A/N: Soooo…I feel I should apologize in advance for Clark, because that nerd was just handed an object that can rewrite reality, so he's going to do what a lot of us would do with the same power—magic up something from one of his favorite series. It's just that…well, it's Clark. He's totally a closet weeb... . Most of you will know what he's referencing, at least tangentially.

Sorry, not sorry.

(I am sorry about the lateness of this chapter, though, but at this point I'm going to stop apologizing. It takes a while for the chapter to get between me and my beta reader, and I have been slowing down a bit writing them. Busy and late seem to be the trend, so shall we just say the new chapters will be out when they get out? I have no intention of dropping this story, so don't worry about that.)

Review Responses:

Guest, I do have some ideas for a continuation, not a major plot, but more like a series of one-shots. That said, I'm not making any actual promises, because as fun as this is, I'm already starting to feel a little burnt out. Not burnt out enough that I can't finish this, because I can (have the ending all planned out and everything!), but more that I'll probably want to take a break from all of this once I finish, at least for a little bit. Still, I'm flattered that you enjoy it so much that you want more, and thank you for your review and support!

Emelisa, thank you, I'm glad you liked it! And aren't those books great? I prefer Sanderson's cosmere stuff, but the Reckoners series was incredibly fun. Thanks for the review and support!

karma88, yeah, the Mordred thing wasn't written in the best way. I realized my mistake pretty soon, but by then I'd already posted the chapter. Hopefully this chapter clears up some of the mystery though. Thanks for the review!

pokelover01, thanks so much! I love writing this story, but sometimes work stresses me out to the point where I'd rather just go home and play video games, lol. Regardless, the chapter is out now, and I'm fully committed to seeing this story through to the end. Glad you're still enjoying the chapters, and hope you like where it's going from here! Although…I do apologize for Clark in this chapter….

Diana Raven, thanks, I'm glad you liked it!

Wisteria, thanks so much for your review! I'm sorry I can't reply to it in full, but I really am glad that you enjoy it and that you like the story and characters. Rest assured that I haven't forgotten about many of the things that you addressed! Thanks for reviewing!

AKOSI AGATAR, by the time you get this, you should know that I'm already on it, haha. Glad you like the twins, thanks for reading!

Disclaimer: I don't own Soul Eater. Or the other thing being referenced here. You know the one.


CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

Fata Morgana Pt. 3, Sword of Peace


The boy ran towards him, kusarigama in hand. Mordred sidestepped his opening blow, raising his hand and forming a barrier at his fingertips. Rei's scythe struck the barrier, skittering off of it and sliding away, and Mordred stepped into the opening, power crackling as he pressed the fingers of his other hand to Rei's chest. Force erupted from his fingertips and Rei let out a shout of pain as he was suddenly thrown back, the power behind the blow launching him into the air.

The wind blew, scouring the top of the turret, and for a moment, Mordred was in another place entirely…

The battle raged on around them, men on both sides of the conflict letting out battle cries as they plunged into the fray. All around him, the sound of steel clashing against steel filled the air, the pounding of hoofbeats, the bark of orders and the sound of drums, the screams of the dying. The keening shrieks of Morgana's raptors as they swooped down from the air above, harrying the enemy's archers. The battle was one of the bloodiest they had seen in a while, but the tide was also turning. It was clear that Arthur's forces would win the day.

He stuck to Arthur's side, one hand holding loosely to his reins as he surveyed the battle. The frontline had never been his comfort zone, and he could tell it showed, could feel his heart racing as his head jerked left and right, tracking each sound, each movement. Arthur noticed too, and Mordred heard him laugh from his mount beside his, a deep laugh from within his gleaming suit of armor.

"Ease, brother," Arthur said. "We will carry this day."

Mordred opened his mouth to respond, but the words refused to come out, stopped by the knot in his throat. He turned away instead, gritting his teeth and lobbing an orb of violet light at a cluster of the enemy with his free hand. The light and the explosion gave him an excuse not to speak, an excuse to turn away…

Rei landed neatly on his feet, his eyes narrowed in determination as he darted to the side, moving to flank Mordred. Mordred's eyes moved to track the boy's movements, spells leaping to the forefront of his mind in preparation. Something had changed in the boy since their last meeting. He seemed more focused, more prepared, less indecisive. Given enough time, he might have become quite the warrior.

It hardly mattered. He wouldn't be given enough time.

Rei leaped into the air, raising both of the kusarigama's scythes over his head and swinging them downward in a powerful attack. Mordred turned to face it, a circle of power writing itself into the air in front of him. The circle caught the scythes, pinning Rei in the air as the scythe's tips dug into the barrier.

"I see you're still as foolish as ever, boy," Mordred said, meeting his eyes. "You had your chance to live. You should have taken it."

Rei glared at him through the barrier's light, gritting his teeth. "You took my sisters," he said. "You took my friend. I'm not abandoning them to you."

Mordred scowled, feeling anger start to burn in the pit of his stomach. The barrier between him and Rei began to glow, and he heard Rei mutter a curse as light flared up across the barrier, forming a beam of pure energy that shot towards him at once. The beam of light was blinding, and Mordred blinked stars out of his eyes just in time to dodge as Rei spun away from the blast, landing lightly on the ground beside him and launching himself at him. That anger, a slow-burning fire, flared up, becoming impossible to ignore as Mordred swung his arm out to the side, the back of his fist catching Rei in the jaw and flinging him away.

"Your friend gave up everything she had to keep you alive," he heard himself say, "By coming here, you dishonor her sacrifice."

Rei landed crouched on the ground, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth where Mordred had struck him. He raised his hand to his face, wiping the blood away with the back of his fist. "What do you know about Morgan's sacrifice?" he asked, anger in his own voice as well. "What do you know about what she had to give up?"

"I know everything," Mordred said, whirling towards Rei. "I know the truth better than you!"

Rei snarled, pushing himself off the ground and leaping through the air towards Mordred. The kusarigama in his hands began to shift, becoming a katana as Mordred summoned power to his fingertips, shards of violet light appearing in the air and angling towards Rei. His heart beat quickly in his chest, blood rushing in his ears…

He was standing at Camlann again, at the end of the battle. Standing alone with Arthur, well out of earshot of the rest of the army, standing on a bloodstained field as Arthur cradled the helmet of a fallen knight. His brother stood with his back to him, silent for so long that Mordred wondered whether or not he had forgotten he was there.

"There's nothing more you can do for him, brother," Mordred said, speaking through the tightness in his throat as he extended a hand, as he summoned the sword to bear, Clarent's hilt materializing at his fingertips. Arthur didn't seem to notice, his eyes on the armored body beneath him.

"Of all of them, Tristan didn't need to die here," Arthur said, his voice soft. "He was only following my orders. But such is the way of things, isn't it, brother? We can't control who lives and who dies."

Mordred froze—had Arthur guessed what he had come here to do? But no, Arthur's back was still towards him, his eyes fixed on the setting sun. If Arthur had known, truly known what Mordred had been sent here to do, then he wouldn't have looked away. Mordred was sure of it.

The sword formed fully out of the air, its weight settling into his hand. It was heavier than he thought it would be. Too heavy for so slender a blade. Mordred stared at his brother's back, musing about how this would be so easy. All he would have to do was step forward, slide the sword between the plates of Arthur's armor. All that he would have to do…

He took a step forward and then couldn't take another. He remained frozen in place, his eyes fixed on Arthur's back, a hand closing around his heart.

He couldn't do it. Not like this.

"Brother," Mordred said, his voice sounding choked to his own ear. "Won't you turn around?"

Hesitation. He saw Arthur pause, saw tension make its way through his back and shoulders. Then, slowly, he saw Arthur turn towards him…

"Children like you always think you know!"

Where had this rage come from? This anger? Mordred wasn't sure, but he could feel his sanity slipping as he kicked Rei aside, his foot slamming into the boy's jaw as Rei launched himself towards him, bleeding from a pair of shallow cuts across his arms and legs where two of the shards had struck him. The blow hit hard and Rei went flying, his flight stopped only by the tines of the Cloak of Shadows, the kunai embedding themselves in the rooftop of the tower and pulling Rei back towards Mordred. Despair, black and consuming, bubbled in the pit of his stomach.

"You think you know everything, but you don't!" Mordred shouted. "You know nothing! You know nothing of sacrifice—of pain! You know nothing!"

You know nothing of pain, nothing of loss, nothing of agony.

Nothing.

He stepped forward before Arthur could react, the Sword of Peace slipping through the cracks of Arthur's armor, stabbing him straight through the heart. Arthur made a sound like a surprised gasp, like someone had stepped on his chest. Mordred stood there, his hands closed around the hilt of the sword, feeling the strength leave his brother's body, feeling the moment when Arthur's armor became that much dead weight.

Only then did he step back, letting the sword slide free. Only then did Arthur start to fall, his head tilting back so that he could meet Mordred's eyes.

He was smiling. It was a tired, weary smile. A sad smile, that made him look so much older than he was, that still somehow managed to make him look like a king.

Armored fingers brushed against his cheek, wiping something away.

"Mordred…" The voice was soft in the stillness. "Why are you crying?"

Arthur's hand fell back through the air, landing on the earth with a thud. Time froze. Arthur closed his eyes.

Clarent fell to the ground as Mordred dropped to his knees, letting out loud, gasping sobs as he clutched at the earth, ripping out chunks of grass as his shoulders heaved, as tears fell from his face in a torrent…


Flames filled the air around him, glowing words writing themselves onto the pages of the book in his hand. Clark held the grimoire aloft, letting the flames clear a path through the horde of enemies that surrounded them, the creatures leaping aside to avoid their heat. He pinned the grimoire against his chest with one hand, taking off at a run through the gap. Monsters snarled at him as he ran, one of the ogres reaching back and taking a swipe at his head, but he ducked beneath the ogre's outstretched arm, breaking free of the crowd and fleeing into a deserted corridor.

Once there, he leaned back against the wall to catch his breath, peeling Cassie's grimoire form away from himself so that he could get a better look at her.

"Alright," he said. "I think we're clear. What now?"

"Morgan's still upstairs," said Cassie, her gaze moving upward from within her soul space. "With Vayne. I'm worried about them. But the fighting—."

"Yeah," said Clark, nodding. The sound of battle came mostly from downstairs, which is where he assumed that the DWMA's forces were concentrated. He grit his teeth. The way he saw it, two choices lay before them—run upstairs through uncharted territory with a weapon he wasn't familiar with so that he could try to rendezvous with Vayne, or head downstairs, rejoin Maka-sensei and the others, and try to help where he could.

There were pros and cons to each of those. If he went downstairs, he could ensure his and Cassie's safety, but he could also be putting Vayne in danger. If he went upstairs and things went well, he might be able to help his partner out of a bind, but if things went badly, they were only increasing the number of people that the DWMA had to rescue.

There was also a third choice, one that tugged at him in a way that he couldn't quite deny.

He could try to find his mother.

"Clark?" Cassie asked.

"I'm thinking," Clark said, tracking his eyes upward, toward the ceiling. "What do you think we should do?"

Cassie bit her lip from inside her soul space, shaking her head. "I don't—I can't—when I try and see those realities, they're all blurred inside my head. It's like a radio that isn't tuned properly. I don't—I don't know what to do."

There was real loss in her voice, telling him that losing her connection to those realities was affecting her in a way he couldn't begin to understand. He leaned back against the wall, pressing the back of his head against the cool stone, and tried to think, tried to separate out what he should do versus what he wanted to do.

He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the vibrations of battle coursing through the stone behind him. Up or down? Neither? He had to decide quickly, or someone would find them. He had to pick something. At this point, it didn't even matter, as long as they were moving. Something—

"You alright, Greysteil?" a voice asked, mocking. "You're looking a little pale."

Clark opened his eyes at once, whirling toward the source of the voice. Grayson stood framed in an open doorway, his gauntlet encasing his arm. He had his other hand resting on his waist, his head cocked towards Clark and a confident smirk on his face. He looked—different somehow, from the last time Clark had seen him. Harder.

"Clark…" Cassie began, but he already knew what she would say.

It wasn't ideal, but it would have to do. He'd used up too much time, so fate had made his choice for him.

Clark sank low, widening his stance. He held the grimoire up, flipping to an empty page.


A wall of wind rose up between them, separating Cori from Micah. Angela reached forward and grabbed the Cori around her arm, quickly pulling her behind herself. From behind the wall, she saw Micah leap back, a scowl on his face as he reached into his coat pocket for his cards. Behind him, the Assassin had disappeared.

Angela didn't have the time to worry about where she had gone. She turned to look at Cori.

"See that corner over there?" she asked, inclining her head towards the corner behind them. Cori nodded, one of her hands tightly curled over her chest. "I want you to stand there. Don't move from that spot until I give you the all clear, and don't worry—." She paused, giving the girl her most reassuring smile. "—things'll be alright. You're safe now."

Cori nodded solemnly, although her wide eyes and pale face told Angela that she didn't fully believe it. Well, fair enough, Angela thought, turning her attention towards Micah. After the way things had worked out, Cori had every right to be skeptical. But Angela had no intention of letting anyone capture her again.

"Shell?" she asked, glancing down at the naginata beneath her. "That corner…"

"Already on it," said Shelley from within her soul space, one hand pressed to the side of her head. The space around her glowed brightly, numbers and equations writing themselves into the fabric of her soul. "That space should be safe, as long as we don't overdo it too much."

"Good to know," said Angela, gritting her teeth as Micah tossed a card onto the floor—Judgment. The card's face began to glow, the room trembling as a crack spread its way across the floor, moving from the Judgment card towards Angela. More cracks spread across the ceiling, the stone snapping above them.

From her corner, Angela heard Cori let out a scream, but she couldn't spare a thought for the girl right then. She extended her hand towards the ceiling as slabs of stone dislodged themselves, falling towards her.

"Infinite Spear Strikes," she said, reaching for Shelley's wavelength and binding it around her soul. "Salvation!"

Spears of wind formed in the air above her, crossing tightly on top of each other and becoming a shield. The stone slabs struck the barrier and splintered as they slid off of it, dust flying. She turned her head to the left just in time to see Micah taking advantage of the confusion, the Justice card already turning into a sword in his hand. The sight of it sent a flash of anger moving through her as she thought of Luna, as she remembered a flash of red hair, slender, silvery steel. Micah's original sword.

She swept her hand out towards him, her open palm facing him.

Someone like him didn't deserve to wield a sword.

"Annihilation!" she barked, changing stance. The spears above her head disentangled from their shield, shooting at him all at once, an endless barrage. Micah leaped back, his expression unchanging as spears peppered the ground at his feet. The remaining spears changed direction when he did, pursuing him as he kicked off of one of the bookshelves, the shelf toppling as he tried to gain distance.

The wind kicked up around her, threatening to rip her hat from her head, and Angela spared a glance over her shoulder for Cori. Shelley's calculations had worked, the wind parted before it reached her corner. She was covered in dust and terrified, but unharmed.

Good enough. She looked back at Micah as he pulled another card from his cloak, tossing it at her spears. Light flashed against the card's face as it began to glow. Magician. The card disintegrated into motes of light, the light forming the shape of a hooded figure. It swept its cloak over the spears, a dark portal forming in the air between it and them. The spears sank into the portal, disappearing from sight, and the figure wrapped its cloak around itself, vanishing.

The portal opened up at her feet, the spears shooting out from it and rushing at her.

From her corner, Cori let out a scream as the wind struck Angela hard, throwing her and Shelley into the air. She managed to divert the wind spears in time, but the amount of force behind them was still enough to slam her into the library's stone wall, near where the wall met the ceiling.

The blast tore her hat away, the green witch's hat fluttering to the ground in the lingering gale. Angela shook her hair out of her face with a toss of her head, tightening her fingers around Shelley's handle as she turned to look for Micah.

There. She spun just in time, tightening her grip on Shelley's handle and snapping the blade up to meet Micah's sword as he brought it down on her from above. He put pressure on her blade as they started to fall, the two of them tilting so that her back was angled towards the ground first.

She scowled at him, tightening her grip on the spear and shoving with all her might, using the spear's longer reach and leverage to shift them so that he was on his side as he fell. At the last moment before she hit, she braced herself, thrusting the butt of the spear at the ground and using it like a pole vault. She flipped over in the air and landed a few feet away from Micah, spear tucked under her arm with the blade pointing towards her enemy, her foot sliding out across the floor in front of her.

A perfect stance. Mifune would be proud.

Micah struck the ground on his back and bounced, letting out a grunt of pain before kicking off the ground and launching himself to his feet. He was still holding his sword—that hateful sword.

She would fix that.

Spear in hand, she charged at him, the wind spears already beginning to reform behind her.


Morgan's room was on the top floor of the southernmost tower. Vayne cleared the steps two at a time, his heart in his throat as he leaped onto the landing, facing the door. The encounter with Mordred was still fresh in his mind as he grabbed at the doorknob, making his blood run cold. The handle rattled, but the door didn't open. He released it, pounding on the door.

"Morgan!" he called. "Morgan, are you in there?"

"Vayne?" Morgan's voice from inside sounded thick and soft, as if she had been crying. He heard clothing rustle from behind the locked door, and when she spoke again, she sounded a lot closer. "Vayne, what are you doing here? How did you find me?"

"Not important right now," Vayne said, Mordred's words still filling him with a sense of urgency. "Look, Morgan, I need you to back away from the door."

Silence. For a while, he thought Morgan was going to protest, but when she did speak, some of the strength had returned to her voice. "Alright," she said. "I've backed away."

Vayne nodded, taking a step back for good measure. Then he transformed his arm into a blade and swung as hard as he could, the blade's edge slicing clean through the heavy wooden door. He kicked and shoved at the remnants of it, shouldering his way into the room.

Morgan was standing by her desk, looking at him as if she had seen a ghost. She was paler than he remembered, and there were tears in her eyes, moisture staining her cheeks. Where her face wasn't pale, it was blotchy from crying, but he was too caught up in the feeling of seeing her alive and there to care.

The moment didn't last. From somewhere in the rafters, he heard Quoth let out a raucous caw, the sound spurring Morgan into action.

"Vayne, I can't leave," Morgan said, the words coming out of her all in a rush. "My grandmother knows about the DWMA. I can't go with you. If I do—."

She broke off as Vayne stepped forward, grabbing her shoulder. "You have to," he said. "We all have to get out of here right now. This castle is rigged to blow."

Morgan's eyes widened, the color draining from her face. Whatever she had been expecting him to say, it wasn't that. Her mouth worked silently for a while before the words came to her. "What—what do you mean?"

"This castle, this room, everything," Vayne said, gesturing with his free hand at the room around her. "It's all one big trap. It's rigged to explode."

With you in it.

He didn't say the words, but he could tell that Morgan understood, could tell that from the way she sagged, placing her free hand on the desk to support herself as she looked away. His jaw tightened, anger burning bright in the pit of his stomach.

"How did you know?" Morgan asked, her voice tight.

"Someone told me," Vayne said. "I'll explain later, but look, right now we've got to go. Okay? The airship's here. They'll be able to help you, and even if you're in trouble, it has to be better than—."

Than dying here. Than being killed by your own family. The words caught in his throat. He couldn't say them out loud, not without being sick. Instead, he tugged at Morgan's arm, trying to pull her in the direction of the door.

She didn't move, her head turned away from him. Her eyes were shadowed by her hair, he couldn't see them, couldn't tell what she was thinking.

"Morgan," he said. "We have to go."

Morgan shook her head, pursing her lips tightly together. She inhaled sharply, and he saw her shoulders tense, like she was about to cry. Above him, Quoth started cawing repeatedly, as if trying to raise an alarm.

"Morgan!"

A thumping noise sounded from outside, like something massive coming up the steps. Vayne's eyes widened, and he looked over his shoulder, putting himself between Morgan and the door. A shadow was rising, climbing the stairs towards them. As it neared, it resolved into the form of a giant, a heavy club in its hand as it shouldered its way into the room, fixing a single, glaring eye at Vayne and Morgan. Vayne grit his teeth, taking a step back and wedging Morgan in between himself and desk. His free hand, the one that wasn't holding onto her, transformed into a blade.

The creature raised its club, preparing to strike. Vayne sank down, getting ready to meet the blow.

Behind him, Morgan straightened, her head jerking up as if she had made a decision.

"Vayne!" she barked, holding out her right hand.

He couldn't ignore that tone of voice.

Vayne transformed.


Blasts peppered the hallway behind them, coming from the grimoire in Clark's hand as he ran. It was a smokescreen, meant more to slow Grayson down than to stop him, and it seemed as though Grayson knew it too. He charged at Clark, letting out a roar of rage as he tore straight through the blasts, his right hand pulled back and ready to strike.

"Clark!" Cassie shouted in alarm, looking back over her shoulder. "Behind you!"

Clark grit his teeth in frustration, leaping to the side at the last moment. Grayson's fist struck the floor where he had been standing, tiles splintering beneath the blow. Clark kicked off of the corridor wall and spun in the air, aiming his foot at Grayson's side. The blow struck, but Grayson had evidently been working out since the last time they had fought each other. Clark's foot struck what felt like solid muscle, and instead of getting thrown into the wall like he had intended, Grayson took a little stumbling step to the side, looking up at Clark with narrowed eyes.

Clark managed to leap back in time to avoid being swatted out of the air as Grayson swung his fist around at his head. Something of his surprise must have showed on his face, because Grayson grinned, straightening up and turning to face him.

"Like it?" Grayson asked, spreading his arms out wide. "The boss lady's present to me. I'm not about to get kicked around by you or that Star bitch again."

"So she made you more of a thug," Clark said. "Happy for you, Grayson. I really am."

Grayson scowled, his brow furrowing as he tried to work out whether or not he'd been insulted. He snarled at Clark, taking a step forward. "You're laughing at me," he said. "I know you are. You're not going to laugh at me again, not when I'm through with you!"

If you can catch me, gorilla-boy, Clark thought, but on the inside, he was starting to feel uneasy.

If he'd had Vayne in his hands, this might not be such a big deal, but he was using a weapon he wasn't familiar with, using a fighting style he wasn't familiar with. The temptation to throw Cassie aside and go at Grayson hand-to-hand was greater than he had expected it would be, and he could list at least three different reasons why that would be a very bad idea. Still, it nagged at him, the power crackling beneath his skin. Grayson was strong, and wouldn't he like to test himself against that strength? Wouldn't he—?

"Clark, he's coming!"

Clark's eyes widened, and he leaped back and out of the way as Grayson came barreling through, holding Cassie close against his chest and running past Grayson, further down the corridor. Grayson might be stronger and faster, but he was still more agile, more able to change directions on a dime. He was still better trained. If he could take advantage of that somehow, he might be able to win.

Except Rei was the strategist, not him. If he'd had a day or two to think about it, he might have been able to come up with a strategy that used fire, smoke, and his own hand-to-hand abilities to beat Grayson. On the fly, with an entirely different fighting style? Not a chance. If he had Vayne—but he didn't have Vayne. If he had a sword—.

A sword.

A thought occurred to him, slipping through the quagmire of his thoughts. It seemed so simple that it made him wonder why he had never thought of it before.

Cassie could manipulate reality.

"Cassie," he said as he ran, darting down a corridor at random before Grayson could see which way he had gone. "Can you make me a sword?"

"A sword?!" Cassie repeated, incredulous.

"Yeah," Clark said, feeling himself start to breathe hard. "A sword. Or some kind of weapon."

Cassie shook her head. "Unbelievable," she muttered under her breath. "Clark, I'm the Grimoire of Reality. Anything you desire, anything you can imagine, can be made real for an instant. And all you want is a sword?"

Clark ducked through a narrow servants' corridor, hearing Grayson gaining ground behind him. He chanced a glance at the book in his hands. "So that's a yes?" he asked.

"Clark, I can make you a thousand swords," Cassie said. "A hundred thousand. All you have to do is put it into words. Describe it, like you're telling a story."

Clark grit his teeth, picking one of the corridors at random and running through it. He'd managed to keep Grayson at bay by moving quickly and turning often, but Grayson was catching up fast. "In case you haven't noticed," he gasped out. "Kind of being chased."

"Then use a shortcut!" Cassie said. "Something like 'ignis', for me and Morgan. Something that you and I both understand. Something from fiction, I don't know! You're a nerd, you watch anime, you live in a city where everyone has cool weapons! Make something up!"

"Something from fiction—."

A thought occurred to him then, and he skidded to a stop at the foot of a large staircase, his eyes widening. Behind him, he heard Grayson barreling closer towards him, shaking the ground as he moved.

Cassie's eyes widened as she realized his intention.

"No," she said.

"Yes," said Clark, grinning. He raised one hand to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose, before he remembered that they weren't there, that he had thrown them off long ago.

From within her soul space, Cassie shook her head. "No, come on, Clark," she said. "Not that. Don't—."

"Too late," said Clark, turning to face Grayson as the other boy burst out of the hallway they had run down, his expression contorted in rage and murder in his eyes. Clark held Cassie up over his head.

"Unlimited—," he began.

The grimoire began to glow. Inside her soul space, Cassie shook her head, covering her ears.

"—Blade Works!"


Shards of light rose up from the rooftop of the tower, rushing towards him.

Rei twisted out of the way of one of the shards, grabbing one of the Cloak's kunai with one hand and tossing it underhand at the rooftop below him. He felt the kunai bite into the stone and the cord grew taut, pulling him just past a second shard. Rei held out his hand, releasing his hold on the Cloak's cord, and the Cloak of Shadows faded away, Ayame transforming into her shuriken form. Eyes narrowed, he hurled the shuriken at Mordred, feeling himself flip over in the air with the shuriken's momentum. Ayame shot towards the sorcerer like an arrow, and Rei started to fall, gravity pulling him back towards the rooftop.

Mordred scowled in annoyance, sweeping his hand out to the side in an expansive gesture. Three of the shards that had been pursuing Rei banked, shooting back towards Mordred and overlapping with each other to form a crude shield. Rei rolled as he hit the tower's rooftop, distributing some of the force of impact and jumping up to his feet.

The shuriken struck the shield, the shield of light deflecting Ayame. It sent her spinning away from Mordred, towards where Rei had landed. He reached up his hand and caught her out of the air, breathing hard. He used the shuriken's weight and momentum to swat the seventh shard out of the air as it rushed towards him, then leaped into the air and threw it down towards Mordred.

This time, however, Mordred was ready for him. The sorcerer moved his hands in an intricate gesture, one of the shards that had formed his shield shooting Ayame out of the air with pinpoint accuracy. The other two shot into the air towards Rei.

Rei's eyes widened and he muttered a curse under his breath, feeling himself start to fall. On the tower's rooftop, Ayame transformed in a flash of light, and he heard her let out a shout of alarm, calling his name. He didn't have the leverage he needed to dodge the shards, so instead he grit his teeth and spun, kicking at the first shard that launched itself at him. His foot struck the side of the shard and he kicked off of it, hoping to use it to adjust the angle of his fall, but the second shard struck him from behind like a battering ram.

It tossed him down onto the tower rooftop, and he let out a choked scream as he hit the stone floor hard, skittering off the ground and rolling to a stop a few feet away. The wind rushed over him, menacing and cold at this height, and he felt it move through his hair, tugging at his clothes. He sucked in a pained breath and slid a hand underneath him, trying to get up.

A hand closed around the top of his head, fingers threading their way through his hair and pulling. A sharp pain shot across the surface of his scalp, and Rei let out another shout of pain, opening his eyes. Mordred was looking down at him, contempt written all over his features. His other hand was extended towards Ayame, who was hovering in the air behind him, encased in a dome of violet light, and struggling.

"Pathetic," Mordred said, meeting Rei's eyes. "Have you given any thought at all to anything I've said to you? About how pointless all of this is? This isn't a world that rewards heroes, boy. If you'd had any sense, you would have lain down your sword and fled days ago. I may have allowed you to live then."

Rei grit his teeth in pain as Mordred forced his head back, forced him to meet the sorcerer's eyes. He tasted blood in his mouth and spat it at Mordred's face.

Mordred jerked his head back, his hand shooting out and smacking Rei across the jaw, hard. The blow forced him back, and he skidded across the stone, his head spinning.

Inside her bubble of light, Ayame jerked forward, pounding her fists on the walls. "Rei!" she screamed, sounding like she was underwater.

Rei coughed, forcing a ragged breath through his lungs as he looked up at Mordred, peering at him through the hair that had fallen over his eyes. The sorcerer had gotten back to his feet, wiping at his face with a disgusted scowl.

"Yeah," Rei heard himself say, his voice hoarse and shaking. "Yeah, maybe you had a point. Maybe there isn't any reason for me to be here. Maybe we are the same, just soldiers fighting for the causes we were born to believe in. But that doesn't matter." He breathed deep, feeling something shift in his jaw, his vision wavering. "I'm not here because of Shinigami, or the fate of the world, or anything like that. I'm here because of the people I care about, because of the people I love. And if this world that we live in doesn't respect that, then—then I guess I'm just going to have to change the world."

"Change the world?" Mordred repeated, his eyes narrowing at Rei. "That's a laugh. You couldn't even change yourself. At the end of the day, you're still the broken boy I left lying on the ground, not so long ago. Goodbye, Rei Evans."

He waved his hand towards Rei in a dismissive gesture, a blast of force rushing along the tower's floor towards him. It struck him hard, sweeping him into the air, pitching him over the side of the tower.

Inside her bubble, Ayame screamed.

You're wrong…Rei thought, bracing himself against the impact of the blast. I've already changed myself.

But it didn't matter, because he was already falling.


Souls fluttered through Maka's awareness one after another, a hundred incandescent lights, their names and presences fluttering through her mind like strands of thread. Micah, Shelley, Angela and Cori a floor above her, Clark and Cassie and Grayson two floors up, Vayne and Morgan locked up in their tower room, Rei, Ayame, and Mordred on the rooftop far above their heads, Kid moving through the castle searching for the Morrigan. Soul Perception hadn't worked right when she had first set foot into the castle, but she had managed to filter out the white noise, managed to bring those lights back into focus. The Morrigan had tried to hide the twins, but she couldn't.

She couldn't hide them from her.

Cori was fine. The situation she was in, the situation that Maka could sense, wasn't what she would have called a good situation. Any other day, she would have already been running over there, to snatch her daughter out of harm's way. Any other day, she would have been halfway to the rooftop by now to protect her son. But there was only one of her, only one of Soul, and the situation had forced her to make some tough choices. Cori was fine. She was with Angela and Shelley, she wasn't being locked up or restrained, she had people looking out for her. And Rei—as much as it killed her, Rei had come here of his own free will, as a meister in his own right. She just had to believe in him.

But Annie…Annie was a different story.

Maka skidded to a stop as she rounded the corner, Soul's scythe form resting comfortably in her hands, fever warm with an eagerness to enter the battle. Ahead of her, Annie's soul burned bright, both in her mind and in her vision. Her daughter twisted towards her, hope and terror mingling in her eyes, and her captor smirked, adjusting her hold around the little girl's body.

"I should have known my tricks wouldn't have stopped you for long," the Morrigan said, running the tip of one claw-like fingernail across Annie's cheek. "You really are annoyingly tenacious, Maka dear."

There was something on Annie's upper arm, peeking out from underneath her clothing. A bandage, stained gray. Fresh.

Maka tightened her grip on Soul's handle, seeing red.