Author's Note: Hello all! I'm bringing this to a close in a couple of chapters, so all the loose ends should be getting tied up. Maybe one more and an epilogue. This one is shorter, but it's all once scene. On another note, my stats are glitching a little, so hopefully this will post okay but I'm going to apologize in case it doesn't. I tried. Anyway, enjoy!
"Judging from your sullen expression and the fact that you're alone, I'm gonna go out on a limb here and guess they didn't go for it," Vera said smartly, pausing as she restocked a shelf to gloat.
Soul closed the door behind him with a little jingle of the bell and scowled at her over his shoulder. He didn't like coming here alone, didn't like how it felt like treason. Crona had said to drop it and Maka was incapable of intentionally making Crona uncomfortable, even if he was just a shell of his former self. She wouldn't push him even if it meant finding out what was really going on, not into doing something to which he was so vehemently opposed. Which left Soul to do it in his stead. Without his permission and, to be honest, without his knowing. Maka had seen him off at the door; she knew better than to try and stop him. Crona had still been asleep when he left, or at least still in his room. Regardless, this particular adventure was not sanctioned. Nevertheless, he had to try.
"No," he confirmed gruffly, moving to the table and sitting down. "They did not. Maka knows I'm here, but Crona kinda flipped. I don't know if it's just denial or if something really is going on. One thing's for sure, he's definitely Crona."
"I told you," Vera gloated, finishing her task and coming to join him. "There was never any doubt in my mind. You know something happened to him, then. With the Panacea."
"I know it could control him, I know it was… feeding on him. Or something. But Maka's right, we burnt that whole damn island to the ground. I don't know how it could still be a problem now."
"That's what we're going to find out. Come on up."
"Up?"
"To my room; I'm not doing this next to the front window. Being a pseudowitch isn't good for business."
Soul contemplated for a moment, then agreed. The people of Death City didn't need to see them doing… whatever it was they were going to do. The first time they'd tried this, looking for Crona after Pendra had taken him, when the Black Blood had first been transferred, it had required direct physical contact. Soul wasn't sure what Vera had in mind, but he doubted it would be any less intimate. He followed her upstairs, flushing, past a small bathroom and into a closet of a bedroom. The space had been meant for storage; bolts of fabric still lined the far wall. This hadn't been where the Avens had lived, they'd rented an apartment downtown where the fires had been most destructive just a little over a year ago. But Vera wasn't turning much of a profit on her little bookstore (Soul thought the addition of fiction would help that, but Vera was having none of it), so she'd shoved a bed and dresser into the attic and called it a day. The bed was unmade and there was a pile of laundry on the floor. He suddenly felt very good about the state of his own room. Tugging a blanket over the sheets and pillows, Vera sat down and patted the mattress next to her.
"Take your shirt off," she demanded, rolling up the sleeve and exposing the black mark across her palm in all its glory.
"Excuse me?"
"Your shirt, take it off. Or did you forget how this works?"
"Can't we just, like, hold hands or something?"
"We need to directly link our Black Blood, or as much as possible. I'm not taking any risks. Besides, I thought we were a little past holding hands."
She gave him an impish grin and a hard look with those amber eyes of hers. Then, tucking her black hair behind her ears with both hands, she looked meaningfully at the blanket next to her, then back at him. For just a second, he could see that she was scared.
"Come on, don't get shy on me now. I won't tell anyone."
"Fine," he sighed, pouting. He took off his black jacket and set it on a chair by the door, then pulled his orange T-shirt over his head. It messed his white hair and, feeling exposed, he decided to crack a joke back at her. "You know, there are easier ways to get me into bed."
"Don't be stupid," she said in a rushed voice, flushing scarlet. "We're investigating a murder, be professional."
"You started it."
He sat down next to her, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body. The stitched scar stood out on his bare chest, from shoulder to hip, and his skin looked pale in the attic light. Of course it was pale; he always wore one jacket or another. Vera licked her lips and, although her hair was already contained, made a motion to tuck it behind her ear again. She was staring at the scar as if she could initiate contact just with her eyes. For all her talk about the astral plane and finding out the truth, she was nervous to go back. Afraid of getting lost again. Gingerly, Soul placed a hand on her shoulder.
"We don't have to do this," he offered. But she shook her head, frowning.
"Something is happening, something bad. I can feel it- I saw it. I just need to remember. We need to know what's going on before someone else dies. For Crona if for nothing else."
"Okay," Soul nodded with her, taking her hand and placing it over his scar, over the flesh that was stretched taught across his heartbeat. "I'm right here. I won't let go."
"I trust you."
She closed her eyes and focused, feeling the Black Blood inside her well to the surface and reach out to Soul's. Entwine with his. It wanted her to look, wanted her to see. Vera pictured the black mark on her hand opening up and the Black Blood inside mixing with Soul's as his scar did the same thing. Then the world around her began to melt as Madness dripped, viscous, from the walls. Turned red and black, hands reaching up from under the bed to grasp at her legs. Then she moved past that to the place made of fog and water. The fluttering edges of a pool through which she could see the innerworkings of the universe. A vine of Black Blood curled around her hand like a lead, its thorns cutting reassuringly into her palm. Keeping her anchored.
I'm here she said to the stillness, looking around the fog as if expecting to see Soul there with her. He wasn't, but she could feel him, his warmth, still next to her in the real world.
What do you see? His voice came to her from the fog, disembodied. Can you see Crona?
She moved to the edge of the pool and looked down. In it Crona was sitting on his bed, fingers laced, eyes downcast. Maka entered with a steaming mug of liquid, sat down next to him. Her mouth moved and there was a muffled noise like her voice, but Vera couldn't make out the words. Then came Crona's voice and he accepted the mug. Took a long drink.
He's with Maka… they're talking about something.
That's probably now. I left them at home. He really didn't want me to come see you.
Vera frowned and brought her face closer to the water. There was something off about Crona, and not just his disposition. No, there was… glowing. In his neck. There was a white light shining though his skin where his jawbone intersected his skull. In the lymph nodes they'd said had been so swollen. The more she looked the more obvious it became: there was something there, something that wasn't supposed to be there.
The Panacea she asked, keeping her face just a hair away from the water. What did it look like?
It was like a network, this glowing network. Professor Stein said it was a fungus, but mostly I remember the light. This bright yellow-white light it was putting out.
Not to freak you out Vera said slowly, pulling away and sighing heavily. But I see that light. It's inside Crona. In his neck.
That's not possible. How did it get there?
I don't know, but it's definitely there now. It's really intense just under his jaw, on both sides. That's where your lymph nodes are, right? They look swollen.
Yeah… She could hear Soul nodding thoughtfully. For a moment she pictured him, sitting on her bed bare chested, gripping his chin as he remembered. They've been swelling on and off since we got back from Argentina. It was really bad when we first got back, then it got better for a little when he lost his memory. Recently it's been going back and forth. We thought he was just sick.
If he was sick, Vera reasoned, frowning and twisting her head as she tried to recall what little she knew about biology. He'd have a fever, right? And he doesn't, he hasn't.
No, no fever. He was really nauseous though.
You sure the blood tests didn't show anything?
She said it like an accusation, like it was Soul's fault. The vine of Black Blood around her hand tightened as he put pressure on her physical hand. A little offended.
Yes Vera, he answered patronizingly. Professor Stein has been running constant tests on Crona since we got back. They all come back clean. No signs of infection, no magic, and definitely no Madness. According to the tests he's in perfect health.
But there is something inside him. The Panacea is inside him. The tests should've shown it…
Vera trailed off, tucking black hair behind her ear and shaking her head. In the pool Maka had put her hand on Crona's thigh and was rubbing her thumb back and forth over his flesh. He was wearing Crona's robe, looking just like the meister as he held his mug of hot liquid with both hands and looked forward. He swallowed and the glow in his neck distorted for just a moment, bobbing.
Okay, she tried, closing her eyes and focusing. This thing is in his lymph nodes. Aren't those, like, parallel to the blood vessels?
Beats me, Soul answered with an audible shrug. I don't know about biology. That's more Crona's thing.
I'm right, Vera insisted. The lymph empties back into the blood, but it's separate from it. Maybe that's why no one's noticed it, because it's hiding in a place we never check. We've always been able to tell how Crona's doing based on his blood but this thing's not there.
Crona said the Panacea was emitting some kind of signal that shifts wavelengths. Can you see that? Can you see what it's doing to him?
Not from here, she said, dejected. I can see it but I can't hear anything. Damn it… if I could just remember what I already know… I had the answers when I woke up…
Rolling her lips together, Vera brought her nose right to the fluttering surface of the liquid portal into the real world. Crona had put a hand over Maka's. The glow in his neck, currently unaware that it was being observed, pulsed with its own heartbeat. Dormant inside him, for now. But that wasn't always the case; she knew that in her core. This thing controlled him, it made him not Crona, and it had killed Eric. There was this feeling in her mind, knowledge that she'd forgotten something important. Knowledge that she was going to need to remember.
I have to go deeper, she concluded. I need to make this thing tell me what it is and what it wants. There has to be a way to get it out of Crona, to make him like he was.
Don't go too far, okay? Vera felt Soul squeeze her again, concerned. This isn't worth your life; we'll find another way.
There isn't one, Vera insisted. I trust you. I know you won't let me go. I'm gonna keep talking. Tell you everything I see.
Alright, fine. But if I stop hearing from you then that's it. Friendship over.
Sounds good, cool guy.
She was teasing him to cover up how afraid she really felt. He was right, she'd only just gotten back to her body. It was not an inspiring thought to distance herself from it again. But she'd already cursed Crona to a fate worse than death once, when she'd sold him out to the witch Pendra. She wouldn't be able to live with herself if she did it again. Worse, by her own direct choices, by a decision not to help when she could. Besides that, this thing had already used him to kill one person; what were the consequences, not just to herself but to the whole city, of letting it proceed unchecked? Vera swung her body around and lowered her legs into the pool. It felt strange, like a tingle, or the pin pricks of a limb that has fallen asleep. Then, breathing deeply in preparation for something that was sure to be unpleasant, Vera jumped in.
Usually when she did this she manifested wherever she'd been looking. In a room or in a dream, it didn't matter. Just wherever the pool had been displaying, wherever her astral self was drawn. This time was different. This time was very strange, because she already knew the answers. She wanted to go not to a specific place, but to a time when she'd known. When the Panacea had already told her its goal. Outside of reason and time. An area of the astral plane that had no boundaries. She looked into darkness and saw herself, repeating, for forever. She raised a hand and the copies did the same. Waved it and watched the motion ripple into infinity,
Soul, she called out, her voice echoing. Can you hear me?
I hear you, his voice returned to her, but from far away. What do you see?
Myself. I'm here and I'm everywhere. Vera swallowed hard, pressing her lips together and tucking her chin. Hello? Can someone help me?
Her reflections shivered, then looked at her. All of them in an infinite line turned over their shoulder to stare at her. Their eyes were milky and glittered like opals. She tried to smile at herself but failed and her other selves didn't even try. They looked deathly serious.
The only one who can help you, they said in a chorus. Is yourself.
So… can you help me? You're me, right?
The anguish of the swan is in her hands.
I don't know what that means…
What does what mean, asked Soul. Vera looked upwards into blackness and shouted:
The anguish of the swan is in her hands. That mean anything to you?
No, nothing, he said, frowning.
Am I supposed to know what that is, Vera asked herself.
It's a reference to your repressed emotions, your primal nature, your Black Blood. Can you feel it? It wants to be free. It wants to spread, but not like this.
What do you mean, Vera pressed, shaking her head. Not like what?
It's not stronger than the Black Blood, you know. It thinks it can use him, use us, but it's wrong. It's coming for you.
What's coming?! Why can't you speak plainly?
Vera, what's going on? What do you hear? Soul sounded urgent but muffled and Vera, frustrated, ran her tongue over her teeth, focusing on the pain in her hand where the thorns of the Black Blood were biting her.
They, the other me's, say something's coming. They say, I think, that it's trying to use the Black Blood but that the Black Blood doesn't like being used. I think they're talking about the Panacea. Hey, Vera switched her attention to her other selves. It's the Panacea, right? What's it doing to Crona? How do we stop it?
You'll have to ask it, since you don't know anymore.
Her reflections lifted an arm and pointed off into darkness. As she looked, a light bloomed in that direction, yellow-white and intense. Vera felt the Black Blood in her hand coil tightly about her flesh, protesting, but she had to go. She had to find the answers. Wordlessly, she moved off, each step bringing a sharp pain to her hand as the Black Blood tried to anchor her in this distortion of reality. As she moved the light grew brighter, until it was all around her, displacing the black and reality alike. It felt alive, electricity tingling across her skin, and as she stepped into it she sensed it… looking at her. Even though it had no eyes, no face, no self, it was looking at her. It knew she was there.
You again, the Panacea sighed with Crona's voice. Why do you keep coming back? You're only mildly irritating.
I want to know what you are, she challenged, tucking her chin to her chest and gripping her lifeline of Black Blood. And what you want with Crona.
Crona chose to help me. I granted his wish and now he serves my will. This is sufficient consent.
Soul, Vera called, keeping her eyes forward.
I'm here, he said reassuringly, his voice faint and echoing, like a shout from a great distance.
I'm with the Panacea now. It says it granted Crona a wish and that he chose this.
I don't believe that, Soul snapped. Not for a second.
Believe whatever makes this easier, said the Panacea, disembodied voice booming. Our goals are in alignment. I am a Panacea, a magical intelligence created for the purpose of destroying the Pull of Magic. This cannot be done with witches as they are, so a new breed of witch must be created. One that can accept me. This Black Blood can do that. It can grant magic to humans and withstands my presence. It is the solution I have sought for thousands of years and, when I am finished, it will be the solution that holds for thousands more.
It says… Vera translated, gripping her fists tightly and rolling her lips. That it wants to make a new kind of witch, using the Black Blood.
As in allow the Black Blood to spread?
Not just the Black Blood, the Panacea too. It wants to infest people like it's infested Crona.
You speak in such crude terms, scoffed the Panacea. Like new life is something to be abhorred. Like a life without the Pull of Magic is something disastrous to be avoided.
And the witches you kill? She shot back, scowling. The man you killed with the Black Blood? Did they get new life?
I needed the witches to sustain myself until a solution was ready. I was created to make a world without the Pull; I must persist until that goal is realized. Those witches served to nourish me. More than that, the witches that exist now cannot be fixed, their magical wavelengths cannot be shifted without killing them. They will need to die.
All of them!
Vera!
It says it's going to kill all the witches, that they can't exist without the Pull so they need to die.
Why are you so upset? Witches cause destruction as a result of their addiction to magic. They cannot help themselves. Their deaths are desirable.
Vera, listen, not all witches experience the Pull of Magic. We have one at the DWMA, and Black Star found one who is still just a little girl. We can't let this thing have it's way.
And Eric, Vera pressed, staring into the light and feeling scorched by it. What did he do the deserve to die? Or did you just kill him for fun?
The human with Black Blood? That was unexpected but necessary. Crona is robust, his Black Blood is able to conduct any wavelength. I shift his magic to a frequency that does not cause the addictive protein cascades that generate the Pull. The human's soul rejected the conversion, and then so did his Black Blood. It was an early trial; some failure was inevitable.
His soul? You're changing people's souls?
The soul is of no consequence.
Bull shit it's not! The soul is who we are! Never mind killing all the witches, you're going to kill anyone who doesn't agree with you?
The soul is of no consequence. Only eliminating the Pull of Magic is important. The human possessed insufficient quantities of Black Blood to support the conversion and thus his soul rebelled. More Black Blood is needed. You are an excellent candidate. Or the demon weapon beside you.
Don't count on it. We're going to stop you. Now, before you do any more damage.
Doubtful. You will need to find me first. And purge me from Crona's body. Unlikely as that is, perhaps I should not take the chance. I can take care of you now. You don't know where I am, but Crona can find you.
Vera blanched. The Panacea was right, Crona could find them, easily. Whereas the only one who could find the Panacea was Crona. Hell, it could've carried out its threat already; Crona could be on his way now!
Soul, she said calmly, but urgently. Get me out now. The Panacea is coming, it's sending Crona. We need to get out of here.
She felt more than heard his affirmation, and then a pressure. Around her hand and up her arm, in her veins. In her Black Blood, the blood that held her tethered to Soul, to his scar. Vera yielded, retreating backwards from the light. The Panacea let her go unchallenged; why should it care? They were small creatures going up against something massive, something to which even the Black Blood yielded. But did it though? Inside her arm she felt Madness start to seethe, rejecting this Panacea and its control, rebelling against the will of something greater. It thought only in terms of destruction, in terms of dissolving its opponent, and it thought it could dissolve this thing. This force of order, the Black Blood could plunge it into disorder. If they just gave it control, just for a moment… Medusa's creation, unbridled and wild, could destroy anything. And it wanted to.
Vera felt like her arm was going to come off as the Black Blood tugged at it and it was all she could do to keep up, trotting behind like an animal on a lead. Soul was pulling her back with all his strength, which was considerable, and it wanted to go. Back to her body, where it could take over and fight. No, not her body- Crona's body. They needed Crona back if they were going to stand a chance. She grunted in pain and effort, but ran without restraint. Back through the black and to Maka and Soul's apartment where Crona was still sitting being comforted by Maka. Pausing for a moment, she thought of something radical. They had to get the Panacea out of Crona, so why shouldn't she give it a try? The Black Blood simmered in protest; it sensed a danger coming. Vera, though, reached her hand towards Crona's neck, towards his glowing lymph nodes.
She took hold of the glow, inside Crona, and made a fist around it. Instantly she knew that was a bridge too far, that if she hadn't already provoked the Panacea she'd done it now. Crona's eyes lit up with that ethereal yellow-white light and he turned to look at her. Directly. And it wasn't him- wasn't Crona, but the Panacea in his skin. In control of his body. And a surely as she could see it she sensed it seeing her, her body, her hand pressed to Soul's bare chest, her room, everything. All the information it needed to make good on its threats. She tugged, to no avail, and Crona's telekinetic energy swept through her like a strong wind. Vera was pushed back, reeling, and her astral body collided with her physical body, knocking her out of the astral plane and back into reality. However, and this was a small condolence of which she was not entirely sure, she felt Crona stirring in that last moment of contact. She sensed more than knew that she'd done something, accomplished something with her act of defiance, and now, minuscule as it was, wakefulness had dawned on him. Not the him the Panacea had made into its puppet, but the real him, slumbering in the depths.