Justin heard their little exchange, but his eyes were narrowed in concentration as he raised his fists.

They began trading blows again with Justin putting up much more of a fight this time around. Not that it was enough to make up for the wide gap of experience. A standard combo got the best of him—a fist aimed at his nose which was hastily blocked, only for a kick to be fired into his liver while his guard was lowered. As Justin grimaced, Jeanne went in for the coup de grâce.

But just as her punch was about to hit its mark, a flash of light glimmered in her peripheral and a carcan claw suddenly eclipsed her arm, stopping her fist from making contact inches away from Justin's face. A blink; Jeanne wasn't spared a moment to react before his knuckles smashed into her cheek, sending her lurching back, stunned.

"Surprised?" Justin hissed, and then, as if reading her mind— "You just said no blades."

Transforming back, Justin lunged forward to deliver a punch which Jeanne was barely able to block in her dazed state. She fell into the defensive as he pressed on, gaining ground with each blow.

"Did you think I'd be a pushover if I was disarmed? This is why you were such a failure of a meister." The insult was punctuated with a jab to her ribs. "You were always so short-sighted. You treated DWMA as if it were a karate class and battles like they were exhibition games."

Jeanne brought up her arms to guard another jab he threw at her, but Justin was already a step ahead, trapping one arm in a carcan and the other in a vise-like grip, yanking them aside to create an opening. With their bodies pressed so closely together, Jeanne bore witness to Justin's gaze full of cold fury, his breath tickling her face as gritted out the words,

"Real battles aren't fought with rules and referees and handicaps."

Justin wound his head back and slammed it into hers, her head reeling from the impact, only to be jerked back again from his hold.

"Real battles are fought with weapons and wavelengths."

He delivered a second head-butt to the stunned Jeanne, letting the whiplash sink in, before releasing the girl from his grip. She took a few dizzying steps back and then collapsed to the ground. Stay down, Jeanne.

Justin surveyed the damage, panting as he spat out, "What good are these fancy martial arts if you can't use it in actual combat?"

Harsh words. Cuckoo birds circled her head to the melody of Giriko's hooting. After several moments, Jeanne stumbled to her feet, blinking away the spots, her vision still spinning from Justin's head-butt of love.

"… You think I didn't know that? I knew I wasn't meant to be a meister a long time ago." Her face fell for a moment before it hardened with emotion. "It's why I spent most of my time at DWMA training you to become a Death Scythe."

Justin arched a brow, entirely unmoved by her heartfelt proclamation. "Training me? Please don't continue overestimating your own worth."

A frown twitched at the corners of her mouth. "I mean it. We were partners, Justin. I was with you on every mission."

"What's all this 'partner' nonsense you're railing on about? I've been on my own for years."

"Dammit, Justin, I know you don't like the word," she snapped tiredly. "But I was your meister at one point. We fought together as one. Doesn't that… doesn't that mean anything to you?"

Something flared within him at the mention of a 'meister'. A meister wielded a weapon. Dark memories invaded his mind. He had done her such a favor by twisting himself out of shape in order to be wielded. His clenched teeth eased into a cynical grin.

"Always the sentimental one, Jeanne. Did you actually buy into those vapid lessons taught in class? Did you think because you were my meister at one point that we shared something special?"

He must've hit the mark because Jeanne immediately shut up. Bullseye.

"I'll make things clear: You were my meister because I took pity on you. I was the only weapon you could perform Soul Resonance with."

She bit her lip. "Oh, shove it—"

"You were decent at fighting, I'll give you that at least. But how did you think we reaped all those evil human souls? With your bare fists? No, it was my Silver Gun that ended every battle. I had to carry the both of us. You were so busy riding on my coattails, you never even thought about how you were holding me back. You wouldn't even be able to fight with a lesser weapon, given the meager amplification your wavelength could provide."

"You don't mean that, Justin—" But it was clear she was doubting her own words.

"Don't you remember? You couldn't even enter the E.A.T. class on your own; I had to ask for permission to have you tag along."

"…"

"We didn't have a partnership. You were a parasite, Jeanne. One that I allowed to feed off me for a while."

The silence that followed his declaration was tense as Jeanne struggled to process his words. She had long since grew inured to Justin's aloofness, but this was downright vicious. Were these his true feelings from the start? Or was it the madness speaking?

"Why would you… why would you say that?" she finally murmured, her voice cracking. "Do you really not remember, Justin?"

"Hm?"

"You really don't remember, do you. All those times I helped you. How could you forget me, Justin Law?"

"Really, Jeanne, how can we keep on carrying this conversation when you're always looking away?" he drawled loudly, shrugging his shoulders and flashing a lazy smirk at her indignation. Would she stop with this misty-eyed crap already?

The sharp pain in her eyes were immediately buried, replaced with a smoldering anger. A quiet huff. She resumed a fighting stance with Justin following suit.

"…you're such an asshole, Justin."

He smirked.

Justin paid for his words, too. She didn't hold back the least this time around. Jeanne kept her kicks low and away from his arms and Justin's robes flew up around him as he shuffled back, forced to keep on the defensive. By the time she delivered a fifth low whip kick, Justin was already backing away in anticipation, only to have fallen into her trap. She followed through, using the momentum to slide into a reverse kick to the inside of his foot, uprooting him and sending him to familiar location on the ground.

When Justin came to, Jeanne was peering down at him again, hands planted on her hips and her mouth moving in an exaggerated manner.

"Hey. I said—it's too bad you can't create a carcan on your leg, Justin." She blew a careless stand of hair out of her face. "Really would've put me in my place, you know."

The taunt had its intended effect. With irritation in his eyes, Justin was up and immediately threw a punch at Jeanne that was parried. A feint caused him to nearly transform again, but Jeanne was prepared, pistoning her heel into his thigh, knocking him back and stunning him as his kneecap took the brunt of the force. There was a pivot of the hips, a sweep of a skirt, and the next thing Justin knew, Jeanne whipped a roundhouse kick into his neck that wrenched his head right over his shoulder.

Justin actually stumbled, his senses scrambled, and he was only barely able to catch the movement of her lips from his peripheral vision.

"Knowing how you fight, I could probably kick your ass even with your guillotine blade."

This bitch. The urge to wipe that haughty look off her face caused Justin to fall back into his old patterns, almost ejecting his guillotine blade to slice her down—except his wrists were grabbed, immobilized, and the sole of her foot snapped up into his jaw so hard the tendons of his neck drew taut from the force of the kick. There was an audible crack and hot pain jolting through mouth that he didn't have time to process for it was overridden by another kick.

"You're so fucking predictable," Jeanne snarled, kicking him again.

Her elegant form was unraveling, her attacks devolving into a series of messy haymakers and cheap shots as Jeanne laid all her anger into Justin—elbowing him in the face, grabbing him by his shawl and kneeing him in the stomach and then in the kidney with enough force he'd be pissing blood for a week. There was a hammer blow to the back of his skull, and in a moment of raw fury, she unironically kicked him in the groin—the hoarse gasp that escaped his lips was so satisfying. She caught a fleeting glimpse of his expression contorting in agony before it was crushed by her fist.

A final sweep kick sent his Kishin-worshipping ass sprawling onto the ground for the umpteenth time and it took every fiber of self-control in Jeanne's body to stop herself from stomping Justin in his smug little face while he was down.

Somewhere, Giriko roared in laughter, absolutely blitzed out his mind on alcohol and bloodlust at the show. "KEEP IT UP—HOW THE FUCK DOES THAT SAYING GO?! Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned!"

Giriko's approval brought her no joy. It hurt. Hearing Justin's words. Cool, unflappable Justin Law.

It was times like these Jeanne wished she didn't feel as much as she did, that she could be as stoic and cold as Justin was. The white-hot rage running through her veins, the blood pounding in her ears: she hated it. It hurt. His rejection hurt so much. She didn't want this—that's not why she came here.

Behind her, a threatening aura slowly grew, rising up in stature... if only she had the ability to sense it.

A flash of light was all she saw before a fully-formed pillory crashed into her head. The force alone sent her skittering away several feet, the dust kicking up from her rolling body.

A punch. A single punch was enough to knock Jeanne down. For all her fancy footwork and fighting skill, she was still so pathetically weak. Justin had it up to here with these godforsaken females and their emotional tantrums; it was like fighting Marie again before her male counterpart took over and turned the tides. Did Jeanne honestly think a few flashy hormone-fueled kicks and punches would damage him? What kind of respectable fighter hit below the belt anyway…?

And of course, that was the blow which stung the most. It was excruciating. His eyes were twitching away the tears that threatened to spill and he swallowed the nausea with the blood. His legs still refused to move, paralyzed by numbing shocks. Justin was glued in place, heaving, shoulders hunched inwards as he eyed her staggering form with a hungry, predatory stare. Without breaking eye contact, Justin rotated his head to the side and spat out a bloodied tooth.

"You got me good, Jeanne… Congratulations are in order for drawing first blood," he rasped, smiling through the pain. "But if you're not going to hold back" —a shirk of the blade— "then neither will I."

Her eyes widened. "Justin…"

He straightened up and slowly cracked his neck, causing Jeanne to shift into a defensive pose and for a grin to slide onto his bruised face. A trail of blood leaked from his mouth, staining his teeth red—the bitch had kicked out his tooth.

"Calm down. We're still sparring. I won't execute you—" yet. First he'll beat the truth out of her, listen to her confess her sins through strangled screams, and then kill her. "Right now, this is an interrogation!"

Justin lunged towards her with an outstretched arm, his guillotine blade glinting off the moonlight.

In a blink of an eye, Jeanne's stance immediately shifted into something completely different, yet so eerily familiar. Justin's punch never landed—it was knocked aside by a punch of her own. Undeterred, he went in again, only to be deflected in the same way. To his amazement, she matched his movements blow for blow, stalemating him before the punch could follow through and the blade sliced her. The experience was surreal; it was akin to fighting himself. Between blows, Justin scanned for an answer in her expression—but she gave nothing away. After a chain of stalemates, Justin disengaged and backpedaled.

"What's going on?" he demanded.

Jeanne was out of breath, her knuckles raw from the multiple impacts. After panting for a few moments, she glared at him.

"…You fought in my body, idiot. I know how you move."

Stupid amnesiac Justin had developed his fighting style inside her body; his movements were engraved in her muscle memory. She knew the exact angle he held his arm at to compensate for an awkwardly positioned blade. Reverse engineering his movements made for an effective, if not crude countermeasure and this was the only time that Jeanne was genuinely grateful that Justin hadn't improved since their Shibusen days.

Justin grunted in irritation. She was tenacious as a cockroach.

"Even so. How long can you keep this up?" He smiles were getting sharper and more deranged as he entered the familiar crouching stance.

Justin had the upper hand in the next exchange, steadily overwhelming her with each punch. Jeanne may have matched his movements beat for beat, but her pitiful body couldn't match his strength. Her stamina was flagging while Justin's power grew, fueled by spite and sadism.

With a final blow, he finally made contact, his blade shredding the back of her right arm from wrist to shoulder. A strangled gasp of pain suggested that he landed the strike and the visual of Jeanne clutching her arm confirmed it. It was a shame the scrape wasn't deep, but there was already blood welling up from the wound, staining the ripped fabric of her white sleeve red.

"Are you still feeling sentimental now, Jeanne?" he breathed.

Hold on. From this angle, Justin was able to catch sight of Giriko's drunken ass plopped on a window ledge. Something was wrong. The chainsaw's curious expression transformed into shock, and all of sudden, he was up in arms about something that was too far away to be lip-read.

"So that's what it was!" Jeanne heard Giriko shouting. "That's the shit you were tryin' to hide from me, girl?!"

Justin's gaze flipped back to her, his eyes narrowing. Just what was the story between these two…?

A beat.

"...sentimental? You think I'm too sentimental?" Jeanne murmured. "How can I not be? Every time I look down, I see you."

She tore off her bloodstained sleeve and displayed her bare arm for all who was present to witness.

"You literally carved yourself into my body."

Thin, vertical years-old scars ran across her forearm mirroring those of Justin's guillotine blade. Some were angled wrongly, others too short in length. She rotated her limb, revealing more scars running all around it—a showcase of failed transformation attempts.

Beneath it all, transforming was difficult for Justin. Jeanne remembered all those times she had to bite back the pain following a misplaced transformation and put on a brave face for a distressed Justin. 'It doesn't hurt… It's fine. You'll get it right next time, love.' There were rolls of bandages spilling out of the medicine cabinet for months.

Dull blue eyes grazed over the marks, before averting the sight. Justin scoffed, his skin prickling. The blood was still sharp on his tongue and he struggled to swallow it. For the first time, he was speechless.

"Do you remember how difficult it was for you to master creating a single blade on the arm? It took all your concentration to retain that form without your arm morphing back into a full guillotine. The mishaps we had…" Jeanne lowered her gaze, smiling sadly. "How can you say you didn't need me when you couldn't even partially transform, let alone fight back then?"

Justin's mind struggled to form a dismissive insult or a sarcastic remark, but nothing came out except for, "Shut up, Jeanne."

His cheeks burned. He wanted to tear his eyes away from her lips. Justin could feel Giriko's laser vision drilling into him.

But Jeanne continued.

"You were fighting in my body for the majority of the souls we hunted. It wasn't until the final batch of souls that you were even ready for autonomous battle and even then, you had to push your partial transformation to its limits to scrape together a victory."

Justin was trembling. "Shut up."

Anger matched with anger and Jeanne's own temper flared as her voice escalated. "Then why won't you admit that I helped you? That I was with you every step of the way?! You couldn't have done it alone, Justin!"

"SHUT UP—"

"You're wrapped up in the myth you obtained autonomy on your own! You were broken as a weapon—"

The crack of his pillory arm bludgeoning her face gave Justin a sense of satisfaction that was only matched by the sight of Jeanne moaning on the ground where she belonged. Without an ounce of hesitation, Justin bore down on her, immediately launching his pillory into Jeanne's insolent face for the second time. And it would've destroyed her pretty little face, too, if a chainsaw-laced kick hadn't deflected the attack.

Giriko.

"So that's it." Giriko was wearing a shit-eating grin. "That's what's got you so riled up. You're ashamed to have this girl around."

Barely concealed bloodlust simmered in Justin's eyes. "Quit. Interfering."

"And end the entertainment?" he drawled, his breath reeking of bourbon. "You guys were putting on a helluva show, what with her jigglin' everywhere and you gettin' your holy ass handed to you."

Justin's vision splintered with crimson. Never, ever before had he wanted to so deeply murder Giriko. For some inexplicable reason, the heretic chainsaw insisted on planting himself between the two, protecting the sow. Jeanne was already stumbling back up, clutching her blood-streaked forehead.

Giriko followed Justin's gaze beelining to the bleeding blonde behind him and he puffed himself up in response, making himself an even larger roadblock in the priest's quest to knife his meister.

"What. What. You're gonna come at me now, Justin?"

"Get out of the way."

"You'd like that, wouldn't ya? You just want to get rid of the evidence, right? That, y'know, you couldn't even fight by yourself, you fuckin' cripple."

And Justin snapped.

His clenched, bloodstained teeth curled into a grin of his own, his trembling devolving into twitchy shudders that racked his body as he let out a thin, unstable giggle.

Giriko should've stayed out of the way, should've minded his own fucking business. This had nothing to do with him.

"Oh, I'll make you eat those words~" he murmured hoarsely. He snapped his fingers.

He was going to murder them both.

"Insanity fusion."

The clown, which had been patiently hovering in the shadows, instantly beckoned to the call and surrounded Justin's body, reconstructing itself in a whirlwind of insanity. Giriko spread his arms out as he took it on full force, laughing maniacally, his eyes bulging with equally-matched bloodlust.

Jeanne blanched, distraught, her gaze in shock and disbelief as she witnessed her partner transform. That same suffocating wavelength was back, but amplified by a hundredfold. She was immobilized in place, the madness nearly crushing her. Her vision was blurring. She could barely breathe, suffocating on air.

When the transformation was complete, Justin loomed over his victims as a full-fledged humanoid guillotine. In place of his arms were chain blades poised like vipers, ready to strike and glinting in the light. Justin's entire face was concealed by an ornate helmet, save for his mouth which had sinisterly split into a wide bloodied grin.

"Execute the sinners."

A/N: WELP. I'm so accustomed to writing Justin as being a smug, unflappable smart-ass to counter Giriko's hot-tempered nature, it actually took me a while to adjust gears and portray Justin as guarded and genuinely angry. It was fun letting Giriko get under Justin's skin for once.

Also, reviews would be amazing. I need to know I'm not writing to a brick wall.