Crona was a miserable creature.
Their whole life, they had been haunted by their own mother. Her wicked smile infected every second of every day, whether it was before their eyes or plaguing their mind. Unlike most demons, they were not created, but birthed into this hellish world. They had no idea who their father was, but whoever it was must have been delusional or stupid to have relations with Medusa. Or, perhaps Medusa had simply taken what she wanted.
Usually, a demon and a human having a child would not result in a demon child, but instead an 'artificial demon.' Artificial demons are closer to half demons than 'false' demons when it comes to terms, being created either when a human baby is injected with demon blood, or when one of a child's parents is a demon, and the other a human. Usually, the father is the one who is the demon, for demons cannot become impregnated by a human. But in Crona's case, their father was an artificial demon, though an unknowing one. An artificial demon not knowing that they have demon blood within them is not uncommon, for artificial demons externally resemble humans. Artificial demons have always shown that they possess at least one inhuman trait, however. Their magic is usually very weak, and sometimes, an artificial demon will live and die without ever knowing the demonic blood flowing through them was ever there. There are such things as artificial Angels, which are much more common, as angels can both bear children of humans and are more likely to fall in love with humans.
Crona's father had demon blood injected in him as a baby by Medusa, having been chosen before he was even born to father her future child. Being three fourths of a demon was already unheard of, but Medusa didn't stop there with her experiment. She added the dark blood of the demon Ragnorok, known as the Black Dragon at the peak of his glory. He was an extremely powerful demon, wreaking havoc and death wherever he so pleased, until he was captured and imprisoned by the Royal Family Of Hell long before Crona was ever born. Medusa managed to capture him and melt him into molten liquid with the help of the hottest fires of Hell she could find. Crona's blood was replaced with this new, possessed black blood. Now, the demon Ragnorok lived within them, and they were more demon than any other creature had ever been. Soon after the royal family of Hell caught wind of what Medusa had done to the child, she was permanently banished from Hell, the child taken away. The child did not stay in their custody for long, however, for only a year passed before Medusa had taken them back. To demons, a year is practically nothing, so Crona's relief from torment had lasted but a fleeting moment.
From then on, Medusa raised the child to be without empathy and independence. She taught the child how to kill, how to fight, and how to master the dark powers granted to them by their black blood. Ragnorok often formed outside of Crona's body and beat them often, only adding to the hell Crona lived with. Now, Crona was five hundred years old, still very young for a demon, and after so long of waiting and experimenting, Crona's master and mother was ready to unleash them upon the world.
Crona didn't know how to feel about it.
They heard footsteps, and peeked ever so slightly around the corner of the building they were currently hiding behind. Their dark, deep purple eyes locked onto the pair of figures approaching the arranged spot. Medusa's voice whispered in their mind,
"Crona...Get them into position."
Crona said nothing, waiting until the two reached the entrance of the alleyway. They inched back into the shadows. They could hear idle chatter, but the static of their mind did not allow them to comprehend, or even care. After the two passed by a few feet, they stepped out behind them.
"You..." Crona's soft, unsure voice addressed, causing the both of them to turn around. The girl with dirty blonde, or perhaps light brown hair spoke soon after.
"Me?" She simply asked in confusion.
Crona peeked through their pink bangs up at the girl. "Yes," they said, barely above a whisper. "I need your help. There's a demon who keeps beating me up..." Crona's voice shook, seemingly from fear.
Maka looked concerned. "A..demon...?" The girl and the white-haired boy shared a look.
"Please help me..." Crona pleaded pathetically, sounding near tears.
The girl finally seemed to crack, walking over to Crona. "Hey, it's okay. Listen, since you already know about demons, I need to tell you. I'm an angel, I'll protect you from the demon. Okay?"
Lady Medusa was right. This was without a doubt, her target. Crona's target.
Crona gave a weak nod. "Please, come this way." Crona quickly scurried deeper into the alley, the girl following after a brief glance towards the strange boy. Crona knew what they had to do. They led them both into an abandoned auto-shop, which had been scooped clean of all it's furniture and machinery, now resembling a very large garage. The hole of the in-ground car life had been covered with wooden boards, almost hastily. Crona stepped to the middle of the room, the only light of the room coming from the large opening of the garage door, and a few holes in the ceiling. The room was a mix of gray and warm orange of the sunset. The sky was orange and yellow.
"Did the demon hurt you here...?" The angel asked, seeming confused and perhaps a bit suspicious.
The boy spoke for the first time Crona had seen him. "This place is creepy. I have a bad feeling about this."
"That door..." Crona breathed tiredly. "It's heavy. It's made of steel."
Right on cue, the door slammed shut, a loud bang being made when the metal collided with the concrete floor.
They were all locked in.
Two pairs of fearful eyes locked on Crona.
"What the hell is going on?!" The scary-looking boy asked. Crona just now noticed his razor-sharp teeth, ready to eat them up.
Crona could feel their blood moving and boiling within them, and had no time to brace for the pain. They let out an ear-shattering scream, as the flesh of their back was torn open to make room for the emerging demon within them. They felt a strong hand slam on top of their head, looking up to see the ever-present demon Ragnorok tilting his head at the pair.
The two looked utterly horrified, eyes wide in panic. The angel's hands even seemed to tremble a bit.
"My blood is black." They told them, eyes turning a sickly white, their pupils contracting into pinpoints.
The angel took a step back. "Wha- what is that? What's going on?"
"My blood is black," Crona answered without answering. "You wanna know why?" Despite getting no response, Crona continued. "It's because I've got a demon in me. The demon that beats me up."
The two looked utterly shocked and horrified, so many questions very clearly running through their minds. Ragnorok squeezed Crona's head painfully.
"That's me, and now that we're alone, I'm gonna take your filthy souls!" Ragnorok shouted in his deep voice. "I'm the feared black dragon, the demon Ragnorok! Tremble in fear!" He demanded. Crona simply watched them, grabbing one of their own arms nervously. They really didn't know how to deal with Ragnorok's constant yelling. They don't like yelling. It hurts their ears.
"Maka..." the boy uttered, looking at his companion.
The girl in question looked over, suddenly looking determined. She stood up straighter. "So you're a demon?"
Crona gave a tiny nod.
"Then as my duty as an angel of god, I must strike you down!" She powerfully declared, grabbing a shiny necklace, the necklace from around her neck and snapping the chain, gripping the necklace in her fist. She looked at the boy behind her. "Soul, stay back."
He nodded, watching as the metal of her jewelry turned a bright white, forming into a full-sized weapon, a scythe.
"Let's kill her." Ragnorok told Crona, more of an order than a suggestion.
"Kill her, Crona. Then take what we need." Medusa's voice once again cooed in their mind. This broke them, making them crack their neck to the side unnaturally fast. Kill her. Kill her. They were going to kill her. Kill her, kill her, kill her.
They were aware of Ragnorok transforming back into blood, and without looking twice they reached up, feeling the handle of their weapon already formed within their hand. They slowly pulled the sword for the cloud of blood like a sheath.
"That thing has a weapon inside of it...?" The boy mumbled from behind the angel...behind Maka.
They didn't hesitate as they flew forward, slashing at Maka as hard as they could. They felt the blade stop, and a loud clang rang through the walls of the room. Crona swung their blade away from the block, assaulting the air with several hard swings. The angel struggled to block them all, flinching upon every impact. She slowly was pushed backwards. The angel finally mustered up the strength to attack, and Crona immediately brought up their arm to block it. The blade barely broke the skin.
The angel looked horrified. Black blood dripped onto the ground, the small drops suddenly flashing into deadly spikes. The angel had barely any time to twist away, and mid-air, Crona slammed the angel into the far wall as hard as they could.
She she hit the wall with a sickening crack, blood spurting from her open mouth.
"MAKA!" The boy screamed, seeming to afraid to move from his spot.
It was a major surprise that the angel remained standing, though shaking and in immense pain. Something was clearly broken. Crona shot forward again, slashing across the angel's chest and sending her tumbling across the concrete with a cry of pain, her weapon being violently ripped from her grip. The position was perfect for what they needed to do. They approached the girl without a rush, slowly raising the blade above their head.
"Soul, run!" She desperately gasped to the boy, holding the large cut that ran from her shoulder to the opposite lower side of her ribcage.
"I told you, the door is too heavy. He can't lift it. You're both stuck here." Crona knew all too much about being trapped. Crona vaguely saw movement out of the corner of their eye, and slashed downward with all their strength.
Blood splattered everywhere, the angel's eyes wide. Red covered the floor, the walls, and all three of the trapped in the room. For a moment, red was all any of them could see.
The boy collapsed to the ground, nearly cut in half from the pure severity of the cut. He lay in a puddle of his own red blood, motionless. His eyes were wide. Perhaps he had died already. That would be a problem, though...
Maka screamed bloody murder, grabbing the boy's body. "SOUL!"
Everything had fallen into place, Lady Medusa's plan had worked perfectly. They didn't expect it to be so easy. They truly were as close as Lady Medusa had told them. Well, in her words they were, "stupidly loyal." She was probably right.
"Little one..." Crona addressed the angel. "I can save him. I won't kill either of you...if...you give me something..." Blank white eyes stared into forest green eyes. She truly was like the little one. So small, so helpless. Waiting to be killed. But not yet. Not yet.
"Wh..what do you mean..?"
The boy gurgled on his own blood, chest spasming with every quick breath. Maka held him tighter.
"I'll make a deal with you...I save him...and you give me that..." Crona slowly pointed a slender finger at Maka's discarded weapon. "You will give me ownership of it...and..I save
...that boy."
"No, Maka." The boy gasped between coughs. "Don't trust them, they'll kill us." He gripped the fabric of her shirt desperately.
The angel looked as torn as her heart must be, hot tears welling up in those no-longer innocent green eyes. Those eyes seemed to lose focus, and the angel finally seemed to understand her world was crashing down around her. She was trapped in so many more ways than one. Trapped in the building, trapped in this decision, trapped in herself.
"What choice do I have..?" She finally squeaked pathetically through her tears.
"In exchange for both your lives...ownership of the holy necklace..." Crona held out a pale, frail hand. They had never done this before. What if they made the deal wrong? They had said just what Lady Medusa had told them to...But what if they did it wrong?
"Get on with it." Medusa demanded in their head.
Despite the boy Soul's quiet protests, Maka reached out and took Crona's hand, shaking it. They stiffened at the touch. They didn't know how to deal with girls touching them.
"Take it," she finally uttered in a defeated tone. As the deal was sealed, the necklace immediately shifted back into it's default form, being shot straight into Crona's awaiting free hand. They had done it. They gripped the necklace like their life depended on it.
Their mission was finally complete. They succeeded and made Lady Medusa proud. Turning on their heel, they left the bleeding boy and the sobbing angel behind, leaving the establishment through the back doors.
The sky had become black and blue.
Maka sobbed, gripping Soul as tight as she could. He wasn't healing. Ah could feel the warm blood still covering her hands. He wasn't healing, for the love of god, why wasn't he healing?
Soul had his eyes open wide, staring up at the ceiling. He could feel his heartbeat in his throat, his lungs working overtime to keep him breathing though he no longer felt the air escaping his punctured lungs. His lungs worked just as they should, the panic and pain flooding through his veins the only cause of the ragged breathing.
The realization hit Maka as she watched him breathe effortlessly. The deal promised his life. Not his health, or that the wound he healed. Just his life. The wound wouldn't kill him, but Soul still had to suffer having it. Those goddamn demons.
Maka was helpless. She was trembling with pain, unarmed, and holding her bleeding best friend in her arms with the little strength she had. She couldn't help but let out another sob. But slowly, the anger within her began to boil and build. And build. Her teeth clenched, and her pupils contracted with utter rage. They had done this to them. Ragnorok and that worthless, evil weilder. Maka wanted to destroy them. Determination flooded her very being, making her shake with it's intensity. She wanted to run out there, find that bastard and beat them to death with her own two fists. It took all her will to force herself to will her energy into helping soul instead of punching the nearest wall. She lifted up Soul as quickly as she could, arms already aching as she sprinted as hard as she could to the back door, out of it, and down the alleyway. Her body screamed at her to stop, that it was too much, but she told it fuck you and only ran harder.
She was going to help Soul. She was going to help Soul if it tore her apart. Her lungs burned with every step she took, and her muscles felt like ripping apart, and to top it off her broken ribs haven't healed yet and slammed pain into her almost every moment. She didn't care. She couldn't care. For Soul's sake, she had to throw aside her pain and just go. The street was eerily empty, not even a single car speeding down the roads. The only light in the dark world around Maka came from the jarring, artificial streaks of white that came from the street lamps above her.
She suddenly felt Soul's body go limp, and for a moment she wondered if the deal somehow was false and he was dead.
'No,' she told herself. He's not dead. He passed out. He can't die. He's going to live. She had to repeat these things over and over to herself, her only comfort now.
The only place she could think to go was Marie's. It was just down the street, she could make it. If anyone could help her, it was Marie. She looked ahead, and the lights to Marie's shop were off.
'No!' She screamed in her mind. She pushed her body past her limits and more, and saw a figure up ahead leaving the store. Marie, thank god. Maka mustered all her strength before screaming, "MARIE, HELP!"
Marie snapped around, confused. Her expression immediately turned to horror upon seeing the state of two of her children figures, bleeding and crying. She ran over to them.
"Maka?! Soul?! What happened?!" She cried, kneeling to the ground with Maka, holding Soul's head gently.
"Please, Marie." Maka begged, new tears streaming down her ghostly pale cheeks. "Please help him."
Blackstar texted Soul for the eighth time in the past hour, still no response minutes later. He grumbled angrily and threw his phone on his bed. Soul had told him they would be watching their favorite video game live streamer together tonight, and he hadn't got online all night. He was currently home alone, his father out drinking. He decided not to waste perfectly good time and dropped to the floor, starting to count push-ups. He'd been fighting and working out nearly his entire life, egged on heavily by his dad. Blackstar had to admit- he loved fighting, it was second nature to him. It gave him an upper hand, especially when he had to deal with assholes- or his dad when he got violent. He never really considered his father abusive, persay, he was just...violent. He defended himself flawlessly, of course, so Blackstar tried not to let his father's tendencies bother him. After all, he was much too important to worry about little things like his deadbeat dad.
"Stupid old man..." he grumbled. Blackstar's fuming, though mostly toward himself as he let his mind wander to his Pa, was interrupted by a loud bang and several small crashes coming from the living room.
'Speak of the devil and he doth appear.' Blackstar thought with an eye roll. He got up, mostly to get a head start on cleaning up whatever mess his pa had just caused. He pushed past his bedroom door, travelled down the hall and paused to see his father standing in the middle of the room.
He was covered in blood.
Blackstar froze, wide eyes staring at his father. Sure, sometimes he came home bloody from fistfights, but there wasn't a scratch on him, and the blood utterly covered him. His hands were especially crimson. He had never come home blatantly covered in someone else's blood before.
"What the hell, old man?!" He finally managed to tell out.
His father didn't respond, instead slowly raised his head. His eyes locked on Blackstar's, and they were red. Blood red. Then he smiled. Not a loving grin or a cocky smirk, but the kind of smile serial killers in horror movies wear as they revel in the suffering of their victims. Sharp, sharklike teeth erected from his gums where there used to be normal human teeth. The final thing Blackstar noticed was that his father's pupils seemed to be in the shape of a star, matching the tattoos in his father's and his own right shoulder.
Blackstar instinctively snapped into a defensive position. This was something out of a shitty horror movie. This couldn't be real. He didn't look human at all. He looked demonic.
Blackstar glanced behind his dad, seeing the door open. Even more blood splattered the ground, and in the darkness, he could see at least two people lying on the ground, lying in puddles of blood, presumably their own. Blackstar felt hot rage boil inside him. What had he done?
In a flash, his father bolted forward. He swiped his hand at Blackstar, which Blackstar Didn't bother to try to fully dodge.
He realized it was a mistake. He wasn't swinging his hand for no reason, for at the end of each finger were long, razor-sharp claws. He didn't realize this until he felt them rip through the front of his chest. Had he not stepped back, he would have definitely hit Blackstar's ribcage. Blood spurred from the cuts, and Blackstar clenched his teeth.
The way he could feel murderous intent radiating from his father struck a familiar cord with him. This monster, this demon, this evil something his father had become wasn't some stranger. No, this had been within him for a long time. Every time his father tried to hurt him or others, he could feel it. He felt it now. This monster was his father, and this monster was always inside his father. He didn't know what the hell made his father look like a monster, but he didn't have time to wonder.
Now was the time to fight.
His father slung back, claws readied for another slash. Blackstar caught his hands and drove his knee into Whitestar's gut, throwing him aside. "Listen, old man! I don't know what the hell got into you, but I WILL defeat you!" He would defeat him for the people he hurt. Not just the ones who lay dead just outside their house on the street, but for everyone he'd hurt on a whim. His deep-rooted hatred for his father finally bubbled back into the surface of his mind, giving him the strength to throw a punch at Whitestar.
Whitestar caught it easily.
In a flash that was quicker than Blackstar could comprehend, Whitestar slammed an uppercut against Blackstar's chin, then drove his foot into his chest, sending him sprawling to the ground. The air was knocked out of him, replaced with pain. Before he knew it, his dad was stomping him into the ground with his heel, horrid smile never leaving his face. Blackstar screamed with rage, grabbing Whitestar's leg and tanking with all his might.
Whitestar tumbled forward, rolling back into a squatting position easily, but the action had given Blackstar enough time to get back on his feet. Blackstar's eyes burned with a determined glare. He wasn't going to lose. That word wasn't even in his vocabulary.
His father growled animalistically, suddenly going into rage-induced hysterics. Whitestar screamed. He ripped forward, slashing his claws wildly and snapping his jaws at Blackstar. His attacks were sloppy, almost desperate to kill, completely unlike the precise and brutal attacks he had grown to know his father had.
Blackstar dodged the chaotic attacks almost like they were his new second nature, seeing several opportunities to strike. His senses heightened, he waited for the perfect opportunity to show it's face. When it did, he mustered all his courage and pure willpower, drawing his fist back, and without a moment's hesitation, slammed it into Whitestar's cheek with every ounce of strength he held in his being.
There was a sickening crack, followed soon after by a burst of blood, and Whitestar practically flew across the room into the floor. His jaw was twisted to the side at an odd angle, his cheek being discolored red already. Blood dribbled from his father's open mouth. His eyes seemed to be pure white at this point, blank and surprised. Blackstar seemed surprised to, his punches had never done that much damage to anyone or anything before. Maybe he was getting stronger?
Blackstar panted, waiting for Whitestar to get up. When he didn't after several minutes, he leaned against a wall, catching his breath and finally soaking in the pain of his wounds.
"That sick bastard..." he growled, glancing at the bodies outside his door. He couldn't forgive Whitestar for this.
He stumbled to his room and snatched his phone, calling the police. He told them his father had gone crazy and hurt some people, and that he had knocked him out. The operator told him to stay on the line, but he ignored her and hung up. He didn't want to wait around and see his father dragged off in chains. He went outside, getting into his car, not even caring about the small bloodstains he left on everything. He than began his drive to the hospital, by himself. He turned on the radio, letting his mind sink away and his pace fade to the back of his mind as some trashy love song played over the speakers.
Eventually, the hospital came into view. Looks like it was a busy night.