- death. It crawls the land, claiming it. Though Maka remembers little snippets of the devastation, this is not the world she left behind a hundred years ago.
The paraglider serves her, aids her. Her search is punctuated by climbs and glides and long marches through the waste that is left of what had once been teeming with life, a vitality she misses dearly. There is still life, though, still a familiar light, but it struggles amidst the darkness, struggles against Kishin and madness.
The dying landscape marks her failure. Maka knows this as surely as she knows anything in this strange, hazy existence.
Days go by and confusion still drowns Maka. The fighting is endless, and her hands chaffe after countless hours holding her rough forged scythe, her trusty weapon that never feels quite right in her hands. There is a feeling of something missing, too, of gloves long lost that she longs to wear again. Or maybe she just longs to see the one who had gifted them. So she fights, to remember, to reclaim, to take back all long lost.
Her life is searching and battling and listening to the whispers of those who cower in the villages in fear. She learns in bits and must put the pieces of the past together. Travelers are few, the roads empty and barren because travel equals death and the desire to live remains strong, so people stay put, safe and hidden. Their will to live drives Maka. Their fear is her failure, this she knows too well, and until she can make it right, until she can reclaim the beasts and face the darkness, this horror and misery will continue to haunt her.
Months into her journey finally reveals her first stop: the Zoras' domain. It stays with Maka long after she leaves. The Zora who finds her wandering in their territory greets her amidst shining waters. "You must come see the King, my cousin," Tsugumi pleads, the shine of her purple scales nearly blinding in the waters below. "He would want to see you, a Shibusenian, a hero. You must be the one."
Its been a difficult journey, thick with Kishin, and the Zora princess looks on in awe, leading ever forward down the watery path. Yet Maka still receives a cold greeting from the sea people. A King, who views her from his high dais with disdain as she stands on a little slab of stone surrounded by the water, spits on her.
"You would come here after what you did? After you failed to protect our princess from harm? You dare come here in your shame?" King Masamune of the Zora stands tall, black scales shimmering menace. The waters roil around Maka with his wrath, slapping at the edges of her small island.
"What princess?" Confusion seems to be Maka's default. She can only be honest, and what he speaks of, who he speaks of, is lost to her, buried in a century of hazy memories that she still can't quite fully touch.
"You-you, of anyone, of all, how dare you deny Tsubaki, the hero who claimed Vah Ruta, one of the Great Champions? You, who led her to her end?"
"I-don't remember," Maka says softly, ashamed.
The words echo, cutting deep into her regretful heart, as Masamune looms. He leaps from his dais above, grabbing her roughly. Maka bites down a plea for mercy.
"How could you forget her? She died for-"
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"-you." The voice is soft, hesitant. "I'd die for you, I really would."
Walking to clear his head, lost in the winding paths of this place, Soul finds them and eavesdrops since they don't see him from the path below. It's been a year since Wes died and he and Maka are only now successfully recruiting their first Champion. Maka's golden hair shines in the setting sun, the Zora princess practically glowing next to her, ethereal in the slowly dying light.
"I don't want anyone to die." Honest, his knight is always, always honest. "But I know we might. I might, and you might. Only the prince matters. He's the one you must be willing to die for."
"Then I will die for you both if that is my fate." Familiar is that disappointment the princess swallows down, that slight tremor in her melodic voice. Soul has felt it. He's caused it.
The princess' words are the latest burden, his newest sin.
He's never wanted that, but he knows he cannot change fate... Railing against it, hating it, hating the way it twists in his heart and in his soul, it won't change it.
Blood will be on his hands, in his soul, and he is still powerless. They will die for nothing. Even the Zora princess -
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"... Tsubaki," Maka breathes, memory cutting into her with razor sharp clarity. "She was strong. She chose to do what she must, we all did."
The affection that had shone in her eyes haunts her. Tsubaki had followed her, but Maka had followed another.
"And yet, you live." Quiet anger seethes as the king steps back, the burst of rage stifled but simmering. "You don't belong here." The voice is as sharp as the memory.
"I'm here to take back Vah Ruta."
"It's the least you might do after your shame. I won't prevent it-but you are not welcome in my palace. Go from this place. Tsugumi will guide you to the beast."
The fact that the King will not hinder her quest must be enough. His anger burning her back as she goes feels justified. She had failed Tsubaki. To be here, to be -
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- alone with her for a year and a half now. Soul wonders when the word turned into such a lovely thought. Beside him, Maka sighs in her sleep, toes wiggling, rolling closer to him. It's moments like these that sheer terror steals his breath. He prays: 'Please don't let me -
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- fail. Every single one of them, she has failed all of them! It's happening again. This battle to tame the Divine Beast will not only end Maka, but another Zora. Not even a week after facing the Zora King and Maka has already lead another of his family members toward their death -
Vah Ruta hurls ice shard after ice shard, blind rage potent. The enormous, mechanical stag gathers the waters, gathers power. The lightning arrows so hard won are not enough and she is not enough to protect Tsugumi, cowering behind the rocks on the shore. Another Zora princess who will fall by her failure.
But she cannot, must not fail. Maka owes Tsubaki too much, owes the world too much, owes Soul too much.
'Fight, Maka! Duck, ATTACK!'
Standing tall, bow taut, she looses the arrow straight and true. If she dies, it's over. The voice whispers she will not, not this time, and she believes it.
The arrow sinks into the blackened shard that rests in the forehead of the beast, and the world-
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- tilts.
Asura has risen. The castle is on fire. The world is on fire. Tsubaki's soul is on fire. The knight she had vowed to follow is deep in the woods, but the prince she had vowed to protect remains, and so does the king who claimed her heart.
Tsubaki will defend them both, defend them all. Champion. Zora. Tamer of Vah Ruta. But control slips through her fingers as the dark power courses through her beast, forcing, claiming.
Asura has risen, and they're all dying…
Control slips, and she is captive, prisoner of her own power as the beast rages. It swoops to the castle grounds below, seeking, and the King runs towards her, arms wide, hailing his savior, embracing the death he cannot see or know stalks him.
Ice, cold, merciless - that's what she's becoming. Tsubaki aims at Wes, at the spot just above his heart. A fatal shot, surely, and she internally screams at herself to stop but her limbs aren't hers anymore. He staggers back with the impact, betrayal in his brown eyes, staggering back into the castle…
Her King. Her beloved. Tsubaki can only watch, can only mourn as the dark power consumes her. She will join him in death soon-
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-enough. Maka has seen enough. The memory slices through her, sharp. Unrelenting. Merciless.
Tsubaki. Tsubaki.
The shard above her shatters, falls, reforms into a creature of water and darkness, blue eyes glowing with menace, and Maka is frozen, helpless, trapped in pain and memory.
'Fight.' The voice of always is joined by a new voice, a new presence. 'You must.'
She must.
Reflex, training, muscle memory, it works past a mind numb with pain and she looses another shock arrow at the oncoming darkness. The creature howls as it strikes, and Maka rolls to the side to avoid a wicked spike of ice, scrambling to her feet and trading bow for scythe.
The rage that radiates from the creature shrieks only one thing in her mind.
Die.
But the voices insist live. 'Fight!' Voices she trusts. Voices she loves. So she fights.
The Zora princess Tsugumi also fights, spirit of her cousin Tsubaki bright within her as she hurls her spear, striking true. The creature turns towards her in its rage, and Maka has her chance, leaping forward with her scythe.
It's over in a single blow and the creature dissolves in a bellow of purest hate, darkness streaming up into the twilight towards Shibusen.
Where it stood, now stands Tsubaki, translucent and radiant. Maka does not deserve the affectionate smile, nor does she deserve her gratitude.
"I am free, thank you. When the time comes, we will fight together once more."
The image fades, but the beast moves, bounding away up the hillside to stand sentry until the time is -
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-so fast moving, Soul feels precious minutes slipping through his fingers like sand. Two years have trudged by since his parents died, since he left home, and he's still lacking. Still useless. Life pendulums between continual futile pilgrimages to temples and struggling to awaken the power within him that could mean life or death for the entire kingdom.
And then there's the jealousy of Maka, that she was able to master her scythe so easily, that she's capable and intelligent and beats him at everything, especially arm wrestling and maintaining eye contact when they catch each other staring. Actually, another feeling for her is blooming beside that envy. A softness, a fondness, an… ache. One that throbs -
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- like a drum. A couple more weeks after taming the Stag, something doesn't feel right at all as Maka makes her way up the narrow ramp in the sky that is part of the Rito domain. She calms her heart, thinking of retreating, and that's when she sees it, stalking the skies like the bird of prey it represents.
"Vah Medoh." The Rito, who now stands beside her, shades her eyes with a glossy, feathered wing the color of flame. "It stalks us with the blind rage of Asura, grounds us. I'm going to destroy it."
"And meet the fate of your uncle, Zjarr? Of your brother?"
Dark brown feathers greet her vision as she turns, and the face that meets her is haggard, worn with age. Familiar. Dark eyes widen.
"You."
Maka knows those eyes, even if the color might be different, even if the defeat they reflect is less familiar.
"No, Father. Brother will recover, and Uncle I will avenge."
A streak of red stalks past.
"We will fly again." Golden eyes flash the determination that her father's had so clearly lacked. "I will defeat-"
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"- the beast," Kid says, voice strong, unwavering, "is my birthright." His eyes glow a burnished gold, startling amidst jet black feathers. "I will tame it, even if I must bare this journey and the tasteless asymmetry of such a place to do it."
They walk the streets of a small town on the outskirts of Rito territory near where the beast lies dormant. It is a small, dingy town on the frontier, inhabited only by those with the grit to stray so far from the protections of civilization, those who would brave the wilds.
Fifteen year old Soul would rather avoid another rant about symmetry from their new companion, who has made it clear how thoroughly he disdains their company, so he excuses himself to find a food vendor, Maka following. Kid continues on to find a bowyer, the need to tend journey battered weapons pressing.
Such stolen moments are precious, and Soul basks in the smile that warms him, even as he would rail against it. The soft 'thank you' is equally precious as Maka takes warm bread from his hands and they make their way after their Rito companion.
"I wouldn't."
It's unexpected, his voice echoing from an alley as they pass. Calm, as always, but cutting and precise. They hurry to the sound, and Kid stands with his back to a wall, two tall figures with flaming red hair before him, sharp glaives gleaming as they hold them only inches from his chest.
"Like hell," the taller redhead scoffs, and though her face isn't visible with her back to them, her posture, relaxed, radiates confidence. Experience. "Pay or die, simple as that."
The other one chirps: "Yeah, pay or die, like Sissy said!"
Next to Soul, Maka is a coiled spring ready to pounce, but she never gets the chance.
"If rupees are all you seek, take them." Kid tosses a bag from his belt to his feet, the tinkling of the gems within ringing in sheer contempt.
There's something, an instinct, that flashes in his mind. Soul can feel it, the beckoning of fate, and he wants to reject it, to ignore it, to choose just once, but he can't, he can't. This meeting was inevitable. The flaming hair and height of the attackers mark them as Gerudo, and in his heart, he knows they are the ones they would seek next.
"Don't you want more?"
With swift movement and livid green eyes, Maka stands in front of Soul, scythe bared as Kid pulls crossbows, glaives sharp and ready.
"Talk." There is curiosity behind the anger.
Fate. This is fate.
So he-
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"-does finally see me as worthy?" Maka pulls the umpteenth arrow from a nearby tree, apple perfectly pinned to the bark. The fruit is sweet as she steals a bite, hunger getting the best of her.
"No." Stern golden eyes amidst red feathers quickly crinkle in a smile, their light dazzling in the afternoon sun. "But I guess you'll have to do."
Kilik's pleas replay in her mind as he'd confronted her just two days ago, dark eyes brimming with fear, sorrow, defeat. "I know who you are. Please, don't let the beast take her like it took my brother. Torden was lucky to survive the first attempt, but my children are stubborn. Keep her safe."
A nod is all she had offered, unwilling to lie when her future is as hazy as much of her past. If it is within her power, then Zjarr will live. Maka hopes desperately it is within her power, but such hopes have too often disappointed her.
Remembering the battle for Vah Naboris, her struggle, her failure, Maka can only hope this one goes more smoothly than the last -
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-fight. She has to fight, keep fighting.
'Don't die, don't die, don't die.'
The mantra plays in Maka's head, the voice hers - and not hers.
Kim keeps the lightening at bay, but it will mean nothing if she can't take out the feet of the beast, the bomb arrows heavy, unwieldy.
Only four left, only one leg hit…. Maka can do anything she sets her mind to. She takes the shot and it hits, but there isn't time to celebrate as she rolls away from the debris of the blast. Straying from Kim's protection is a death sentence, but not straying is impossible if she wants to win.
"I thought you could shoot, Shibusian." The Gerudo captain looks down on her with disdain as she reaches down a hand to help Maka up, pink hair wild from the fight, green eyes narrowed in determination.
"I think I could, once."
"Learn. Learn or we-"
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"- fail! You'll fail, we'll all fail if you aren't a better shot."
The Rito crosses black feathered arms over his chest, golden eyes thoughtful.
Soul had always thought her shooting was fine, much better than he could ever do. Watching Kid shoot tells him he'd been wrong. The thought Maka is anything less-than at anything feels wrong. Her strength awes him each day; how can it be less-than?
"He's right. You shoot like an amature. All power, no precision." Liz leans against a nearby tree, arms similarly crossed. She's guarded, as always. "Better learn fast. Monsters ain't gonna kill themselves."
"You should listen to Sissy." A second Gerudo hangs down from the tree next to her sister, upside down, red hair a curtain around a cherubic face. "I've seen Gorom who are better shots." The crunch of the apple punctuates the comment as she takes a second bite.
"They aren't wrong." Tsubaki's voice is serene as she breaks her meditation, one eye cracked open, her balance impressive as she sits crisscrossed on a narrow bolder.
Maka huffs in frustration, but her own determination shows in the set of her jaw and the steel in her spine, and Soul wishes he had even a fraction of that fire in his soul.
It feels good to be together like this. It feels unreal. Each time they're all together, a voice in Soul's head reminds him that they're on borrowed time, that Death lurks everywhere.
"Fine." Maka pulls out her arrow, inches from center target. "Teach-"
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"-me. You have to listen to me!"
The Gerudo screams as she hauls her up from under her arms. The last blast had missed, had been too close. Her ears ring, and she can feel the blood matting her hair. Far, far too close.
"You've got one shot left," Kim screams. The battles rages on. Maka still lives, she still has a chance… "One! You miss, we die, so get it the hell together and don't miss."
One leg, one shot. This what Maka must do to take the massive mechanical camel down. The lightning blasts keep getting closer; the shield is failing.
One. Shot.
Kid's words from a century ago ring in her ears where sound cannot reach: 'Focus. You must focus.'
Wobbly, shaken, she stands, bow trained, and counts the seconds as the enemy rampages. She waits.
'Choose your shot, don't let it choose you.'
There is another voice, closer, current. Her past, but also her present, and maybe her future. Soul.
'You've got this.'
Maka is not so sure, but she chooses her shot, loosens her arrow. It flies. It strikes, but not its target, hitting the ground near, useless.
Kim's scream of anguish echoes in her aching ears.
She has seconds. She cannot, must not fail.
Leap, run. The arrow is in her hand, then it's in the leg of the beast as lightning crashes behind her back. She jumps away, rolls away, covers her ears against the blast. The world quakes, her body with it, but she wills herself to stand on wobbly legs, caked in dirt and in blood.
Farmer scythe in hand, Maka marches forward, steadying herself as she goes. It's silly, the thought that invades her tired mind, the wish for gloves long lost to protect charred and aching hands. She may not have gloves, but she has him. As always, with her is a will both hers and not, supporting, bolstering, strengthening.
'Go.'
Strength, will, it takes both to push, to run, to leap. Atop the felled beast, hamstrung, she swings down her scythe, swings at the shard imbedded in its back atop one hump, swings and strikes true.
She'd always been best with a-
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"-Scythe! We need the damn scythe! God, why did Maka have to leave and play in the forest tonight, of all nights?"
Liz's voice is a shriek in both their ears. The castle is on fire. The world is on fire. Time is running out.
"She's gone, Sissy! We have to hold it off until she's back, until she can-"
"King Wes!" Liz shouts, and both sisters watch in horror. Even from across the courtyard, they can tell the ice is fatal if it hits Wes. "Tsubaki, what-why-!"
The sense of betrayal runs sharp, deep. Their friend. Tsubaki had been their friend. Trust. Foolish to trust, so foolish.
"Why?" Patti looks at her, blue eyes wide.
When the dark power hits, they both know.
"Patti!"
It's too much, it's too damn much. And as the power takes her, she knows that even if Maka were to arrive here and now, it would still be too-
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- late. Maka is always always too late. Running to where the Gerudo has fallen to dark lightening, she kneels. Kim is smeared in ash, rivulets of blood darkening pink hair to the red of many of her sisters', darkening her skin, maring her aloof perfection. Her eyes are closed, her face a mask of pain.
The horror is gone, fled to its dark master, but at what cost?
Maka sucks in the breath to scream, but it comes out in a gasp. The Gerudo's chest yet rises, yet lowers faintly.
"She's gonna make it, Maka. Promise."
The voice is new and familiar all at once. Maka raises tired eyes to the two spectral images who stand over her, shimmering beneath the high desert sun. Her face splits in a sad, tired smile for comrades she hasn't seen in so long.
"I'm sorry." It's all she knows to say. She had failed them and she wishes she could do it again, make it right, but she can't change the past. There is only the future.
"Don't." Liz looks serene where she stands, as radiant in death as in life. "You did everything you knew to do back then. We all did. Now, you did what we couldn't and freed us, and in turn, we'll be there to help how we can."
"You're a good egg, Maka. Always were." Patti's grin in death is as broad as it ever was in life. Then both are gone and the beast bounds away, off to the highest point in the desert to wait.
There's no time to mourn or contemplate as she scoops up the battered, broken body before her to return to Gerudo town.
Time grows shorter even as the days grow longer and there's still so much -
X
-to do. She knows what she must do, how she must do it, but fear claws at her lungs. Kim had nearly died when Maka used bomb arrows last, she herself had nearly died, and failure is impossible. To fail is to condemn them all, to condemn Soul, and she cannot, must not.
The image of the Gerudo captain, pale and comatose as she left, swims in her mind.
Focus, the voice within implores. There is reassurance in the word along with concern. Soul's voice never chides, only supports. Has he changed so much?
Zjarr stands tall beside her, the crest of the cliff that will bring them to Vah Naboris before them. The lessons of Kid and his niece simmer within her, and Maka wills her bow as true as her scythe.
They must loose the arrows quickly and precisely, each of them. The shield will destroy any chance if they don't, and they will have little time, defense so high against such a foe impossible, at least for her. Zjarr might fare better, but with no way to get past the shield, her efforts would prove costly and futile and nothing must be done in vain.
This time, there will be no running with her scythe to fix her blunders. This time, there can be no mistake.
Meeting the familiar golden eyes of her Rito companion, they stride forward and both take quick aim as their target rushes, shadow looming from the sky.
A beat, then two, breath caught as she watches and waits and watches both arrows strikes its mark, exploding in a dazzling flash of sound and light.
Neither time nor will to celebrate, another arrow is already knocked, ready, but Maka must be patient, must be the snake who strikes only when she can hit the mark. Wait. Wait. The wait feels endless, every precious second an eternity, and then, she sees her opening, and then, the arrow flies.
Another arrow flies beside it, more sound and light and the shield is down. A third arrow flies from her companion, the twang of the bow loud in sensitive ears as she watches, watches, watches the arrow fly for the dark shard in the left eye of Vah Medoh.
Satisfaction washes over her as the shard shatters but it's short lived, as it must be.
It's not over -
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- yet. Kid isn't ready to die. Not now, not yet.
The chaos that surrounds him, that destroys the lovely symmetry of Shibusen castle, that claims the lives of innocents below in silent screams of agony he cannot hear, but that echo through his core nonetheless, will surely claim him soon enough.
Fight. He must fight. Rito champion, master of Vah Medoh, how can it end this way?
The dark energy, he'd seen it. Watched it claim Vah Ruta and Vah Naboris both.
How can it end this way?
When the dark energy comes to claim him, he fights, fights with everything he is, was, and will be. He fights knowing it will not, cannot be enough, because he is Rito and he is a champion and he refuses to do otherwise.
His real regret is to have let down the people he now calls friend.
No, Kid isn't ready to die, but as the pain takes him, he feels grateful that at least, with comrades at his side, he had truly -
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-lived. Maka is so grateful that Zjarr lives, whole and untouched. She throws herself at the Rito warrior in a crushing hug, her relief seeping out in an embrace of sore muscles and unshed tears.
The wind creature had been difficult, had blown Zjarr from the cliff in a gust of unbridled hatred, and for the briefest instant, Maka had forgotten that Rito fly and her heart had shattered. Too much loss, one too many, too much failure.
'Fight. It isn't over. FIGHT!'
Even he could not staunch the flow. It had been too much. There had been far too much. Frozen, paralyzed, she'd waited to die.
Then the red warrior had risen like a phoenix above the cliffside, feathers blazing and glorious in the afternoon light, had loosed an arrow of ice upon the creature of wind and hate, and Maka's heart started again and her fury was reborn in muscle memory and her feet flew and her arms swung and her scythe sliced and the creature howled.
Blind rage and death was in its wail as the darkness streaked off towards Shibusen.
And now she stands and lets the tears fall as she holds the niece of her long fallen comrade, only a few, silent and precious, swiping them with a hand before the young Rito can see.
"It's not wrong to show your heart."
Though Maka knows, has come to know that her friends' souls will find freedom with the defeat of each beast, Zjarr jumps back, startled, bow taut and ready.
A gasp, and she falls to her knees as the image of Kid shimmers before them both.
"Uncle."
"You must be proud, to have become such a warrior." Kid's voice rings clear. "And you." His eyes turn to Maka. "Thank you. For keeping her safe, for my freedom, but most of all, for being my friend, then and now. I'll be waiting."
The image fades and Vah Medoh flies towards the sun to circle and -
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- wait. The worst part, far worse than the journey, interminable, through dark and winding tunnels, has been the wait.
Months have come and gone since rescuing Kid, Liz, and Patti's ghosts. Maka's patience wears as she watches Nygus, broad back hunched as she works. The bandages she wears around her arms, leg, and head cover dark, hard skin that barely peeks out from underneath, and for a moment, Maka finds herself mesmerized by the contrast.
She hadn't expected that volunteering to retrieve Nygus from the mines would mean helping her delve further into the tunnels to find the rare moss they need, nor that said moss would be so excruciatingly slow to extract, yet here they are.
Sid needs the moss for his pain. The city needs Sid to fire the canon and fend off Vah Rudania, lest they all drown in liquid fire. Maka needs the canon to stun the beast for a chance to stop it for good.
There is a chain of intent ending here and now. Running calloused hands on rough stone, she thinks of lost gloves and brown eyes burnished red and her heart is too full, so she thinks on the here and now instead.
The vision of Goron City as it had glowed beneath the high bridge burns in her mind, burns in her heart. He had been there, too, the first time, the briefest wisp of memory haunting-
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- her, stride strong, though Soul knows her feet hurt. Travel through the mountains has been difficult, and he, Maka, and their new friends and Champions are all exhausted.
And now, there's the heat. Stifling, intense. The Goron make their home amidst a live volcano, their city resting on an island surrounded by liquid hot magma. For them, so he's told, the heat matters little. For those not Goron it's oppressive, even with the resistance potions they're guzzling like water.
The group stops on the middle of a high bridge over the city to take in the dizzying sight, the glowing red of the lava below painting everything with a red hue.
Stopping next to her, he looks down and quickly up, the sight making him queasy, even as Maka leans even farther forward.
"It's lovely, in its own way." Her voice is hushed. "Everything is, the whole world. It's why we have to protect it."
She's lovely in the ethereal red glow; she's lovely in her strength; she's lovely down to the soul.
Soul's chance to answer is stolen as he hears a deafening, "Yahoooooooo!"
The bridge shudders as a massive figure lands hard from somewhere above. The Goron strikes a pose that is probably meant to look heroic but comes off as ridiculous, blue hair stark in the red glow.
"Greetings, peons! What brings you to the realm of the great Black*Star?"
They all stand, stunned for a moment, then Liz cocks one hand on a hip and says, "We're going to Nunya." From next to her sister, Patti stuffs one hand in her mouth to stifle a giggle.
The gigantic Goron looks confused, blinking at her. "Where's… Nunya?"
Patti jumps forward and shouts, "Nunya business, fool!"
"A comedian. Well, I guess I can always use a court jester!" Black*Star bellows a laugh at his own joke, his deep voice vibrating through the canyon. He swipes a tear from his eye and looks them over. "But I'm thinking you're going to the mines. And I'm thinking you could use a God like me to show you the ropes, group of lowlanders like yourselves. Don't even have to pay me, my gift to you is my godly generosity."
The feeling is back. Fate, his cruel and fickle mistress, rides Soul hard. The Fate who had tied his heart to a knight who could not love him, who had set them on a path where he could not help but to love her, now sets this Goron before them, and Soul knows, and he wants to refuse as he always does, but resignation sets in, bitter and unpleasant and so, so necessary.
"Don't need ya, now scram." Liz's patience has clearly worn thin.
"The shrine." All eyes turn Soul's way and he ignores Maka's raised eyebrows, Liz's audible scoff, as he continues: "And yes, we could use a-"
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- guide. But even if Nygus is only supposed be a guide, the large, wicked drillshaft she wields suggests more.
"We're close?" she asks, heat and exhaustion wearing.
"Very," Nygus agrees, and there is concern in her dark eyes. "What's the plan?"
"Wish I knew." There is no plan, not really, not one she's sure will work. It's the last beast, the last, but the moss has failed and Sid can't wield the canon, so she's here because she must be, but she doesn't know what to do.
The current plan is ice arrows and pray.
"Well, if you've a mind for help, I might have an idea."
Fate has given her a straw to grasp so she takes it. "What's your plan?"
Nygus doesn't hesitate to explain, and as Maka listens, she thinks it really might work. Ice arrows to herd it into the volcano, preying on forced immobility.
"And it's just over the rise?" She has a plan. It's time.
"It is," the Goron elder confirms, "but if you think I'm about to let a Shibusian go off to fight our battle for us alone, you best think again. I'll be helping you."
The wash of relief with fear is disconcerting. Maka would rather not risk another life, not again, but she knows her chances are better if she doesn't face this alone. If there's one thing she's learned, then and now, it's the importance of relying on others. She's never been able to do it all alone.
"Okay," Maka says.
Nygus looks surprised, eyes widening for a moment before her jaw sets, and she nods. "Okay."
The battle is fire and ice and treacherous on the edge of the volcano, but somehow, luck and fate are with them as they fight and they herd the beast into the volcano.
Rage flares, the lava boils, and Maka must strike quickly.
The leap from volcano to beast is foolhardy. Soul shrieks in her mind: 'Maka, don't!'
This time, she ignores him. Better to die in the leap than to die because she fears to do what she must. Landing hard on the back of the beast, Maka falls to one knee from the force of the impact.
Ignoring scorching heat and sizzling fear, she runs up the creature's tail, farmer's scythe in hand, and swings at the crystal that rests at the tip. Once. Twice. She precariously balances on the thrashing appendage. Her third strike sounds a defending crack, a loud hiss, and the crystal explodes, releasing a column of living flame.
Heat scorched and sweat drenched, Maka faces the last of the dark creatures who had possessed the beasts so long ago, the last piece of Asura's fragmented soul that must be destroyed.
She can do -
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-this... isn't how he's meant to die. He'd wanted a dramatic fight, sure, but it's supposed to be a fight he wins with unparalleled flourish and courage before dying from his wounds. There is supposed to be parades and flowers and statues. Black*Star has always wanted a statue. He definitely isn't supposed to die alone in the middle of the chaos at Shibusen Castle.
Fire rages around him, but he is a Goron warrior, the one who will surpass the gods, and it cannot touch him. He'd seen the dark energy take his friends and he knows he's next.
Black*Star refuses to let his best, his closest minions die in vain, the people who had believed him when he's said he was SOMEBODY. The people who never cared about his disgraced clan, his dark birthright. Fitting that one whose father had become Yiga should be the one to strike a blow.
Shrieking a last "Yahoo!" as the dark power comes to claim him, he steers his beast towards Asura, crashing into him as his world is engulfed in darkness and-
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-flame is her world, flame and death as she faces the menace, faces its heat and its wrath.
And though Nygus is trapped on the volcano's lip, Maka is not alone, she's never alone. As she stands and pants and avoids another burst of flame, nearly losing her footing to fall to a fiery death below, his strength courses through her.
'Just a little more.'
Yes, she knows. It's always just a little more, and she's so so weary, but she must fight or die. Always, Maka chooses to fight.
A spin, then Maka dances back. It's too close for her bow, and she's tired, but the ice makes it howl, so Maka grabs an arrow, leaping forth as she clutches it in one hand and aims for one of the black eyes that shine darkly from the flame. Her hand burns, it freezes, it burns when she buries the arrow deep with her bare fist, silently wishing for gloves long lost.
'End it,' he implores.
Or it ends me, she thinks, and the small mental chuckle is tired and mirthless.
Using her free hand, scorched and exhausted, she takes up her scythe, awkward and unbalanced without a second hand to steady it, and strikes, stepping back and slicing clean into the back of the head. It howls longer, louder as she leaves the arrow in place and takes up the scythe two handed to swipe down, clefting it in twain.
The explosion is sudden and dazzling and she scrambles backwards to avoid it, rests on scorched knees as she watches the remains burst into the sky in hot rage as it streaks back to Shibusen.
"It's over," she whispers to the sky.
"Not even close." His gruff voice startles her to her feet, and he stands as large in death as he was in like. Maka thinks he must enjoy how he shimmers in the harsh red light of the volcano.
"Black*Star." A smile stretches, bittersweet, at seeing the last of her old friends freed.
"The one and only! Hey Aunt Ny!" He waves past her and she can hear Nygus gasp, turns her head to see her cover her mouth with a hand.
"Anyyyyways," he draws it out in clear impatience. "Thanks for freeing your god from a century of fiery torment, yadda yadda, something, whatever, but you know you still got more to do."
A long sigh. "I know. There's always more to do."
"That isn't the Master Scythe." He gestures with one meaty, translucent hand. "I'd say it's time to go reclaim your birthright or whatever the fuck, and me an' Vah Rudania here'll be there when it's time."
Maka nods, affection and nostalgia and grief overwhelming as she faces him. "They built you a statue, you know," she says and his grin makes her smile.
"Fuck yeah they did!" He raises his fist in triumph and with a loud, "Yahoo!" sinks down into Vah Rudania. Black*Star is able to move his beast where the fragment of Asura could not, and he shifts the beast to the side, allowing Maka to step back to the safety of the volcano ledge before bounding away.
Nygus places a hand on her arm as they watch him go, ignoring the scorching flame that cooks her skin.
Her thoughts drift to a forest hidden within a forest far away, a place where she once walked with Soul, a place where she knows her scythe waits patiently for -
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