I do not own Owl House or Soul Eater.
If I did, I'd be writing a script, rather than a novel. And it would take nowhere near as long.
It was a genuine struggle for Amity to not drum her fingers across the surface of her desk.
A well practised struggle, mind, but however much she trained in the art of stillness, of keeping every motion she made precise, accurate and deliberate, the impulse to let some part of her body fidget remained. To stretch and flex her toes; to bounce her legs on the balls of her feet; to drum her fingers upon the surface of her desk, or roll her pencil back and forth across its surface like a bored cat. She even had to admit, it was amusing when Ghost did it - but Palisman or not, a cat was a cat.
Amity was not a cat.
She was a Witch.
More than that, she was a Blight.
And Witches of the Blight Family had to be perfect in every manner, as they had been since before the Emperor's reign, and even before the rise of the Old Witch.
As such, she kept her body still, only adjusting her position to gaze around the room at her fellow classmates, each and every motion practised and deliberate.
Things were going as she had expected, rather than as she had hoped. Despite her efforts to improve overall class performance, most of the students present were still struggling with creating a proper Abomination; the formulae to create an Abomination were complex on their own, but creating an entirely new Soul, no matter how basic or transient, was hardly an easy task. Shaping and weaving Magic through the mixture into a singular point, and then compressing it, concentrating long enough that it formed into a pseudo-Soul capable of understanding its creator's intentions, if not necessarily their actual words, and following their commands… even she had to acknowledge the difficulty in that, and she was likely the most well practiced student in Abomination Magic in the room.
And it only became more difficult the more complex and powerful the Abomination's Soul had to be - difficult enough that Amity still heard Mother occasionally cursing the outlawing of animal and human sacrifice for the creation of Abominations, even with the practice's tendency to result in Abominations that were anywhere from mildly disobedient to dangerously unpredictable.
Here and now, though, only basic Abominations were being presented.
At the very least, most of them had proven to be adequate, if only barely. They were managing to maintain the shapes of their viscous liquid golems, giving them basic commands, which the creatures then struggled to perform, staggering about as they attempted to lift their cauldrons or their creators off the floor, or write out the beginnings of the old runic alphabet, or even manage to speak a sentence or two.
They were hardly measuring up to Amity's own astronomical standards - already, she was drawing up an after-school program to propose to Professor Hermonculus to improve class performance in her mind, comprised primarily of review and experimentation - but by the same token even she had to begrudgingly admit that nobody could master a Magic in three weeks.
Hermonculus, however, clearly disagreed.
"Too many toenails in unexpected places," he huffed, dismissive as he turned away from the horned Witchling, her hopes swiftly dwindling even before he declared "Fail."
As the lid was placed firmly back onto the cauldron, the young Blight held back a sigh; there hadn't been anything wrong in particular with that Abomination, not really, but Wickeh Treo hadn't followed the instructions of the presentation. Rather than manipulating her Abomination into the classic and versatile humanoid shape, Wickeh had turned it into something comprised primarily of feet and closely resembling a modern art piece, something that the cantankerous perfectionist Hermonculus was known for having precious little patience for.
His small body, barely coming up to Amity's knee when perched on his thin, stubby legs, was carried by his own Abomination, its glowing pink eyes glowing and its Soul clearly visible alongside its master's, holding him at eye level as he crossed his arms. His Soul was the colour of a pale rose, clearly displaying his high strung nature with its carefully maintained shape, his Wavelength quick and rhythmic like a swiftly strummed lute. His pale skin and what remained of his green hair around the sides of his head and at the tip of his chin seemed only to enhance the severity of his expression, which was already quite unamused, the downwards curve of his nigh-beaklike mouth enough to trick one into thinking he was incapable of smiling.
"Pathetic," he all but spat, adjusting his glasses as Wickeh returned to her seat, "Three weeks I've put my all into teaching you the ins and outs of Abomination Magic, and a select few aside, you're closer to being Abominations yourselves than you are of successfully making one! As far as I can tell, you collectively understand about as much as one!"
No one so much as breathed a word; they only watched as his gaze swept the room, eyes as hard and sharp as his tone, "Clearly, the lot of you haven't had enough practice! If the next Abomination presented fails, everyone will be receiving extra homework for the entirety of the next lunar cycle!"
This time, the class stirred, unable to remain silent in the face of the threat; Amity kept her smile firmly in place, though she did feel it stretch somewhat at the hushed whispers of panic that echoed around her, a certain satisfaction settling into her stomach at her classmates' evident distress.
"More homework!? I'm barely managing as it is!"
"He's bluffing, right? He's gotta be bluffing, there's no way-"
"This is Hermonculus, of course he's not bluffing-!"
"We just cleared the last round of extra homework-!"
She knew it was wrong to feel that way. To take pleasure in their anxiety, their fear, the way they squirmed when put under duress. But some small part of her couldn't help it. It was, in a way, confirmation of her own skill compared to those around her; acing every test, mastering every paper, perfecting every performance, a little extra homework was just another minor hurdle for her to step over, while everyone else was already floundering.
Besides that, it was an opportunity; struggling students wouldn't last in Hexside, after all, and as the class representative, it was as much her job to help her peers grow as it was their Professor's. It wouldn't be easy, and she had no doubt some of them would drop out of the class entirely before she could realistically help them… but gradually, overall performance would improve. An overall high grade in the class would be largely attributed to her efforts - and with Amity's already soaring grades, it would only reflect better on her, both as a Witch and as a Blight, in the long run.
And Boscha had the nerve to whine about how little time Amity had to spend with her.
Bringing herself back to the present, and tuning the babbling out and into the background, Amity briefly glanced at the clock; it wasn't quite close to the second quarter just yet, but by the same token, Professor Hermonculus was as passionate as he was strict. For better or for worse, he was a man who loved to fawn and espouse endlessly about anything that managed to impress him - and the mint-haired heiress was certain that once he saw her Abomination, he wouldn't be able to stop himself from using it as the perfect example, dragging his lecture out until the morning classes had concluded.
It was something of a dirty trick, to be sure… but it would buy her remaining classmates precious time to revise their work, and hopefully improve it, however slightly, for when it was time to present.
Well… all her classmates aside from Willow, at least.
She was fidgeting in her chair, almost seeming to space out entirely with her hands folded firmly on her desk, legs crossing and uncrossing and fingers all but tying themselves in knots in a display of total unease. Beside her, her ramshackle cast-iron cauldron sat, silent and motionless, but since class had begun at the end of the first quarter, she had checked on the contents of her cauldron at least half a dozen times; it was as though the dark-haired Witchling was half expecting its contents to either disappear or explode, and wasn't certain which outcome would be worse.
Clearly, things hadn't improved since morning.
But, Amity could hardly be surprised.
Instead, she raised her hand, maintaining her smile, "Professor? If I may, I'm ready to present my Abomination."
To emphasise her scholarly eagerness, she let her Soul flare, Wavelength reaching into her cauldron to stir the contents within. The lid lifted however slightly, exposing the glowing eyes within, but the Blight didn't let her creation out of its confines just yet; she had it wait, wait for the miniscule Witch's permission to emerge. All around her, she could feel the class hold their breaths, hopeful that their Professor would show mercy by picking his favourite…
… all but Willow, who still didn't seem to be paying any real attention. Rather, she seemed lost in her own little world, only paying token attention to what was around her, so anxious she seemed.
That was… disconcerting.
Nonetheless, Amity kept as much attention as she could on Professor Hermonculus, waiting, expectant, for him to take her bait.
When his sharp eyes landed on her, they immediately softened, an amused, but warm, proud smile gracing his face. But his laughter was playfully chiding "Ohoho, Amity… you know that I prefer to save the best for last. If I didn't, we would get nothing done. You'll simply have to wait your turn."
She kept her smile, biting down on the mild irritation that arose at the corner of her mind as Hermonculus returned to surveying the class; the other students immediately returned to their former anxious energy, aimless as they struggled not to whisper among themselves.
It should be fine, at least. As long as he didn't pick-
A small, taloned hand immediately fell on the pale, dark-green haired girl, who'd once again lifted the lid of her cauldron.
"Willow Park," he half said, half barked.
She blinked, dropping the lid with a startle, "Me?"
"You," he nodded, "You will be next to present."
The anxiety turned to gloom as Willow stared forwards like a griffon caught in lamplight, the entire room groaning in frustrated resignation as she slowly, painfully slowly got to her feet and started wheeling her cauldron up to the podium, lifting it off with a grunt before setting it on the floor.
"Not Half-A-Witch," one of the boys grumbled, slumping in his chair.
"Of course he picks her," Wickeh moaned, cupping her face with her hands.
"The one person guaranteed to fail…"
"Guess I can kiss my weekends goodbye…"
Amity did her best to ignore them, now genuinely struggling to keep her smile in place, a pang of pity dropping into her gut like a stone. She didn't take pleasure in watching Willow struggle, not like she did in watching others squirm and fail. With them, it wasn't necessarily a failure of ability, but merely character; they had failed in some key way, either not paying proper attention, not keeping up with their studies, or simply missing some component of how the Magic worked. In any case, it was a lack of self-application that caused them to crash and burn; even if they would never be able to keep up with Amity Blight, just on account of how much effort she herself put in, it was amusing to see someone suffer the consequences of their own lack of effort, in addition to the satisfaction of knowing she had worked the hardest.
With Willow, there was none of that.
Willow tried. Willow fought and bit and clawed and tried. But it was never enough.
She could do Magic, certainly, she wasn't a human… but it always seemed like something critical was missing. Something effort alone couldn't bridge. Some key lack of understanding or capability that kept Magic eternally locked away, forcing her to only ever learn Magic meant for children.
That wasn't amusing to watch.
It hurt. It hurt to watch the girl try and try and try, over and over again, only to end up with the same result.
To always end up back where she started, no matter how hard she worked.
To be Half-A-Witch.
It was why Amity had snapped at her earlier, seeing the irreparable mess Willow had made.
It was why Willow was the only one she genuinely wanted to help.
She was snapped out of her reverie by Willow's breaths, long and slow; again, she seemed anxious about what was in her cauldron, swallowing hard, seeming unsure of what to do; she spaced out, biting at her lip, as though debating whether or not to even try…
'... just sit down,' the Blight thought, 'There's no shame in just sitting down, Willow. Please, just sit down…'
"... Willow?" Hermonculus prompted, expectant.
"... sorry, sorry," the green-eyed girl managed, "Just… nervous."
"We don't have all day," he stated, crossing his arms, "Please bring out your Abomination, or I will mark it as a failure."
Another harsh breath from Willow, before she steeled herself, reaching forwards to remove the lid.
Amity closed her eyes.
She didn't want to watch.
She didn't want to see Willow humiliate herself again…
"Abomination, rise."
There was a loud series of squelches, and then a loud, harsh splat.
The entire class let out gasps and murmurs, forcing Amity's eyes to blink back open.
The purple, sludgy figure slowly slid out of the cauldron, inching forwards bit by bit on its face before slowly pushing itself up into a seated position, its face flattened by the impact it had made against the floor. It looked about briefly before slowly rising to its feet, a muffled groan escaping its mottled mouth.
It was moving.
It was intact.
It was humanoid, with four limbs and a main body and a head with all the right features, if somewhat shorter than what the recipe should have made.
It even had a Soul, dim and basic, but burning in its confines nonetheless as it turned to face Willow, still groaning.
Willow herself seemed somewhat shocked, but nonetheless, directed the creature to the rest of the class, "Abomination, bow."
It only took a couple seconds to glance at the captive class audience before obeying, haphazardly pulling one arm across its body before bending at the waist, dropping into a clumsy, exaggerated bow.
Amity was scouring its entire body, mouth dry and smile completely forgotten. This shouldn't have been possible. There was no way Willow would have been able to create this out of the utter mess she'd had before class started. Someone else had to have made this, had to be animating it - that was the only plausible explanation for what she was seeing. Not even the youngest Blight could have made a functioning Abomination that quickly; she'd tried to do just that before, multiple times.
But there was no mistaking Willow's Wavelength pulsing through the construct's body, keeping it intact as any basic Abomination's body should have been, shape and motion maintained by the Magic of its creator.
A nearly perfect basic Abomination.
"... remarkable," Hermonculus murmured, adjusting his glasses as his own Abomination held him in for a closer look, "I fully expected you to have nothing to show, Willow. This is extremely impressive; I'd expect this kind of work from Amity."
Willow's cheeks burned, and she stammered, "W-Well, I'm not gonna say it was easy…"
"... can it speak?" he finally asked, looking back at the Park girl.
She bit her lip again, then cleared her throat, issuing the command, "Abomination, speak."
Again, there was only a brief pause before the Abomination obeyed, "... I might beeee… an Abom…ination…" it reached out, wrapping its gooey arms around Willow's shoulders, "But yoouuu'rrreee… myyy… A-mom…ination…"
It made puns.
It understood wordplay well enough to make puns.
Amity still hadn't garnered enough skill with the Magic to get her Abominations to do that.
"Amomination!" Professor Hermonculus let out a delighted chortle, clapping his hands, "This is quite an achievement, Willow; an Abomination that can perform wordplay like that is very impressive, especially for someone just starting down this track!"
"Like I said," the green-eyed girl started, gently pushing the Abomination away, "It wasn't easy."
"I imagine not, but this is a remarkable improvement," he smiled, "I am very impressed with you, Willow. You've earned yourself a perfect score!"
The entire classroom erupted in an uproar, but it was all a distant, dull roar in the Blight's ears, the words blending together into a vague, uncomfortably loud drone as her stare kept flickering back and forth between Willow and her Abomination. The dark-haired Witchling stood nigh motionless, once again seeming trapped by her own anxiety, unable to fully process what was happening before slowly and sheepishly shuffling back to her desk, the Abomination picking up the cauldron, placing it in the wheelbarrow, and pushing it gently back to its master's desk.
Amity knew what she had seen before, earlier that morning.
That Abomination had been completely unusable, unable to hold shape and utterly lacking in any sort of Soul.
It was absolutely impossible for Willow to have somehow salvaged it, much less in the mere minutes she had before class began.
There was no doubt in the class representative's mind that Willow had cheated, somehow, some way. It was the only explanation that made any sense. It was tricky, but not impossible, to transfer ownership and mastery of an Abomination from one Witch to another, and the easiest way to do it was with a willing partner; it was what Amity herself had been planning to try to salvage Willow's grade for the day.
But who, and why?... no one had shown any interest in helping Willow before. Barely anyone in this class had that sort of skill with Abomination Magic, and she sincerely doubted that any of them just had a spare perfect Abomination lying around for the infamous Half-A-Witch to use.
And moreover… what would drive Willow to cheat like this in the first place?...
'... I'm definitely missing something here,' she thought, not once noticing that her gaze had morphed into a hard glare as she stared into the back of Willow's head. Without a way to prove that the green-eyed girl was somehow cheating, she couldn't cause an uproar, not without getting in trouble; that would be unbecoming of the class representative, and even moreso of a Blight.
But that didn't mean she couldn't make any moves.
She just needed to be patient.
Forcing herself to take a breath, she returned her attention to the presentations, doing her best to note the failings of each for later, and to keep her gaze from drifting back to Willow and the Abomination…
"Hellooooooooo Italy!"
Soul's joyous roar was only barely audible over the roar of the motorcycle as they raced down the road, the winding streets easily wide enough for the Weapon to easily weave his way through the city even in the bright sunlight, the afternoon sun still burning brightly even as afternoon slowly bled into evening. Stalls, shops, vendors, people, they all shot by like the wind, a flurry of colour and brilliance that dazzled the eyes and left the senses ever more wanting, though the white haired preteen still took the streets and corners slowly enough that he had plenty of room for error, and that the both of them could catch glimpses of the veritable melting pot that surrounded them.
"God, what a cool city!" he whooped, "You know, I had my doubts about coming to Venice, but call me a believer, Maka! This place is incredible!"
She didn't answer, merely turning the page of her notebook as she studied the notes she'd taken regarding their mission.
"Makes me kinda sad we can't see the rest of the country while we're here," he shouted, "What do you think, Maka? Should we get something to eat before we get started, take advantage of the school's funding? I'm sure we can find some kickass all-you-can-eat pasta places here!"
"No time, Soul," she declined idly, raising her voice over the nigh-obnoxiously loud purr of the engine, "We're burning daylight and we have classes to get back to. We complete the mission, and grab the next flight back home, done and dusted."
"Oh, lighten up, would ya? We can at least get something after that garbage airline food!" the Weapon called, glancing back at her briefly over his shoulder, "And would you get your nose out of that book while I'm driving? You're as responsible for your safety as I am!"
"I trust that you can avoid getting into an accident," she smirked, pulling her hand back to flick back a page, sitting on the bike with both hands free to prove her point.
"And you call me reckless!" he huffed.
"That's because you are."
"Then why'd you let me drive?"
"'Cause I don't have a license."
He snorted, but didn't argue the point further, though he seemed more amused than exasperated or frustrated with the argument, "Who the Hell are we looking for out here anyways?"
"The Emerald Lake Killer - some guy named Sonson J."
"What, the Crystal Lake copycat from BC?"
"That's the one."
"The Hell is he doing all the way out here in Venice? Shouldn't he be harassing campers out in the Rockies or something?"
"Who knows? Maybe he had a hankering for some all-you-can-eat pasta."
"Hey, I wouldn't blame him!" Soul snickered, "Venice is a cultural melting pot! And food's one of the best ways to experience that culture!"
"Well, we'll have to come back at some point, then," Maka snapped her book shut, "Sonson tends to commit his murders after dark, so we don't have a lot of time before we're on the clock. In a way, the extreme difference in time zones acts in our favour here; we can get straight to work."
"Agree to disagree, Maka!" he huffed, "I don't call getting up before midnight for a four hour flight, followed by a ten hour flight, and then immediately getting to work 'in our favour!' Besides, I don't think the sun's going down anytime soon, do you?"
She clicked her teeth, glancing up at the sun; despite the relatively late hour, it was nowhere near the horizon, the proper evening still quite a ways off. It would take some time for sunset to set in, and even then it likely wouldn't be well and truly dark until well past ten in the evening.
Nonetheless, she remained firm, "Be that as it may, I still think we're better off gathering info than we are wasting time at restaurants, Soul."
He grunted, grumbling under his breath as they rounded yet another corner.
The grey-haired girl paused, then sighed, "... tell you what. Let's get this wrapped up, and we'll find some place tomorrow before we leave, okay? That way you won't have to stomach crappy airplane food on the way home."
At this, the white-haired Weapon glanced up at her, crimson eyes flashing despite the nonchalance of his expression; after a moment, he grinned, turning his attention back to the road, "That sounds cool as Hell, Maka."
"Just seems like a decent compromise is all," she scooted back slightly in her seat, looking back to the city around her, "You ready to get to work?"
"Ready as I'll ever be. Let's go."
The roar of the motorcycle redoubled, and they sped off into the winding labyrinth of roads and waterways…
The infernal scream of the bell was hardly music to Amity's ears.
She could barely remember most of the class; despite her best efforts, she hadn't been able to stop her mind from racing, tuning out everything around her except for Willow and that Abomination.
She doubted anyone else noticed, but its jerky movements had eventually ceased. It handed Willow her books with a smoothness it hadn't had during her presentation; it scribbled down notes for her with far more dexterity than it should have had. It even seemed to act on its own to some degree, at one point pointing to something in the textbook that forced the green-eyed Witchling to bite down on a screech, running her fingers through her hair as if she had missed something extremely obvious. It was only now that class was over that its overtly jerky movements had resumed, taking exaggerated, staggering steps as it helped put Willow's materials and books away for lunch.
And yet, throughout the entirety of the class, Willow's Magic had never wavered; her Wavelength filled the Abomination, undeniable proof that somehow she was maintaining it, maintaining its movement. And all the while, its Soul burned, never once threatening to wink out throughout the entirety of the morning.
There was definitely something up with that construct.
Taking a breath, Amity stood, slowly striding out the door to follow Willow as she walked down the hall, the Abomination beside her pushing the wheelbarrow.
"... very impressive, Willow," she stated.
The darker-haired teen jumped, spinning in place with a yelp and very nearly smacking the Blight with a flailing arm; she stared for a moment before giving a nervous chuckle, "Uh… heheh… uh, thanks… Amity…"
"No need to thank me," she let her gaze slide over to the Abomination, which now stood stock still, seeming to stare at her, "It really does deserve praise. It's not quite as good as mine in some respects - mine move more smoothly - but even I have to admit it when I see something this well made."
"Y-yeah," Willow managed, fidgeting, her nervousness from before having seemed to returned, if not redoubled, now that she was under closer scrutiny.
Amity paid it no heed, instead leaning in towards the Abomination for a closer look, arms crossed; it didn't react, staying stock still as the class representative looked it over, not even when she reached out to adjust its face, tilting its head one way, then the other, "It makes me wonder, though… how did you pull this off?"
"... forty eight hours without sleep, eight cans of Green Dragon, and A Fool's Guide to Abominations?"
At this, the gold-eyed Witchling felt her teeth grind, frustration flooding her at what felt distinctly like mockery. She turned to face Willow, all pretence of patience gone, "Don't play stupid with me, Willow. I saw your Abomination earlier. It was a puddle. It had no Soul. I can count the number of full-grown Witches I know who can throw together something like this in less than a segment on one hand and have fingers left over."
The stockier girl swallowed hard, doing her best to stand tall despite the Blight looming over her, eyes wide and face pale.
Amity leaned forwards, eyes narrowed, "Who gave this thing to you?"
"N-no one!" Willow insisted, raising her hands as if to defend herself, "It's all my work, I-I swear!"
A beat passed before Amity let a slow exhale escape through her nose, eyes closing. She tapped a black-painted fingernail against her arm briefly before opening her eyes again.
"... I don't know how you did this, Willow. I really don't; nothing I can think of makes any sense," she finally intoned, eyes narrow and brows curled down, "But we both know what I saw this morning. And what you're actually capable of when it comes to Magic."
The words hung in the air, an unspoken accusation punctuating each and every one.
However, Willow didn't react how Amity expected her to.
Rather than shrinking as she had before, her expression hardened. Her fists clenched at her sides briefly before she reached up, pushing her glasses back up her nose, lips pursed, her own eyes narrowed as she stood on tiptoe to bring herself closer to the youngest Blight's face.
"... you don't know the first thing about me, Amity," she finally hissed, practically spitting the words out, "Much less what I can actually do."
Silence; Amity didn't blink, didn't move, waiting for Willow to realise the foolishness of her anger.
Instead, Willow let herself drop back to her heels, turning to her cauldron and lifting the lid.
"Abomination, in," she commanded.
The Abomination obeyed, flopping forwards awkwardly into the cauldron before dropping the rest of the way in, remaining firmly humanoid even as Willow replaced the cover.
"Go have lunch with Boscha," she said, lifting the wheelbarrow and beginning to stride back down the hall, "I'm not seeing you for 'tutoring' today."
"... I've got my eye on you, Willow," was all Amity offered in retort before she rounded the corner.
When the other Witchling had disappeared, the mint-haired girl raised her hand, examining the handful of Abomination goo she had swiped from Willow's creation. Separated from the overall construct, it was now runny, thin, although nonetheless sticky, forcing her to stretch out her fingers to get them apart.
There was no way this would be viscous enough to hold form on its own; Amity doubted even she could force an Abomination to hold shape with this material. A Witch may as well try to make a sculpture out of completely melted ice.
She turned, walking down the hall before turning into the bathroom; after checking to see if anyone was present, she chose a stall, and locked herself in, staring at the purple sludge.
Amity knew she shouldn't be doing this, especially not after spending part of her morning lecturing Willow over mixing Magic.
But by the same token, she was studying to take that apprenticeship under Countess Clawthorne; Mother had seen fit to 'get ahead' on Amity's studies in that regard.
Besides, this was as much for Willow as it was for anything else.
As much as she hated seeing Willow struggle, as much as she didn't want to watch Willow be humiliated… she couldn't just let this slide. Not when it could turn out so much worse for her in the long run.
"I'm sorry, Willow," Amity murmured, closing her eyes, "But this is for your own good."
Her Soul flared; the familiar, lighter purples typical of the Oracle Coven gleamed within her Wavelength, the whispers of spirits making themselves known to her. The world around her at once went dark and brightened as she closed herself to the physical realm around her, and opened herself to the spiritual realm, the realm of the Soul itself. The lights gleamed around her, the spirits called, all trying to get her attention and whisk her off into the distant dark that lured away many young Witches unprepared for this spell…
But she ignored them, as Mother had taught her.
Instead, she directed them, forced them to focus on the material in her hand, to guide her back to its creation; to find the source of the residual Wavelength that remained within…
'... no,' she realised, 'Not Wavelength… Wavelengths.'
Amity followed their trail back, peering into the past; pity filled her once again as she watched Willow struggle through the night and into the morning to get her Abomination to form, and then later at her own harsh words upon seeing the utter mess the desperate Park had made, her herculean efforts met with naught but scolding. She watched herself leave, the promise she made now feeling empty…
She skipped ahead, seeking out the second Wavelength she felt. It was so bright, but so small, a distant star or a blazing spark, ready to burst with energy, but so fragile…
Finally, she found it.
The girl, tan skinned and dark haired, seemed practically made of chocolate. She met Willow's pessimism with boundless enthusiasm, grinning with open wonder at the Witchling before her, as if everything she'd seen up to now was her first time seeing-
'-not a Witch… are you?'
'-couldn't tell?-'
'-so small-'
'-easy to overlook-'
'-human on the Boiling Isles-'
The words, only distantly heard through spirits and Soul, nearly knocked the Blight out of the spell entirely. She struggled, only barely regaining her foothold to watch the rest of the scene unfold. The girl flopped down into the goo, as if she were a toddler playing in the mud, and then Willow flared her Soul; the purple sludge rose, and coated the girl, her body acting as a frame, giving it shape, her Soul muted somewhat by the Magic in her new coating…
She released the spell.
Amity collapsed against the stall wall, staring down at her hand as she gasped for breath, less from exertion, more from shock.
She'd been right.
Willow had, in fact, cheated.
She just cheated in a way that Amity had never expected would even be possible.
"... a human…?"
"... so, what makes you think the Demon Sword's going to be here, in Italy?"
"Just a hunch," Stein took a sip of his coffee, the bitterness and heat pleasant on his tongue as he stared at the twin screens of his laptop.
"A hunch?" Spirit asked, tone flat, his own coffee laden with so much milk and sugar that Stein was no longer sure it could be identified as coffee, "You dragged me all the way out to Italy based on a hunch?"
"Mm-hm," he glanced up from the screens, smiling, "I thought you'd have a little more appreciation, Spirit. Remember the last time we came to Venice?"
"You threatened to kill half the Materazzi," the Death Scythe recounted dryly, "The other half, you traumatised. We're lucky the DWMA didn't force us to pay their therapy bills."
"In my defence, the head of the family did have a Kishin Egg Soul in the end," the doctor noted.
"Which Lord Death confiscated."
"It still needed to be done. Plus it's pretty thoroughly neutered them as a threat. Are the Materazzi even involved in organised crime anymore?"
"Nah, at this point they're just hooligans that stand on lawns and solicit private property, at least according to what I've read since," the Death Scythe took a long sip of his blend, "They're not harmless, there are still assaults and muggings that happen from time to time, but they've long since fallen off the stage as a major crime organisation."
"Well, then I'll count it as a success."
"Of course you do," Spirit sighed, taking another sip of coffee, his expression that of a man who longed to sneak some whiskey into his drink. Then he glanced up at Stein again, frowning, "Hey, would you stop turning that screw in your head every ten seconds? You're drawing attention to us."
Stein blinked; he hadn't even realised he had reached up to adjust the screw, the clicking failing to register on his ears; he'd only been aware of the fading pressure on his skull, the relaxation that followed flooding through his body, every joint and muscle loosening with the turn of the screw.
He chuckled, "That's not really something I can help, Spirit. This thing's been in my head for so long that I forget people don't consider it normal."
Despite the Weapon's snort, the words were entirely true; it had taken Stein a frankly embarrassing amount of time to figure out why he'd been getting so many strange stares and averted gazes since he left Death City. Even now in the Caffé del Doge, people were either overtly trying to avoid staring at him, or couldn't even be bothered to make the attempt, likely wondering how he was even functioning, much less sipping black coffee as he idly scrolled through the files on his laptop. It was every bit as patchwork as he was, with various covers awkwardly broken off, taped together and screwed into place wherever he could find room for screws between the myriad of datachips, processors, and batteries, its pair of screens not quite folding over top of each other properly even when closed. With its sheer bulk, many awkward parts, and the volume of its fan, it was less a laptop computer and more of a portable desktop with a built-in power source.
"... but seriously," Spirit began, "Why Venice? There's gotta be more to your reasoning than just a hunch."
Finally, Stein felt his expression grow more serious, his stitches stiff against the slight frown of his brow, "I hate to admit it, Spirit, but I don't have a whole lot of leads to go on regarding this. There are only a couple of consistent threads between each case, those being the weapon used, and the surprise attacks in gathering places or high traffic areas. There is some level of tourism comparison to be made with each target - they're all fairly major cities that draw foreigners from all over the world - but that doesn't really contribute to any sort of pattern, since no city gets hit twice, but some countries haven't been touched at all, like Spain and Germany, while Britain has had two separate incidents. Predicting where the next strike is going to be may be just about impossible; there isn't exactly a shortage of cities that are tourist hotspots in the world."
"So again," the redheaded Weapon pressed, "Why Venice?"
"Two reasons," the pale Meister held up his index and middle fingers, "The first being that I've had Azusa looking into the evidence collected at each incident, looking at it more in depth for a more concrete link than just the Weapon."
"Having her look for residual traces of Soul Wavelength?" Spirit raised an eyebrow, "I thought those decayed too quickly for them to be found after more than a few minutes."
"They do. But you know Azusa; even Makoto and I can't quite match those eyes of her's," Stein tapped his glasses, "If anyone can find a residual Soul Wavelength in those crime scenes, it's her. Though apparently it was quite the song and dance trying to get the Chinese government to cooperate."
The Death Scythe snorted, derisive, "As if we needed more reasons to dislike the Chinese government."
The Meister chuckled, then refocused, "At any rate, she eventually got back to me with something; a very faint, incomplete, but distinct signature."
"And you think there's a match for it somewhere in this city?"
"We have to start looking somewhere. And there's probably only one city in all of Italy that matches Venice in its prominence as a tourist destination - Rome."
Another thoughtful sip of that sickeningly sweet coffee, those cyan eyes narrowed as Spirit peered into him, seeming to be searching for something in the patchwork man's pale green eyes.
"Okay," he finally started, "I think I get your thought process. But why are you so fixated on the tourism and population size of each city that gets hit?"
"Well, that's the other thing," Stein mused, leaning on the table, "From each attack, I'm getting the impression that there's a specific objective that whoever is doing this is trying to carry out. They want something specific to happen, and they need lots of travel and a large population density in order to make it happen."
"Not to mention the diverse cultural makeups of places like that," the Weapon rubbed his chin, "Lots of intermingling, and not all of it ends well."
Silence hung in the air for a long moment as both men pondered, the only sound being the music played gently over the speakers in the dim lighting.
"... assuming that this Wavelength is that of a Witch, or a Demon Sword," Spirit began, "Did the Wavelength signature Azusa sent you have any tinge of Madness, Stein?"
"A bit, yes," Stein nodded, "But since it's incomplete I can't tell to what degree."
"Any amount is enough to draw some assumptions," the Death Scythe gestured to the computer, "May I see some of those files?"
Wordlessly, Stein turned the laptop around, and pushed it towards his partner; the redhead swiftly began scrolling, cyan eyes shooting back and forth between the screens and giving off the minute movements that were telltale of a swift reader, somehow taking in each document within less than a minute before moving onto the next.
"Highly populated areas… train stations… places of worship… indiscriminate slaughters," he murmured, coffee forgotten as he fought to put the pieces together, "No immediate pattern of location, but… that doesn't necessarily mean anything."
"You have an idea, Spirit?"
"Just a theory," Death's personal Scythe admitted, "But if I had to guess… it seems like whoever's doing this was trying to use these murders in conjunction with a Madness Wavelength to inspire widespread panic."
It was the Meister's turn to quirk an eyebrow, "You think the killings themselves aren't the actual goal here?"
"At the very least, I don't think they're the only goal," Spirit stated, grabbing a napkin and pulling out a pen, scribbling out a drawing as he spoke, "Reading these, I feel like I'm seeing someone trying and failing to start a fire. Trying to do something in particular and failing repeatedly. If I'm right, then I think the goal here was to create much bigger incidents than what actually happened, with each massacre intended to act as the spark."
Stein frowned as he looked over the quick, but surprisingly detailed sketch of a forest map, with multiple fires having died throughout; he glanced back at his partner as the computer was pushed back across the table, "If that's the case, Spirit, then we're not just dealing with a Demon Sword. They're not exactly known for their ability to plan, much less set off deliberate chain reactions like what you're suggesting."
"You said yourself a Witch is the most likely culprit here," the redhead picked up his coffee again, "Honestly, I'd be almost relieved if it were just a Witch."
"I wouldn't," Stein crossed his arms, "Witches tend to fall into two categories with this sort of planning. They're either reckless and get killed off the bat, or they're careful and they never get caught. Given that this has been going on for two years at least, I'd say we're probably dealing with the latter."
"... God, I hate it when you're right," Spirit groaned.
"Aren't I always?" the doctor smirked.
"That's why I hate it so much."
The clammy man chuckled, then glanced outside at the slowly setting sun, "... we should probably check into our hotel soon. We need to be on standby in case anything happens. I'd rather not be lugging around suitcases as we fight."
"Yeah, I know," the Scythe managed a smile, "Why do you think I insisted we go for coffee?"
"You realise all that sugar and caffiene is going to make you crash after a while, right?"
"Shut up."
Stein merely laughed as Spirit downed the rest of his coffee.
The tune that the Owl Lady whistled was high and sharp as she strode back through the forest, the burlap sack a pleasant weight over her shoulder and against her back, King's lightly padding footsteps not far behind as he struggled and fought with the large multicoloured puzzle box he had declared his new toy - or rather, his new "weapon of doomsday." He whined and grunted relentlessly as he tried not to match the patterns, but rather to force them into particular combinations, caught halfway between trying to turn the various cubes as he was supposed to, and pry them apart, his stubby claws leaving scratches across each square.
Of course, it wasn't a true doomsday device - Eda knew an empty prison seal when she saw one, and this one had its sealing Magic corroded entirely by the carrion crawler - but she wasn't about to tell King that, not when it would likely keep him preoccupied for days, and especially not when watching him adorably struggle with it would bring nigh endless entertainment.
She herself had gotten a truly impressive haul; that particular trash slug had eaten a pretty large selection of magical items, many of them still having some magic intact, or at least would be easy enough to restore into something usable or sellable at the night market. Even beyond that, the number of random nicknacks, paper weights, fidget toys and even just random junk she could fashion into "collectables" would be enough to keep her stall full for quite some time, enough that she wouldn't need to make another trip into the human realm for at least a couple more weeks.
Not that that would stop her; if there was anything her trip to Vegas and her cheating spree therein, culminating in a marriage that lasted for a grand total of an hour before she took the poor bastard for everything he owned, it was that keeping up with human customs and technology had its perks. Especially when she really needed to lay low from other Witches for a while.
She was pretty sure that Stanley Pines still owed her a favour or two, after all.
She snickered at the thought, easily hopping over the log again and stopping to wait for King, his new box being tossed over before he squirmed his way over the wet, rotting bark, immediately snatching the toy up and beginning to fidget with it again. Satisfied he was keeping up, she turned-
"So, when are you going to tell Luz?"
The Witch stopped mid-stride; she turned, blinking, "What?"
"You know," he didn't glance up from the cube, "That she can't actually learn Magic?"
At this, her teeth clicked shut, the cheer draining from both her chest and her face as she stared down at the juvenile Demon. She felt her lips twist into a grimace, a frown creasing her brow as she tried to hold down the coming snap.
"What?" she asked instead, trying to bring back some of her usual sass, "You don't like having the human around?"
"She's fun. It's good to have someone else around for a change, and she's tough - she hasn't run away screaming from us yet. That's usually a good sign," King ratcheted another piece around, managing to actually get some of the right pieces aligned before he promptly scrambled them again, "But eventually, she's also gonna figure out that you've been lying to her about teaching her Magic."
"And when that happens, I'll send her home," she turned away, resuming her way up the path, "A gentle toss through the portal, a little memory charm to remove a few days of memories, and boom, she's home, no harm, no foul."
"After you teach her how to use her Soul Wavelength?" the Demon pressed, scampering forwards to stand in front of her, his puzzle forgotten in his hands.
Eda shrugged,"I don't see why not," she made a deliberate effort to step past the pup rather than over him, "You've seen how clumsy she is; Luz needs all the help she can get. I might be stringing her along with Magic, but that doesn't mean I can't get an actual lesson or two in for her."
"That's exactly what I'm asking about," King insisted, this time jumping up on a rock to reach her eye level, "For someone who's just using Luz for odd jobs and chores, you're putting a lot of effort into actually teaching her. You're even enjoying it! I heard you two talking the other night, you were having fun teaching her!"
"Your point, King?" for the first time, a mild edge slipped into her tone as she came to a stop, eyes half lidded.
"You care about her!" he threw up his diminutive arms, "You're lying to her about teaching her Magic, but then turning around and treating her like she's actually your apprentice!"
"She is, technically," the Witch snarked.
"If it were technical, you wouldn't be treating this half as seriously as you are!" he jabbed a stubby claw at her, "I can't tell which one of you is the bigger sucker - Luz, for believing you can teach her Magic, or you, for lying to yourself about just using her for free work!"
"Are you just mad that I'm giving her so much attention, King?" she smirked, "Do you want some lessons of your own?"
"Weh!"
He hurled the box at her; she easily dodged, tilting her head slightly to the side as it sailed past and unceremoniously crashed to the ground.
Then it pulsed; a dormant Magic Eda had not sensed in it before began to form within the box, the symbols across its surface suddenly gleaming with a dim orange-gold light of flame. It pulsed, the top slowly folding open, an arm clad in black leather slowly emerging from its confines, the hand a pale white-
Only for Eda to immediately kick the box with all her might, her leg rising into a perfect vertical split and sending the demonic prison careening upwards with enough physical force to catch fire, the creature within shrieking in equal parts shock and agony; in the distance, its tiny orange glimmer could be seen, the tiniest spark against the sky, before disappearing into the distance, with naught but a faint white shimmer to mark where it vanished, before that too ceased to be.
"... nice kick," King managed weakly.
"I wasn't the star player on the Hexside grudgby team for nothin', King; coulda gone pro if I had joined a Coven," the silver vixen preened, then rubbed her chin, "I really shoulda noticed that, though… I should look at these things more closely before giving them to you as toys."
"It was a doomsday box!" he shouted, then lost his balance, falling to the ground with a panicked squeal.
Eda chuckled, crouching and picking the Demon pup up, setting him on his feet, "Look, King… I'm the one responsible for Luz being here in the first place. Even if I'm just using her for chores, it's my responsibility to make sure she doesn't get hurt while she's here. It's the least I can do to make sure she gets home safely."
"But you're still lying," he snapped, dusting himself off, "Either to her or to yourself. And I'm not sure which is worse."
"... you like her that much, huh?" her expression softened.
"... don't tell her I said this, but… yeah," he crossed his arms, looking away, "Like I said. She's fun, and I have someone to talk to other than Hooty, and… and reliable minions are hard to come by."
"... I don't blame you for getting attached," she placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, "I like her too. But she's going to have to go home eventually. She doesn't belong here."
"Then why didn't you just send her home the first time?" he finally met her gaze again, eyes somewhere between imploring and accusatory, "You know the longer she stays, the harder it's going to be, for all of us."
For the first time, she had no answer; she just maintained her gaze for a moment before letting out a sigh, rising to her full height, "... I don't really know. I guess I wanted a change of pace, is all. It was an impulse. A whim."
King let out a breath of his own, "Look… I just… don't think this is going to end the way you want it to. Or even how you think it's going to."
"... we'll see how things turn out, okay?" Eda finally stated, "I get where you're coming from. But I have this under control; everything will turn out fine."
"... if you say so," King murmured, before starting back up the path.
It didn't take long for them to make their way back to the Owl House; standing tall over the cliff, the sea-salt breeze was pleasant on the nose as they approached.
"Hey guys!" Hooty called "Good to see you're back!"
"Hooty, please don't start," King murmured, already gripping the sides of his head.
"Get a nice haul today!?" the door Demon shouted, not at all heeding the diminutive Demon's request, "That's a pretty big bag you're carryiiiiiing!"
"Yep!" Eda shook the bag slightly, grinning, "Nice big selection of items and ingredients. This should keep me set for anything exotic for a while - or at least a couple weeks."
"Oh, that's very good! Hoot hoot!" Hooty hooted, delighted… then blinked, glancing back and forth, "Heeeeey, where's Luz?"
She blinked in turn, startled by the question, "What do you mean, 'where's Luz'?"
The tubular entity just stared, "You mean she's not with you guys?"
"I sent her home hours ago," the Witch declared, "You mean she's not here?"
"Haven't seen her," Hooty shook his head.
Only a second passed, just long enough for a chill to run down Eda's spine and a dark pit to form in her stomach before she threw open the door, darting inside. She tossed the bag to the side, not caring for an instant where it landed, before rushing up the stairs, both Demons forgotten in her wake.
There was no way Luz could have snuck in without Hooty's notice, even if she had wanted to in the first place; if Hooty hadn't seen her, then there was no way that she was here. It was all too likely she'd wandered off, distracted by something else that had grabbed her attention, slipping off into the woods with no one to guide her or find help should something go awry. The Latina wasn't stupid by any means, but she also had little indication of what was and wasn't safe in this realm, and moreover had a tendency towards reckless exploration, a great deal of youthful, misplaced confidence, and a proclivity to be far too trusting for her own good.
If she ran into the wrong creature, or the wrong person on her own out there, she'd be eaten alive - or worse, handed over to the Covens.
The Witch flung open the door to Luz's room and descended on the bedroll, eyes and hands both combing it for hair, for nail clippings, anything that Luz might have left behind in the nights before. It didn't take long for her to find the strands of short brown hair, which she immediately snatched up.
It had been a while since the Owl Lady had done any Oracle Magic - it was one of her least favourite types - but that didn't mean she had no knack for it.
She cast the spell, her Soul briefly flaring a light purple; her eyes fluttered shut as violet-tinted images filled her mind, of the girl's evenings getting ready for bed, of being all but dragged out of bed come morning; of following Eda down the cliffside, through the forest, their conversation only distantly registering on the Witch's ears, like it was being filtered through water and music; of the carrion crawler, and the sickening scent and taste of rot and sewer; and finally, of wandering off the path, to find-
Witchlings-?
Uniforms-
A distant bell-
Hexside-
Her eyes snapped back open, the spell coming to an abrupt halt.
"Titan- Damn it, Luz!" she shouted, snatching up her staff once more and all but slamming open the window.
"Eda!" King called from behind her, scrabbling for purchase on the wooden floor, "Did you find Luz!?"
"No, but I know where she is," she hopped up into the sill, "Just stay here. I'll find her."
Before King could offer a word of protest, she was already off, Owlbert carrying over over the autumn orange pines.
"Hexside," she hissed to herself, "Luz, of all the places you could have wandered off to, why did it have to be Hexside!?"
She tightened her grip on her staff, and would have been all but strangling Owlbert had his throat been further down, urging him to fly faster.
Luz had no idea how much danger she was in.
Oh, wow, I actually got this out two weeks later almost exactly. Just one day off!
I hope you guys enjoyed my take on Amity's perspective here. Things are gonna get very interesting next chapter at Hexide, especially once I get to Gus... who I admittedly am not wholly sure how to write yet. Eh, I'll figure it out.
Stein's perspective wasn't quite as interesting as I'd hoped this time, but I think that's because he's pretty preoccupied with what's going on. Hopefully next time I write from his perspective I can go a bit more into detail regarding how his mind actually works.
Still, this was a fun chapter to write! Lots of exciting things going on, and I'm hoping that you all enjoyed it too!
I just can't wait to introduce Crona to Maka and Soul. I've been looking forwards to writing that fight for MONTHS.
Thanks for giving this a read, everyone, and thank you so much for your patience and understanding with me. Let me know what you think! I hope you all enjoyed the twenty second chapter of Owls and Souls, Witches and Resonance!