The day of the wrap party came after a week of waiting to spring their trap. It helped the weapon out to know that he wasn't here out of obligation and that the stiff red and black suit he was in was worth the slight tightness around his neck; the fact that it was a casual wrap party instead of one of the snooty parties helped a bit as well.

He fussed with his tie when finally someone had the guts to come over. She probably didn't even need guts, the way her cheerful face looked, and now that he had someone to talk to, the trap could be sprung.

"Hi!" spoke the girl with blonde hair and blue eyes who was probably only a year younger than him. With the way she smiled at him, pinch of guilt swung through his system. He felt bad for using her as a way to start the fight with his father, but then again, why should he feel bad? The heart of the plan was to simply be himself.

"What's your name?" she asked him innocently, a bystander in everything to a T.

"Soul." he replied.

"Soul?" she gasped after repeating his name. "Soul Evans?!" Her blue eyes sparkled, big and bright at the sound of his name, and it was startling to see such a thing. What did he do to her to get such a response? Was she a snooty person that got invited through a snooty person quota? Did he make a mistake for deciding to be himself to her-?

"I went to your recital a few months back! Your music is amazing!" she blurted out excitedly, and the ex-pianist was even more startled and surprised to hear such words about himself. After everything? After being so sure that he'd never hear those words attached to his name, thanks to the words from his father?

"R-... really?" Soul answered nervously, wowed beyond belief. It took a quick second to remind himself why he was here, and he cleared his throat, getting his composure back together. "Well, that's a shame. I just recently gave up piano."

"A-aw…! That is a shame!" the girl whined out, the brightness in her eyes fading fast. "What made you give it up? Were you just not enjoying it anymore?"

"Something like that." He paused, trying to think of exactly what to say. Considering what his plan was to fight against his father here, he decided to go out with a bang. Time to be completely honest. "My dad was taking the fun out of it for me. Not letting me play what I wanted to."

"Oh!" she exclaimed, but then her expression hardened. "Oh. I'm… sorry to hear that. Anything I can do?"

The weapon ignored the voice in the back of his mind that wanted to scream 'boycott Wes' concerts.' The weapon chose to shrug instead of dragging his brother down.

"Just the fact that you liked my music back when I did it was enough. Thank you," Soul said honestly before giving the girl a smile.

She smiled back at him and shook his hand before walking off. Little did Soul know how much such a little interaction would work for his cause.

The girl spread the news faster than anything else could have. Whispers took over the wrap party within the hour, and any curious glances that would come his way were soon instead looks of sadness and pity. It confused him, but when he finally heard one of the whispers, it had done exactly what he wanted it to.

"That's Soul. Wes' brother who stopped playing because of his father controlling him."

He had a hard time containing his grin from that. He had won this war before the final bomb went off. He was sure of it.

He was honestly surprised at the power of the rumor mill. It only took an hour or so for that to get around as much as he wanted it to. With his smile on his face, probably a mistake, he helped himself to some punch, and his joyous atmosphere was once again ruined. Click clack click clack click click clack.

For once, he had no idea who those dress shoes belonged to, turning to his left to be sent into a sudden spike of fear.

His father's face was as red as ever, teeth bared and eyes about to pop out of his head as he was balled up in his anger, back hunched as he power-walked over to his youngest son. If he were in a cartoon, he was sure steam would be coming out of his ears, or his head would become a boat or a train whistle in all of it's loud glory. If this were a cartoon, he'd be running away with all of the sound effects befitting of such an action, but it wasn't. His legs froze, and his red eyes shook. What on earth has he done? Was he going to survive this?

He was dragged by the collar of his suit, causing him to gag loudly as it knocked the air out of his windpipe. His father loosened his grip, not because his son nearly choked from the sudden tug, but because the noise caused people to stare. Of course. Of freaking course. The action made his anger bubble up further, and Soul was reminded of how far he had come. His father had nothing on him anymore. If he did anything now, like he had just did, it would just fuel the growing rumor that he was abused. It wasn't too far from the truth at this point.

They entered a hallway outside of the room where the main festivities were taking place, and Soul was let go with such force that his back was thrust against the hallway's wall.

As he hissed from the pain, his father put his arms on either side of his body, towering over him as his face was as red as a traffic light. There was no escape, and fear rippled through him as he reminded himself what the entire point of this was. He wasn't going to be scared. He wasn't going to let this get to him. He let his face transform from fear to all the anger he held within him. He was going to win this.

His father breathed in through his teeth. "I've had. Enough. Of your lip, Soul Evans. You can embarrass me at home, you can be a freeloader to your family's wealth all you like, but you do NOT embarrass me and your brother in public by convincing a little girl you're 'abused.' You are not abused. Everything in your current situation you've brought upon yourself."

"Then what the hell do you call this?!" Soul asked sternly, staring his father in the eyes with only a small spark of fear within him. His father's face contorted, as if he were transforming into some kind of monster. Why did Soul have the teeth of a shark? With the way his father was looking, his teeth would look much better on him right then.

"Punishment," his father hissed again, voice bubbling and growling with more and more anger after every passing second and phrase from Soul's lips. "You've signed me up for damage control, boy. You realize that, right? As soon as this rumor gets out into the streets, you'll be under lock and key while I assure the media I am not abusing my son."

"Hm. Let's see," Soul grumbled out with his own rage behind his words, "you've told me my beliefs are 'hogwash' and garbage my music teachers brainwashed me with, told me my personal compositions are 'horrifying' and that no one would like them, locked away almost everything about myself by putting me down and teaching me to see myself as the FAMILY FREAK…. Hate to break it to you, but THAT. IS. ABUSE! And I'm not gonna sit and take it anymore!"

His father pulled one of his arms away from the wall in his rage and pulled it back, a growl boiling from his throat. Soul wasn't stupid. His power to win this war between his father diminished as he shrunk back and cringed, waiting for the slap that was coming without a doubt -

"I- WHAT IN THE WORLD IS GOING ON HERE?!" A quirky voice blurted out from behind them, causing their attention to shift back to the door. Apparently Papa Evans had left it open, at least just a crack, or didn't shut it properly, which was perfect for Wes and Steven and the mirror they were both helping to hold and carry with them. Inside the mirror's reflection was… a cartoony black figure with a cartoony skull mask to match. Was that…?

Soul Evans' legs gave out. Against the fear, the confusion, the hurt of the fact that his father was about to hit him… That had to be him, the Grim Reaper himself inside the mirror. He laughed a little to himself, talk about not being true to the legends whatsoever. He wasn't scary at all! He was like… something out of a kids show. And the white face his father now had in the presence of such an odd authority figure made him laugh even more.

As he sat there on the floor of the hallway, bent over as he held his head, Wes' voice reached his ears, "Hold the mirror a second."

Then, it was fast footsteps before red eyes met the only eyes like his own Soul enjoyed looking into. His brother, his talented, amazing brother, helped him stand and gave him a sympathetic smile.

"Told you I'd give you some back up."

xXx

To say the wrap party ended well would be a lie, and to say it ended terribly would be close to not being an understatement, but enough to be one. It surprised Soul, really, how Wes didn't really seem to care about how his wrap party ended; he just wanted his brother happy.

He'd be happy, thanks to what Wes and Steven did. Eventually.

Soul knew without a doubt that he understood the phrase "things will only get worse before they get better" now. For he had lived it. Every single inch of it.

It had been a small amount of time since the wrap party, only about a week, and his room was empty. Nothing but a bed with no sheets or blankets and picture hangers in place of photos he once had up on display. Once again he sat on his bed, thinking; petrified with how much his life was changing in an instant.

Soul Evans had won. He was going to the DWMA, but like most wars, it didn't end happily. He wasn't just going, he was being taken. Lord Death, horrified to find out that such a young weapon with great potential was being kept in such a bad environment had taken things into his own hands. He was taking him, and his father had lost the battle the second he tried to involve child services. Child services not only agreed with the evidence Wes, Steven, and Lord Death presented, but mentioned how Lord Death was one of the world's great defenders against all things paranormal and supernatural. They would trust him over some crazy old music man any day.

His father, however? Well. He didn't take that well. In response to it he made it very clear that Soul was no longer a member of the Evans family. He was disowned from now on. For most in this situation, it would be relieving to be disowned from a family that you were such a black sheep in, but the problem was that young Soul was just 12 years old, on the cusp of being 13 as October reared it's head, and he officially had no family anymore - or at least not a father.

A knock at his bedroom door shook him out of his thoughts, and Wes let himself in. Same as always, he had his sympathetic smile; the smile that always made things just a little bit better.

"Hey," he spoke as he walked on in, "You wanted to talk to me?"

Soul didn't answer him for a fair while, only staring at him before he scooched over and let his brother sit besides him.

He sat next to him, but he didn't push the conversation further. He waited ever so patiently in the silence until Soul found his words. Everything Soul owned was packed away, either in storage or going with him, (Next to nothing was going with him. Bad memories n' all,) so true silence filled the air until the younger brother spoke.

"... How."

"How what?" Wes asked patiently, no shouting, no laughing, just understanding. Why couldn't this entire family be like this?

"How did you get Lord Death to help out? And why was he in a mirror?" Soul asked meekly.

"Eh," Wes grunted as he shrugged, "Steven's not even sure. Something about not being able to leave the Academy. We got him to help out regardless, because of some magic mirror phone number."

Soul of all people looked at Wes like he had just grown two heads after that statement, and the violinist had to chuckle.

"Yeah. I know. You'll figure it out when you get there."

The conversation was short lived, but it was enough. The weapon sighed and sat in further silence with his brother. He was starting to feel pretty stupid for ever being jealous of him. Being in their dad's good graces was probably just as much of a curse as being his freakshow kid was. Who was Soul to know what struggles Wes went through? But now he had a thought on his mind.

"Why aren't you going with?" he asked quietly, "Dad's just as mean to you in his own way, so shouldn't you leave the house, too?"

"I'm almost 18, Soul," Wes spoke with a laugh, "I can make my own decisions, and Dad might be controlling, yeah, but I can use that to my advantage."

"So," Soul hummed, "you have your own escape plan?"

"I do," his older brother nodded, "I'm going to ride on my dad's coat tails until I can't anymore, and then branch off with my fame and such on my own."

The weapon said nothing to his sibling, looking at him with red eyes filled with sadness, sympathy, and worry that apparently just begged for a hug, because that's what Soul got.

"Don't worry. I'll follow your path, brother. I'll be just fine," Wes reassured him in a way that put a nice dent in his heart. Worry and the echo of tugged heartstrings made Soul consider returning the hug, but the sound of a car parking outside made Wes pull away before he had the chance.

"Looks like your ride is here," Wes spoke calmly, with the same smile as ever. Was there a bit of pride in his eyes…? "Go get 'em, Soul."

The fact that it was time for him to leave took a bit to process in his scattered and overstimulated brain, and when it did, he chuckled and smiled the best he could to his big brother.

After jumping off of the bed that was no longer his, and that would probably be thrown away or donated after he was gone, Soul threw a rucksack over his shoulder and opened his bedroom door for the last time.

This was it. He was going to a place full of freaks like him. No more ridicule. No more keeping his mouth shut, but his heart twinged in pain just before he decided to look back; he was treated to a genuinely proud smile from Wes. The closest he'd ever get to a Proud Papa Smile was a Proud Older Bro Smile, and Soul was sure he would've cried if he wasn't already emotionally drained.

"... Bye, Wes," he muttered, "... Thanks for everything."

"See ya, Soul. Kick some ass out there," were the last words Soul would hear Wes Evans say, not for a very long time.

With those words, the scythe was off. Walking down the hallway with shoulders that couldn't make up their mind whether they wanted to be free of their weight or not. So many things had happened over his own choices that his mental state was still trying to recover.

Just as he was near the halfway point of the hallway, a doorway opened, his mother coming out from the room within. She turned to her son to see him with his rucksack, and Soul was sure she couldn't help her smile. With tearful eyes, he had more weight and troubles to think about as she hugged him and said nothing more before letting him go. Was his mom going to be fine after all this…? He hoped so.

Once he cleared two hallways, he was almost free. Smiling as he saw the front door to the estate, one of their servants holding the door open and an airport shuttle outside waiting for him, complete with Steven holding a mirror with Lord Death inside. Was this that important to Lord Death that he wanted to see him leave? The thought only made his smile grow. He was definitely going to some place where he belonged then, if that was the case. Not that he had any doubts.

He was nearly there. Just a few steps from being free, and-

"Not so fast, Soul," the cigar-saturated voice of his father uttered from behind a shield of newspaper. Not out of obedience, but a spike of fear through his system, Soul stopped. His face tightened in his fright as it seemed like time had stopped slightly. Just for the two of them. If there was one thing Soul had learned from all this, however, it was that his father - the pianist who had wanted to be a famous composer that ended up being swindled into thinking the hired pianist was the only path for a pianist - was no one to be afraid of. He pivoted and gave his attention to his father one last time.

Once Soul's attention was on him, he pulled the newspaper shield away. The most disappointed and angry and defeated glances were what awaited the weapon once it was gone. "If you think I'm going to tell you anything positive, you are sadly mistaken," he spoke. Soul couldn't help but laugh.

"I wouldn't ever expect that from you. Sorry," he answered back, not hiding anything anymore. Far as he was concerned? He wasn't out the door yet, but he was still a free bird.

His father's glared at him for his out of turn and improper comment, but as the wrinkles around his mouth grew more vivid, he calmed himself enough and he went back to his newspaper.

"I was merely going to tell you that you need to invest in the DWMA's stage name program. Is that what it's called?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Why? It's very simple, Soul," he said before removing the newspaper from his face, a gossip article about Soul's 'rumor' on the front cover, "You are no son of mine."

Soul's heart froze and turned to ice with those words, feeling the last of whatever attachment he had to his father that made him afraid or hurt to take the steps he needed die a painful, cold death.

"You do not have the right to bear the Evans name," his father asserted, standing up and still glaring daggers into his son. "I forbid you to keep it. You are not deserving of it."

The small part of Soul that was dying wanted to cry, to regret what he had done, but he warmed the frozen part of himself with anger and spite, and for the last time, he fought back.

"Fine. If you don't want me, then I don't want you, either," he asserted as he turned his back on his father, continuing his walk out of his prison. "I'm not your son? Then you're not my father."

"Hm." his father hummed before laughing, "I think that's the first thing we ever agreed on."

With those words, finally the iced over part of Soul passed on, and with heavier shoulders than ever, he walked out of the estate and towards the airport shuttle.

It was official. He was really disowned, and the feeling was mutual. He hated the guy, so to Soul it didn't make much sense why his chest hurt and his shoulders stayed weighed down. Trying to find the answer left him looking at his farewells from his mom and Wes as if he'd never see them again. He figured he was onto something. With his mother still married to that bastard, and Wes still living with said bastard, he probably wouldn't see them again.

Wounds of jealousy reopened, and suddenly, that was just fine with him. Wes would be the son that bastard would always pamper and love, and he'd get twice as much of it now because 'what second son? I don't have a second son! What're you talking about?'

That was enough to make him hang his head low in front of Lord Death and Steven the Mirror Holding Battle Axe and forget they were even there. At least until Lord Death made himself known.

"Hrrrmmm~?" he hummed, tearing the scythe away from his little world with the springing sound effect that accompanied him leaning to the left. "Is everything okay, Soul~?"

"What-?" Soul sputtered before his mind caught up with him, "Oh. Y-yeah. Yeah, everything's fine. Nothing's wrong here. Cool scythe, ready to go to his new cool school. Y'know?"

Lord Death hesitated on answering him for just enough time to make Soul incredibly nervous, but before it could settle in and torment him, he sprung up again with a cheerful cry.

"That's the spirit! Now, I wish I could stay on call with you, but as the head administrator of this school I've got lots of work to do and I need to get back to it!" He rambled as he bounced. The way he acted made Soul feel like he was younger than he actually was, but at the same time, it was reassuring. Not so much patronizing as it was… soothing. This guy was so upbeat when he was the god of death. If this was how Death City was all the time, with that kind of irony, then he'd fit right in. It was helping his wounds heal already. "Steven will be on your plane ride with you as your companion, so you don't feel sad or lonely! Got it~? Don't be afraid to speak to him!"

"R-.. right. I got it. Thanks."

"Alrighty then! Are you ready for your journey to your new home, Soul Evans?!" Lord Death cheerfully called as he bounced more, but with his teeth bared, an angry outburst from Soul ruined the mood.

"Don't call me that."

Steven raised an eyebrow and moved his head out from behind the mirror, and Lord Death stopped mid-jump instantly. Setting himself right, he bent down and waited for Soul to speak. After a short moment, he said nothing, so the Grim Reaper took things into his own hands.

"Hrm," he hummed once again, "So you don't want to be called by your family name anymore?"

The scythe looked over his shoulder, both away from the estate and the Grim Reaper.

"... Something like that."

"Ahhh," Lord Death replied simply before going on another tangent. "Well! Just to remind you, at our academy we've got a stage name program that'll help you out on your hunt for souls~!"

Okay, something about that phrase didn't seem right.

"Wait. What-?"

"See you thereeeee~!" Lord Death sang just before the mirror cut off. Soul placed his hand on the mirror just as the picture blipped away just like he was talking to him on an old TV, and sighed once he realized he was honestly gone.

Hang on. He wasn't alone still, he had another weapon to talk to. Tilting his head towards Steven as he put the mirror away in his luggage, he decided that Steven was as good a person as Lord Death to ask to about that 'hunting souls' sentence.

"Did he just say we'll be hunting souls?"

Steven looked down at his younger weapon counterpart and let out a little chuckle at such a question.

"Yeah?" he answered. "Kid, you've got shark teeth, red eyes and white hair, and you're going to a school where the Grim Reaper's the headmaster. Are you seriously gonna back down now because you're hunting the souls of demons for a living?"

Steven had a point, Soul thought as he let the idea process in his head. At least it wasn't the souls of other innocent people. Demons. They were a thing, too.

"Besides, you'll get used to it. I think you'll like their taste." Steven mumbled as he put his and Soul's luggage into the airport shuttle. Their taste…? They… eat them?

If it wasn't for his mind already being exhausted, the tiny scythe would probably have been questioning his sanity just then, but anything was better than the Evans estate, and the DWMA was highly trusted. What could go wrong? He'd just have to get used to his new life as Soul the soul eater.

Hm. There was a certain ring to that, he pondered as he got aboard the shuttle.

xXx

His day had been eventful. Very eventful. After Soul's flight, the wonders of Death City never seemed to cease. While people with teeth like his seemed few and far between, he saw about 3 weapons transform on his way to the school. Apparently there would be more info there, or something. Following Steven, the scythe recognized that there were people with eyes colored like his, or different enough for it to make all the difference. Eyes that were neon green, royal blue. He could swear he saw a girl with pink hair just a few blocks back! The sights of the town itself were amazing as well. If it wasn't for Steven being in the corner of his eye at all times as he looked around, Soul would've very well had gotten himself lost.

This may be a fever dream or some hallucination, but he had never felt more at home.

He ended up knocking his head into Steven's back by getting too focused on watching a lantern girl fly away with her flames over to his left, and he would soon find out why.

Stairs. Lots. And lots. Of stairs. He was sweating already just by looking at them, and yet…

"Well," said Steven, making him look up, "you ready?"

No. No, he was not ready, yet Steven took off up the stairs like it was nothing. Like he was seeing it as a challenge more than a death wish. Soul, on the other hand, knew himself better than that. After venting out his misfortune in a whiny groan, the scythe took a deep breath and worked his way up the stairs.

He stopped and he continued, paused and kept going many a time, but eventually, he made it up the DWMA's record breaking staircase, and when he turned around to scream at the top of his lungs that he did it, he was stopped by the sight before him.

"Whoa."

Hia fatigue vanished once he was face to face with the perfect sight of all of Death City's rooftops below. Purple mostly, but many other colors painted the picture of his new home before him, and it felt like his chains were finally gone. The weight on his shoulders was no longer buckled down, and he was finally free.

This was it. This was the start of his new life, as some yet-to-be-named soul eating scythe boy.

And it all started with a sigh. Not a sad sigh by any stretch, but a quick, relieving sigh as he stood on top of the world. Or at least that's what it felt like after the climb, metaphorically and literally, to get here. With a deep breath through his nose, he felt the tension he once had bubble into his lungs like some sort of purifying magic, where it was really just inhaling. He never thought something so simple would make the weight on his shoulders vanish so calmly; almost instantly. And then, his sigh. And then it was all behind him.

He didn't care that he lost his tour guide for right now, all he was focused on was taking in the wind and the sight below, and enjoying the fact that he was home.

It was short lived, however, with the sounds of quick footsteps making their way up the stairs.

"Hm?" Soul hummed as he looked down and around to see where they were coming from, and he found a blond-haired girl, hair in pigtails, with a black cloak creating a trail behind her.

… Was she wearing metal boots?

The second she got to the semi-last stair, she decided to clear the stair entirely with a little jump, throwing her fists in the air and cheering after she managed it, before catching her breath and turning around to look at the stairs below.

"St-.. Still gotta get used to it," she breathed out, just before her green eyes locked onto his red ones. Her eyes were so interesting. He could hardly see her pupils. "Hm?"

At her hum, he realized his mouth had been hanging open the whole time. Not cool. He quickly stammered and rushed to fix it, wiping his mouth as he shut it before putting his hands in his pants' pockets. He had to keep his gaze away from her, at least for just… a few… seconds…

… Well, it was harder for him to do that when he realized she was staring at him.

"What?" he asked her as he tried to make his voice sound deeper than normal. God, he didn't want to look like an idiot…

"Oh, I've just-..." she stammered, "... I've never seen you around Death City before, that's all. Are you new?"

"... Y-... yeah. Just… moved here. I'm an… exchange student, I guess?" He wasn't expecting her to gasp as a response to being a student.

"Really?!" she enthusiastically shouted, "Weapon or meister?!"

"Uh. Weapon..?"

"Great! You came just in time! We're about to assign new partners!" she continued excitedly before blinking and calming herself down "Oh!

"I'm Maka," she said as she offered her hand out to him, "I'm a meister. It's nice to meet you, uh…"

"... Soul," he answered as he took her hand into his own and shook it, "Soul Eater."

"Soul Eater? That's a pretty redundant name!" She giggled. He crossed his arms and glared.

"Well I like it. S'not like it's final yet. I kind of lost my tour guide."

"Any idea where you were headed? I could help you out!" Maka offered with a smile.

"Uh… I was going to see Lord Death? I'm not even enrolled yet."

"Oh, the Death Room! I know where that is! Follow me!"

And as quickly as she had entered his life, she ran towards the school. Soul didn't follow her right away, a thought crossing his mind.

He had never done that before. Talking to a stranger like that in a whole new town, where he expected he'd be living on his own. That would be what he'd like better, anyway, considering that he had enough of family matters and such. No foster family for him.

… He was twelve. Almost 13. He was going to be living on his own.

He must've been out of his mind to jump for this with that in mind, but… it would be okay.

He was home. Soul Eater was home, and he'd be just fine.

"C'mon, Soul! Let's get going!"

"I'm coming, I'm coming! Jeez, are you always so naggy…?!" He groaned, sparking a fight between them, the first of many. As he walked through the halls of the school behind her, seeing many a weapon and meister around his age, he was reassured. He obviously wasn't alone in his endeavors for a new life.

Adjusting to a new life as Soul Eater, a DWMA student, would be hard, but he'd figure it all out. After all, if he wasn't out of his mind yet, then who's to say he'd ever be?