"It should be around here somewhere!"

The desert air is as dry and hot as ever, whipping sand and dust across their unprotected faces as Soul's beloved motorcycle speeds over the rippling dunes. It's early morning, and though they both loathe to be up this early when they don't have any obligations to attend to, it's the best hour to escape the unrelenting heat that constantly permeates the air.

The last thing either of them wants is to be caught under the laughing desert sun while it's at its hottest; one too many bad experiences have proven how much of a terrible idea that would be. The best time to go out on a desert mission is at night, because at least then the cold won't make the metal scald beneath their fingertips and exhaust them before they can even start. But this is Death City, capital of corrupted souls and monsters hiding beneath children's beds - if the city itself is not safe, even less is the desert that surrounds it, where kishins hide beneath the sand and lurk just out of sight. Shibusen had lost enough students to the desert nights; now leaving the city at night is strictly forbidden. There doesn't need to be any punishment for those who disobey, because everyone is all too aware that they most likely wouldn't make it back.

"Have you checked the coordinates?" Soul shouts, receiving a mouth full of sand as reward. He splutters, concentrating on keeping his eyes on the road even as he makes the most undignified of faces.

"Yes," Maka hollers back, shielded from the sand behind Soul's jacket. Her voice is nearly lost in the soul-stealing wind, but he strains both his ears and grasps onto the connection between their souls, just managing to catch her words. "Try to turn a bit more south!"

He complies, mourning the free hours and the crisp bills that he'll have to sacrifice in order to empty his bike of all this damn sand. He sends an annoyed twinge through their background resonance, warning his meister that he'll be complaining about it for the next three months unless she fishes out a few bills to help out with the repairs - she was the one that insisted on taking his bike, after all. Soul decides to firmly ignore her tiny mumble of how 'she only trusts his bike and would refuse to get on any other' and how flattered it makes him feel.

They drive around for hours. The sun is beating down on them cruelly, high in the sky, and there is a massive headache spreading through their link to the point that neither know from where it originates. Soul is measuring how bad the sandy, raspy dryness in his throat would feel in comparison to the Maka-Chop she would be sure to gift him with if he just stood his ground and drove them both back to Death City, but then Maka grips his shoulders tight.

"I see something," she rasps, extending her arm over his head. He tries to ignore the softness of the breasts pressing against his back. "Over there!"

Maka goes on ahead with all the confidence of an animal that has never known fear. Soul scowls at her back. Figures she'd completely forget about his bike as soon as she saw her goal; it's one thing to be riding out in the desert with the sun and the sand against them - but it's an an entire different matter to leave it out in the open in a place with all manner of creatures and dust devils and the sun blazing down on the unprotected metal. It would never fit in the tiny opening Maka was heading towards - they would essentially be leaving his baby out in the open to die.

Soul prays to Kid for them to be back before anything happens to it.

"Soul! Are you coming or what?" Maka calls. He doesn't dare speak, fearing childishly that the inside skin of his throat will tear, parched from dust and sand and lack of lubrication, yet he shoves his hands in his pockets and walks resignedly towards his partner. He makes sure to send several more irritated twangs through their link so she knows that he isn't satisfied with her at all. She ignores them, instead giving him a thoughtful look.

"I don't suppose you can burst into flames with all those new fancy Death Scythe powers of yours?"

He growls.

Maka has the gall to look offended, arms crossed tightly in front of her chest. "Well, you could have. You grew a fucking piano on your scythe blade, of all things."

He flushes. "It's not the same!"

She doesn't even deign to give him an answer right away, instead exploring the dark entrance. "I'm just saying that right now would be a good time to develop some Jackie-esque talents, that's all."

Soul groans, everything clicking in place in his brain. "You forgot to bring the flashlight, didn't you?"

It's her skin glowing red in embarrassment now, though it's barely discernible under her rapidly-forming sunburn. He is afraid to even see himself in the mirror; his skin already feels too tight and itchy, even after Maka had smothered both of them in sunscreen.

Sometimes, he really hates his life.

"Well, it doesn't matter!" she bursts out, turning away and stomping through the dark threshold. "And it would matter even less if you-"

He dashes forward just in time to grab at her arm as she falls, pulling her towards him. The momentum is too great to stop the fall, however. The floor has disappeared under their feet, the darkness pulling at them as they fall, and fall, and keep on falling down the abyss. They are screaming, the grip on one another's hand never loosening.

Eventually, it just becomes boring.

"So," Maka awkwardly says, voice still raspy from the screaming and the sand. "You feel like trying those lantern powers now?"

He groans. "Maka, you can't just insist on the matter forever. You forgot the damn flashlight, now deal with it."

"Well, unless you brought a pack of cards or something to entertain ourselves with-"

"Well, excuse me for not planning on falling down an endless pit-"

"You're being stupid."

"No, you're being stupid- Oh great, now we're back to primary school insults."

They bicker back and forth for what seems like hours, struggling for what could have passed as a normal conversation if the words didn't seem to be ripped away from their mouths by the wind created by their relentless descent. They are clinging to each other, revelling in the other's body heat even as the temperature keeps dropping.

Then, she lets go with a screech.

"MAKA!"

"SOMETHING IS TOUCHING ME! SOUL!"

She sounds terrified. How can he get to her?! He doesn't know where she is, and the dark void they have fallen into makes the direction of her voice nearly impossible to determine. He shouts out her name again, desperately trying to grasp some part of her and bring her back, because they have suffered through all kinds of trials and faced them head on, but together.

Ghostly fingers graze his back, and he feels them even through his jacket. Then, there are more, scratching at his ankles, pulling him towards them. They grow in number, and again and again, until there are a hundred cold, invisible hands reaching out for him, for her. They touch and grasp and pull at anything their unseen fingers seem to touch; the hairs on the nape of his neck and arms are raised as if sensing a winter storm coming. He shudders and growls uselessly at their grasp, hearing a single, strangled whimper from his meister, too far away for him to reach even if he knew which direction to aim for.

They've faced plenty of dangers in their short lives together; hand in hand, side by side, the wielded and the wielder; partners, soulmates, friends, they are all of it. But this is different, and desperation claws at his throat, at his soul. This time, it isn't a new kind of unrelenting enemy wanting power. This time, they can't face this new danger confidently together in some form, taking consolation and courage in the other's presence.

This is their one, weak spot, and Soul doesn't think he can ever forgive himself for letting them fall into this nightmare.

We could have flown out of here, his mind screams. We could have fucking flown out of here and then we wouldn't still be here, we wouldn't be separated!

The screaming doesn't stay only in his mind; he's shouting her name while she screams his, frantically searching for each other's presence in the everlasting darkness. Their yelling seems only to multiply, bouncing off the absent walls over and over until it doesn't sound like their voices anymore.

And as the echoes get louder and louder, they realize that they aren't theirs after all. There are thousands of names being whispered in their ears, wailed across the emptiness; fear makes his limbs go cold as Soul realizes that the voices belong to the souls trying to take away their warmth, their lives.

His head aches, a thousand shrieking needles piercing through his skull as he calls for her. "MAKA, USE YOUR SOUL PERCEPTION!"

"I'M TRYING," she hollers, and it gives him some hope - because if she can snap back at him like that, it means that she isn't lost yet, not like he fears he'll be if he stops hearing her voice.

He can feel her soul is wavering through their resonance; she's concentrating, but something is blocking the flow of their connection, letting only a much smaller portion of it escape.

"I'M GOING TO TRY TO GET TO YOU, OKAY?"

"HURRY UP!"

He slaps more of the hands away, feeling himself losing a bit more heat every time his skin comes in contact with them. Then, he notices that he's stopped descending, the hands successfully holding on to him as he is dragged to their midst.

"MAKA!"

"I'M COMING," she screams, but the voice seems to be coming from below. His stomach sinks. How much further down has she travelled without being stopped like he was? She'll never be able to reach him unless she climbs up the mountain of half-dead limbs and loses her humanity along the way; he's unable to move as the invisible limbs pull him in, deeper into the cold and emptiness.

He's stricken with the grieving realisation that they are going to become a part of it. Soul wonders how many people have fallen into this very same trap, doomed to become part of it, to try and reach for every bit of human life and warmth that wanders into the damned pit, just like it'll happen to him and his meister soon enough if they can't stop it.

But then something else is grasping at his feet, climbing up his legs, terribly cold but not cold at the same time, and his lips might be blue with the absence of life and he might be on the verge of oblivion and of being a lost soul, but he knows his meister's touch.

"Soul Resonance!" they scream together, and then there is light and the hands are moving away and they are together again.

Maka doesn't even need to tell him to transform before he's in place, luminescent wings growing and spreading, and they soar out of that place without looking back.

Maka is frowning through blue lips and pale, icy-cold skin, much like his would be at the moment if he weren't in weapon form. Regardless, tiny beads of condensation slide off of his shivering form, as if to remind him that they had barely avoided death by soul-getting-sucked-out-by-bodiless-limbs - an experience he isn't all that eager to repeat any time soon.

"Are you okay?" he rasps out, trying to ignore how his voice comes out feeble and trembling.

It takes her a few moments to reply, enough for him to notice that her eyelids are halfway closed. "I can't find the entrance."

He sends her a questioning wave through the Resonance, far too exhausted to properly formulate another sentence.

One particularly hard shiver from her nearly sends the both of them falling down yet again. She is avoiding using her hands to hold herself in place; he wants to tell her that they should stop and rest so he can take a look at her, to make sure she's alright - but the danger is still all too fresh in their minds, and they won't dare to stop until they are absolutely sure that they're in the clear.

"The entrance," she whispers weakly. "The place we came in through. It isn't here, it's gone."

He doesn't question her, doesn't try to argue that everything looks the same and that in the low light one can't make such claims right away; he's learned to trust her in situations like this.

"What do we do, then?" he asks through chattering teeth. "Keep moving?"

She nods, and though they both know that this is a terrible idea, they do just that.

They've been flying for what seems to be hours, wavering in their flight every once in a while, their energy gone far ago.

The slope of the tunnel appears to finally be descending, becoming almost straight, horizontal ground; the wall seems to have a small glow of its own, and though it is certainly suspicious, they're not going to complain. Soul reverts back to human form, allowing both of them to rest their weary feet for the first time in what seems like forever.

"Let me see your hands," he demands, and she unwillingly stretches her arms towards him, flinching when he takes her gloved hands in his. He slides them off gently, reverently, and she flinches when they catch sight of the red skin beneath.

"You got frostbite," he breathes out, not daring to touch the blackened tips of her fingers. "Did you climb up those hands to get to me?"

"What was I supposed to do?" she snaps. "We wouldn't have gotten out otherwise. Never."

"I know." He sighs, leaning his forehead against hers. He has to curve his back to do so, and she feels even colder than him, but it provides some comfort. "We have to find a way out. Fuck this. We'll come back with more people, like we should have in first place."

Maka leans more towards him, taking solace in his proximity; his breath is warm on her lips, almost too hot after the unrelenting coldness they had been through down in the pit.

"We have to go," he whispers, but doesn't move away.

"Yes," she whispers back. It takes precious minutes for either to let go, far more warm than they had been before, and then they walk.

The ground turns to stone - cracked, ancient stone that appears to be more dust than actual stone. It slips unstably underneath their feet; Soul slides an arm around her waist and she turns to smile at him, only to nearly trip and fall as a stone gives away under her foot. There's a small, muffled laugh from him which earns him both a glare and a shove, but they manage to move on without further incidents.

"Did you notice that we've only been able to move in one direction?" she asks after a while. "I couldn't even be sure if there was any way forward if we didn't fall into the pit."

Maka watches as he prepares to answer, but as if understanding their words, the wall ahead of them suddenly splits in two. Weapon and meister share a weary look.

"Which way?" Soul asks.

"I have no idea," she answers back, examining the wall without daring to let her burnt fingertips touch it. "There was nothing about it in the riddle. Just enough to figure out the general coordinates and warnings of 'great danger'."

She doesn't need to look to know that he is sending her his 'no, really?' look.

"Flip a coin?" she suggests.

"We don't have any coins on us, smartass."

Maka huffs. "Well, I don't see you coming up with any ideas."

"I'll leave it for the lady to decide," he snarks. "Like she has been doing from the start."

She narrows her eyes at him. "You could have said 'no' at anytime. Don't blame this on me."

Soul growls at her. "We don't have the time for this," he snaps. "Let's just get going, I don't feel like being stuck here for the rest of my life."

He walks fast in one direction, and she nearly storms off into the opposite before remembering that they are lost in underground tunnels where walls come alive and try to kill them; she nearly has to run after him to catch up.

"This," Soul pants out. "Is a fucking maze."

"No shit," Maka snarls. "Should have guessed that after the first seven dead ends or so, huh?"

"Don't come at me with that!" he snaps. "I don't want to have to put up with your temper when we're lost and hungry and sore and nearly had our souls ripped out, and on top of that my feet are getting fucking wet!"

She stops. "What do you mean your feet are getting wet?"

"In case you haven't noticed, Miss Combat Boots, this damn place is flooded."

"But it isn't!" she exclaims, and then looks at the ground. "Wait, it is? I could have sworn everything was dry not long ago."

"Well, as my feet can attest, it isn't fucking dry."

She motions for him to stop. He does, rather reluctantly, and they stay in silence for a few moments, listening to the echoes that bounce off the faintly glowing stone walls.

"Do you hear that?" she whispers. "Water is coming in."

"As in…?"

"This damn place is not flooded, it's flooding! We need to get out of here!"

"Right, because that's not what we've been trying to do since we arrived here in the first place!"

"Just fucking move!"

They start running, taking odd twists and turns as the liquid rises around them, entering their shoes and wetting their legs.

"It doesn't even make any sense!" Maka pants. "We're standing on a slope, the water should be going downwards, not staying here and being level with the damn ground!"

"This whole place doesn't make any sense," he barks out. "Just keep running!"

It's past their waists now, rising faster and faster as they try to move, the fluid slowing them down. It's thick, Maka notices, and darker than water should be even in the low light, and she's struck with the realisation that it might not be water after all.

"We have to do something," Soul says, out of breath. "This is like the pit, like finding the place - there should be a way out, a riddle of sorts-"

"A riddle!" Maka shouts. "Do you see any riddles around here, though? Because I sure as fuck don't. We'd have a better chance at cutting through the whole damn thing with your scythe form."

"Maybe it's in the walls, like in the pit!" Soul turns to look at the cracked stone, pointing wildly. "Look at it!"

"It looks like stone, Soul!"

He's busy running his hands over it, smearing the dark liquid everywhere. "But it doesn't! Look!"

He's right - the smeared liquid leaves imprints in the wall, far too defined to just be oddly-placed smudges. She gapes.

"Can you read that?" he breathlessly asks, and she can't do anything but come closer and try to make sense of the slowly-appearing glyphs.

"I can't translate anything."

"Then don't translate," he says. "They're pictures, drawings - just go by their meaning on the texts you read or something."

The fluid is past her neck now, and she has to stretch in order to not let it reach her mouth. He picks her up, his head solidly resting against her back as he pulls her as far up as he can manage. The fluid is going to reach his nose soon; he just hopes he can buy her enough time to get them out of there.

His head is completely under when he hears her shout "I got it!" and the ground gives away under his feet.