Things became much more strict in the Evans household from then on. To outsiders, little had changed, but to those involved, their cage had shrunken smaller and smaller as they fell under more scrutiny. His father still tried his best to cure him of his "creepy" discordant sound, still critiqued him harshly as he tried to fight to play his instrument while taking up the guitar at the same time. Nobody would speak to him, other than his disappointed and horrified control freak of a father, and Soul could understand why. It was a shock, even to him, to find out he was some sort of blade-summoning demon…

No one had any idea of what he was yet. His brother reassured him that he had an idea, but it was a secret until he was sure. Like his mouth and his shark teeth, he was told to keep whatever powers he had at bay, or there'd be hell to pay.

Weeks had passed after his disastrous recital, and dinner was over for the day. He sat on his bed; thinking, harping on the shocking revelation almost his entire family had to witness. A couple of knocks came to his door.

"I'm sorry, Soul.. do you mind if I come talk to you a little?" his mother spoke as she peaked her way in; her long blonde hair, almost platinum, draped over her shoulder as she tilted her back through the crack. The young boy gave a nod, and she went ahead and sat besides him on the bed, springs creaking. Besides that, silence continued. His alarm clock could be heard ticking and tocking in place of their voices, the parent in the room brushing her own hair out of her eyes as she thought of what to say.

"... Are you feeling okay?" She decided on, the simplest approach.

Her son simply looked up at her, keeping his dirty, freaky mouth shut and his voice to himself.

It was torture for his mother, because even without his voice, she could see the sadness and fear in his eyes. Without hesitation, she wrapped an arm around her son, and Soul went back to resting his forehead against his kneecaps.

"It'll be alright… your brother's following his lead on what you are. … And so am I. But please don't tell your father.. Though, I suppose I don't have to tell you that, hm?" Her attempt at easing the mood as she rubbed her son's back didn't pan out like she had hoped. There was no budge, and anxiety formed within him that both his mother and brother would be yelled at, just as he was.

"Please don't, Mom," he mumbled against his legs.

"Don't-? Don't help you? Soul, you-."

"He'll just shout at you like he did me. Don't. Please."

His mother's rubbing on his back stopped cold, just like her heart. The difficulty and the horrible state of the situation came back to light against her maternal instincts, and once again she was stuck thinking on what she'd do next. Soul didn't want her involved, and for good reason.. but she couldn't just sit here. She couldn't do nothing…

Somehow, luck heard her plea, for right on time, the door to Soul's room opened once again, revealing the white hair and red eyes of Wes with a smile on his face.

"Hey, little brother," Wes said calmly, watching as Soul finally raised his head. "What if I said my lead panned out?"

Soul uncurled from his purgatory on his bed almost instantly, even standing up at the smallest shred of hope. He hoped this wasn't Wes' idea of a cruel joke. "Depends on what the lead is. Some gossip? Some insult a neighbor threw at me 'cause they heard through whispers I'm the family freak?"

His mother and brother did their best to hide the pain his view on his situation gave them. Wes fought to keep his grin on his face.

"Nope. Trust me, Soul. This lead is legitimate. And you certainly got lucky," the violinist clarified, leaving the smaller child to raise an eyebrow. "I know somebody like you, who's in town today just to make sure you're alright."

xXx

Once again, the confused and sheltered pianist found himself outside their large mansion, enjoying the grass, leaves of pure green, and the sounds of the birds that were left around their manor, preparing for their flight south for Winter.

Instead of the courtyard, just within the gates to their estate, Soul was able to meet the friend Wes had spoken of in the front yard. As park-like as it was, he was sadly still within the fence of the Evans estate, but his feeling of being locked away was replaced by wonder, all because of Wes' treasure pen pal's appearance.

He had black hair and red eyes…. Eyes that matched his own. Teeth that matched his own, too, he noticed when his brother's friend smiled as they approached.

Now he understood why Wes was so certain that he'd have the answers Soul sought. The twelve-year-old became mesmerized by the stranger instantly, hoping he'd really hold the key to the truth.

The two out of the four people present that were different than the violinist and the mother stared into each other's eyes, studying one another as they waited for Wes' cue to speak. Not usually a line of action for the stranger when it came to meeting new people, but it was for Soul; the patient boy trained to wait for an introduction before talking.

"Soul, this is my pen pal, Steven Ek. Or, as his Stage Name goes, Wayward Oaken Blade."

The pianist's memory didn't take too long to jog itself back into place, the gear simply labeled 'Wes' pen pal' clicked into the place it belonged thanks to having a face to associate it with. His smile returned for an instant once he had done his part to recall him. "Oh, right! This guy. The one that was at a special school in Nevada?"

"That's him alright! Good memory," Wes spoke, wrapping an arm around his friend, not even intimidated by his mouth and eyes. "But that special school has a name that I didn't tell you - It's called the DWMA."

It was the first time Soul ever heard that acronym, but it would very obviously not be his last. His eyes almost shone as the words rolled off of Wes' tongue, and the newly-found blade-spawning boy stared at Wes' friend with his mouth hanging open. There was just something in the way that Steven nodded and grinned at him, looking down… welcomingly. It… gave him hope. That maybe… maybe there was something for him at this school..? A voice in the back of his mind told him it was childish to be hopeful for such a thing; it could easily crush it and take him for a ride of it wanted to.

"Yeah," Steven spoke, flashing the grin to the older of the Evans' before glancing back down at the smaller one. "Your lil' bro would fit right in."

His hope fought against the voice at that instance, rushing past it. He'd fit in? Was he for real?

"Then would you like to do the honors to tell him about the great Death Weapon Meister Academy?" Wes teased. Death Weapon Meister…?

"Gladly," Steven said cheerfully before kneeling to his eye level. If this was his pops, Soul would've probably seethed, at least internally. But this was Steven. The Steven who looked just like him. The Steven who was welcoming and calm.

His heavy heart lifted. Were great things about to head his direction?

"The Death Weapon Meister Academy is a great school," Steven began, "It's where people like you and me are educated to control our transformations, and to discover what our calling is."

The idea of a calling that wasn't music made the young, dazzled Soul backpedal just a little from this new idea. Was there even such a thing for him?

"Everyone there comes from all kinds of different walks of life. I'm what regular schools would call a foreign exchange student, for example, but nope. At the DWMA, I'm just another weapon. No one cares where I came from."

A place where no one cared where you came from? As memories and past voices he had overheard at Wes' concerts of "isn't that his brother?" "Isn't that the youngest Evans boy?" "I'd love to hear the next great Evans play." came to his mind, that sounded like heaven.

With every other word from Steven's mouth, the new weapon was being sold on this "DWMA," hook, line, and sinker.

"And while some of the classes are perilous-" That word in the midst of this heaven for the twelve-year-old didn't exactly fit. What could possibly be perilous at a school like this? "-there are classes that just teach you how to accept what you are, and to just live with your abilities. To control them."

Everything sounded like heaven to Soul Evans. A place where his origins meant nothing? Learning to control his weird blade-arm thing? Where his freakish powers would be accepted? Maybe? He liked the sound of that, but… he just couldn't believe it just yet.

"Wes. You said your bro was a weapon, right?" Steven asked the white-haired pianist behind him.

"Yep." And by just moving his head to the left, he watched as Wes sat down on the bench under the tree while he shrugged. "Mom and I have no idea what weapon he is. It startled everyone. And let's just say I'm lucky that I got to tell you anything."

"Mm," Steven simply replied. Was that lack of communication fine for Wes? It seemed like they understood each other.. was it a DWMA thing? Or a teenager thing? His thoughts were ruined as Steven abruptly stood up, smacking his kneecaps with his hands.

"Well! Let's do it!" He cheered with a smile as he danced around the twelve year old. Soul watched him; an eyebrow raised, confused as all get out. "The only way to find out is to see it, so let's see it! Show me your blade, Soul!"

The sentence caught him off guard. Was that something you normally said to twelve-year-old kids, even a freak like him?! Steven, now in front of both Soul and Wes, left the tween turning to look to his older brother with a bewildered look.

Again, Wes simply shrugged, still sporting the calm and collected smirk he was known for.

Well, Soul guessed this must be one of those DWMA things that Wes never spoke about. Even with that assumed and accepted, there was just one large problem that made his throat and pores threaten to close and sweat.

"... How?"

"How what? How do you transform?"

The new weapon meekly nodded.

"Easy one," Steven replied, and with his sudden straight posture despite his baggy and sagging pants, Soul already felt like he was at school, learning something new. "All you've gotta do is imagine the sleeping blade within you."

Imagine the sleeping blade within him…? With widened eyes, he suddenly realized a few more freakish things in his life made sense…! When he'd found out about his "weapon" side, he'd imagined somehow cutting his old man just as his words had cut him… he meant to return the favor verbally, not literally… but at least this freakish thing was getting closure.

All he had to do now, he decided, was to just channel it like he did last time… right? That'd work, right? He closed his eyes and tried to think the thoughts he did before… wanting something to cut with. To slice with. He wanted a blade. The red and black blade from before-

Okay, maybe not the same blade from before, he still wanted control over his arm. A blade. A red and black blade smaller than before. Something he could cut with still all the same. A blade. He wanted a blade. A blade from within himself-...

Shing. And there was that noise again...

He opened his eyes and looked at himself, and wouldn't you know it. There it was, his elbow turned into a smaller version of the red and black blade from before. Moving it around as he could still control his forearm, he heard Wes give Steven a "Yup" before his pen pal gasped loudly. Did he do something wrong?

The idea that he did something wrong was wrong itself, it seems, as Steven stood there with his mouth hanging open and a hand near it. Almost like he was going to cover his hung open mouth or shut it himself.

"Even Granny was surprised," Wes spoke again from behind the blade-bearing boy.

"I-... I can see why!" Steven finally sputtered out, apparently speechless. But Soul was still confused and lost, the amount of closure he needed lessening and expanding almost with every sentence. "How- How was your family just carrying this gene all this time?!"

Wes' shrug was audible with his "Iunno" of a grunt. But what was so shocking about his specific 'gene'? What did genes have to do with anything? Soul stared at Steven, waiting for an answer, but he'd be waiting for some time. The pen pal of Wes Evans was still at a loss for words at the sight before him. And then, just when suspense's hand had a firm grip on the little blade boy's heart, he finally got his answer.

"Soul, you're a scythe…" the elder weapon finally spat out, eyes shining in wonder and excitement. He was a scythe? Wasn't that the weapon that the grim reaper used to end people's lives? How fitting and dark for him. "Scythes are so rare…! How did you-...?"

It was Soul's turn to shrug, but having someone gasp and be amazed at something he did, something his father has criticised and hidden.. Once again, Steven joined him down below, squatting to his eye level and seeing red eyes and sharp teeth like his own, another thing his dad would have him hide, felt so uplifting… Was this person a scythe as well?

"What weapon are you, then?" he asked so abruptly that he decided to pat himself on the back mentally for being so brave. The fact that he rarely spoke out like that ever was lost on Steven, who just smiled and backed off, closing his eyes and… oh, he was focusing like Soul had! And in a simple light shining from his right arm…

"I'm a battle axe." There it was - the blade of the axe in place of his entire arm. Just like when Soul called his own blade…

"Do you wanna know how many battle axes are in the DWMA, Soul?" Steven asked him before answering his own question. "About twenty. And do you wanna know how many scythes?

"Only 3. 4, if you count Death Scythe. Lord Death's current weapon." Steven's answer shocked Soul to his core. That wasn't very many at all! No wonder it was such a shock that he was a scythe… the battle axe laughed at his face, putting his blade away with another change. "Scythes are very rare. You'd be an amazing asset to the DWMA."

He would be an asset? That… that was unheard of! He had only ever been a hypothetical asset to the Evans lineage of musicians, an idea that grew less and less possible with every day in Soul's mind. He- wait a minute…

"Did you just say Lord Death?" Soul once again spoke uncharacteristically out of turn. Man, he was on fire with that today. It wasn't every day he felt freedom such as this…

The battle axe was frozen in the consequences of his tiny slip-up to be sure, before answering Soul finally. "Yyyeeaahhh…?"

"What do you mean, Lord Death?" He had come this far - he may as well let everything he wanted to say just fly out, now, complete with slightly-angry-look-on-his-face.

"Heee…." the pen pal stammered as he rubbed the back of his head, "Uh… You know the Grim Reaper and all that?"

"Yeah…?"

"... He's real." It was an award winning start from Steven, to be sure. "And he's our headmaster. … You'd not only be an asset, Soul? But if you entered the fighting classes, the EAT classes, you'd be given a partner - a partner who can wield and use your weapon form, and the two of you would be given a goal. A big goal. It's what you're there in the EAT class to accomplish, actually.

"To make you into a Deathscythe." Steven's words both made the boy more excited, and confused him. He could swear he used the word "deathscythe" as a name for somebody just now, but it was also a weapon? He opened his mouth to speak his mind, he had the chance to and damnit he was going to use it, but Steven did it first.

"A Deathscythe is the complete form for weapons like you and me." He continued, leaving the younger weapon entranced in interest once again. A complete form…?

"A Deathscythe is also Lord Death's prefered weapon. Sure, any weapon can become a Deathscythe, but he prefers to use… Scythe-Deathscythes. If that makes any sense." The battle axe laughed as he rubbed the back of his neck. He prefered to use actual scythes that were complete? Is that what Steven was getting at? It was still used as a name earlier, and he still had to ask about that.. but the thought of him, as a scythe, being used by the terrifying Grim Reaper… such a badass, cool, freakish image of him in the future…

That it made him grin from ear to ear picturing his father's face at the fact that one of his sons had such a paranormal fate. That settled it. The DWMA was an escape from this musical hell, an escape he wanted more than anything.

"That sounds awesome," he said almost sinisterly, "But you used Deathscythe as a name earlier?"

"Hm?" Steven questioned, forgetting about his previous actions for a second, "Oh, right. Death Scythe is a Stage Name that the Deathscythe currently being used by Lord Death goes by for the sake of tradition. The current Deathscythe he's using is an actual scythe. He's never reassigned the guy, though that might have to do with the fact that his kid lives in Death City more than his weapon preference."

With that cleared up, Soul didn't speak any further, still smiling as he thought of the option before him.

It all sounded too good to be true. A place where he could just be himself, surrounded by other freaks like him, living far away from the god forsaken musical prison he was currently in, with a fate that if he succeeded at fulfilling, would make his father die on the spot once he heard his son was now a Deathscythe. Too good to be true or not, Soul Evans' mind was made up. He grinned sinisterly, tempted to laugh to match, but he had news to deliver. He got his thank yous to Steven and Wes and goodbyes to them all over with as quick as possible, running back into the estate.

His grin was unfading as he barged through the door to his dad's study, causing his father to turn around quickly enough to leave a trail of cigar smoke to tell the story of how he moved. The old man's face was worth the fear of his reaction - one eye nearly bulging out of his head in shock that his son had acted out so hugely, his anger already prepared. And with it already out in the open and ready, his heart going faster than it ever had before in his ears and threatening to go out of his chest, the pianist decided to declare the big news to big bad Daddy Evans.

"I want to enroll in the DWMA."

xXx

The family meeting that came afterwards made all of his previous shouting sessions with Daddy Evans look like practically calm by comparison. Regardless, Soul didn't regret his decision.

He was sitting at the dinner table staring at his reflection after it being freshly cleaned, mother, brother, and him, his father walking around the three of them in a circle. All it took was one look at all of them, and it was clear. He wasn't the only one yelled at for his interest in the school.

In his lap, his hands were balled up tight, nearly white knuckled and it wasn't enough for his anger to be vented out completely. His face warped with it. Not that his father cared at this point.

"Now." His father began after give-or-take 15 minutes of tormented silence, Soul wasn't really keeping track. "You are all gathered here today because obviously you three need to get your facts straight."

Soul continued staring at his hands as his fists shook with how hard he had them balled up, brows furrowed. It was a good thing his mind wasn't on his form, but the school, or he would've probably stabbed his seat with a blade or two.

"There is no such thing as the DWMA. You have all been tricked by this 'Steven' Wes has been contacting, and since he's a swindler, he will not be contacted any longer."

All it took was once glance over at Wes, and he could tell that his brother had been yelled at to never contact his close friend again. Red eyes down, hands off the table; otherwise his chin would be in his hand…

"As to what we all witnessed, the blade Soul brandished in front of me was just that. A blade he took out against me. Not a transformation, not anything else."

He knew better than that. The anger within him continued to boil his blood fiercer than ever, leading him to distract himself with a glance to his mother. Her eyes were downcast, just like his brother, but like Soul, her eyes were on her lap. On her hands. She wasn't as angry or at a loss like he and his brother were. Instead, she looked… betrayed? Hurt? .. As if she was telling herself she was useless? That was just Soul's guess, but now things felt worse.

"I want these ideas that Soul is a so called 'demon weapon' to stop. There is no such thing, and there is no DWMA."

Oh, how he wished his dad would shut the hell up. That he'd realize that there were things outside of music and practices and being rich.

"You will not speak of any of these things to anyone you speak to outside of the family."

But as the debatably overweight man of the house continued to ramble and demand things of the three of them, the odds of him coming to any sort of epiphany about their situation were slim. Very, very slim.

"Have I made myself clear?" He turned to his wife, her gaze meeting his for just 3 silent seconds. And as she looked back down, Soul was sure that he had just learned more about his parents' relationship than he had ever known his entire life. His father raised his white eyebrows, and his mother finally nodded meekly. And with that, his attention was on Wes, who defeatedly nodded, his eyes closed as he did so. Soul knew that look; he had seen arguments between Wes and their dad about what he played at times. His hand might not be holding his chin like he usually would, but if he imagined it, the expressions were exactly the same.

And then, in an abrupt motion, white brows diagonally positioned to show more anger than Wes and his mother ever got, it was Soul's turn. He himself furrowed his brows and clenched his fists on his lap, unknowingly refusing to nod. Steven's words came back to his mind, thinking on what the DWMA could offer him. That place had to exist, he knew it had to. He and Wes couldn't have hallucinated Steven's battle axe arm together… Soul couldn't be insane…

He looked up to find his father's judging gaze hardening and his mouth moving further in his anger. He could feel the pressure to be the third of the trio under his father's thumb to nod, and he didn't want to. He wanted to bare his teeth and bark back and run out of the house, straight to Nevada.

… But Soul wasn't an idiot. He nodded once, twice - three times before moving his gaze away. His father voiced his approval as the pianist stared down at the floor besides his seat. It wasn't behind his back, but he crossed his fingers.

"This was a wonderful talk, everyone. I look forward to dinner later tonight." His father hummed happily, as if his indirect words were enough to dismiss them. His mother got up and headed to the kitchen to start on said dinner, and Wes sighed and left through a different doorway than his father did…

Soul didn't move. He sat. Alone. In the dining room. Just like when he sat alone with the piano when he decided to learn it. When he smiled and enjoyed it. Just like when he sat alone several days ago, sighing as he shut the keys away. The keys he no longer enjoyed, that called to him like a lover wondering where their other half went.

Sadly, he was the other half who's fire for the relationship was dwindling. And there was a new love on the horizon - in the form of himself, as a scythe. He stood in a dark place, on a dark mountain. Wobbling in fear as the mountain was being split into two.

The tiny ledge he was on shook, the mountain's separate halves on either side of him as he panicked.

He looked over to his right, seeing a girl with long black hair and a keyboard dress reaching for him, a hand over her heart…

And to his left, behind him, someone who looked like him.

Someone with white hair and red eyes, his hand out towards Soul with a look in his eyes that told him that he knew what he had been going through. Not out of sympathy, but experience.

Before he could study the man more, the ground shook and his ledge between piano woman and scene-hair guy fell farther and farther away from each of them, and he felt pressured to make his choice.

All it took to make it was one look back at the mute piano woman. Her face spoke of a longing to be with him, but in her eyes shined a prison. A prison that reminded him of the words of his father.

He looked back around to the man who knew him, and his eyes spoke of freedom. Reassurance. And when the image of who he might be as a Deathscythe, cool and freakish and himself, smiled at him as he continued to offer his hand, his decision had been made.

Hands balled up tight once again in his lap, Soul finally bared his teeth. His red eyes burned bright with a determined flame. The spark. He wasn't going to let this go easily.

He'd had enough of sighing and letting his father have his way.

The DWMA was his escape, the home that he never had here. An environment where he could be who he wanted to be, weirdness and all.

The bird had learned how to fly, and he wasn't going to adjust his course to what he didn't want.

Soul was going to go to that Academy - even if he had to fight tooth, nail, and maybe even scythe blade for it.