AN: Five reviews. Joy. That's better than nothing. This, by the way...-Prods a fresh corpse with a foot.- Is my Beta, Kira-the-obsessed. She's an awesome person. Without her, my fic would be nothing more than a Dung Beetle ball. And we all know what Dung Beetle balls are made out of. I wanted to take the time to address a couple of the reviews I received.
RyuOokamiMaru: Yes, I am following the manga. The anime has, in my opinion, gone to hell in a Barney suit. I'm not sure how one would visualize that, and I'm not going to give myself a migraine by trying to.
Kira-the-obsessed: -Prods the body again.- You've learned your lesson.
Other reviewers who were happy that this will fic will indeed circle over Kidd and Maka, you might have a few more chapters to wait. This one,ended up looking like its gonna be a biggun', so I split it in half. As consolation, in the next chapter, I'll toss in a juicy KidxMaka flashback. Full of fluff and the like. Don't thank me for writing. Thank yourself for reading.
OMFGWARNING: There will be a hint of lime in this chapter between a certain Ninja and his biggest fan. You have been warned. Also, a few more pairings are hinted as you move along. OMFGWARNINGEND.
Incidentally, I'm gonna try to keep chapters at a constant rate of about 3k words. Some may stretch a bit farther. We'll see.
Key:
"Symmetry" -Dialogue
'Symmetry' -Thoughts
Symmetry -Attack/technique names
"Symmetry" -Spoken attack/technique names
The Hoshizuka was a mansion. After his eighteen birthday, Black Star received a great sum of money as inheritance. For a band of ninja-who-would-do-anything-for-money-turned-soul-hungry-demons, his clan was loaded. Then again, it was probably because they were a band of ninja-who-would-do-anything-for-money-turned-soul-hungry-demons. Out of a strange mixture of duty and spontaneity, he split the money in two. The first half went to rectifying the Hoshizuka. It was a huge edifice, sprawling and large, random spikes and stars sticking out of random places. The building housed a dojo and an artificial hot spring, and that was only the first floor. In terms of grandeur, it was second only to the Gallow's Mansion. Grandeur. That word sounded big. He liked that. The other half of the money went to a less self-centered cause.
In short, the cash went to supporting each and every village, town, or city the Hoshi Clan had pillaged, raped, or destroyed. One would think that between the three-digit amount of locations that the money would be stretched a bit thin. One would be wrong. Like it had been mentioned before, the Hoshi were loaded. All of the formerly wronged places had prospered, The Village of Shin being on in particular. It had become a tourist resort, selling a strange signature with the word "BLACK" coupled with a five-point star merging with the 'A'. Where the village deity's likeness once stood there was a sculpture. It had a boy sitting lotus-style, a stick slamming into his head. Through the blood running down his head, the boy smiled brightly. It was Black Star. The village's new deity. Looked like he was finally becoming a god.
A god fighting a fickle battle with sleep. The sun laughed. Star yawned, long and loud. Things were boring when he wasn't doing them. And at the moment, he was straining to wake up. He felt a sting of pity for the small people as he wiped a bit of sleep from his eyes. They must be bored out of their minds. It was time to give them a show. He built a small amount of tension in his body and sprang to his feet, not quite sure how he got on the floor. Huh. His 'bigness' must have been too much for the futon to handle.
The shinobi did a few exercises to get his blood flowing; crunches, reverse crunches, squats. During his second rep of one hundred two-fingered push-ups, a wave of 'big; slammed into him like an invisible gorilla's fist, knocking the air from him; the only person he knew that could make 'big' that big was Shinigami-sama. He blinked. Had the Grim Reaper spilled coffee on himself or something? As long as it didn't bother the Blade Meister's limelight, it was fine. Finishing the last push-up, he briefly wondered what Shinigami-sama did with all the autographs he gave him.
A smell hit his nose, freezing him instantly. Food. Tsubaki. Two of his favorite things. He began a steady walk to the door, chiseled muscles shifting effortlessly.
The Demon Weapon Tsubaki hummed a pleasant tune to herself as she cooked. 'Does he like pickles for breakfast?' She smiled, the humble twitch of lips as easy to miss as the subtle scent of the flower she was named after. 'If it's edible, he'll eat it.' She put the vegetable aside on a separate dish, and started on an omelet. She failed to notice the bush of azure hair behind her.
Strong arms wrapped around the female's waist and pulled her against the ninja's body, solid, warm. Tsubaki was startled and gasped lightly. She hadn't even felt his presence; with a soul as large as his ego, it was a difficult task. 'When did he...'
She gasped again as a pair of lips brushed the outer lobe of her ear in a whisper. "Law of the Assassin one: Cloak yourself in darkness. Still your breath, make a path to your enemy." He had grown a bit taller than she much to his delight.
"Black Star, the foo..ah!" He set a kiss behind her ear, her weak spot. Warm butterflies fluttered about her stomach, churning the beginnings of what made her a woman.
"Law of the Assassin two: Know your enemy. Target weak points. Predict their movements." A hand that moved to futilely push the ninja away was easily captured.
Tsubaki tried in vain to explain that she was still cooking. Her words just became more and more inarticulate. A trail of kisses moved down the Weapon's neck, leaving white-hot rapture in its wake.
"Law of the Assassin three: Before your enemy becomes aware of your presence, defeat it."
She felt him now.
He was big.
Of course he was.
His hands parted at her waist, one traveling north, the other southbound. What he did next made her knees buckle.
The Meister and Weapon went to the ground in a tangle of limbs, moans and discarded clothing.
The two parts of their breakfast had a rather anticlimactic ending.
The lucky portion got cold.
The ill-fated end burned calmly at the stove.
It didn't really matter to Black Star, though.
He didn't pay attention to little things.
Ragnarok flexed a hand, his gaze on the ceiling. Having his own body still felt surreal, even after five years.
----------------------------------------------Flashbacku----------------------------------------------------------------
It was dark.
Chrona was on the ground, in a pool of black blood.
Ragnarok had soon surmised that Medusa-sama's nee-chan was a bitch.
She had done this to Chrona.
Ripped her soul to shreds
Chrona wasn't breathing.
Was she dead?
If she was dead, shouldn't he be dead too?
He couldn't feel her soul.
He'd never forgive the bitch if she died on him.
She was his bitch.
HIS.
She couldn't die.
There were various souls around.
The forces of Shibusen were fighting Bitch-nee-chan's men.
There was plenty of candy around too.
Probably because of the fight.
And a strange...thickness in the air that he didn't recognize.
It oozed power though.
And he needed power.
An idea started to form.
He reached for the thickness. It came.
The thickness absorbs some candy.
Feet began to form from the black mass.
It was still dark.
Chrona still wasn't breathing.
More candy came.
Legs began to form.
This..was this magic?
Not like Medusa-sama's...
Chrona.
Her magic.
Crude and unrefined, but it was still there.
A torso, oooooh, he had a six-pack.
The neck was a bit tricky. Sinew, bone, blood, throat.
The head was simple.
And just like that, Ragnarok was human.
His skin wasn't black-black, rather a darker brown; mahogany, kinda like that gauntlet-user.
Pupils were black, white slivers of 'X' adorning each.
His hair was the same brilliant white, two long bangs intersecting each other across his forehead to continue the 'X' motif.
Chrona was still on the ground.
He knelt near her and put a hand to her chest.
His soul wavelength poured into her without preamble.
This felt dangerous.
He didn't care.
Torrents of energy surged into her body.
She still wouldn't breathe.
He removed his hand.
He wouldn't forgive her if she died.
His lips captured her's and the wavelength began to flow again.
He felt light-headed now.
But he didn't stop.
It got dark again.
------------------------------------------Flashbacku endo-------------------------------------------------------------
The two were found by Shibusen after the fight was over. Neither was breathing. They were both alive, though.
He had blood pumping in his veins, but his soul was a husk.
She was running off of soul wavelength alone, bloodless.
Kim and Stein were polite enough to pull them from the jaws of death.
After a little R&R, the two were taken in by Death the Kid, having nowhere else to go.
"You two need to learn how to become more human", he had said.
Ragnarok found it funny that something like that would come from a Shinigami.
Chrona didn't; she couldn't deal with irony.
Kidd taught them how to live over the course of four years, however. Ragnarok learned how it was to be human, and Chrona learned to deal with more stuff. Ragnarok had a bit of a temper, though. He made it a habit to pick fights with Kidd. Kidd was indifferent. The fights usually ended with Ragnarok bloody and bruised. Even unconscious on a few occasions.
Liz told Kidd that he was being too rough.
Patti giggled and cheered Ragnarok on.
Kidd retorted with saying that Ragnarok was a glutton for punishment, and that it was the only way for him to learn.
Ragnarok had no clue what a "Glutton for punishment" was.
Chrona thought that it vaguely reminded her of a masochist, but she couldn't deal with saying something so lewd.
The beatings continued for a few weeks until Kidd decided it was time for an intervention. Random haymakers and kicks copied off of t.v. shows would never hit a trained martial artist. Especially a perfect one. Kidd taught the Devil Sword how to fight. With the permission of Shinigami-sama, (who was incidentally the only person Ragnarok was scared of) Kidd taught Ragnarok the Stance of Sin and Stance of Punishment, the two rudimentary Shinigami Taijutsu. After Ragnarok got over how strange the fighting styles looked and got a good grasp of them, things changed. Their duels lasted longer, Ragnarok got less bloody, and, by the end, Kidd actually got hit. The two bonded, almost like brothers. His Meister and the other's Weapons were in on the bonding too, the five of them becoming something akin to a family. Kid taught them how to be human well. Ragnarok and Chrona weren't quite family, though. There was something a bit different...
"Ragnarok-kun!" The door to his, their, room busted open. The two had been sleeping together since they could remember, and Chrona couldn't handle, even after they split apart, to sleep alone. Ragnarok couldn't either, but no one knew that. Steam wafted into the room; she had just finished a shower.
"Eh?" His marred gaze cut from the ceiling to his Meister. She was clad only in a towel. She had inherited her mother's form, something that the towel made clear as it struggled to maintain what was hidden beneath. The pink mass of hair, the style she also copied from her mother, was sticking to her face and skin, still damp. The Weapon pretended to pay attention, enjoying the free show.
Heat lightly flushed her cheeks. It was from the bath, right? Why didn't she put any clothes on? She couldn't handle this. "Stripey-nii-kun is having a party later. Are we going?" She looked at him with expectant eyes. The towel continued to struggle.
He blinked once. "T'ch. Of course we are; that's a shitty question to ask." He hadn't been cured of his dirty mouth.
She knew how to deal with his language and beamed brightly, eyes closing in happiness. "'Kay!" The towel decided to resign. Somewhat-wet cotton floated to the ground.
Ragnarok stared. Twin rivulets of black ran from his nose.
Silence. His eyes traveled.
More silence. She wondered why it felt a little nippy all of a sudden.
"I told that Star-teme that pink was your natural hair color. Twenty bucks up my alley!" He gave her a thumbs up and a lecherous grin.
She blink, confused by his words. Was he bleeding? She couldn't handle him having an aneurysm...she looked down. Her cheeks flared red.
Natural instinct told Ragnarok it was a good idea to haul ass.
A screech of "HENTAI!" rocked their flat.
The Black Blood didn't save him this time.
Harvar D. Éclair took a glance at the mirror, deemed himself presentable, and looked away. He wasn't one for vanity. It wasn't a very logical thing. A sheet was the only thing he wore. This wasn't very logical either, but it couldn't be helped. He had stayed fit and in fighting condition, taking up Chinese boxing. His body was lean, muscles there, but not obnoxiously so like his partner. Liquid steel was a good term to use. Kinda like a cat. He had let his hair grow out over the years, and his once humble ponytail now resembled an angry dragon. Instead of flowing down his back, the long lock of ebony stopped mid-way and took a right turn. Then another. And another. Incidentally, he reminded himself that three rights made a left. The point was, that his hair now looked like a jagged lightning bolt that cloaked his body. Strangely enough without even touching it; it even reached his knees. Ox had once asked him if he used static to keep the hair at bay. He just smiled.
His eyes traveled to a prone Jacqueline O. Lantern Dupre. She was oversleeping. Again. He walked back to their bed, and gave her a light series of taps. No response. 'Oversleeping is illogical as well. Not only does it take away time that could be used to do something, but it also depletes an individual of the initial energy that waking up gives.' Without time and energy, work could not be done. Without things in a constant state of work, order could not be accomplished. Without order, illogical chaos would ensure. He didn't like illogical things. Incidentally, he prodded the sleeping Lamp Weapon again. No response. A harmless jolt of electricity throttled her awake.
"Har-kun?" She rubbed a bit of sleep from her eyes, sat up, yawned; things like that.
"You've been asleep twenty-minutes after eight", a pause. "Twenty-four." The vicious dragon that was his hair swayed indifferently.
She gave him an odd look, something she did often; he said such things often as well. She licked her lips as her gaze traveled to the single white sheet wrapped about his waist, knowing that it was the only thing covering the male. "You know..." Her arms folded across her chest, causing her bare breast to rise. "It's your fault I'm so burned out; I didn't get any sleep last night."
Harvar could've sworn he hear a purr in that last word. He smirked, two words rising from his throat. "I know."
"Come back to bed, Har-kun..."
"Get up, Jackie."
"We can oversleep every once in a while. I doubt we'd get much sleep, though..." A faux innocent face framed the seductive words.
The Éclair was glad he had such a strong will. Few could stand the spitfire licking at his psyche "We'll have tonight."
A pout. "Promise?"
A grin. "Promise."
"Your eyes look beautiful, Har-kun."
The Lance flushed a few shades red, fingers searching for his visor. "Shut up."
She giggled.
"It's your turn to wake them up."
Jackie's blood went cold. The four of them; she, Harvar, and Ox Ford and Kim Diehl, had moved in together in one large house. This was a tactical move. But then again...
Her dilemma was simple.
She and Harvar took turns waking the two up, both of them late sleepers, to Harvar's chagrin.
Waking them up wasn't a bad thing a first, all it took was a small jolt or a light burn.
The problem was that when they slept together, things got rather...
Messy, to keep things blunt.
"Why do we have to be up so early?" An innocent question.
"Kidd-san is holding a party later on today. You women take forever to prepare for social events." An honest answer.
No debate there.
She pulled out the puppy-dog eyes.
He didn't bat a lash.
"Can't you do it?"
"It's your turn."
They took turns tossing the verbal ball.
Finally, "Where are they this time? The new couch?" The old one had been burnt on a rather odd Saturday morning.
The Lance shook his head, hair-dragon shifting. "The hammock out back."
Jackie knew she'd regret it, but "Why outside? It's...outside."
Harvar quirked a brow at Captain Obvious. "The Lightning King performs better outside?"
"..."
"..."
"I'll put some clothes on." She sighed, contemplating burning the Meisters along with the hammock.
AN: Well now, wasn't that fun?
That was the first part of a two-part
Of reintroducing the Students of Shibusen.
The party will commence after part two.
Well.
Don't forget to R&R
It makes me feel special.
Really.
Also, I have a goal of making it to at least thirty reviews.
If such an event is to happen, I'll be happy to develop a little idea forming in the back of my head for another fic.
We'll see.