Star wondered if that bitch knew he'd caught sight of her. Honestly, it shouldn't have been so easy, catching that insignia in the crowd, but maybe, just maybe, she was getting a little too cocky. And maybe that means I should take her down a peg.

A few more faces bustled by and Star let her fade back into the throngs of people. That feeling was back, the one from the temple as if the air was filled with iron and blood. He tried to settle into it for a moment, let it soak into his skin and give whatever message it was willing to give.

If she's here, where's that little freak of hers? Or that patsy girl she always had with her? Star took a step back, inching back into the shadow of the alleyway to become just another blight on the wall. Split three ways, of course. He pulled his scarf up to his nose, starting a full tilt run back towards the road he came. Those idiots better not be too far behind.

Drawing blood was nothing new, but Maka's heart lurched at it nonetheless. It wasn't enough that it was Crona—a person who days ago she'd been championing—but the onyx color that stained the ground was enough to tear some of her senses asunder.

She couldn't deny the buzzing in the room, the odd energy that was not only sizzling between her and Soul but between that blade and Crona as well. As that blood splattered against the ground, a string seemed to snap somewhere between them, some last lead that kept them in this dance. Instead of a hum it was now a scream, and it was the tachi that emanated it.

It was a hard, over the head strike, bringing the tachi against the blade of the scythe. The motion was normal enough, but the hit reverberated between her fingers, that cacophonous cry seeping through the metal. Suddenly, that sound wasn't alone– Maka's head was full with a wild snarl of pain from Soul's disembodied voice.

"Soul?"

"Forget it! He's about to hit again!"

Crona drew back again, a repetition of that hit but this time the sound wave shook down to her core, and Maka could see the blood. It wasn't her fingers hurt, or a wound she's somehow forgotten amongst that tumultuous beginning of the fight. It oozed from the head of the staff, blade trickling with black blood of it's own.

"Soul!"

"I'm fine," he rasped, but Maka jumped back all the same, disengaging from the next hit and letting Crona swipe the air.

"You're bleeding," Maka insisted.

"It happens," he replied flippantly. "Just look out!"

Crona was a flurry of strikes and Maka pressed back, narrowly avoiding each swipe.

"Damnit, Maka, hit him!"

No! No! No! Maka's mind screamed in rapid succession as she continued to dodge, only allowing that buzzing blade to meet air instead of Soul. Those hits– he can't take many more of them, and Crona's only hitting harder!

"Maka! Swing, damnit!"

Why did I come in here? Why did I follow this damn feeling as if I was– as if I was anything like her! Maka's back hit the door. "We have to get out, run!"

"What the hell are you talkin' about?"

She slammed again, hinges doing no work to help her. It won't– we pushed it open so it won't– Maka was desperate for the wood to give, for it to splinter with age but it was the only piece of this decrepit place to hold strong. "No–" Withered from her lips.

"Maka!"

Light and dark came so quickly one after the other. First it was the flash of Soul returning, becoming a man again, human and large enough to block her entirely whether she willed it or not. Then came the black instead of what should have been crimson. The tachi struck at Soul's left shoulder, ripping a clean ribbon down to his right hip. A fresh, hot splurt of ebony splashed at Crona while Soul faltered on his feet.

"No," Maka could only whimper, her hands shaking empty when they should have been full of fight.

"Run," he croaked as his knees buckled, tossing him forward along with another wave of oily black liquid to soak the wood. "Maka, run."

She teetered forward instead, trying to get a hold on his kosode.

"Oh," Crona groaned, one hand slapping to his head. "No, no, no, no!" He wavered on his feet, taking a step back from the two. "We weren't supposed to kill him! Not him!"

"Soul!" Her scream was starting to rise now as he began to sprawl forward. Maka didn't have enough of a hold on the cloth of his back, and she had to scramble to keep him from splatting face first into the floor.

"Oh, you stupid little bitch!" That second voice suddenly roared from Crona's mouth as the tachi now rose up over his head.

Maka dived over Soul, her arms tight as if to hold him together. At least it's with you. If I have to die, at least it's with you.


Franken didn't pause, just shouting over his shoulder to Marie. "Take her– now." He slid Reina immediately out of the sling and as soon as those little feet settled on the ground he was off in a sprint, calling back to Spirit: "They're up ahead, but there are too many souls." Waiting for a reply was futile, just letting his legs scream at the exertion as he pressed up the hill.

It gave way to a temple that was slowly being reclaimed by the natural world around it. As it sat saturated in moonlight, it could almost be beautiful if not for the terror reverberating inside the doors. Franken did not have to see it to know, to taste the blood in the air, to feel the fire of souls starting to snuff out in the darkness.

"Above!" Spirit barked.

Above the eaves that hung over the door was a hole, big enough for at least one of the men. Or making it big enough with one solid swing shouldn't be hard at all. His open hand beckoned and in a flash of light in the dark, the smoky metal of Spirit's scythe form lay in his hand. He jumped, getting to the eave that barely held his weight long enough for him to pounce again. The swing made that hole a chasm, and Franken jumped through just in time to hear a riotous battle cry that he'd grown to know well over the midnight practices of the past few months.

"How about a taste of my Big Wave!?"


Maka had often found that shout to be utterly asinine, but she reveled in watching the way Star slammed into Crona's back, crippling him and freezing the momentum of the swing. It was as if Crona's body had been struck by lightning, his features contorting in a grimace.

"I'm not done with you yet," Star gritted through his teeth as he jumped forward again, delivering a pummel of blows and creating a distance between the fight and the pool of blood that was starting to create an inky skirt around them. "Soul?" She turned him, cradling his head as the black saturated any of the clean white of his kosode. A weak smile was plastered over his paling lips. "Soul, just wait, please– hang on–"

There was a crash from above, wood splintering into Maka's hair before she lifted her head to watch another figure diving into the fray. Her eyes first fell on Franken, a little amusement in his smile as he landed in the middle of the floor. The second was that beautiful, glimmering weapon in his hand.

"Papa?" Maka couldn't help the squeak of it, but before she could follow up with any other scream the wall behind the dais began to crumble.

There were hundreds of obsidian arrows finding their mark, sending the wood to splinters instantly. Unlike from a bow, they found no end, continuing to bounce into the temple. With a clean sweep, Franken leveled the scythe, cutting the air and the vectors with it. The tips started to disintegrate just as Star jumped out of the way of the rest of the stragglers that dug from the floor into the earth below.

"Crona," Medusa called as she entered the fractured opening.

Star tried to side step the arrows again, but a few more cut into the ground to keep him from another blow to Crona's back as he stumbled towards Medusa. "Hey, this ain't fuckin' over," Star bellowed. "I got a score to settle now!"

"I think it is," Medusa cooed as she rained another wall of arrows, creating a barrier between the two factions. "But just for now."

"Medusa," Franken called.

"You have other things to take care of, Franken," she continued to purr as she stepped back into the night. "Your boy's bleeding out."

Maka tore her glare from the fray to look down at Soul's face, watching his eyes starting to roll back in his head. "No," Maka whispered hoarsely as she bit back the sobs. "Not again, Soul, no," she insisted as she placed her hand to his cheek. "You can't take him. I still need him, so whatever I need to do, oni–"

"Oh, girlie, girlie, girlie," that devilish little voice cooed from somewhere in the recesses of their connection. "Nothin' you can do! I asked you to free him from his fear, and hell, the kid doesn't even fear death anymore…"


Franken watched Maka carefully, the stiff back accompanying an even stiffer lip as she stared down at Soul's ashen face. It had taken hours—agonizing, painstaking hours—to sew shut the endless gap across Soul's chest. All his lessons on anatomy seemed useless in the face of all the oily, black mess that sucked at his fingertips. What a strange beast it is, and what a strange place we've found ourselves in. "Maka?"

She did nothing but glance, focusing instantly back on her husband.

He moved across from her, his hands drifting over top of the bandages. "You should rest. Go lay down with Marie and Reina."

"No," she answered quickly.

"I told your father to–"

"I don't care."

Franken nodded, a slow breath fluttering over his lips. "Whether you want to admit it or not, you're going to need the rest. We can't make good time back to Shibusen unless you do."

Her lip trembled, only quieted by her teeth sinking into it.

"And we both know that is the safest place for him."

Maka reached, her hand touching his cheek with all the tenderness her shaking fingers could muster. "Is he actually going to live?"

He took a careful breath, letting his mind churn before he opened his mouth: "Without the black blood he probably would have been dead already. I can hope that the insinuation here is that he has accelerated healing. If we can get him to a stable place, keep his wounds clean and avoid any outside influences, I have hopes that he will. The longer we spend on the road though, the more that hope diminishes."

"Hope–" She choked on the word before shaking her head roughly. Maka pulled her hand away, letting it press to her mouth to force control into the rest. "I'll sleep next to him."

"I understand." Franken stood, taking one last examining look at his work.

"What did you say to Papa?"

He chuckled, hands sinking into the sleeves of his kosode. "That approaching you now is as wise as cornering a wild tiger."

A weak laugh tumbled from her throat. "Thank you."

Franken simply nodded.

"Is it too much to ask for more than hope?"

He sighed, looking out into the night. He never let lies slip past his teeth, no matter the need for comfort. There was no answer to give but his back and her lingering sniffles followed him towards the camp.