Hello to you all once more, my dear readers! First, I want to apologize for the ridiculous amount of time it took for me to update. Life has a way of stealing my muse, especially with my hectic job, and I rewrote this chapter ten or eleven times before I was satisfied with the result. I truly hope you can all forgive me for the long wait.

And now, I really want to express my deepest, heartfelt thanks to everyone for their reviews. I felt so uplifted and completely humbled by all of your kind and encouraging words, and this chapter is dedicated to ALL of you. Without you guys, I wouldn't be posting this. I love you all. Seriously.

Disclaimer: I do not own Soul Eater.


The guillotine blades flashed harshly with reflected light as weapon and meister approached the Death Room, a brilliant glow streaking across the glistening metal with every step they took beneath the razor-sharp edges. Yet, the two didn't spare even a glance at the imposing blades suspended above them, both thoroughly familiar with the strange path. Maka strode forward purposefully, her olive gaze trained on the door before them and her jaw set in resolute stiffness as she attempted to ignore Soul's intense stare. She could feel his eyes on her figure as they walked, his blood-hued gaze never once straying from her body as those eerily-beautiful orbs travelled over her form again and again. She knew the scythe was deeply concerned for her, and while she found his thoughtfulness very touching, his attentions also awoke a measure of irritation within the woman. Maka was strong and unyielding, and she hated to be seen as weak. Her weapon was clearly still anxious over the vulnerability she displayed yesterday, and she did not like being the source of her partner's worry. "I'm not going to break, Soul." The technician suddenly said flatly, irritated that he felt the need to baby her so much.

The albino stopped just as she did, quirking a brow as he shoved his hands into his pockets and slowly turned to face her with an impassive expression. His soft concern disappeared somewhat as he met her fire with ice, his crimson eyes level and annoyingly aloof as he returned her stare. "Sure of that?" The scythe asked coolly, his bored tone only serving to incense the blonde further. Maka tensed, sorely tempted to crack a book over his skull, but an abrupt change in his expression made her anger falter. The weapon's apathetic mask slipped, his eyes softening as he gazed at her stony face. "You scared the shit outta me yesterday, you know. Can't help worrying a little." Blinking once, his meister quickly felt her irritation vanish with those quiet words, and a warm, pleasant tingle replaced the darker emotion, her anger swiftly undone by his sincerity.

The blonde smiled softly. "I know…I'm sorry." She replied gently, now mature enough to admit her mistakes. Maka was as uncompromising and iron-willed as ever, yes, but growing older had afforded her the grace and wisdom to know when she needed to swallow her pride and acknowledge her faults. Admitting your own shortcomings was truly the only way to grow, and she had grown indeed. The meister's words elicited a quick, fierce grin from her weapon, and Maka grinned in return, knowing she was forgiven. She quickly resumed walking, Soul falling into step beside her and still watching her every move with sharp eyes. This time, however, she was only grateful for his concern, strangely pleased that he only treated her with such affection.

As the two entered the Death Room, the scythemeister bowed to the towering, skull-faced god before her, somewhat surprised to see him in the flesh rather than his reflection in the ornate mirror behind him. "Good morning, Shinigami-sama." Maka greeted politely, respectful as always in his presence. His dark, stark face contrasted sharply with the cheery blue skies and soft white clouds that floated lazily about, but his welcoming demeanor belied his odd appearance more so. Though he had adopted a more gentle appearance than his true form for the sake of Shibusen's students, there was still something distinctly mysterious and bizarre about the strange god's form. As the woman quickly glanced about, she was relieved to find her father absent, sure that his overzealous affection would only complicate matters.

"Yo, Maka-chan! It's good to see you up and about. I trust you are feeling well?" The death god asked kindly, raising his oversized hand in greeting. His hollow eyes then swung from her to her partner. "And you, Soul-kun? In better spirits today are we?"

The technician's olive gaze slipped surreptitiously to the side, watching as the albino merely shrugged and grunted noncommittally in reply. She couldn't help but inwardly sigh with a sort of exasperated amusement. Despite being raised in a rather distinguished home, it was clear Soul lacked any hint of propriety, in the face of the God of Death himself. "I feel quite well, thank you, Shinigami-sama." Maka replied, her voice deferential but also quite distinctly edged with curiosity and a touch of impatience. She had many questions, and was rather anxious to begin.

The shinigami hummed as if her answer had pleased him. "Most excellent." He replied, patting her delicately on the head with one of his mammoth hands. The woman felt one corner of her mouth twitch in amusement. No matter how much they matured, the death god would always treat his former students like children. The blonde glanced over to find Soul smirking at her, barely containing his laughter as the skull-faced entity continued. "Now, I'm certain you have a great deal of questions, Maka-chan, but first, we have another matter to attend to. Would you hear me out?" He seemed to grow abruptly grave then, his hollow eyes appearing sharp as her caught her gaze.

The woman blinked in confusion. "Uh—of course, Shinigami-sama." She replied, and she could sense her weapon tense beside her. Maka, too, felt a certain amount of apprehension, noting how unusually serious the god had become.

The shinigami clapped his hands together, the large room echoing with a resounding crack as the mammoth extremities met. "Very good. Let's get down to business then, shall we?" He asked cheerfully, deceptively light-hearted. Maka felt her expression darken slightly, a small frown marring her soft features as she caught the sharper tone beneath the god's perpetually chipper voice. Most of her colleagues would have overlooked the grave subtext, but the scythemeister was far too perceptive to miss it. "I have a request for you, Maka-chan, or perhaps it is more of a proposition, if you like." The towering entity hummed and hawed a bit, his hollow eyes boring into her and the weapon at her side with frightening sharpness. "Would you consider resigning as a teacher and returning to your duties as a meister? Keeping you tied to the school as our Weapon's Master is a waste of your Watcher abilities, and we could certainly use you for some of our more dangerous missions…after you have completed your training, of course. What do you say?"

Eyes widening, Maka felt as if the shinigami had physically knocked the wind out of her with one of his comically-oversized hands. He wanted her to resign her position, to return to the field of battle? She could hear Soul draw in a sharp breath beside her, and the woman was immediately conflicted, two overwhelming desires warring within her. She wanted to fight with Soul again, in fact she wanted it more than anything, but…he was a deathscythe. On how many missions would she be forced to wield a different weapon when he was otherwise occupied with another of Shinigami-sama's orders? How long would it last before he was taken from her? The thought of fighting without the crimson-eyed scythe practically made her stomach turn, but Maka would not let the death god down. She wouldn't let Shibusen down. Despite the pain that abruptly pierced her heart, the technician once more bowed respectfully to the towering god. "I…I am honored to accept, Shinigami-sama." The blonde replied, aware that some hesitance still lingered in her voice, touched with her inner reluctance to accept.

The death god tilted his head to the side patiently, his voice still surprisingly cheerful as he spoke. "Maka-chan, is there something wrong?" He prodded, no doubt catching the odd note in her voice. She stared back at the shinigami, aware that her weapon's heavy gaze lingered on her sharply as she wavered in replying. Maka could practically feel his eerie red eyes tracing over her face, but the blonde couldn't break the death god's stare. Could she ask to only be partnered with Soul? Would that be selfish? She was certain it would. "I was just curious as to which weapons I would be wielding, Shinigami-sama." The meister finally replied, settling on the safer aspect of her internal struggles.

"Shinigami-sama, perhaps we should explain her…particular circumstances before we ask any more of Miss Albarn."

The unfamiliar voice rang through the Death Room, cutting off whatever reply the skull-faced god would have given, and the blonde turned in unison with her weapon to find a tall, lithe woman approaching them. Maka's eyes widened slightly as she studied the advancing stranger's odd appearance. The woman's soft, slender face appeared no older than perhaps thirty, but her hard, unflinching emerald eyes lent her an air of maturity and wisdom that belied her youthful features. Bright, coppery-auburn hair was pulled into a sleek, elegant bun atop her head, only accenting her no-nonsense appearance further. However, it was not her natural features, but rather her attire that afforded the woman her unusual facade. Her willowy figure was draped in a long tabard that slit at her hips and hung past her knees, the flowing cloth a rich blue adorned with gold. Chainmail covered her upper arms and hung about her thighs, while thick boots, leather vambraces, and light spaulders afforded her a very peculiar, but capable, appearance. She was the very picture of a knight of old, right down to the heavy belt around her slim waist that held a long, scabbard-sheathed broadsword.

"Hmm, yes, I think you are quite correct, Locke-san." The death god replied, inclining his head to the woman graciously. "If you would, please."

The strange warrior smiled and bowed to the skull-faced entity with a small flourish of her hand, an easy familiarity to the motion that indicated she had performed it quite often. "Of course, Shinigami-sama." Locke acquiesced, and Maka caught a distinct inflection to her voice, a light trace of a unique lilt that was undoubtedly English. Frowning, the meister studied her face as the warrior turned to face she and her weapon, wondering just who this woman was. "Miss Albarn, Mister Evans." She greeted politely, inclining her head with a formal courtesy that few others bothered to observe. "It is a pleasure to meet the two of you. My name, of course, is Locke, and I will be your instructor for the next few weeks."

The hell? Maka blinked once, staring at the woman with a rather confused expression and wondering why she of all people had been asked to train her. Was this strange warrior a Watcher like her? A quick prod with her Soul Perception revealed otherwise, as Locke did not possess a grigori soul, but there was something odd about her wavelength. An unusual, peculiar note thrummed within her soul, one that Maka had never felt before, and it set the blonde on edge. Just what the hell was she? Propriety not forgotten, the meister quickly bowed in return, fully aware that if Shinigami-sama respected her as much as he appeared to, this 'Locke' was undoubtedly someone she could trust. "Hello, Locke-sama. Thank you for coming." The technician replied, her body abruptly tensing on instinct as she straightened. For a fleeting moment, Maka wondered why her battlesense had kicked in, but she quickly realized her body was reacting not to Locke, but rather to Soul. The blonde's own wavelength was so tuned to her weapon's that she had instantly felt the sudden change in his, their familiarity with each other almost embarrassingly intimate. Her curious olive depths cut to the side to find the white-haired scythe gazing at the warrior levelly, though his red eyes were sharp and bitingly severe in contrast to his detached expression. As if feeling her stare, those crimson orbs flicked towards her and caught her gaze with heated intensity before once more focusing upon the auburn-haired warrior.

"So what are you? Meister? Weapon?" The albino asked, and despite the cool, bored tone, Maka could easily catch the overlying bitterness laced over the last word. It was obvious he didn't want his technician wielding another weapon, distaste quite evident in his exotic red eyes as the deathscythe stared at Locke in an almost challenging fashion. Clearly, he was just daring her to try to take his meister from him, and the blonde felt her lips twitch in a small smile. Sometimes his jealousy was just plain annoying, but occasionally, it was a bit gratifying to know that he still wanted her as much as she wanted him.

Serene expression never once slipping, the warrior smiled slightly at the albino, quirking an auburn brow in response. "A meister, Mister Evans, or at least of a sort. Does that meet your approval?" She asked, and it was obvious she found the weapon's tactless manner a bit insulting. Still, her reply seemed to have appeased the deathscythe at least somewhat, Soul relaxing slightly beside his technician though his calculating eyes never left the warrior's face.

Maka was suddenly very tired of half-truths and enigmatic replies. "A meister 'of a sort'? What does that mean…Locke-sama?" She asked, voice a bit sharper than she had intended. The blonde's confusion and uncertainty was quickly eating away at her composure, and though she kept a tight rein on her emotions, the scythemeister could only take so much before she needed some damned answers. All they had achieved so far was creating more questions rather than answering any, and that was becoming tiring.

A sympathetic look flickered across the green-eyed warrior's face, and she smiled gently. "I apologize, Miss Albarn. I realize this must be difficult for you, so I will attempt to be brief." Locke's expression quickly sobered, and she clasped her gloved hands as she began her explanation. "Though I am no Watcher, as you are, I have a great deal of experience in training others to wield extraordinary amounts of wavelength power, and that level of control is exactly what you must master in order to manipulate the new abilities you will gain as your soul transcends. I will teach you, and your weapon, how to deal with the massive increase in power you will soon face, and from that, you will discover your new limits with time. As soon as you and Mister Evans are ready, we can begin." Those steely emerald eyes were focused on her own olive gaze, the unnerving stare never once wavering as she watched Maka.

The blonde's stomach gave a curious flutter at Locke's words, and again the technician had to forcibly suppress and control the flood of emotion that overcame her when she faced the thought of losing her partner. "Are you certain we can monopolize so much of Soul's time?" She asked, voice surprisingly level and steady despite the twisting in her gut. "He's a deathscythe, so he might not have time between missions." Saying those words aloud, admitting that Soul might not have time for her, hurt much more than she expected, but the woman refused to break. Maka was too strong for that.

"The hell I won't." The weapon interjected, a hot glare shot towards her. His technician pretended not to notice.

The strange warrior seemed oddly amused by their interaction, smiling despite the palpable tension that wavered between them. "I know he's a deathscythe, Miss Albarn." Locke replied, smile widening infinitesimally. "If he wasn't, he would no longer be able to Resonate with you."

Weapon and meister froze at her words, the force of that single statement rocking both of their worlds as her declaration slowly sank in and attempted to register correctly. Maka suddenly felt oddly lightheaded, attempting to fully comprehend exactly what Locke was trying to imply. "Why not?" The blonde asked softly, olive depths wide.

Locke smiled gently. "Only the strongest of weapons can even hope to perform Soul Resonance with a Watcher, Miss Albarn. Because a Watcher's power is so potent, and their wavelength so incredibly massive, most weapons are crushed under the strain of attempting to Resonate with them. They give power faster than their weapon's soul can receive, let alone amplify and return it, and so the weapon generally passes out from exhaustion within a few seconds of the beginning of Resonance. In some rare cases, the weapon can even die from the strain. Only a deathscythe can match your power now, Miss Albarn, and no other weapon will do. Although, even a deathscythe will have a little trouble adjusting to the odd wavelength flow, which is why I suggested Mister Evans join you. Whichever weapon endures your training alongside you will be bound as yours for as long as you can perform as a meister, as this training is meant to unite a Watcher with her weapon so they can Resonate without harming each other. Your weapon must be chosen carefully…for this choice will be permanent."

The revelation was overwhelming, knocking the breath from Maka's lungs with it's intensity. The blonde almost felt as if she was a stranger in her own body, disturbingly unfamiliar with her own wavelength's power. For just this moment, the technician was sent reeling, and she found herself seeking comfort from the one person she trusted above all others. She turned to Soul. He was her rock, her anchor, and in this storm, she needed him more than ever. The scythemeister trusted him with her life, with her very soul, and she relied on the white-haired weapon more than anyone would ever realize. Those eerie but beautiful red eyes found her own olive depths, her gaze filled with uncertainty and trepidation, and he quickly realized just how desperately she needed him right now. Soul threaded their fingers together, his bloody orbs betraying his own shock at Locke's unexpected words. Nice to know she wasn't the only one. "Well…uh, holy shit?" He offered, and Maka felt lightheaded enough that she almost giggled at his coarse assessment of the situation.

"Language, Soul-kun."

The death god's voice shook the blonde from her reverie, and she turned to face the towering entity, taking comfort in the warm hand around her own. "But…the deathscythes are your weapons, Shinigami-sama." The woman protested, though privately euphoric at the thought of wielding Soul in battle once more. Her fingers practically tingled in anticipation, but she forced her eagerness to dissipate. She wouldn't accept…couldn't accept, no matter how desperately she wished to.

The skull-faced god hummed in thought. "Quite true, quite true, but these are special circumstances, Maka-chan. If only a deathscythe can Resonate with you, then a deathscythe you shall have, and it has been amply proven that your wavelength is highly compatible with Soul-kun's, yes? Who else would you choose?" His tone was light, but the blonde could hear the hidden edge under his words, his curiosity at her hesitance clear.

He didn't understand, of course. Having Soul all to herself was an alluring thought, the idea so enticing that a shiver raced up her spine in anticipation, but she couldn't allow that. This was no typical partnership, and there was no going back. If Maka accepted, then the albino would be bound to her and only her, and that would prevent him from ever becoming Shinigami-sama's personal weapon, his Death Scythe. It would kill her to be the cause of that. The blonde was his partner, his best friend, and if surrendering her own desires would bring him happiness, then she would gladly make that sacrifice. The woman wasn't about to ruin his dream of becoming the shinigami's weapon…not if she could help it.

"Maka?" Her name was spoken quietly, lowly, and she turned to her weapon hesitantly, his soft voice commanding her attention. "If you don't want me anymore, all you gotta do is just say so." Soul murmured, dropping her hand as his sharp red glare looked anywhere but at her.

Her eyes widened at his anger. He thought she was hesitating because she didn't want him as a weapon anymore? Oh for shinigami's sake…could he be any more clueless? "Of course I still want you, you idiot. That's not it!" His technician snapped, irritated that he had jumped to such a ridiculous conclusion. When had she ever given him a reason to doubt her devotion to him? Her waspish reply seemed to catch his attention in a very satisfactory manner, and Maka kept her own glare in place as the albino slowly returned his gaze to her. That impassive mask of his was back, and she felt the sudden urge to slap it off his face. Her palm itched with it.

"Then what the hell is your problem?" The scythe replied, sullen.

She was ready to kill him. The blonde was doing this for him, the ungrateful bastard, and he had the audacity to say something like that? The meister kept her composure, however, a commendable feat in itself, and she managed to refrain from beating the ever-living shit out of her weapon despite her anger. She was Maka fucking Albarn, after all, and despite the admittedly stressful and overwhelming circumstances she found herself in, the blonde refused to break. Sucking a sharp breath through her nose, the woman managed to calm herself somewhat before replying, though her words still left her as a sharp hiss. "Because, dumbass, —"

"Language, Maka-chan."

The even but stern voice broke through her anger, and the woman found herself apologizing sheepishly, having forgotten their audience. "Oh…sorry, Shinigami-sama." The technician said softly, embarrassed at losing her cool in front of the Death God. Her contrite expression disappeared, however, as she turned to find the deathscythe smirking at her slip-up, and the blonde scowled at him. "Because," she stressed, her voice growing gentle despite her anger, "it would destroy your dream. You've always wanted to be Shinigami-sama's personal weapon, right? How are you going to do that if I…if I keep you?"

To Maka's surprise, and slight irritation, the man scoffed, quirking an annoyingly-haughty brow. "Is that what you've been freaking about? For fu—uh—for crap's sake, woman. That's a stupid thing to worry about." Soul replied, obviously exasperated as he shoved his hands into his pockets and rolled his crimson eyes. Whether his frustration was directed at her or at the fact he couldn't cuss, though, she wasn't sure. "Besides, don't I get a say in this?" He asked, gracing the blonde with a rather pointed sideways glance.

Dumbfounded at his words, his meister stumbled over a reply. "I—well…of course you do, but—"

"I like being your weapon, Maka. I've missed it." The words were soft, but they shut the woman up faster than anything else could have, her mouth automatically snapping closed as he continued. "I'm already a deathscythe, and that's enough. I want to help you." Those strangely beautiful, exotic red eyes were for her alone, his gaze intense as he caught her olive depths and held them. In that moment, his meister forgot Shinigami-sama and Locke completely, lost in those crimson orbs that looked so much like blood. Soul leaned closer, close enough that she could smell the heavenly body wash he used, and a subtle shiver travelled down her spine. "Let me."

The woman flushed. Right now, the way he was looking at her, she'd let him do plenty of things. Maka never fell for the charms of any man, but Soul seemed to know how to push all her buttons just right, and again she found herself questioning the painful thumping of her heart as she stared into his dark eyes. "Okay." She breathed, deciding that surrender was sweet after all when he grinned in response. The blonde couldn't help but smile in reply, undone by the raw thrill in his red orbs. "I've missed it too." She confessed, unable to hide the truth. Those long months of watching him leave without her was a pain she could never, never forget.

A short, delicate cough reminded Maka that they did indeed have an audience. "Well…I'm glad that's—ah—settled, then." Locke said lightly, an amused grin curving her pale lips.

The scythemeister blushed an impressive shade of red, the color dusting down her neck as she cleared her throat in embarrassment and increased the space between herself and her weapon. She could hear Soul chuckling softly to himself, no doubt amused by her chagrin, but she couldn't find it in herself to become angry at him. Not now…not when a pleasant warmth was still tingling down her spine. The blonde turned to find Shinigami-sama staring at the two of them, strangely solemn. "I trust this means you accept my offer, Maka-chan?" The death god asked graciously, and the woman nodded, a determination he was all too familiar with hardening her olive eyes.

"Yes, Shinigami-sama, I do." She declared, a familiar excitement coursing through her like an electric current. The technician found Soul staring at her, a feral grin accenting his frighteningly-sharp teeth, and her fingers tingled in anticipation. Oh yea, she had definitely missed this.

o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o

Wind whistled about the scythe as his meister twirled him with an expert flourish, the feel of her capable, deft hands both welcome and familiar as she moved through her warm-up. Locke watched the two of them from a short distance away, her narrowed green eyes never leaving them as she leaned nonchalantly against Shibusen's outer wall. Her gaze followed Maka as she gracefully flowed between stances in preparation for her training. Soul could feel the blonde's excitement and eagerness through the constant hum of contact that danced between them whether they were resonating or not, and his reflection in the fatally-sharp blade grinned wickedly.

After exiting the Death Room, the strange warrior had announced their training would begin immediately, much to the scythe's irritation. It had, of course, pleased his meister to no end, but he was somewhat worried that she wasn't ready for such strenuous activity just yet. Maka still seemed slightly weak from her ordeal the night before, but neither she nor Locke would listen to his protests. That had grated the albino's nerves, but he couldn't stay mad at his technician; not when she was smiling euphorically as she swung his blade with careful, practiced movements.

And truthfully, the feel of Maka's gloved hands wrapped tightly about his weapon form brought a level of comfort and rightness that Soul hadn't felt in a long, long time. Though he had been paired with some of the best meisters the world had to offer on his deathscythe missions, none of them could even hope to wield him with the same level of confidence and finesse that Maka did. After all, there was a reason she was his meister, a reason that she had made him into a deathscythe, and a reason that he found a flaw in every technician but her. The petite blonde was the only partner he would ever truly, fully accept, and no one would ever be closer to him than she. She had won him over—now had him wrapped around her little finger whether she knew it or not, and he was devoted without reservation. To know that she was once again his only technician, and he was her only weapon, brought a level of possessive satisfaction that could almost be considered indecent.

Leaving her alone for months at a time had nearly caused Soul to go insane, as he always had been ridiculously protective of his meister, and he worried for her constantly while he was gone on missions. It was an immense relief to know that was over, and more so, to know that he no longer had to worry about dumbass upstarts trying to take his technician away from him. Conner rose, unbidden, to the forefront of his mind, and the scythe realized that he still wanted to knock the Irish prick right on his ass for trying to steal Maka. She was his meister, dammit. His, and no one else's.

The memory brought a quick, intense anger, and the sudden spark in his wavelength wasn't lost on the blonde. Though her fluid movements never ceased, her olive eyes darted towards his reflection in the sharp blade, curiosity plain as her eyes questioned him. The deathscythe quirked a brow in response, his blank expression meant to disarm her probing stare. Maka gave him a quick, disbelieving glance that clearly said 'Yea. Not buying it.', but she looked away and continued her exercises anyway. Grinning, Soul steeled his mind and forced himself to concentrate on the present, satisfied that his days of worrying about assholes like Conner were over and so fucking done. And that felt damned good. Instead, he concentrated on watching his meister move, his intense, eerie red eyes roving over her flowing form. Though he would never admit it aloud, there was something undeniably hot about the adept, instinctive motions. No other technician could wield him with such finesse, could move as smoothly as she did. There was an unearthly quality to her light steps, a strange, uncanny beauty within every instinctive movement, and it was more alluring than he would ever admit to her.

The blonde continued her effortless motions for another twenty or so minutes, then finally paused and turned to bow slightly to their audience of one. "I'm ready to begin, Locke-sama." She announced, and Soul's reflection grinned, anxious to see just how badly they could kick the green-eyed warrior's ass. Despite her capable appearance, the scythe had no doubt his slender tech could wipe the floor with the auburn-haired woman.

The older meister straightened from where she had been leaning against the wall of the school. "Very good, Miss Albarn. Your movements are as practiced and impressive as Shinigami-sama said they were. You wear the title of Weapon's Master well." The lithe woman approached them, her smooth steps filled with the graceful confidence of a panther, and stopped before the two, her emerald eyes calculating. The deathscythe sobered, realizing that, although he knew Maka could easily win their sparring match, it would be foolish to underestimate the strange, willowy technician. She carried herself like a fighter, and her steps were devoid of any sort of softness or coyness, merely no-nonsense and forceful. In a way, Locke reminded him of Maka herself. "You are disciplined, and your focus is unwavering. That is even better. I am certain you will master this training quickly."

The albino watched as his meister tilted her head slightly to the side, and through their connection, sensed confusion. "I do not mean to sound ungrateful, or to insult you, Locke-sama, but may I ask what sort of training you can provide that no other meister at Shibusen could?" Blinking, her weapon suddenly wondered why he hadn't thought to question that himself. After all, the academy was run by some of the best technicians in the world, and surely they knew every technique and skill there was to weapon-wielding and soul wavelengths. Just what did Locke know that they didn't?

The English meister grinned. "And just as sharp as Shinigami-sama said as well." The woman chuckled lightly, resting her hand on the hilt of her sword as she shifted into a relaxed posture. "The real training will come later, Miss Albarn, when I teach you how to control the new wavelength you will develop. There will be precious little combat training, to be honest, and we will focus more on reaching your full potential with your soul's power. I possess a particular history with Watchers that makes me the ideal candidate to instruct in you in this instance, and so here I am. However, right now, we must have a mock bout that I might assess your current ascension rate."

"Ascension rate?" Maka questioned, and her scythe instantly narrowed his red eyes, wondering what the hell was going on.

The auburn-haired warrior nodded. "All Transcendences differ. Some happen quickly, while others take months or even years to complete. I've seen grigori souls reach Watcher status in mere days, and others wait nearly a decade before they can access the full power of their new wavelenths. I've been trained to sense the amount of power running through transcending souls, but in order to correctly identify your highest level of power, I must read your soul when you are under the extreme duress of battle. I believe that a sparring match and a quick flare of Soul Resonance between you and Mister Evans should do the trick nicely."

Maka sucked in a sharp breath through her nose, and her weapon could feel her steeling herself against a flood of uncertainty that threatened to take her. But she mastered it, and soon he felt her body ease into a steady, even rhythm. "Understood." The blonde replied, and she shifted into a battle-ready stance, her face sliding into blank mask of cool readiness.

Her determination seemed to please elder meister that stood before them. Without a word, Locke pulled her heavy broadsword from it's sheath, her own lithe form easing into a balanced posture that left most of her weight on the balls of her feet and prepared for quick, instantaneous reactions. "Can you tell what fighting style she's going to use?" Soul asked, his familiar, low murmur bringing a smile to his tech's face.

"Not yet…her form is unfamiliar to me, but don't worry. I don't plan on losing." Maka replied softly, and the red-eyed scythe grinned widely, his sharp teeth lending a feral appearance to the expression.

"Good."

o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o

The two meisters were still for a few moments, eyeing one another silently as they sized each other up. Though it was only a sparring match, they both clearly wished to win, an identical competitive gleam in emerald and olive eyes. Maka shifted her hold on her demon weapon slightly, her gloved fingers tightening about her scythe as she planned her first moves. The blonde quickly put together a series of attacks in her mind, each open for split-second modifications should her opponent react in a way she didn't expect. She had grown exponentially over the years as a technician, and she had become quite a clever tactician. She never began a fight without a plan.

Strategy in place, Maka darted forward in the blink of an eye, olive eyes intense as she shifted her weight just the slightest bit, preparing her scythe for a full arc towards her opponent. With her Soul Perception, the blonde knew the broadsword in Locke's hand was in fact a demon weapon, the shimmering white soul matching the auburn-haired warrior's in every way. She couldn't tell much about the sword, but the meister knew this would not be an easy fight. There was something ageless in Locke's eyes, a fathomless weight that gave her an air of power. Still. Maka Albarn won her fights, even if they were only practice bouts. With calculated steps, the blonde shifted her weight suddenly to the side, swinging her weapon with ruthless efficiency and aiming a painful blow at the warrior's arm.

Quickly, her opponent blocked the attack with her broadsword, a sharp, metallic clang echoing through the empty courtyard of Shibusen. It wasn't enough to stop the attack, however. Feet firmly planted, Maka used her momentum, and Soul's, to whirl in place, sliding into a crouch and attempting to force the other meister backwards. For a moment, it seemed to work as Locke staggered back two steps, but soon both scythe and technician were shocked to find the woman steadying and holding her ground, her feet sliding slightly wider apart as her grip tightened on her sword. "Soul Weight." The warrior muttered, and suddenly the broadsword pushed against the deathscythe with much greater force than before, and Maka's arms trembled against the heaviness of it. Gritting her teeth, the blonde pushed herself backward, disengaging their weapons and always keeping her mind one step ahead of her body to avoid making any stupid mistakes.

Locke swiftly followed her momentary retreat with quick steps, pressing her advantage. "Soul Weight!" She cried again, and this time it was Maka flinging her weapon forward in defense, blocking the incoming attack. The broadsword crashed against Soul's shaft, and the blonde felt a prick at the back of her mind as her red-eyed partner grunted from the thunderous impact. She didn't like that. For the moment, though, she was bewildered at the simple force behind each of Locke's attacks, fully aware that no sword should feel that heavy. Even her top-heavy scythe couldn't produce that much force, and Maka found herself wracking her brain for a countermove that wouldn't hurt Soul again.

The blonde technician let out a small breath, her fingers tightening about her weapon. Despite the unexpected weight of the warrior's broadsword, she was still Shibusen's Weapon Master, and that title was not given lightly. It had been painfully earned, and Maka was not so easy to defeat. Steadying her breathing, the scythemeister evened her wavelength and gathered her concentration, olive eyes snapping upward and colliding with her opponent's emerald orbs. She smiled. In a display of skill and agility that few could mirror, Maka dropped low and, while still holding the broadsword at bay, kicked outward with one long, strong leg, striking the auburn-haired warrior and pushing her ruthlessly off-balance.

The English technician's eyes widened as she was sent reeling backwards, but she was not caught off guard for long. The woman's back arched, and she turned her fall into a quick flip, landing on one palm and quickly vaulting back to her feet.

But Maka was already there.

The blonde pursued the other meister swiftly, Soul slicing through the air with quick, efficient swings, each perfectly measured and balanced to push Locke back with each attack. Maka quickly noticed the auburn-haired woman watching each of her movements closely, clearly memorizing the pattern of her movements in an attempt to find a suitable escape. The scythemeister wasn't going to allow her an escape, however. Suddenly, the olive-eyed technician again dropped low, this time sliding her leg along the ground and knocking the other woman's feet out from under her, scythe held carefully to the side as she did. With a small sound of frustration, Locke's back connected with the pavement, and she huffed.

Maka twirled her weapon once, prepared to pin her opponent and call an end to the match, but the other meister was not quite defeated just yet. With a soft grunt, Locke arched her back and kicked against the pavement, the momentum sending her into a hand-stand, and she quickly pushed off the ground, the agile movement putting several feet between she and the younger meister. She wasn't about to allow Maka the advantage again, however. The auburn-haired warrior jumped forward, raising her broadsword with the cry of 'Soul Weight', and the blonde quickly plotted her next moves.

Jumping to the side, Maka narrowly avoided the attack, countering with a large, arcing swing from her scythe. Locke was forced to retreat several steps in order to avoid the curved, lethal blade, but she ducked to the side and began her attacks anew.

For another twenty minutes, the two women fought, sweat beginning to bead on their brows as they exerted their bodies to their limits. At first, they had been rather evenly matched, but bit by bit, Maka began to tire. She belatedly realized that Soul was right, that she hadn't yet fully recovered, but she had no time to worry about that as the warrior pressed her back another few steps. By now the blonde was panting, her muscles burning as she blocked the heavy swings of the broadsword accompanied by the Soul Weight attack. Maka could feel her weapon's worry, the red-eyed scythe in her hands giving her everything he could to lend her more strength, but before long, her arms began to shake under Locke's onslaught. Finally, the scythemeister fell to one knee, scowling fiercely as she blocked yet another attack.

"Resonate now." Locke commanded, pressing her broadsword heavily against the blonde's stubborn resistance.

Those two, simple words seemed to reinvigorate Maka, and she felt a rush of anticipation dance down her spine. Glancing at her scythe's reflection, she grinned wearily and quirked a brow in question, Soul nodded in reply. A faint glow quickly surrounded them as the woman called for Resonance, her eyes sliding closed.

One benefit of performing countless Soul Resonances over the years was the intimacy their wavelengths shared. Despite the months it had been since their last Resonance, Soul and Maka came together without missing a beat. Their wavelengths reverberated comfortably the instant the blonde called for Resonance, orange sliding against blue in a sensuous near-caress that distracted both of them quite fully for a few precious seconds. With their souls so intimately intertwined, they could hide nothing from each other, and while Maka gasped softly and felt her heart thump quickly, she could also hear Soul take a ragged breath to calm his racing heart. She nearly giggled as she picked up on his thoughts, hearing a jumble of nonsensical sentences that mostly amounted to "Holy fucking shit." and "Fucking forgot how fucking good this felt, FUCK." Basically, a lot of fucking was involved, and the blonde found herself wanting to giggle again.

Until the pain set in.

Locke quickly stepped back and sheathed her sword as Maka gasped in shock and fell to her knees, groaning softly as she broke Resonance to protect her weapon from the agony that abruptly shot through her. It was not as intense as the misery she had felt last night, but the amount of pain coursing through her muscles was enough to steal her strength and breath for several moments.

Soul quickly transformed and knelt beside her, gingerly touching her shoulder with a gentle hand. "Maka!" He looked up as Locke quickly kneeled before them, emerald eyes sharp as she studied the shuddering meister.

"It won't take long." She murmured, dark gaze lifting to meet the frantic weapon's. "Her transcendence is definitely one of the faster ones I've seen. I'd say three…maybe four weeks at the most." At his heavy scowl, the warrior sighed gently, already aware of the source of his anger. "I know you don't like seeing her in pain, Mister Evans, but this must happen eventually. Her body will tear itself apart if she doesn't accept her Transcendence."

The red-eyed weapon clenched his teeth, free hand tightening into a fist as he shook with suppressed anger. He hated this. His meister sucked in a quick breath and was utterly still for a moment before she slowly raised her head and met his worried gaze. "I'm fine." She forced out, and he could tell she was fighting every second against the pain. Maka stood, somewhat shakily, and Soul felt his scowl deepen as she had to grab his shoulder to keep herself from falling. "Let's keep training." She said resolutely, but Soul wasn't having any of that.

"Oh, HELL no, Maka. Are you fucking crazy?" He asked, ignoring the withering glare she sent his way. Instead, he turned to the warrior standing placidly beside them. "Isn't there anything we can do to make it easier on her?" The blonde sighed in irritation, but he really didn't care. If she wasn't going to take care of her own ass, then he would.

The auburned-haired woman regarded the two of them silently for a moment, something weighing heavily in her ageless eyes. "I'm sorry, but no, Mr. Evans. Miss Albarn's body is changing so swiftly any medication will be burned from her blood minutes after administering it, and eventually even Kim's healing magic will be useless as the power within her grows. I'm afraid we must allow her soul to transcend naturally, despite the agony it may bring."

Well this was fucked up. He felt useless again, and it pissed him off. "Then what the hell are we supposed to do?" He gritted out, unaware that a small, gloved hand was nearing his skull.

"Maka…chop." The scythemeister hissed, her voice weak from the strain of ignoring her pain. The fist that cracked over his skull barely held any of her usual force, though he knew it would still leave a bump.

"What the hell was that for?" He snapped, a heated glare upon his features.

His meister looked grim. "Stop talking about me like I'm not here." Maka replied slowly, a slow shudder running down her body as she grimaced, clearly holding in a cry of pain. Her olive gaze focused on his sharp eyes. "If you won't let me practice with you, then I'm sure I can have a verbal lesson…right Locke-sama?" Here her attention focused on the other woman, and the deathscythe huffed in irritation. What she needed was some fucking rest. Was that so hard for her to accept?

To his relief, however, the warrior shook her head with a little smile. "I'm sorry, but no, Miss Albarn. Your weapon is correct. Right now you need to rest and take it easy until your transcendence is complete. Once it is, we will begin your lessons." Here, Locke straightened, and her face became stern, her disciplined eyes hardening. "Until then, Mister Evans will look after you, and you are to listen to him. He has your best interests at heart, and I am confident that he will take excellent care of you. Now," Her emerald eyes locked onto crimson ones, "Take Miss Albarn home, and see to it that she gets plenty of rest, Mister Evans. I shall see you both once she is fully recovered." With that, the warrior turned, slipping the deathscythe a wink as she did, and strode back towards Shibusen's steps.

A slow, satisfied smirk slid across the albino's face as Maka stared after the older meister with an incredulous look on her face, unable to believe that Soul was in charge now, and he chuckled darkly. Oh yea, this shit was going to be good.


I truly hope you all enjoyed this chapter. If so, I would adore a review. They honestly make my day.

Fair winds and fair skies,

~Captain Jules~