Hello again, gentle readers, and I must again extend my apologies for being late! It wasn't intentional, I assure you- having one's apartment flood is a pretty miserable experience and it tends to kill the creative drive (not to mention various electrical devices). Thankfully, that's what renter's insurance is for.

Thanks and endless appreciation to Kara Black, xStarxWolfx, abesgoldenfriend, ImJustThatAnimeFan, and L for their kind reviews! Thank yous as well to all my new followers and watchers! 3 I apologize if I haven't replied to your review, and please feel free to poke me in that regard, as I try to reply to everyone. Also, I have given in and joined the tumblr bandwagon- so if anyone ever has questions and doesn't want to use the PM system, the Ask box should be open on there. (Tumblr link is on my profile.)

This chapter is a bit shorter than the others; fight scenes are not my strong suit, and this is the confrontation with Ashura, so it's not exactly easy. Rewarding, though, as some things come to light (and I get to write Shinigami, which is always a plus) and others become muddled. This may be the longest fic I've ever written, actually. I apologize for the ending ahead of time. Next chapter's already started and if it takes too long I give everyone permission to throw shit at me. (Well, metaphorical shit. No real poo, please, I get enough of that from my dog.)

Reviews are ALWAYS appreciated- they're a bright spot in my day and let me know if I'm on the right track or not. Please let me know what you think!

Chapter 10: The Reason Why

The hilt of Spirit's Weapon form fell into Shinigami's hands, heavy and warm. No words needed to be exchanged; Spirit had gone to his Meister's side the second he appeared in the Death Room, transforming before Ashura had even hit the ground. If their union was still imperfect, if he was still a bit too warm or too heavy, the Reaper made no note of it. Instead, he glanced out the corner of his eye at the sleek black blade, eyes hidden under the mask, the question there in the tilt of his head and the cautiousness of his grip. Are you ready for this?

Spirit's face flashed in the metal, grim and determined; he met the other's gaze for a brief second and nodded once. Don't worry about me.

"Ah, Shinigami. Did you really miss me this much?" The dust began to settle. Ashura stood out in the center of the graveyard, crosses destroyed by the crater his impact had made. "A shame I can't say the same. I was rather hoping we had seen the last of one another."

"So was I. A pity."

The Kishin snorted a laugh. "Regrets, Death?"

"I regret I didn't stop you earlier."

"You should have tried harder." The bandages split over his face, falling back to reveal three glaring red eyes framed in a strikingly handsome face; between the high cheekbones, Romanesque nose and the striped hair, the Kishin bore an uncanny resemblance to Death the Kid – if not to Shinigami himself. "I should be flattered you came all this way after me, but I'm not."

Shinigami stared evenly at him. "I don't like making others clean up my unfinished business," he said. "You are my failure, Ashura, and my responsibility. I thought I was granting you mercy by keeping you alive all those years – death was, after all, your greatest fear. Now I know better." His voice dropped an octave. "You never deserved that gift."

"You think you can end me now?" A thin smile spread over Ashura's face; he pointed one bony finger at the scythe in the other's hand. "With a broken Weapon like that?"

The Reaper shifted his grip, holding Spirit closer toward him.

"I know fear when I see it, Death, and your Weapon practically reeks of it." Ashura's eyes sparkled. "It doesn't take an expert Meister to see how damaged its soul wavelength is. I know you're a stickler for tradition, but really. You couldn't do any better than that?"

Spirit's reflection flashed in the metal, eyes taking on a silver tint as they glared at the enemy; his soul wavelength radiated an unnatural fury, a rage that couldn't quite cover the sudden wave of self-doubt and hurt. The Reaper met it with a soothing wave of confidence, reassurance. "You wouldn't understand my reasons even if I explained them, Ashura," Shinigami replied, his oversized fingers tracing the hilt of the scythe. "I have the best possible Weapon to defeat you with, in him."

"Sentimental old fool. You really believe that tripe you're spouting, don't you?"

The confidence, the pride the Reaper radiated in his DeathScythe never once wavered. He dropped down into a battle-ready crouch. "I tire of this. Spirit? Shall we end this traitor now?"

Spirit's reflection wavered, his eyes narrowing. . . . Let's go.

The sonic boom of an explosion rippled over the rainforest. Maka stopped running, Soul balanced over her shoulder, and looked up at the towering height of Death City as it rocked above them. Maka? Soul asked. What's going on? What the hell is the Academy doing on top of a robot in the middle of-

"Shinigami-sama has Ashura in the Death Room." She was still, eyes narrowed as she pushed her Soul Perception. ". . . they're fighting."

He's using your dad?

She swallowed. "Yeah. I can sense Kid, Liz and Patty there, and Miss Azusa, but he's using Papa to fight with."

Soul's red eyes stared down at her from inside the blade. Are you OK?

". . . let's catch up with the others. We still have Arachne and her organization to deal with-"

Maka. Soul's voice was stern. I can tell you're worried. What's going on?

"He's not strong enough for this yet!" Her frame shook; Soul slipped from scythe back to human to stand at her side, hand on her shoulder. "It's not safe for a Weapon to fight with internal injuries! And his wavelength is – he's so messed up inside and-" Maka clutched a hand around the ring and cross her father had gifted her before the mission, her face suddenly draining of all color.

"And what? Maka?"

She looked back up at the looming form of Death City, her eyes blurry with tears. "And he doesn't expect to survive this fight."

The scythe blade whistled through the air, slicing through Ashura like paper. "Got you!"

That was just an illusion! Spirit snapped, his reflection scanning the area as the body they had cut in half dissipated. Above you! Shinigami-sama!

The Reaper flicked up his hand; two thin beams shot through before a huge golden shield came into existence above him, lancing through his shoulder and across the blade of his scythe. He grunted in pain; a thin line of scarlet began to trickle from the base of the scythe blade. "Spirit!"

Don't worry about me! He hissed the words through clenched teeth; small drops of blood pattered to the ground below them. We've got incoming!

The Reaper braced himself just as the tantric energy attack came barreling down. Sparks flew as the two beings threw the weight of their power into pushing the other back. Slowly Shinigami's shield gained ground – before a crimson burst from Ashura's Weapon Vajra detonated the earth around them, throwing up a great cloud of sand and rock.

"No! Father!" came the faint cry – Kid, with the Thompson sisters in hand, braced behind the dais next to Asuza; Excalibur stood in front of them, unaffected. Ashura's sharp gaze raked over them for a moment before he jerked back, the sharp double-edged blade of a scythe passing right where his face had been barely a second before.

"How's Vajra doing?" Shinigami asked, swiping Spirit's blade at Ashura again. His shoulder was ragged where the blow had come close to striking him; the scythe's blade was chipped along the outside edge. "Do you even think of what you've done to him? How he must feel, trapped inside of you, just to be your tool?"

Ashura skipped backward in the air, dodging the strikes as they came. "Do you stop to think of how a pen feels when you write with it? Really, Death, such foolish questions. When did you get to be so sentimental about Weapons? They're just tools, the only tools made by witches that ever proved useful – isn't that what you used to say?"

". . . that was a very long time ago." Shinigami paused, gently balancing the heavy weight of his Weapon partner in his hands. Golden eyes flickered from under the mask to look apologetically at Spirit's battered reflection in the scythe blade. "And I was very, very wrong."

The Kishin raised an eyebrow. "Oh, I think I see now. How sweet." He smirked at the sudden furious look the Reaper shot him; Shinigami had to swing Spirit's hilt up to parry the rapid-fire blows that came to punctuate each taunt that came from Ashura's lips. "A Meister – and his pet Weapon – bonding in the battlefield. Have you – taught it to do tricks yet?" The wicked grin grew. "Do you punish it when it's naughty? Or did you get it already broken in-"

"Shinigami Chop!"

The overhand blow rocketed Ashura through the air at near sonic speeds; the entire room shook with his impact, a mushroom cloud billowing up from the crater. "If you don't watch your tongue I'll tear it out with my bare hands," Shinigami snarled. He had dropped all pretense now, his voice a low husky growl that dripped with murderous intent. Oversized hands clasped the quivering scythe close, straining under the growing weight of it. Stay with me, Spirit! he commanded mentally. Fear has always been Ashura's realm of expertise – he knows how to manipulate it in others!

How could he know– Spirit clung to his rage, letting it suffocate the swell of panic. That son of a bitch, he – he–

Focus, dammit! I need you wi-

". . . heh. There's the Grim Reaper I remember."

A blast of light burst from the dust cloud; Shinigami threw up a hand to block it and was blindsided by a flurry of roundhouse kicks that sent the two of them flying into the domed ceiling. They hit with a crunch, Ashura racing through the air after them with his hands clasped. Chakras began to bloom beside him. "Do you still feel fear, Death?" he cackled. His soul wavelength exploded from beside him, lashing out at his still-stunned opponent. "Do you know fear now? Do you?"

The Reaper swung his scythe down, shattering the energy into a thousand ruby shards. "I don't fear you, Ashura," he snarled, lashing out again. The cracked edge of the blade raked over the enemy's chest, opening a wide gash that sealed itself almost immediately.

"Maybe you don't." Long spindly fingers suddenly lanced out – and grasped Spirit by the blade. "But your Weapon does."

And before he could pull away, Ashura clamped down. The crunch of hardwood snapping and metal crumpling was barely audible over the static of Madness, over Spirit's agonized screaming.

"STOP!" Shinigami's free hand lashed out and grasped his foe by the throat, clamping down until Ashura was gagging for breath. A red tantric shield flew up, knocking them back; before Shinigami could fully erect a shield of his own Ashura had raised Vajra up out of his throat.

The white-hot blast shot through them; Meister and Weapon crashed into the ground so hard Death City itself rocked on its foundation.

Below him, the cloud of dust was still rising; Kid's cries drew little more than a scornful look. Ashura hovered over the two-story-deep crater, staring blankly down at them. "You know, being locked inside a bag of one's own skin for centuries gives a person a lot of time to think. You can guess what I thought about, I'm sure."

One of the spikes on Shinigami's mask crumbled as he tried to sit up. His Weapon partner lay a few inches from his hand, the scythe blade dented, the arms of the olivewood hilt snapped and splintered. Crimson rolled in streaks from the cracks. He rolled over onto his side – the blast had obliterated part of his torso, putting him off balance – and grasped the end of the scythe's hilt. "Spirit," he breathed, a note of desperation in his voice. "Spirit – "

Through the broken resonance he could feel the other man's wavelength shift, a wave of pain and dizziness as he tried to maintain his form. I – I'm here. Shinigami-sama, are you-

I'll be all right. I promise. Just hang in there.

"I didn't think of anything much at first. But 800 years . . . that's a long time to contemplate, don't you think?" Ashura watched them below, a sneer twisting his lips. "Vajra wasn't much company, so I had to make do with myself. It was rather enlightening."

Shinigami scoffed.

"It wasn't exactly pleasant. The first 200 years or so were rather frightening. After that passed, though, I started reflecting on the nature of fear – not that I had much else to think about." He landed lightly on his feet at the edge of the crater, bracing against his knees and leaning over to stare at his broken foes. "Fear is a strange thing, isn't it? Why do humans have it? Why do some suffer with it, and others take pleasure in it? What is the root cause? The last one was what really interested me. And I came to an interesting conclusion."

"Oh, do tell, Ashura. I'm just dying to know what you came up with." Listen to me. I can only keep him distracted for so long. Shinigami glanced down, his golden eyes flickering like a candle, and swallowed hard. Spirit's form was shattered, his body gone through punishment that would have maimed or killed a normal man. The staticky undercurrent of pain that colored his soul wavelength – it was sheer determination that kept the younger man going now, when he was so badly hurt. Azusa was across the room, a deathscythe, and yet even she didn't have the ability needed for this battle.

By the sudden flicker of fear, the shudder that came over the broken Weapon . . . . Spirit's reflection, tired and drawn, glanced at him from under the metal.

. . . you want to try Soul Resonance.

Above them, red eyes flickered over at the broken scythe, ignoring their silent conversation. "They imagine. They conceptualize. They torment themselves with what ifs and what could have beens. And for what? There's no rhyme nor reason to what they do or why they live. There's no meaning. Just chaos and madness and questions that can never be answered. Life is a game, and we are all just pawns, ready to be knocked off the board on a whim - why sit and worry over it, imagining what is coming next?" He laughed. "If that doesn't terrify a person, nothing will."

I didn't anticipate him becoming this strong, Spirit. I'm so sorry. He knelt over his Weapon partner and gently stroked a hand over the cracked metal. If we don't take him down now-

Shinigami-sama . . . . Spirit's wavelength wavered as the Kishin grinned down at him before hardening in resolve. He met his Meister's gaze for a brief second – so afraid, and yet so determined – and nodded once. I understand.

Shinigami hesitated, looking up over his wounded shoulder. "That's your solution, Ashura? To get rid of your imagination? I knew you were a coward, but not a complete idiot as well."

"If you don't believe me," Ashura said, "why not ask your Weapon? What kinds of demons roam its imagination? What monsters has it imagined to haunt it in the dark?"

The Reaper growled low in his throat – but faded blue eyes flashed in the cracked metal of the scythe, staring up at the Kishin. "I don't have to imagine," Spirit whispered. "My demons are real."

. . . Spirit –

We have to do it now, Shinigami-sama.

"But you still imagine others, don't you?" His voice was smooth, almost oily. "If you stopped imagining, it would all go away. No more fear; no more pain. Just Madness."

Shinigami! Do it now!

The Reaper closed his eyes behind the mask.

"-what are you-"

"Let's go! Soul Resonance!"

Pain.

Pain.

And below the crimson, below the blood and burning . . . .

Despair.

("Every time someone touches you, every time someone looks at you-")

It is not Resonance but Dissonance, the full force of Spirit's broken psyche engulfing the Reaper in a hurricane of despair, tidal waves of shame crashing, suffocating –

("-they'll know I had you, Sempai, that I broke you DOWN –")

Voices in the darkness, in the void between souls. Fury and Madness, hatred and bitterness, the scratch of a needle on an old phonograph, replaying over and over and over –

("I made you fear me.")

And it is there amidst the sea of sorrows that the Reaper finds him, a small flickering light drowning in the shadows.

i can't make it stop, Spirit murmurs, curled inward against the ever-encroaching tide.

i failed my family. i failed myself.

Shinigami watches for a moment, aching inside. They are so mismatched, he with his enormous strong soul and Spirit with his tiny shattered one, and yet . . .

And yet . . . .

(Spirit), Shinigami whispers, cupping the little soul in his hands.

And in that moment, their souls speak, and he feels whole.

it's so cold.

(If you're cold, then let me warm you.)

why is it so dark?

(Let me be a light to guide you.)

there's so much pain.

(I will heal your wounds.)

i'm so afraid, please, help me!

(Then I will fight beside you.)

please don't leave me alone-

(Just trust in me.)

. . . trust . . . ?

.

Gold-flecked eyes, so kind and understanding even now. (Gray-gold eyes, leering down over him.) That gentle, empathetic smile. (Blood-flecked teeth glinting, biting down, crazed laughter.) The radiating warmth of his soul (The chill of a soul lost to Madness.), emotion so familiar, so frightening yet so comforting, something he hasn't felt in years –

Trust, broken so many times, in so many ways, by so many people . . .

. . . except one.

for the one who believed me . . . for the one who still believes in me . . . .

Spirit's soul flares bright in his Meister's hands.

i trust you, he says, his voice soft. i trust you, Shinigami-sama. always.

"Kishin Hunter!"

The crater flashed; Shinigami leapt into the air, the serrated edge of the Kishin Hunter blade glistening in the light.

"-it can't be!" Ashura fled to the air, dodging the first strike of the aurora blade. "How?! I broke it! I broke that stupid blade of yours!"

"You've broken nothing but my patience," the Reaper snarled, swinging overhand.

The Kishin dashed backward, desperately weaving to avoid the deadly Resonance attack. "Temper, old man. Are you mad because I'm winning, or mad because I'm right?"

"You coward," Shinigami spat. "You spend all your time hiding from your fears, or thinking up new ways to outrun them, like a mewling infant. I partnered you with Vajra to help you conquer your fear and what did you do?" He swiped out, the edge of the scythe passing through his hair. "You betrayed him! You were too weak to be brave around your own partner! You spent so much time being afraid of nothing that you couldn't see you were becoming a monster, you idiot! I should never-"

"Never have spawned me?" Ashura's eyes narrowed to slits. "Is that what you want to say, Father? Go on. I dare you."

"You – ungrateful – whelp!" He swung upward, reversing the scythe in midair – and the aurora blade sank into Ashura's side, slicing his right arm cleanly off. Black blood slid off the serrated blade, hardening into spikes that bounced off the reflective edge. With a grunt he pushed the younger being's body off of the blade and watched him slide to the ground in a crumpled heap.

Ashura lay still for a moment; a newly-minted arm erupted from the bloody stump as the wound on his side closed. "Well. That answers that question."

"What do you plan to do with the world, Ashura? Once it's destroyed and there's nothing but Madness left? What then?"

He smiled, dancing back over the field of grave markers and into the air. "I rather thought Madness was enough."

Shinigami narrowed his eyes; a flick of his wrist and the Kishin Hunter blade tripled in size, casting a multicolored shadow over the Death Room. "There's no reasoning with you. You're too far gone." He shook his head once and raised the scythe. "I never wanted it to end like this, but I don't have a choice. Goodbye, Ashura."

". . . you're not the only one who's been Resonating with their Weapon, you know."

Shinigami's eyes went wide.

"And I think you're saying goodbye to the wrong son."

A beam of white-hot energy erupted from his throat, searing the air as it raced towards the dais – towards Kid and Azusa.

"No!"

The Reaper flashed down to the center of the room at a supernatural speed, knocking his son and the female deathscythe back, and spread his arms wide. Shinigami-sama, what are you doing?! Spirit screamed from within the blade. You'll get yourself killed!

Spirit, I know that attack! It would kill you to block that shot!

A Weapon is supposed to die for his Meister! I knew this could happen! You can't throw it all away; the world needs you, Shinigami!

He closed his eyes against the blinding light. Dammit, Spirit, I need you!

A muttered curse, and his hand was suddenly empty – he saw bright light reflecting off of dozens of blades, felt warm arms wrapping around his body, and then . . . .

Running footsteps. A shrill scream.

"They're not breathing! Oh God, they're not breathing!"