Noun; a sequence of real or imaginary images, like those seen in a dream.
The sun is dipping just below the horizon when Maka returns home, turning the sky a bloody scarlet stained with greying clouds. Her door creaks angrily as she exits the truck and pulls her bag over her shoulder. It takes opening and closing the door twice in order to get it to close properly-after the near-accident weeks ago, the ancient truck has never been the same. Neither of the doors close right the first time anymore, and there's a large dent half-hidden by the tailpipe from how hard Soul had to brace the truck to keep it from flipping over.
Pausing in front of the door, Maka's eyes trace the dent's outline as memories flit back and forth across her vision. They sit half-submerged in the back of her mind, surfacing whenever she sees anything that reminds her of that day. Maka usually pushes her thoughts in another direction without burying them completely, because that would mean burying Soul, but after what Tsubaki revealed at the mall, she lets the memories rise.
She gnaws on her lip for a moment-she can't be sure that it's the same demon from that day, or if it's even a demon. What baffles her most is how Tsubaki can see it at all-she doesn't have the soul of a reaper, nor an aura like Marie or Azusa. When they were children, she had never been able to see the poltergeists that would linger in the shadows, or hear their death rattles when they followed her and Maka from dark corner to corner. Gazing absently at the sky, Maka plays with her keys-it was one thing for Tsubaki to be able to see her scythe, but a much different thing to see poltergeists and demons, and only one particular supernatural being at that.
A sudden rush of cold wind from the north bites into her skin, sending shivers up and down her spine. Rubbing her arms, she turns away from the truck with a sigh and heads for the porch. More mysteries are the last thing she needs, but nothing from the secret part of her life has touched her friends yet, and she refuses to let it happen now.
Warmth and the smell of pasta greet Maka as she opens the front door and lets her bag drop on the floor next to the coat stand. "I'm home."
"No overtime at the library today?" Spirit peeks out from the kitchen. He has on the apron that says "Kiss the Chef," which means that he's trying out a new recipe. "Or did you finish the scholarships you were working on?"
Guilt trickles down her back, tiny needles underneath her skin. "Not quite." She walks into the kitchen and leans against the counter, hooking a lock of hair behind her ear. Staying out late nearly every night like she has for the past couple weeks is only possible due to Spirit's trust in her, and her skin crawls every time she lies to him. "I'm giving myself a break before I go at it again."
"Smart." He nods as he returns to stirring the large pot simmering on the stove, which is filled with a mixture of vegetables, before placing the lid on the pot and turning his attention to the pasta cooking in a pan next to it. "Don't want to burn yourself out at the very beginning of summer."
"Right." The feeling of guilt intensifies as she draws invisible shapes with her finger on the counter. "So what are we eating tonight?"
"Vegetarian linguine," Spirit answers, carefully slipping on a pair of oven mitts and lifting the pan from the stove and heads to the sink, glancing at the space next to it. "Though it would help if I didn't forget the strainer on the other side of the kitchen."
"That would be helpful." Maka pushes off the counter and grabs the strainer where Spirit left it next to the stove and holds it above the sink as he pours the linguine into it. "This isn't going to be like when you tried making your own peanut sauce or when you made tacos with shrimp fettuccine, is it?"
"There are no mystery ingredients or twists to this meal," he says, going back to the oven to retrieve the pot of vegetables. Steam comes out with an angry hiss as he removes the lid and tips the pasta into the strainer. "I even bought the linguine from the store on my way home."
"Very promising." Moving to pull plates and cups from the cupboard, she glances at the time on the stove. From the schedule that she saw a few days ago, she knows Marie isn't leaving the DWMA for another half an hour, and Azusa soon after, and she wants neither clairvoyant to know she's coming, especially after yesterday. Relaxing slightly, she leaves the plates next to Spirit and takes the drinks to the table. "It does smell good."
"I hope so." Spirit joins her at the table, plates and forks in hand. "Otherwise, we'll be ordering pizza."
Spearing a zucchini slice and looping pasta around the fork, Maka takes a bite and chews slowly, giving a nod after a moment and sinking into the meal. "It's good."
"Finally, a success." Relief replaces the look of apprehension on Spirit's face and he picks up his fork as well and takes a bite. "It did smell debatable for a moment there just before you came home."
"Wise to mention that after I tasted the food," she says wryly, reaching over to pour soda into her glass. "It's a meal to repeat in my book."
"A high compliment," says Spirit. "I'll add it to the recipe box."
They fall into a comfortable silence; sitting with Spirit and doing something ordinary like eating a home cooked meal gives Maka a sense of normalcy; a superficial feeling that holds as long as she doesn't examine herself too much. She pushes a chunk of tomato around on her plate absentmindedly. It's a welcome sensation that sits awkwardly the more it sinks in-she must either be incomplete to feel normal, or accept the loneliness that comes with being unable to share the whole of who she is.
There used to be someone who she could share everything with, a voice from the back of her mind whispers as her grip on her fork tightens.
The clearing of Spirit's throat keeps her from thinking any further. "Speaking of meals," he starts, setting down his fork with a clink, "How did breakfast go with your mother?"
"Breakfast?" After the mall, it takes a beat to remember the morning, which feels as distant as a childhood memory. She blinks, gathering her thoughts. "It went well. Awkward at first, but it got better after I almost choked on a pancake."
Spirit's eyes widen. "You choked?"
"Nearly," she corrects. "It helped break the ice, though."
"Next time, please choose a way that doesn't put your life in danger." He gives a smile as he says this, but the concerned look on his face makes it clear he is only half-joking.
"I'll keep it in mind." A twinge of nerves jumps to life in her stomach as she decides how to bring up the proposition her mother made at the end of breakfast. She had caught Maka off-guard when she suggested the trip as they had walked out of the diner-they had gotten into such a good rhythm of back and forth that she hadn't wanted to ruin it by saying no.
"Anything else interesting happen then?" Spirit almost seems to read her mind. Loosening the tie around his neck, he adds, "Or that you want to talk about?"
"Well, there is, actually." She abandons the rest of her plate and gives her fingers a small squeeze for courage. "We were talking about the summer and spending more time together."
"That's great!" Spirit continues to work the tie knot loose. "When are you planning to see her again?"
"We made plans for the weekend," she answers. In a rush, she tacks on, "She also brought up the idea of going on a trip together."
His hands freeze in pulling off the tie, shock turning his expression almost comically blank. "A trip?"
"To Silver Canyon," she says quickly. "Just a tour to sightsee and camping out for the night. We'd be back the next afternoon."
Spirit doesn't answer, but instead he gives a tiny half-nod. There's a far-off haziness spreading from his eyes and across his face.
Tentatively, Maka asks, "Papa?"
With a start, he comes back. "Wha-I'm sorry," he blurts out in a voice louder than usual. "I think that sounds like a wonderful idea for a trip."
Her brow furrows as she frowns. "You do?"
"Why wouldn't I?" Spirit's tone is bright, nearly the exact kind of cheery that he puts on to keep things normal. "It's a good way to build up your bond again."
"I don't know." Twisting and crumpling her napkin, she shrugs. "I thought you would think it was too fast."
Spirit meets her eyes then. "Do you think it's going too fast?"
There's a long pause-she hasn't had much time to give the trip much thought, but now that she does, it doesn't feel like a burden or an awkward thing to endure.
She holds her gaze with Spirit as she shakes her head.
"Then you should go then!" The animation in Spirit's voice doubles and he rises from the table, giving her a one-armed hug. "Do you want to call her now?"
"We won't be going until the end of August," Maka answers hastily. Her head ducks slightly as she says, "And I already told her I would. I just wanted to run the idea before I told you."
"Oh." His hand drops, but he gives her a smile. "That's perfect." Spirit picks up her plate, along with his own. "It makes me happy to hear that."
Spirit's words aren't a lie, Maka knows all of his tells, but there is something else that hides in them as he moves back into the kitchen. After a moment, she begins to clear the rest of the table and helps Spirit clean the dishes mostly in silence. She excuses herself to her room when they finish, giving him a squeeze on the shoulder as she leaves, although he doesn't seem to completely register it.
When she reaches her room, she closes the door and moves across to perch on the edge of her bed. She stares at the floor and listens to Spirit's muffled footsteps as he moves from the kitchen to the living room, an odd phantom pain twisting in her chest. Agreeing to go on the trip was the right thing to do, she knows that and she knows Spirit knows it as well, but there is no way to escape the pain of change, even when it's for the better.
It doesn't dissolve the feeling that her heart is splitting in two, though.
The moon is high in the sky by the time Maka reaches the tiny shack in the woods, brushing leaves from her hair and dirt from her clothes as she emerges into the clearing. Her nose wrinkles as she looks at her watch and sees it is closer to eleven than ten. Moving only on foot is always slow going, but tonight is worse since it took Spirit an unusually long time to go upstairs and to bed after dinner, and an even longer time to hear snores coming from his room.
Pushing her irritation to the side, she heads towards the shack, hand already on the knob when the sensation of being watched strikes her the same way that it did that morning. It hits her with the force of a freight train, and she pivots around so quickly she nearly twists her ankle, scanning the forest frantically.
Her head tilts up, as if by concentrating hard enough she can hear whatever is out there. The feeling is nothing like the rancid aura of the demon or poltergeist at the mall, but Maka's heart still pounds in her chest the more she looks around and senses nothing. "Who's there?"
Moments stretch out into minutes as she waits, clutching her bag like a weapon, knuckles turning white. And then, from one second to another, the weight of being watched lifts and dissipates, vanishing as abruptly as it appeared.
Maka still doesn't move, listening to the hushed silence of the forest. When it finally becomes apparent that no one is going to answer, her grip relaxes, although the tension coiling under her skin does not.
Swallowing, Maka takes one last hard look around herself and, without turning, opens the door and slowly backs into the shack. She closes the door as she throws a glance over her shoulder, barely able to make out anything in the room. Adrenaline continues to course through her veins, along with nausea from being in a space so small, even though her perception says there's nothing there. She tries to calm herself, but in the seconds it takes to flick on the flashlight on her phone and shine it around the shack, she's transported back to the muggy murk of her basement, the demon's voice crawling into her ears as the edges of the Rift lap at her feet and drag her in.
The hammering of her heart is enough to swallow her whole; she sinks to the floor gracelessly, dull waves of pain shooting up from her knees as she gulps down air, struggling to chase out the suffocating feeling in her lungs. Her arms wrap around her stomach as she tries and fails to control her breathing-it's been so long since the memories from six years ago have been able to suck her into a panic attack that it carries her away before she can stop it.
It takes a long time for the panic to release Maka, loosening its hold in stops and starts. The coping methods that she used have been worn down by time, not nearly as effective as they were before.
Her head is swimming when she finally feels like she can breathe again, and she bows over, hands dropping to brace herself against the floor. It's okay, she mouths to herself in a near silent whisper until she can convince herself she believes it. Gritting her teeth, she forces herself to her feet in one motion, wobbling dangerously as she finds her balance.
Maka plunges forward in a half-stumble before her footing is completely stable, colliding into the rickety table in the middle of the room and veering away towards the portal. There is no time to waste on being frustrated, or taking the time to recover, but she still finds herself biting her tongue against the involuntary tears burning in the corner of her eyes. When she enters the portal, she closes her eyes; even though it makes no difference, she prefers the darkness of her own making.
Upon exiting the dark of the portal and into the bright light of the DWMA's main hallway, however, a couple tears trickle free against the light. It takes several moments for her eyes to adjust and she pauses against the wall, swinging her bag from her shoulder and blindly fishing around inside.
Touching metal, her hand wraps around the broken probe she stole from Stein's laboratory after Azusa and the rest decided against searching for Soul. She pulls it out and gives a snort as she contemplates the wires poking out from the caved-in remnants that used to be the machine's upper half. Being forbidden by the DWMA to look for Soul has been a thorn in her side, but if they had actually believed it was a rule she would listen to, then they didn't know her at all. In the nights she's spent walking along the Rift, half of those had been right after a shift with Marie. And although she had only managed to get the probe across the Rift a half a dozen times before a monster in the Rift got hold of it, she'd been able to build a rudimentary map of Abeyance from the footage the probe captured.
Lifting the probe up to her eye, she briefly wonders how she's going to be able to swap it out for another; it had been easy enough to sneak this one from the pile of discarded machines Stein kept in the corner of his lab, but stealing a brand new probe would be a much more difficult task. Sighing, she tucks the probe back away and starts to walk to the elevator-there's no use in wondering about something she has no choice but to be successful in.
She is lucky as she makes her way to the elevator-there is no one in the halls or anyone standing in the elevator when the doors opens with a small chime. Nervously, she thumbs the button for Stein's floor and only relaxes when the elevator closes and no lights for the other floors come on.
The elevator whirs as it travels downwards; Maka stares up at the mission listings lining the walls: there are so many listings that they are starting to overlap each other, some of them turning yellow at the edges. Unbidden, guilt rises up and gnaws at her conscience; if she had accepted the offer to form a bond with the ghost from last night, (hadn't quit, her mind berates), then she would have been able to take some of these missions, lessen the burden that rests on the DWMA's overstretched reaper force.
Forcing her gaze away, Maka closes her eyes and inhales slowly. It doesn't matter what logic or her conscience tells her; she's made her choice and there is no going back. Whatever consequences will result from it is something to face in the future, after she finds Soul.
When the elevator chimes again, she jumps slightly, hand going to her bag and excuse primed on her lips. The laboratory is empty and shrouded in darkness, however. She pauses just outside the elevator doors, listening hard. There's no sound of Stein rolling around in his rickety chair, or any sign of him in general; she waits for another beat and then she moves in, feeling against the wall for the light switch.
Just before she flicks on the lights, she stops. For all she knows, Stein could have the lab rigged with cameras or traps-she can't turn back for fear of the latter, but at least she can try to avoid being caught on camera. Slowly, she eases her way along the perimeter of the laboratory, fingers grazing against the wall. Stein keeps any technology that has to do with the Rift in a row of cabinets towards the very back of the lab, though she doesn't remember if it needs a key or not.
Her breath catches when she nearly runs into the first cabinet; splaying her hands across its front, she finds the handles and gives them a gentle tug, a smile spreading across her face when the doors open with no resistance.
Squinting, she looks for any machine that resembles the probe, moving onto the next cabinet when she finds nothing close to it. Searching the second goes the same way, and she moves onto the last cabinet with an increasing desperation.
She strikes gold in the bottom shelf, feeling the smooth, familiar curve of a new probe. Eagerly, Maka pulls the probe from its spot, holding it close to her face to inspect it. Minus the scratches and destroyed top half, the probe is exactly the same as the one in her bag.
Setting down the probe on the floor, she takes the broken probe from her bag and buries in the far corner of the cabinet. As far as she knows, the exploration missions into the Rift have been canceled, so she mouths a silent wish as she arranges the shelf into neat lines again that it will be a long ways into the future till Stein looks at this shelf.
Putting away the new probe, she lets out a small grunt as she straightens and carefully shuts the cabinet doors, the knot of tension in her chest finally easing for the first time this night.
"Find what you were looking for?"
Maka nearly drops her bag as the lights turn on with a click and she whirls around, choking off a scream. The light blinds her temporarily, but the glare of Stein's glasses is still clear. He sits in his rolling chair with his head nearly lolling off its back as he stares at her impassively, one foot planted on either side.
"There's nothing I was looking for." The lie falls awkwardly from her lips and she resists the urge to hide her bag behind her back. "I was looking for you."
"Without knocking or switching on the lights?" Stein's head tilts to one side fractionally. "Odd way to do it."
"I thought you could be sleeping and I didn't want to scare you," she answers defensively, avoiding his gaze. Like Azusa, Stein has a way of staring at her like he already knows what she's going to answer and he's merely conversing with her as a formality, except he has none of the powers the clairvoyant has.
"And I thought you quit." When she doesn't answer, Stein continues, "There are a limited number of ways I can be startled, and being woken up by a trespassing teenager is not one of them." He rolls forward a few feet. "I also do not sleep, I nap."
"Okay." She pauses, blinking as she struggles to think of something that will distract Stein. Every time she has spoken to him, he throws her off with his answers and it ruins her ability to sell an obvious lie. Clearing her throat, she says, "I guess it's a moot point now."
"Maybe." Conceding the point with a slight tip of his head, he adds on, "As to why you're here is not, though."
Gritting her teeth, she says, "Obviously I didn't mean what I said, but after what happened last night-" Maka breaks off. It only takes remembering to find her anger. She begins to pace, jabbing a finger in Stein's direction. "Why would you agree to something like that?"
"I have no answer for you because I didn't agree to it." Stein rolls away from his corner, narrowly avoiding crashing into his lab bench. "I only came to observe."
She stops moving, giving a snort. "If you wanted to observe a bonding, then you must be disappointed."
"That wasn't what I was interested in." Reaching for a test tube, Stein examines the clear liquid inside. "I told Azusa and Marie that you'd most likely refuse, but they still insisted on trying."
"They should have listened to you." She can't keep the bitterness from bleeding into her words. Biting back the rest of what she wants to say, she trails towards the lab bench, glancing at Stein. There are a number of odd things sprawled out on the bench, including a small silvery-white tube etched with strange markings and a larger, slightly smoking cube sitting next to it. "What was it you wanted to see then?"
"If you were still bonded to Soul."
For a moment, Maka's mouth works, but no words come out. It takes almost a minute before she can speak, the odd dreams she's had since Soul left rising to the surface of her thoughts.
"What do you mean?" she manages finally. "Sou-he's gone. He went into Abeyance, there's nothing that can survive that distance."
He makes a slight shrug, putting the tube back in its holder. "No one can be sure of anything that hasn't happened before."
"But Marie and Azusa both said that our bond was gone." Her head is swimming; the need to leave burns more than ever, but there is no way she can go without ensuring that Stein won't mention her visit to anyone. "They would have been able to tell if there was anything left."
"Supernatural abilities aren't infallible," Stein replies, taking up the smaller cube from the bench and twisting it. "And the biggest surprises come out of the things you least expect."
"I can't talk about this." The words burst out, deafening in comparison to Stein's muted voice, but this conversation is running dangerously close to fanning the spark of hope inside of her into a flame, and she can't live like that. Hope is cutting, immaterial, and more monstrous than anything else she has ever faced. Action was better than hoping; it made her feel like she was moving toward something, while hope kept her locked in place, wishing for imaginary things.
"Fine." He gives the cube another twist; it emanates a golden light strikingly similar to the light Marie's purification ritual leaves behind. "Then maybe you want to talk about the real reason you came here."
"I have already." The nervous, almost frenetic rhythm in her voice returns. "I told you I was looking for you."
"You couldn't have expected to find me sleeping in one of the cabinets over there." Stein sets the cube down and picking up a pair of crucible tongs. Pulling the lid off of the larger cube, white smoke escapes from the inside with a violent hiss and he points at her with the tongs. "Your aura also says you're lying."
Looking up, Maka spies the aura mirrors paneling the ceiling, something she had always taken for reflective ceiling tiles. The lighter shades of green that used to exist at the edges of her aura have become darker, bordering the black-green diamond lying in the center and pulsating with the beat of her heart. The diamond itself has grown, and the cracks zigzagging through it have multiplied, though she still can't see what color lies beneath.
"Fine, you caught me," she says with a scowl, turning away as she thinks quickly. "I wasn't looking for you."
"We have established that much." Dipping the tongs inside of the cube, Stein pulls out a tube frothing over with black blood. In one fluid motion, he tips a few drops onto the cube. Temporarily, the blood hovers, slowed down by the light, but then it falls onto the table, boring holes into the metal.
Maka watches with an involuntary fascination. "What are you doing?"
"When we learned what that creature was doing with the Rift, Marie asked that I find a way to counteract the effects of its blood." Stein puts back the tube in the cube and replaces the lid. "It clearly isn't completely effective."
At his words, Maka takes a closer look at the bench and sees that the blood is slowly evaporating away. Not only that, but the blood appears to be congealed somewhat, the tiny craters in the metal not nearly as deep as they were when Stein showed her the black blood months ago.
"It's close, though." Her tone is grudgingly impressed, and then a thought occurs to her. "Have the creature been seen again?" she asks, gaze trailing away from the holes in the bench and to Stein. "Is there any sign of the Rift weakening?"
"Not more than when poltergeists and other creatures make their way across," answers Stein. "As for the person with black blood, they haven't been seen since your encounter with them in the Rift."
She nods, relaxing, and then she pauses. "Person?" she says, mouth forming a small frown. "So are you saying they're human?"
"It's difficult to analyze this kind of blood, but I have managed to run a few preliminary tests on it." Giving the silvery cube a sharp twist, the light radiating from it goes out with a snuff. "There is something human in it, although how much is not certain. Perhaps, it's why the blood is so good at dissolving the Rift."
"How could something-" Maka breaks off, "Someone human and alive exist in Abeyance? I thought only dead people and things could be there, other than witches."
"Abeyance is an artificial dimension." Stein makes a small shrug. "The only exclusive place for the dead is death."
"Before the Rift, I thought something seemed human about them, but afterward, I thought they might have become something between a demon and witch." Maka's frown deepens-monster or human, she blames them, in part, for Soul leaving, for being the reason they were forced into the Rift in the first place. Her anger vacillates between them, herself, and Soul; without the stress of the fight in the Rift, maybe Soul wouldn't have gone, if she had done more, been more, then maybe he would have stayed, maybe-
But he had left, with no warning or explanation. And she could not blame that on herself or the creature.
She forces herself to speak rather than drown in the sea of her thoughts. "But if they're working against the DWMA, then I guess it doesn't matter what they are."
Her tone isn't completely convincing, but Stein nods, though his expression doesn't reveal if he agrees with her or not. "The best thing would be if they never show up again," he says. "But there is no way to be certain of that or whatever else is coming, so the next best thing to do is be prepared."
"There's not much I can do to be prepared now," mutters Maka under her breath.
Stein raises an eyebrow slightly in interest. "So we finally come to the real reason for your midnight visit."
Her mouth snaps shut; she hadn't meant to give away anything "I-"
Cutting her off with a shake of his head, Stein pulls forward the test tube holder again and uncorks a tube filled with a light-colored liquid. "I would have thought you would have tried the armory before coming here."
"The armory?" Maka repeats blankly.
"There are no weapons for reapers here." Holding up the tube to the light, Stein turns it this way and that way as he examines it. "Everything here is for either meisters, mediums, or my own personal research."
It takes another beat for Stein's words to click and then Maka nearly trips over herself to look like she knew what he was talking about. "I just want to help," she says, summoning a sheepish indignance in her voice. "It's frustrating not to be able to do anything."
She resists the urge to look up at the ceiling. "To get into the armory would mean getting past Miss Maud and there's no way that she would let me take a weapon," Maka says. "And besides, I'm not bonded with a ghost anymore, and clearly I can't bring myself to bond with another one so going to the armory is pointless." In being careful to speak in only vague, general truths, she strikes too close to her own feelings. Her hands clench at her sides. "I thought I would have a better chance with you, that there might be something here I could use."
Silence follows; Maka avoids looking at Stein, but after several moments, curiosity gets the best of her and she peeks at him out of the corner of her eye. He's put down the tube in his hand, and as usual, his expression doesn't tell her much, but the fact he hasn't immediately given her up to Marie or Azusa is something.
"Come back in a few weeks," he says. "Marie and Azusa didn't believe your words either, but they decided you should have some time off." He brings the tube to his eye again before pulling out its stopper. "I'll see what I can come up for you."
Her eyes widen. "But wh-"
"It's as much an experiment for me, as it is to help you," he answers with a wave of his free hand. "I've often wondered how far a reaper's abilities extend without a bond."
"I-" Maka begins to protest, but stops at a look from him. "All right." A ripple of gratitude underlies her reluctance. "Thank you."
"The results from whatever I engineer will be a better thank you." Stein takes a dropper filled with a red solution and lets a few drops fall into the tube. "Now I suggest you get going in case your father does a midnight check on the house."
"Right." Relief flows through Maka and it takes everything not to bolt. "Thank you, I'll check back in two weeks."
"Give or take a few days," says Stein as she exits the room. "Though it would be nice if you call ahead before you break into my lab next time."
The darkness has a body.
It has hands and fingers that wrap around Soul's ankles as it drags him deeper into itself; lips that press on his ear and teeth that scrape against his skin as a voice, muted and metallic, whispers against his eardrums. Something tells him that the voice does not belong to the darkness, though it's too indistinct to make out anything. The only thing he can make out is that it rises and falls in the same intervals.
He's not sure if he's falling up or down, or whether there is an end to the darkness at all. All he knows is that wherever he is being pulled, there is something or someone waiting for him.
The darkness continues to draw him further in.
Maka's breaths come out in icy puffs as she navigates through the tangled growth of the forest. The area she chose to scope out tonight is closer to Orcus Hollow than her house-she would have liked to resume the route she had been following for the past two weeks, but her unexpected meeting with Stein ate up too much of her time. Her only option tonight was to retrace a part of the Rift that the probe had been able to cross over.
When the trees begin to thin and the ground goes marshy, she pauses and pulls the bag from her shoulder, closing her eyes. Before her venture into the Rift weeks ago, it had been invisible to her; the most she had noticed when she entered into it was a swooping feeling in her stomach and an abrupt pressure on her shoulders, like its darkness had a weight to it.
Taking a deep breath, she opens her eyes and gazes up at the gauzy surface of the Rift. She doesn't know if it was her journey into the Rift that made it visible to her, or if it was because she's used her perception more in the past months than she has in her entire life. Either way, it doesn't change the fact that, on clear nights, she can see the Rift stretching up into the sky from her window, hanging like a translucent veil over the world.
Licking her lips, she hesitantly lifts her hand and reaches out; her fingers pass through the Rift with no resistance. For a moment, she lets her hand linger in the middle of the Rift, and then she pulls back. The silent stillness of the Rift is unsettling; it rasps against her soul like tiny thorns, the horror of death with none of its dignity.
She shakes her head and grits her teeth, pushing the feeling out of her mind. In the DWMA's history, there have been a handful of mediums who were able to see the Rift, and half of them had become mad, unable to bear seeing the Rift all the time with no respite. When Azusa told her about it a few weeks ago, she said it was also one of the reasons that the DWMA hadn't recruited Maka when they first met, and for Maka, it was another truth to hide, if she didn't want to be kicked out of the DWMA forever.
Pressing a button on the underbelly of the probe, the machine comes to life with a whir. The DWMA detects and tracks the Rift through expeditions with probes like these, spikes in paranormal activity, and old records.
The probe continues to whir for a long moment as it comes to life, and then eight legs protrude out from its body. It gets up awkwardly, pausing, before it starts to crawl forward. Maka trails after it, holding her breath, as the probe moves alongside the Rift.
Finally, the probe stops moving, a red light flashing from the lights that line its body. Swearing under her breath, Maka sighs and walks over to the probe, bending down to pick it up. Finding a spot where the Rift had formed a stable hole large enough for the probe to enter and come back was rare, even here, where the Rift already weak. The fact that her aura can close holes in the Rift if she comes too close is another complication that makes searching along the Rift even more time-consuming.
She walks along the Rift and stops after ten minutes, resetting and putting the probe back on the forest floor and quickly retreating as it searches for a gap in the Rift. The probe walks for longer than it did the first time, but in the end, it stops and the red lights flash again.
For half an hour, Maka repeats this process, irritation growing in prickly waves under her skin every time the probe comes to a stop with its red lights glowing. After the tenth time the probe flashes its lights, she checks her watch, sees that it is nearly one am, and bites back a scream. There is too much activity, both from the DWMA and hikers, in the forest during the day to search when there's light out, meaning she's only able to search the Rift at night. Sucking in a breath, she resists the temptation to kick the probe where it sits on the ground, lights blinking calmly at her.
When her frustration cools and she's able to think past attempting to rip the Rift apart with her bare hands, Maka begins to walk back and forth, looking from the probe and to the Rift. There is a breeze in the woods tonight, but the veil of the Rift remains as still as the dead. She stares at its gossamer shimmer, biting on her lip as she considers the idea forming in her head.
Fingers beating out a rapid rhythm against her legs, Maka clenches her hands abruptly, blows out a breath and stretches her perception as far as it will travel. The wind quickens as she searches for a dark weight against the perception field, rustling her hair and sending a flurry of noise in the trees around her.
Minutes pass as Maka traces a path back and forth through her perception, but she doesn't give up until she feels a heaviness tugging at her from the corner of the field. She concentrates, closing her eyes, and considers the presence of the poltergeist. The creature can't be more than a mile or so away, but there is something strange about it, a gnarled knot of rot tinged with a feeling that she can't quite identify. It makes her uneasy, the way the feeling tries to draw her in, how it almost makes her feel like she wants it to.
With effort, she yanks herself out of the quasi-trance that using her perception puts her in. She snatches up the probe from the ground and heads off into the direction of the poltergeist. There is no time for doubt to seep in, only to deal with what comes as it comes.
She knows she has reached the poltergeist when the air becomes heavy and the light from the moon dims, plunging the area into a darker night than everywhere else. At this, Maka slows her step-it's common for a horde of poltergeists close to complete decay to block out light, but she's never seen one poltergeist with that ability.
It may be a good thing in this case, she thinks to herself as she wanders further into the bubble of darkness. The more a poltergeist has decomposed, the more destructive whatever's left of its soul becomes, until it is corrosive enough to wear away a hole in the Rift.
Stilling, she reaches out with her perception again. The poltergeist is close-not close enough to see yet, but she can feel the unbalanced, frenzied pulse of its soul like it is her own heartbeat. Shifting to hold the probe in one hand, she takes out her phone and turns on the flashlight, carefully scanning the darkness for any movement.
A few minutes pass before she spots the poltergeist; it sits unmoving at the base of heavily slanted tree less than twenty feet away. There is nothing human in the poltergeist's appearance anymore-the parts of the poltergeists that are not covered in black rot are split open with cracks of bone white that spread down the sides of its face. Its face is entirely caved in, oozing a dark liquid that turns into shadow as soon as it touched air.
The same unease when she first sensed the poltergeist returns, except it doesn't fade this time. From experience, she knows poltergeists lose control of themselves as they decay, that they transform into a writhing mess as their soul comes apart and they are consumed by the craving for an uncorrupted soul, attacking any living thing that comes too close with a blind rage and desperation.
But this poltergeist, putrefying and all but wasted away, is completely motionless.
Even when the light from her phone falls on the poltergeist, it remains unmoving. Its eyes, or what is left of them, are fixed on something she can't see. Edging forward, Maka lets out a soft whistle to try to get the poltergeist's attention, but as soon as she does, she stops, a paralyzing feeling wrapping around her legs.
There is a wildness in the poltergeist's face that raises the hairs on the back of her neck and keeps her from moving any closer. She eyes the poltergeist and then the distance between it and herself. Although the poltergeist hasn't even blinked, she is certain that it is watching her, that it has been tracking her from the moment she stepped into the clearing.
She summons her courage, even as her mouth runs dry. There have been worse things that she has faced down and survived. Clearing her throat, she takes a step towards the poltergeist. "Hey."
The poltergeist moves its head towards the sound of her voice, a sharp and abrupt twist that would have snapped its neck if it had still been alive. Its eye sockets are still visible in the sunken, festering crater that is now its face, black liquid steadily seeping from them.
Maka recognizes the liquid just as the feeling when she first sensed the poltergeist rises in her chest as it lurches up from the base of the tree, splattering a trail of inky fluid on the ground around it.
Black blood.
An irrational desire to laugh bubbles up in her throat as the feeling bends her mind to its beat, envelopes her thoughts with a wild euphoria.
Madness.
A fragment of clarity reaches her before the madness consumes her; she stumbles away and feels the bloated and decaying fingers of the poltergeist scrape against the back of her neck. The world tilts on its side as she trips, breaking her fall with her arm, twigs biting into her palm. She rolls to the side and scrambles away, narrowly avoiding the swipes of the poltergeist.
Its madness laps at the edges of her mind, dragging her in. She struggles to keep her thoughts of runrunrun afloat, hands and feet scrabbling backwards across the ground like a drowning person clawing for air.
Black blood drips onto Maka's clothes as the poltergeist lunges for her again with startling speed. Instinctively, she kicks out and strikes it squarely in the chest, pitching it backwards. It gives her enough time to force herself up and into a sprint, but she can already hear the poltergeist following behind her, footsteps speeding up from a slow, rhythmic thumping into a frantic run.
Terror mixed in with deja vu washes over Maka, sharp stings of pain flickering across her arms and face as she plunges through the forest, veering out of the way of trees, although she can't do anything but push through the branches that spring up in her path.
As she runs, her breath comes out in feverish gasps-the poltergeist can't be more than a few steps behind her, something that should be impossible for a poltergeist so rotted away. In its state, it should barely be capable of walking for more than a dozen feet, yet it shows no sign of slowing down. A high-pitched noise in between a shriek and laugh emanates from the poltergeist, the sound of madness, and winds in Maka's ears, raking against her eardrums.
For a beat, it's a painful cacophony; then something clicks into place as the laugh reaches the depths of Maka's mind. A dreamy feeling comes over her, a result of the madness unfurling its roots, though she finds that neither that fact, or anything else, matters much to her anymore.
She is vaguely aware of the enclosing footsteps behind her, but her concern has evaporated, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. It doesn't make sense to run when where she wants to be is behind her, when the sway of the madness is inviting her to stop, encouraging to listen and get lost in its delirium.
Keep running, a voice screams at her as she begins to slow down. She should cover her ears with her hands, a tiny part of her says, and her fingers twitch in response, but she can't quite bring herself to do it.
Don't stop, the voice begs, but it's too late-the poltergeist's voice has weaved its way into Maka's mind too profoundly.
It's not her choice anymore.
She catches a glimpse of the stars between the gaps of the trees as she stops, and a laugh of her own bubbles up as she stretches her arm out to the sky. Her father used to call the stars guardian angels, but there is no use for angels when they are too far away to save her.
The poltergeist's arms clamp around her.
The darkness lets go of Soul with a hiss, and he snaps back with a jolt, arms and legs flailing as he tries to find a place to stand mid-air. Eventually, reason returns to him as he becomes used to the feeling of weightlessness, but not before he flips himself around backwards.
Once he is steady and upright again, he looks about himself; it's apparent that this is not an ordinary dream, though he has no idea where he is or what the dream is supposed to mean. At first it seems like the darkness has dumped him in the middle of nowhere and the best thing is to force himself awake, but then he sees her.
Maka.
He has to blink to make sure he isn't seeing things, but she doesn't disappear, a light from somewhere behind her framing her body. Building panic makes him tense up-he should wake up, he needs to wake up, but there is something in Maka's expression that makes him pause. Unlike last time, she is unconscious, but her face is coiled up in a grimace, arms fluttering at her sides like she's pinned down.
Kicking out, he drifts towards her tenatatively, ready to pull himself awake if the hunger rises, but it doesn't come. Instead, he hears the familiar wavelength of Maka's soul as he comes within arm's reach-only there is something else knotted in it, putrid and decayed.
Swallowing, Soul lifts his hand over hers, then draws back, fingers clenching and unclenching. His gaze goes back to Maka's face and he notices how her breathing is becoming more and more labored, the sound of her soul dwindling little by little.
Gritting his teeth, Soul grabs Maka's hand before he can think twice.
His vision is immediately transported to somewhere else; he's running in the middle of a forest, chased by something he can't see. Terror rises in his chest, until he realizes it's not him who is running, but Maka.
There is a sound coming from whatever is chasing her-it seems like only a scream, but then it turns into something else, a laugh, a song that slows Maka's steps.
The realization turns him frantic; Soul returns to the dark, though he can still see the forest through Maka's vision. Shaking her arm, he pushes his face close to her ear. "Keep running!"
However, Maka continues to slow; a lurch swoops through Soul's stomach as he catches sight of the poltergeist behind her, and he gives her arm another shake, though it does nothing. "Don't stop!"
The sight of stars intermingling with the canopy of the forest comes into view as the poltergeist wraps its arms around Maka. Soul moves so he is in front of Maka, grabbing both of her shoulders. The skin under her eyes is nearly translucent and she is barely breathing at all. "Maka!"
Her eyelids flicker briefly at her name, and he calls her name again, hand moving to her face. "Maka, wake up!"
This time her eyes snap open, meeting his gaze. She blinks and moves a little under his grasp. "Soul?"
"You need to wake up," he says, dropping his hand and letting go of her entirely. "It's not safe."
"Why?" Maka's expression is unsure, though her voice holds none of the anger he deserves.
Soul can no longer see the poltergeist now that he is no longer touching her, but he can still imagine it. Drawing closer, he resists the urge to take her hand again. "You have to trust me."
For a moment, she wavers and then she nods, kicking off into the direction of the light. Right before she disappears from view, she turns to look back at Soul, but he waves her off. "Wake up!"
He's too busy looking at Maka to notice the darkness has taken hold of him again until he's yanked back into nothing.
The stars and the rest of the world come back into Maka's view in an explosion of light and color, Soul's voice still ringing in her ears as she comes alive again. Against her skin, the poltergeist rasps a strange keening noise, but the hold of its madness is muted.
In her mouth, she tastes bile from the scent of the poltergeist's rotting body and she fights the urge to flail. Her arms are locked to her sides, but her legs are free. She jerks her knee upward as hard as she can, the force knocking the poltergeist to the side, and she scrambles away and up to her feet. Catching her balance, she aims another kick at its head, feeling her foot sink into the crater of its face.
With a grunt, she wrenches herself free and pushes herself back into a run despite the screaming muscles in her legs. The poltergeist does not chase after her, however. In the fleeting glance she throws behind her shoulder, it is hardly moving at all, still on the ground.
Maka runs until her body refuses to cooperate, doubling over from the sharp ache in her lungs, the shaking in her legs sends her in a crumpled mess on the ground. Her face presses against the dirt and she allows the panicked sobs she had been forcing down to escape, leaving her throat feeling like it's been rubbed down with sandpaper. In spite of the noise, there is no sound of the poltergeist, no sound in the forest at all, except for her gasps and the roar of her heartbeat.
When she can breathe without feeling like her lungs are going to erupt into flames, she tilts her head up and lifts her hand to just below her eye. The unnatural cold in her palm lingers from where he held her hand, spreading from her fingers to her face.
Maka's voice is more breath than whisper. "Soul."