Chapter 5: But The Library is Where to Find The Truth
[The Black Blood Project, Kamiko Albarn, 1911, town of Aszmamem, Ishval]
The most successful experiments as of July 1911 were Subject No. 563 and Subject No. 564, who had passed the five-months mark after injection. There is no data to determine their life expectancy, as both have been reported to have escaped from Aszmamem Lab.
Kid tapped his pen in a steady rhythm over a scribbled East City map, the other hand supporting his chin.
Kilik had reported about Maka's progress on the music box, which was running as smoothly as a frozen snail. It frustrated him too, because his instinct said that it had something to do with his own findings.
The colonel sighed. Maybe it was time to ask for some help from his Professor.
"Colonel Morton."
Kid was startled by the sudden appearance of his direct superior. It was rare to see him here. The man hadn't been known to enjoy office duties and supervising his underlings. Kid usually saw him shamelessly making phone calls to numerous ladies from his own office using the military line.
"Major General Albarn, Sir." Kid saluted. "What can I do for you?"
"Aaaah, no, I heard that you just got back from visiting my daughter! How is she?" the major general chirped happily, being his usual idiotic self whenever he talked about his daughter. Oh, of course. What else would it be?
"She's fine, Sir. Hard at work as usual," Kid pulled off his answer easily. Well, it wasn't a complete lie. She might not be completely fine, especially emotionally, but she was certainly hard at work, cracking down that little music box to find its deeper secrets.
"True. True. That's my wonderful baby girl for you!" Major General Albarn nodded proudly. "But what is this rumor I hear that she just got back from Briggs?"
Kid flinched. Where had he heard that?
"Kid!" Liz's voice echoed from the hall before she even came in sight, saving him from answering his superior's question. "I'm going to Gallows Hill tonight! I don't feel at ease leaving Maka alone with two boys when she's fighting with her boyfriend!" Kid gulped at the Major General's sudden silence. Shit! He frantically tried to signal Liz to stop when she finally popped in, but it was too late.
"Tomorrow's my day off so you can't tell me—oh!" She stopped dead in her tracks, her irritated face suddenly paled into a nervous smile. "G-good afternoon, Major General."
The major general slit his eyes at the stammering lieutenant. "First Lieutenant Thompson, did I just hear the word boyfriend and Maka spoken in the same sentence?"
Liz laughed nervously, "Ahahah, no, Sir! I was just joking!"
Alas, the damage had been done.
"Two boys?" he slowly turned to Kid, who was mentally berating Liz for carelessly blabbing about Maka's love life inside the headquarters. Even if Maka's overprotective father had locked himself inside his office too frequently to hear directly, other soldiers still could, and military gossip traveled faster than the local housewives' hot topic. The lieutenant just gave him a shaky laugh and an apologetic look before slowly backpedaling out of the room. The traitor.
"Uh… I stationed Major Rung at Gallows Hill to help her, Sir."
"Then who's the other one?"
"A—a new friend, Sir."
"Kristopher…" the older man sneered.
Kid refrained from gulping. The Major General used his first name, which meant he had to spill or end up having a fancy bullet hole between his eyebrows.
"All the details. Now!"
It should be noted that Soul had tried his best to maintain his cool in the presence of Spirit Albarn.
Alas, it was not an easy task.
"So you're Soul, huh?" The older man wrinkled his nose, disdainful and condescending, as if he was speaking about something stepped under his shoe.
Oh, now he understood why Maka always used that tone when speaking about her father.
Soul was torn between kicking the guy's butt or snorting in front of his face. A truly difficult choice. Shame he couldn't do either because the Major General was still wearing his holster and Soul rather liked his head without any bullet holes.
"Yes, Sir."
"I don't like your tone," the Albarn patriarch scoffed, slitting his eyes. "Too rambunctious. Rude and cynical!"
Wha—he had just spoken two syllables!
"My Maka is the softest and gentlest angel to ever grace this earth. She needs someone worthy of her, someone who will treat her like the absolute princess she is! She's fragile, sweet, pure, like a baby bud of a white rose!" the father rhapsodised clamorously, every cell of his being lightening up with every word.
Soul couldn't help the incredulity, saying, "Uh… Are we talking about the same Maka?"
"Of course we are! If that's not how you depict her in your mind, then why are you here? I don't need any punk without class hanging around my precious wittle angel!" Spirit stuck out his nose, body language shifting into a cheap imitation of nobility as he strode out of the room.
Still mind-boggled by Spirit's appearance, Soul leaned into Black Star (who had wisely chosen to be mute for the past ten minutes) and whispered in disbelief, "He married Mrs. Kamiko?!"
Black Star turned at him and replied without missing a beat, both tone and expression flat as a board: "I have that knowledge since dinosaurs walked on the planet and still experience the same shock every time I thought about it."
Huh.
Maka should've already learned to shut her mouth when facing the combined force of Thompson sisters and girl talks.
Her Papa got home that evening, bringing with him the Thompson Sisters, who announced that they would stay for a girl's night. Liz's grumble made Maka speculate that it was actually Papa who forced himself to come along with the sisters, not the other way around. (She'd overheard something about intimidation and domination assertance to a certain Ishvalan boy).
She sighed. She dearly hoped for Soul to be okay.
"Oh, how's the relationship with your hubby?" Patty chirped, hugging a pillow with a beaming smile, ignoring Maka's sputters. "Still fighting?"
Haughtily sticking out her nose, Liz interjected, "That's why I always say he's bad news! Maka needs someone gentler and—"
"He's not my—whatever, okay, you two! Just please, stop it!" Maka shoved a plushie to Liz's face, denying her blush. "Things are just very awkward between us, okay? I don't need you guys to make everything worse!"
"But from what I see, you've already made up, yes? You've been spending more time with him these days, and he seems so happy it's almost adorable," Tsubaki, who had been dragged into this dreadful pajama party by the younger Thompson, chimed in. She turned to Patty with a deceptively sweet smile. "He even makes her sandwiches!"
Maka loved Tsubaki, she really did, but at times like this she should've known that Tsu was a traitor.
"Aww! That is sooooo cute!" Patty's eyes sparkled. Tsu and Liz exchanged a knowing look, causing Maka to throw Liz another plushie. Even Blair had managed to make a teasing face, which irritated Maka to no end. How could she do that? She was a cat!
"And so? What happened, Maka?"
Maka groaned. "I just… Ugh..."
Tsu calmly sipped her chamomile tea while both sisters leaned forward with identical smirks on their faces. Apparently, mutual dislike between the older sister and the Ishvalan boy couldn't stop her from hunting new gossip. Actually, Maka was half convinced that all of the Lieutenant's hostility was only an act and she was plotting to set her and Soul up.
Oh, for the love of Nicolas Flamel.
"We've already made up." Maka finally relented, hugging a pillow and mumbling, "But I still feel so awkward around him. I… I just start to overthink everything, and just... couldn't say anything in the end."
"Why?" the younger sister fished with that deceitfully innocent face.
"I..." Maka sighed to her pillow, frustrated between not wanting to address her problem and not being able to voice her exact emotion to begin with.
She was not the type to talk about her feelings so easily, no matter how fierce the prompting was. Especially regarding boys. But eventually, the inner teenager in her twenty-years-old body overwhelmed her, craving the escapism this girl-talk could offer, greedily wanting to shed the prideful façade of Maka Albarn the Second Grigori Alchemist and just whine about her problems like a normal girl.
Ugh. This boy really made her act so out of character.
"I've been so mean to him, have said and thought nasty things about him. I—I don't know how to act without coming off as insensitive and ending up hurting him more, because—because of the things he'd been through. But he just… he casually falls back to his usual behavior, as if forgetting all the selfish things I did, and it makes me more awkward," she confessed, her voice dropping fainter by the words.
Liz and Patty, who had been in the room during the Roasted by That Goddamn Oscar Ford incident, grimaced. Maybe because they remembered all the details about Soul's creator and the source of Maka's dilemma. Tsubaki made a wry smile as well, not that Maka knew the Xingese woman was aware of Soul's real identity. Patty patted her back and let out soft coos, calming her as she would a wounded cat. Maka was losing count on how much she'd been sighing.
"Ugh, why can't I just ignore these stupid… these—these—whatever these weird things I feel are? Why am I like this? Why can't I just forget everything and just fall back to how things were? Why am I so jittery whenever he's near me?" Maka cursed at nothing. Well, maybe herself. "Even though we had shared a room numerous times," she added the last bit very very very quietly, still mumbled by her pillow.
But unfortunately, Tsu's and the Thompson Sisters' hearings were a little too otherworldly when it involved gossip. The previous gloomy air scattered away as three voices shrilled in unison, "YOU SHARED A—"
"Shut up!"
"Ooooh! Wittle Maka sharing a bed with a boy!"
"So scandalous!"
"I did not share a bed with him!"
And that was the moment Maka remembered that Soul's room was precisely right under their feet.
Just kill her already.
Maka frowned at the scribbled papers in front of her. The Thompsons had already gone back to Eastern HQ, earning the house a slightly more silence and her a calm heart. Thank god. But that didn't mean her concentration would suddenly rise up and deliver new inspiration to continue her project.
Once again, she took her magnifying glass to inspect the minuscular carvings that were covering the music box's surfaces. But after another ten minutes of intense scrutinizing, she slammed down the magnifying glass with a frustrated screech.
She had started to work diligently on deciphering the music box ever since the Roasted by That Goddamn Oscar Ford day, but things were never easy when it came to deciphering Mama's code, as always. She should've been able to connect everything smoothly, if it was a fully written document. But it was a music box. There were songs in it. She had nearly deciphered all of the carvings and pictures on that thing, had compiled it into some kind of an organized document, but really, it was useless, because all the key pieces for it to be readable were in the goddamn song.
She would never admit it under a death threat, but her musical knowledge was absolute garbage. Even a coconut was more likely to be musically literate than her.
There was also the option of asking other professionals for help, but she was Maka Albarn, and Maka Albarn didn't ask for help. Of course, her overenthusiasm and overinflated ego was not because of the Roasted by That Goddamn Oscar Ford incident. Definitely not. She just wanted to crack this puzzle with her own power and get to the bottom of this.
The pen in her hands twirled as she thought about her options. Actually, there was another easy way. Papa played the piano, and he would do anything for her. The only problem was that she preferred to be hanged by her toes in front of Black Star's workshop than to ask for musical lessons from her Papa.
And… the last time they talked—or yelled—to each other didn't exactly end that nicely.
Almost as if being summoned, Papa popped up between the bookshelves, beaming idiotically, appearing to have forgotten their last argument as he always did.
"What is my angel doing?"
Of course he was still here. One would think a Major General would be busier than common soldiers. But no, sadly not. Maka rolled her eyes and was immediately back to her scribbling. Her Papa didn't falter at her cold reaction, however, leaning over to inspect the music box.
"It is so pretty. Is this from one of Mama's laboratories too?"
Maka didn't say anything, only nodded and continued to scratch her pen against the paper. They just sat in silence for a while, or not so silent, because Papa opened the box and let its soft melody fill the air. After the song replayed for the second time, Maka's hand paused, her mind contemplating to ask a certain question.
"Hey, Papa…"
It was lost to Maka how he jerked a little as if suddenly slapped out of a trance, because her eyes had kept trained onto her papers. She just heard him humming cheerfully, as if answering a kindergartener, making her frown. But then again, her Papa always treated her like she was two instead of twenty.
"Did Mama…"
Maka stopped herself. No. As far as she knew, Mama had never spoken about alchemy to Papa. No need to involve him. He probably didn't know about Mama's illegal experiment, nor the truth about Soul.
Speaking of Soul…
"Papa, did you already hear it from Kid?"
"About what, sweetheart?"
"Uh… About Soul?"
Her Papa's vein popped comically at the mention of the Ishvalan boy's name. But when he spoke, his tone changed into an intense worry. "What should I have known? Maka, darling, don't tell me that—that he really is your b-b-B-BOYF—"
"NO!" her pitch jumped an octave, cheeks pink. Why did people always assume that?!
"Not that, Papa, but about his ability!" Maka grumbled to her table, her irritation caused her mouth to babble on its own. "Soul is a weapon. As in, he can turn himself into steel. He would certainly attract bad people, on top of being an Ishvalan, so Kid had protected Soul by forging him a new identity. I'm telling you because you are Kid's direct superior, so I want you to help protect Soul too. Please don't punish Kid for this, Papa. It was me who—Papa?"
Her Papa blinked a few times. The music box in his hands was still opened, tirelessly replaying the song.
"Sure, baby, if it's your wish, then Papa won't do anything!" he replied a touch too fast. "Then Papa should get going! Papa has a meeting with Brigadier General Gallad!"
Just like that, he placed the box back gently on the table and cantered out of the library. Maka tilted her head.
What was that?
Spirit stared at the road with a troubled mind, right hand nearly crushing the steering wheel while his left one gripped an old journal to death.
The old book contained his hand-scribbled music sheets from what felt like a millennia ago. From another era where his little family was whole and there were no dead wives and crying daughters in it. He managed to snatch the journal from a pile of music sheets on the top of the upright piano before storming back to his car; the very journal that contained the sheet music of the piece he'd heard inside the music box.
He composed that very piece together with Kamiko, right before she went back to Ishval and dove headfirst into that vile project.
It was the music they made together. Their last one.
Something in him strongly deduced that it was a subtle message from Kamiko for him, if he thought about her choice of piece and the fact that she had hidden it inside a heavily fortressed city. Kamiko knew he had both the power and skill to find the box. It was just unfortunate that he'd been too focused on tracking down her killers than to look for her records like his daughter did.
Maybe she had slipped something in these music sheets. She'd been known to go to ridiculous lengths when it came to coding, after all.
Spirit's jaw tightened as he drove straight to the city of Patch. He had a mad alchemist to grill.
"Maka, I made you sandwiches! And salad!"
"O-oh, yeah, thank you, Soul." Maka jolted upright, hastily fixing her crumpled pigtails (an inescapable result of banging her head onto the table in frustration).
"What are you doing?"
Soul set the plate down and leaned over to peek at her work. Maka found herself pulling away when she noticed he'd unconsciously intruded her personal space. It was certainly not because she was embarrassed, no way, it was just that she had become a little too self-conscious since that day. They had made up, yes, but like what she had whined in the last pajama party, it didn't mean that she could fall back to her previous manner that effortlessly. Worse yet, now she found it harder to face him.
Fortunately but unknowingly to her, Soul was too happy with their newly-fixed relationship to notice her newfound embarrassment.
No. Not embarrassment. Awkwardness. Yes.
He was already back to his former self and treated her as if their almost-one-month-long conflict had never happened. Whenever he wasn't being abducted by Kilik or Black Star to devil knew where, he always accompanied her in the library, happily devouring Papa's old music books while listening to Papa's records, or just quietly watching her grumbling to the music box. He even cheerfully—and by cheerfully, she meant shyly while grumbling all the time—made her sandwiches every day! (And they were tasty too, dammit.) His excuse was because Maka was horrible at taking care of herself when she had a project to work on. Something told her that was not the entire reason, but she tried to not dwell in it too much. She had enough problems.
The Ishvalan boy also resumed the almost forgotten skinship between them, which was freaking her out because it made her aware of how blasphemously close they'd been pre-Briggs-debacle. Not to mention it had always been her who initiated it. How come she had never thought of this before? Surely someone was bound to notice those uncharacteristic behaviors from her, right?
But no. No one mentioned anything. Well, except Tsubaki, maybe. And Black Star. Only that they used knowing smirks and twinkling eyes instead of words. Oh. That was probably why she hadn't noticed. She diligently brushed off knowing smirks and twinkling eyes.
Now, when her brain was too busy freaking out over her own behavior, Soul gradually took over the initiation, starting from little things like brushing their hands or a light tug on her pigtails, to gentle pats on her head or tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. The way he did that so innocently made her wonder if he was aware of how awkward he made her.
No. He probably wasn't.
It frustrated her. Wasn't it her who was supposed to give him emotional support? Hadn't she grabbed his hand and even touched his chest so casually? Where did all of that go?
Why couldn't she just go back to the way she was before?
She really, really missed her blissful nonchalance.
"O-oh, just deciphering the music box, like usual." She collected her panicking thoughts in time, forcing her voice to stay normal.
Soul furrowed his brow, staring at the unchanged scribbles before them. "You're not making any progress, are you?"
She grumbled to the table, mumbling something about impossible codes and stupid musical languages. Yes. She had added almost nothing to the papers within the past week.
"You don't understand the piece?"
"Piece?"
"The song."
"Oh…" Maka said awkwardly, imitating his toothache grin. Curse her musical knowledge.
"Uh… I can help you turn it into a music sheet?" he offered, tone picking up to turn it into a question. "I already memorized the piece, shouldn't be that hard to write it down."
Well, he was right. She could work something out if it was something on paper rather than a series of sounds that made her awfully sleepy whenever she heard them. The only reason she hadn't done that was, of course, because of her pathetic musical knowle—wait!
"Y-you taught yourself how to read—and write—music?!"
A nod.
"Just by reading those books?"
Another nod.
"In just… what? Three months?!"
"One," he corrected, suddenly sounding shy.
Maka gaped at the slowly reddening boy. Her previous awkwardness was scattered by pure surprise. How come she'd never known of this? Well, she already knew that he'd been enjoying her music books and could play the piano a tiny bit, but still…
"Well, maybe I can't write something crazy like an original composition, obviously, but… if it's writing a piece down, I think… I can do it…" his mumbling was becoming fainter, hand flying to scratch the back of his neck.
She stared at him as if he had just stated he could turn rusted iron into gold. Actually, no. She was an alchemist. Turning rusted iron into gold was real easy. The thing he'd just proposed was far more amazing.
Soul, a boy with absolutely no prior knowledge about musical theory due to being raised in a lab and had isolated himself in a desert throughout his teenage years, had taught himself about it from scratch. Without her knowing, if she might add. He must be some kind of a prodigy.
"You're amazing. Do you know that?"
Maka covered her mouth. Red was bleeding all over her.
"Did I just say that out loud?"
"...Well, yeah..." Soul chuckled, a light pink on the tip of his ears rapidly shifting to red.
How come a chuckle could sound that cute?
Wait—what?
Did she just think he was cute?
Maka groaned. She would find a shovel to dig her own grave first thing in the morning.
"Spirit, what a lovely surprise."
Frank N. Stein drawled with a tone that was a far cry from 'lovely.' Spirit ignored him, lifting his old journal instead.
"I need you to decipher this."
Frank lifted one of his eyebrows, his face still in that creepily stoic indifference, but Spirit knew his wife's former lab partner good enough to tell that he was intrigued. The man took the book from him, flipping its pages with a calculating hum.
"I thought you're not playing anymore, Spirit?"
"I'm not." Spirit tried to keep his tone even, doing his best to ignore the reason why he hadn't touched a piano key in twelve years. He had forgotten how irritating Frank's nonchalance was. "It possibly contains Kamiko's message. I need to know what it is, and you're the only one who actually knows how to decipher her records."
"You know Maka's better than me." Frank gave him a skeptical look.
Spirit refrained from wincing. "I… I don't want her to know."
"She's going to crack this one too if she gets her hands on it, you know?"
"She's musically illiterate."
And this time Frank did laugh. "Never have I thought that I would live to see the day I hear Spirit Albarn insulting his dear daughter."
Spirit growled, feeling heat reaching up his cheeks. "Just get to work, you lunatic!"
Still snickering, Frank turned to the depths of his lair, leaving Spirit to grumble silently behind him.
Oscar yelped as he accidentally knocked a bunch of books off the table.
Sighing, he adjusted his glasses as he picked the books from the floor, trying to look like a responsible officer instead of a man who was a second away from dream-land, even though there was no one other than himself in the dimly lit archive room. He really could use some coffee.
Refraining the urge to yawn, Oscar tidied the sprawled documents on the table and carefully clipped them inside their hiding place; a black folder disguised as a normal military document.
While Albarn moped around pitifully inside her damn private library, (no, he wasn't jealous of it, of course), Oscar had worked his ass off on the task given by Colonel Morton; looking up the strange disappearances and odd cold cases happened in East City within the past decade.
It was a meticulous task, because many of those cases had nearly no clue or closure. He and Colonel Morton agreed that all of them were done by one person. An alchemist, most likely. But for what, that was for him to find out.
Oscar had never admitted it out loud, but he was confident in his alchemy knowledge. He even guessed that his understanding of the principles was on par with Kilik, or even Albarn, who were State Alchemists. Even though a tiny voice he kept denying always deprecated God for not granting him the gift for alchemy, he was proud of his intelligence. It also helped that he had a great memory. His intellect was enough for Colonel Morton to appoint him as one of his closest underlings. He was always the first person the Colonel sought to exchange thoughts about alchemical problems inside the military. Not Kilik. Not Albarn. But him.
He remembered the first time the Colonel—who was still a Major at the time—recruited him into his team. It was way past the curfew, and Oscar was reading a book in the restricted section of the East City Library quietly. Some might even say sneakily. (And—okay, he was practically breaking into the room in a not-so-legal way, but the section was full of rare and prohibited alchemy books! He just couldn't help it!)
He had thought that it was the end of his career when a superior walked towards him with an intimidating glare, asking what he was doing, but to Oscar's eternal surprise, the young Major didn't reprimand him, didn't even scold him, but instead engaged him in a deep—and very intriguing—discussion about alchemy. The young Major hadn't even asked what a non-alchemist was doing with an alchemy book, and instead praised Oscar's deep understanding of difficult alchemy principles, saying that it was one of the very few times the Major had enjoyed a deep alchemy discussion with someone. They had even breached over the topic of human transmutation; a thing that was strictly considered as a taboo within the—
Oscar sat up straight, his glasses slipped a little from the abruptness of his motion.
His mind quickly retreated back from his past memories and rapidly went to his current problem; to his sudden realization.
Not minding the books that were falling down again because of his haste, Oscar snatched the document Colonel Morton had left him and began scanning the cases' locations. He spreaded out an East City map and grabbed a pencil.
After a mind-numbing hour of precise verification and triple-checking, Oscar's eyes went wide.
No way.
[The Black Blood Project, Kamiko Albarn, 1911, town of Aszmamem, Ishval]
The primary goal of the project is to make advanced human soldiers that can turn into a living weapon, who will act as the military's secret assassins as well as infiltrators to penetrate enemy countries.
The subject's soul balance is based on beings made from Philosopher's stone: the Homunculus [classified information]. While the physical ability of the subject is based on the Star Clan.
The basic theory of this project is to inject Black Blood into physically-altered subjects and create an alchemical formula so that the subjects can transform into a self-wielding weapon at will.
Black Blood itself is a human blood fused with liquid Philosopher's stone and sixteen other substances [classified information]. The sulfur concentration of the Black Blood is to be merged into a single unit of energy instead of divided into countless units, as in the case of a pure Philosopher's stone. Thus, creating a weaker, but more solidified and controlled source of energy.
Subject's internal organs have to be altered considerably to be able to contain Black Blood, as a normal human's body will reject another sulfur concentration and begin to deconstruct. At least twenty alterations are necessary to create a standard vessel.
It was designed so that the subjects can perform a passive alchemy and turn themselves into weapons, without the risk of them becoming too powerful by allowing them to perform an active transmutation.
However, the project has not been perfected yet. The greatest flaw of this project is the high-concentration of iron inside the subject's bloodstream. While, with alchemical modifications, their body can delay the effect of hemochromatosis, the internal organ failure will begin eventually. Most of the subjects died in less than a month after injection.
The alchemical energy generated by Black Blood can prolong the delay of hemochromatosis effect to a degree. But because Black Blood isn't as strong as an actual Philosopher's stone, its energy has a limit. Frequent use of weapon transmutation will drain the energy faster, thus shortening the subject's lifespan.
The most successful experiments as of July 1911 are Subject No. 563 and Subject No. 564, who had passed the five months mark after injection. There is no data to determine their life expectancy, as both have been reported to have escaped from Aszmamem Lab.
The papers in Maka's hands trembled from her effort to keep her tears at bay.
Not that she succeeded. Her cheeks were completely wet.
She had expected to find classified information of whatever forbidden things Mama had done, yes, but not this… this explicit information about the Black Blood project. About what Soul had been through.
Imagining his body being cut open again and again made her heart feel like it was being mutilated by a rusted chainsaw. Twenty alterations. At the bare minimum.
Gasping for air, she tortured her own mind by thinking about the Human Weapon's life expectancy. She didn't know how Soul had managed to survive all these years. She didn't even know if he was aware of his own condition. If he did—Maka struggled to breathe—then he was willing to shorten his own lifespan by offering himself to be her bodyguard.
Stupid, ridiculous, self-sacrificing, suicidal, utterly idiotic lump of a weapon!
Her grip on the papers loosened as she let out her first loud sob, palms trembling heavily as she tried and failed to contain her bawl.
How could he even contain all of this? All alone in that dead city?
Oh.
Oh.
He must have witnessed his brother slowly dying too.
He must have to bury his brother's body all by himself.
Her sobs became louder and louder as her heart involuntarily relived both Soul's grief and her own. Both of her vivid memory of Mama returning home as a disfigured corpse in a tightly-nailed coffin and disturbing imagery of Soul crying beside a dying older version of himself mixed into one severe agony, tearing her soul apart. She was not aware of her own surroundings until a loud crash echoed and there were strong and frantic arms shaking her shoulders.
"—ka! Maka! Hey, what's wrong?!"
When she lifted her eyes to meet his red ones, her final thread was broken. She threw herself onto his chest, completely forgetting that it was still covered in bandages, clutching him for dear life as she ruined his shirt with her tears. He awkwardly patted her back, completely unsure of what to do.
"I'm so sorry, Soul! I'm so sorry! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" Her apologies were blurred by her noisy sobs and irregular breathing.
"H-hey, why are you apologizing?" Soul tried to pry her off of him, maybe to look into her face, but she was too busy latching herself to him and hiding her tears on his chest. "Maka? C'mon, what happened?"
"I'm sorry… Soul, I'm so sorry…" She continued to blabber apologies, not entirely hearing him.
Above her head, completely missed by her distraught mind, his face contorted into a worried grimace, but shifted into a deep frown when his eye corner caught sight of what sprawled all over her desk. His hand tentatively flew to return her hug, his lips lowering to bury themselves in her hair.
Sixty miles from where Maka Albarn cried herself to sleep in the arms of a certain Ishvalan boy, Spirit Albarn stared intently at two rows of scribbles he and his old friend had succeeded to decipher out of the music sheet.
'21 December 1924'
'42° 42.564′ N 42° 01.000′ W'
Amazing what Kamiko could intersperse within a single piece.
It was what Frank could decipher within the music notes Spirit had broken down, without the addition of the actual documents carved all around the music box.
The piece itself served a double role: When paired with the music box, it would be the key to decipher the actual document, but alone, it was a hidden message. Ironically, Spirit had no idea of the former while his daughter completely missed the latter.
"A date, and a location," Frank muttered in his amused—yet detached—tone. The 'for what?' was left unspoken but intrigued both of their minds notwithstanding.
"I'll take it to Azusa to see what's with this place and date."
"You're not gonna tell Maka?"
Spirit pulled his lips into a thin line, fingers flying to hold his temple. "No. This is definitely too dangerous for her."
Frank let out a snort that was successfully ignored by Spirit.
Yeah, he absolutely could not endanger her further. It was appalling enough to see her flaunting a Silver Pocket Watch while wandering all around the strange places of Amestris. He would not drag her into this possible suicide mission. He could not bear it if the only precious thing left for him threw her life away to challenge death.
Spirit rushed out of Frank's lab before he could hear the last part of what Frank had been deciphering: about Homunculus.
He must hurry. He had a dead wife to avenge.
Pride opened her eyes with veiled distaste to see her foolish accomplice going on and on about what would he do if their plan succeeded.
No. Pride certainly did not consider the man an 'accomplice', not as much as a 'back-up' ingredient, but she was not going to tell him that. She was willing to lower her dignity and humor him for a little, even if it was only to prevent any unnecessary dramas. For now.
Nars Garnier, 38, although not with a State Certification, was a pretty accomplished alchemist. He was perfect as Pride's little puppet, because the man had a ridiculous amount of pride and unquenchable thirst for glory. It was a child's play for Pride to manipulate that ugly aspect of humans.
Oh, the irony.
Garnier continued his tirade of how the State had done him injustice, for not recognizing the genius that he was, for not giving him the glory and respect he deserved. Now, he taunted, Amestris would kneel before him.
Pride buried a chuckle and put on a benevolent smile. What a laughable desire. Pitiful. Just pitiful. It might be a right for her, but for him, that was just a puerile, ludicrous dream.
There was no being more fitting for the top than her. She didn't crave power, she didn't crave wealth. What she wanted—what was her right—was to be the highest being. The one who was entitled to hold all the universe's mysteries and secrets.
And the time where her dreams came true was approaching.
Maka opened her puffy eyes to see the reversed image of what happened in a certain broken church at Little Hook a lifetime ago.
She was half sitting on a chair, still inside her stuffy library, and half sleeping on someone's shoulder. Someone who was part of the reason she was crying in the first place.
"Morning." Soul gave her the slightest of grins.
It was then Maka became totally aware of how close their faces were and how he had an arm slung around her shoulder to keep her from falling off the chair. She let out a little shriek that was so reminiscent of Blair's screech and immediately pulled herself as far away from him as possible. There might have been a tinge of disappointment flashing on his eyes, but Maka was too flustered to pay attention.
"I don't bite," he said, voice coming as a tiny bit irritated, making her flush doubled.
She ignored him to look out of the window, noticing that the sky had indeed turned bright blue. Gulping, she tried to not think that she'd practically slept in his embrace all night. What would Aunt Myra say? What would Mama say?
The latter brought her back from her puddle of embarrassment, straightening her backbone as she snapped her head at the papers that were still scattered all over the table, Soul's handwritten sheet music at the very top. He appeared to sense her change of mood and grimaced towards the paper as well, arranging himself to look more defensive and closed-off.
Maka sucked back a threatening sob and squared her shoulders to approach him. He flinched a bit, but wasn't pulling away, thankfully.
"Soul, do you—"
"Can we please not talk about this?" He was half hissing and half pleading. "Just… not right now."
Maka frowned. Her desire to protect his peace of mind clashed with her need to confront him; to talk him out of his own vow. Because it wasn't a matter of old promises and requests anymore, but about his very own survival. She would never let him protect her if it meant scraping away his very chance to live.
"Do you know about this? About the risk of using your ability?"
He squirmed.
"Soul!"
"I…" He took a glance at her fiery eyes swiftly before mumbling, "…yeah."
She wanted to punch him, to chop him to death with her thickest alchemical theory book, to kick the living shit out of him—whatever could deliver her anger the best. But no, she couldn't, not when part of the reason he did this was to protect her; to fulfill an extended plea of a dead woman.
The peeking bandage under his shirt doubled her guilt, contorting her face into an ugly wince. Just how much did this boy treat himself as a disposable thing? Why did he do all of this? Just for a selfish girl like her?
How could she make him understand that she wasn't worth it?
"Why?" She felt her lips quiver as she sank back onto the chair, tears threatening to pour when she couldn't figure out how to express her frustration. "Why didn't you tell me?"
His eyes abandoned hers, both hands balled into fists between his knees, voice dropping into a mumble. "I just don't think it's important. 'Ssa normal thing when you're a human weapon, so…"
"Of course it's important, you stupid boy!" she hissed. Her fist slammed his left chest—lightly or painfully, she didn't care. "When did I imply that I want to be protected by killing you slowly?! How could you do this?"
"I…" He opened and closed his mouth a few times, but in the end he was just grimacing. "This is what I was trained for. This is how I can protect you."
She heard the implied 'I don't know how to do it any other way.'
Apparently crying for a whole night hadn't dulled her pain yet, because she still felt her heart bursting with emotions, making her breath hitch. It frightened her how much she actually valued Soul's existence in her life. It was daunting to realize how easy he blended into her sphere, and how effortless it was for her to like him. How painful it was to just imagine him gone.
Her tears started to spill again, either out of anger, sadness, or frustration; Maka didn't know. Maybe all of them. Soul's eyes widened in surprise at the sight, fingers frantically trying to wipe her cheeks.
She caught his hand and held it tight on her face, eyes blazing. "Don't"—she pierced his eyes with the fiercest glare she could make—"ever transmute again. Not for me!"
"Maka—!"
"Just don't! Promise me!"
"How can I protect you if I—"
"I WANT TO PROTECT YOU TOO, IDIOT! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!" she yelled, the hand that was gripping his fingers started to tremble from the force of her outburst. Soul stopped dead at her words, completely caught off guard. Ignoring his lack of answer, she proceeded to shout her innermost desire, embarrassment and awkwardness be damned. "I DON'T WANT TO BE THE REASON YOU'RE DYING! IF ANYTHING, I WANT TO BE THE REASON YOU'RE ALIVE! I WANT TO FIX YOU! I WILL SEARCH FOR A WAY TO FIX YOU! HELL, I WILL TRANSMUTE YOU MYSELF IF I HAVE TO!"
Panting, she let go of her hold, causing his hand to fall limply onto his knees. He was still totally stupefied, watching her as if she had just declared she would fight god for him. Which, in a way, was true.
Then it clicked.
Oh, so this was what Mama must've been feeling.
Mama had infiltrated the black project in the middle of its research. It was not her who started these experiments. She must have dove headfirst to find these children's bodies had already been altered beyond recognition.
This must've been the reason why she saved Soul and his brother in the first place; why she included alkahestry in the experiment. Because alkahestry was an art of healing. Maybe she'd thought she could save those children.
Maka wiped her eyes. Finally, she understood Mama again. It only took a hole in Soul's chest and several heartbreaks within the past six weeks for her to see the truth.
How awful.
"Maka…" Soul exhaled weakly, his tone lost and bewildered all at once. Maka was not aware, since she was busy glaring holes into her own knees to prevent any more tears from spilling, but Soul was bringing his hand to touch her, only to stop midway and take back his fist, face wrinkling to form a pained wince. "Does this mean I'm not allowed to follow you anymore?" His voice was small, but there was no way she would miss the slight pain in his words.
"Wh—I, what?" Maka blinked dumbly, processing his words a second too slow. "No, you—I mean—"
She struggled with her own words. If she was being honest, she would never want Soul to follow her in her journeys ever again. One awful memory was enough. Not to mention the danger of those homunculi, who might or might not be targeting her. But she knew enough that forbidding him would hurt him more than any physical injuries could. The past month was clue enough on how miserable he would be.
He was a truly compassionate person. A stupid, sensitive, absurd, delicate, reckless, caring, compassionate person.
Bursting emotions brought out the ironic realization to her. She had never realized before, but she was always doted on, sheltered, and babied by everyone around her. Papa, Tsubaki, Black Star, even Kid and the Thompsons; they acted as if they gave her freedom, but in reality she was being watched, allowed to go her desired way just because there was someone who would shield her. They said and acted as if she was a grown adult, but no, she was treated like a fragile newborn.
It wasn't a bad thing, really. They loved her, indeed, but it was just not right.
But she never felt those things when she was with Soul. Despite him being the only person who had verbally declared that he would protect her, he never caged her.
He was the first to treat her as a fully-capable person. The first to ever depend on her. He looked at her like she was just Maka, a normal girl with a penchant for alchemy, not a fragile child with a delicate heart.
"You can go with me," she finally said, so softly she wasn't even sure she'd said it. There was a light breath coming from Soul's direction.
"But I'm not allowed to use my ability?"
"You can—you can use guns or other weapons; I know you're a good shot!" Maka hastily added, remembering his frightening accuracy when Liz 'playfully' tested his shooting skills. "I'm—I just… Just please don't transmute anymore, Soul… I-I can't—" She let out a slight sob, knowing full well that, despite his strange devotion towards her, she was not his master. She couldn't just give him orders or forbid him as she pleased. "I'm not worth it…"
When she lifted her face to see him, he was making that awful toothache grin again, not exactly agreeing with her.
"You are worth it, Maka…"
She blinked at his eyes. They were so red. So deep. She felt herself lost at how much emotion he put into those words. Stupidly devoted, idiotic, ridiculous boy.
"And you are worth it too, Soul," she whispered, casting away her embarrassment to make sure he knew and understood. Unlike her earlier fit, she brought her hand gently to cover his heart, feeling his heart pounding at the same rhythm as his double-soul. "You are worth living. Don't treat yourself as a disposable weapon ever again…"
His eyes sparked something unreadable, drowning her in their silent emotion.
At that moment, Maka declared within her heart:
She would fix him.