Hello you amazing people! Thank you for making it to chapter 8! I really do appreciate all of you! Thank you thank you thank you! Please make sure to leave a review! And to all of you that have reviewed, followed, and favorited you're on my favorite people list xD And to LeprechaunGreen: It's all about scheduling and planning ahead :) I'm already starting chapter 13 for this story :) Disclaimer: I do not own Soul Eater D: Enjoy chapter 8: Wait, what?
Maka felt her father put his arm around her shoulders. It was 2:23 in the morning. She was only at her father's house because he had begged her to spend the next few days there. And, in all honesty, she didn't want to be alone. She'd had such a violent nightmare that her father had told her to sleep next to him for the rest of the night.
She'd missed her father. Yes, he had made a lot of mistakes but, he did love her. And it wasn't as if though she didn't feel his love. She laughed at herself. Here she was, a seventeen year old girl, curled up into her father's chest like some little kid. Images of her nightmare flashed in her mind and she flinched. Spirit felt his daughter begin to tremble and held her closer. He rubbed her back as she began to cry.
"It's okay," he cooed. "It was just a nightmare." Maka nodded against her father's chest. "There now," he said softly. "Everything will be okay, everything will be okay." Maka tried to focus on the even rhythm of her father's breathing. Everything will be okay, she repeated to herself.
It physically hurt Spirit to see his almost grown daughter in this condition. He wished her mother was here, but that woman never seemed to be around anymore. He felt Maka's breathing slow and eventually settle into a steady rhythm. He hadn't been able to hold his daughter like this in so long. Spirit cherished every second of this moment. Maka was in her last month of school. Then she would graduate and focus on becoming a death scythe herself.
He never intended for his daughter to inherit his weapon blood. He wanted her to be just like her mother. So many thoughts ran through his mind that he decided to forget them for now and sleep…
"Maka, you have to get out of here, now!"
"No! Soul, I can't leave you!"
"Black Star, get Maka out of here!"
"Stay away from me, Black Star!"
"Maka, please, leave, now! I-"
Maka opened her eyes slowly. Morning sunshine landed softly across the floor. She was alone on the bed. The smell of bacon and eggs drifted between floorboards and the door. She sat up slowly. You what? Maka thought remembering the last time she saw Soul. The pain in her chest throbbed. She got out of bed simply because she had to.
"Morning, Maka," her father sang as she entered the kitchen. She offered a small smile; her father couldn't cook to save his life. She was touched by his effort. Maka stood next her father and took the spatula from his hands.
"You don't know how to cook," she reminded him. Spirit laughed.
"Yeah, I guess you're right." He let her take over the task of making breakfast but still stood beside her. They made small conversation, her father trying to avoid the topic of Soul.
"Dad," Maka started as they were setting the table, "about last night."
"Don't worry about it, Maka," Spirit said quickly. He really didn't want her to bring it up.
"I'm sorry." Spirit softened and pulled his daughter into a hug.
"You don't have to be sorry," Spirit spoke softly. "I'm your father. I'll always be there for you." Maka hugged her father back.
"Papa?" she asked timidly into his chest.
"Yes, Maka?"
"It wasn't a nightmare," she whispered.
"What do you mean?"
"Last night. It wasn't a nightmare. It was a memory." Spirit was taken back. All that screaming and thrashing was caused by a memory? He had seriously underestimated just how traumatizing the mission in England had been. Spirit couldn't respond with words. He just held his daughter until they smelled the bacon burning.
x
Black Star sighed in relief as he leaned into Kid's couch. He and Tsubaki were slowly making their way to creating a death scythe. The last mission hadn't been extremely difficult; it was just nice to finally relax.
"If you're going to put your feet on my coffee table, put them exactly in the center!" Black Star rolled his eyes at Kid's whining.
"Whatever, I'll just take them off." Neither Kid nor Black Star really wanted to argue.
"Don't get too comfortable," Kid scolded Black Star. "We're going to Lord Death's to see Maka's fourth mission by herself." In response, Black Star sat up.
"When are we leaving?"
"In about half an hour." They were silent for a moment.
"How do you think she'll do?" Black Star asked seriously.
"It's hard to tell. Before, I would have complete faith in her. But, now, I'm not so sure. I'm just hoping she does well. You?"
"Ha! Maka may not be a star like me but she's a damn good second. I think she'll be just fine!" Kid smirked. He really hoped his friend was right.
x
"I brought popcorn!"
"Patty, this isn't a movie," Liz scolded.
"Who cares? I love popcorn!" Black Star said as he took a seat to Patty's left, taking a
handful of popcorn.
"You know," Liz began, "We're here because we want to support Maka, but what are you doing here, Professor Stein? You're not exactly the sentimental type."
"Observation," Stein said simply.
"Spirit," Lord Death called to the man who was curled into a ball in front of the wall. "She's finally made it." The group of seven turned to face the mirror.
Tsubaki sat down on the floor in front of Black Star; he put a hand on her shoulder. Kid sat in his father's chair with the Thompson sisters flanking him; Patty on his left and Liz on his right. Lord Death and Stein stood behind Patty and Black Star. Spirit sat on the floor on Tsubaki's left as the image of Maka walking through the crowded streets of downtown Los Angeles slowly appeared.
x
It was uncharacteristically cold for Southern California in May. At least, it was cold for Southern Californians. At sixty degrees Fahrenheit, Maka noticed people pulling their sweaters tighter against their bodies. She noticed mothers forcing sweaters onto their children. Maka was starting to feel more comfortable in her long sleeve-vest-skirt combo. The sun dipped behind the sky scrapers, making it colder than it should have been.
She put on her coat and continued walking around. The soul she was after was supposed to be in downtown. Maka was realizing that Los Angeles' downtown was much larger than any downtown she'd ever been to. After walking up a hill, Maka stood at the corner of Grand and 1st street. She looked around, trying to get her bearings. Signs everywhere said "Music Center this," "Music Center that."
Seemingly out of nowhere, crowds of people were walking towards her and past her. They were all dressed so well. Maka turned to see their destination and was confronted with the Walt Disney Concert Hall. There were huge posters for Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue hanging in the front of the building. The bottom of the poster read "Played by a surprise guest pianist". He would've loved this, she thought.
"Excuse me, miss," a cold voice sounded behind her. Maka turned quickly, her hands automatically going up in defense. The man simply put his hands up in surrender and smiled.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you," he said gently. Maka didn't have to look at his soul to see that this was the one she was looking for.
"If you surrender now, things will go much easier," Maka stated coolly. The older man laughed out right at her.
"You're going to take my soul?" He asked in between laughs. Maka stood her ground. "I don't see a weapon with you," he stated. "Oh, wait- he's hiding, isn't he?" The man continued to laugh.
"Shut up," Maka growled. "I'm my own weapon." The man's laughs immediately stopped, but were replaced by a sinister grin.
"That makes things so much more interesting," he whispered in her ear. Maka jumped back.
"It's not the form that counts; it's the soul," she told herself.
"Is that so?" The man reached for Maka's arm. His movement was so fast Maka did the only thing she could do, transform. The blade that came out from a little above her wrist cut the tips off the man's fingers. Blood squirted out on to the pavement. Maka tried to ignore the splatter on her face. The man showed no reaction. Instead, he examined his hand and laughed.
"Wow," he breathed, "You really are exactly how he described you, Maka Albarn."
"Who described me? How do you know my name?" Maka was barely able to hide the fact that she was shaken. She didn't have anyone backing her up. Her hands had begun to shake a little. She had to remind herself that if she broke down now, this man would kill her. Maka couldn't afford to die.
The man smiled and showed Maka his re-growing fingers. Maka had to do a double take. She looked at his soul. He was human alright. So, what was causing his fingers to grow back? He chuckled.
"Confused, are we?" Maka didn't answer. "I'm under orders not to kill you; apparently, you're a valuable tool." Maka swallowed, trying to loosen the muscles that had begun to constrict.
"Who ordered you?" She managed to choke out. The man shook his head. He continued to speak as he wiped off the blood from his fingers.
"You'll have to come with me to find out." Maka's eyes immediately started looking for a chance to run. "It's pointless," he said reading her eyes. Maka cursed as she noticed the men standing thirty feet away in every direction. Maka lowered her arms but was still on the defensive. The man took the opportunity to clean Maka's face.
"Shall we?" The man asked, offering his elbow. Maka stared at him, anger starting to build. "Trust me," he said menacingly, "You won't want to miss this." Surrounded, outnumbered, and against her better judgment, she lightly took his elbow. He smiled with fake kindness.
"That's a good girl," he cooed. The man led her into the concert hall. He continued to babble about trivial things such as the weather, politics, jazz, and its introduction to the classical world.
Once they entered the concert hall, Maka felt sick. Everything about this situation was all wrong in the first place but, her instincts were telling her that she needed to get out of there, now. Maka could feel herself becoming desperate. The need to run was quickly overwhelming her, especially when they made it to their seats. Maka really didn't want to sit. The man sensed her hesitation.
"If you don't sit, I have twenty men, all with the ability I have, ready to kill you at my signal."
"I thought you were under orders not to kill me," Maka tried to bluff.
"I'll be forgiven," he said nonchalantly. Maka's heart began racing as she sat down. She mentally cursed herself for convincing Lord Death that she was ready for a mission. They were sitting on the stage left side of the middle section in the twelfth row. The man continued his small talk. Maka silently prayed that Lord Death had sent someone to help her.
You can take them, you know, a voice that Maka hadn't heard in years said. I can give you that power. It was the voice of the black blood. Black Blood? Maka was only able to hear it when she was in soul resonance with Soul. And even then they had only used the black blood twice. It didn't make sense that she was hearing its voice now.
The conductor came out and introduced the orchestra and program. First on the list was Mozart. Half way through the performance the feeling in Maka changed subtly. There was a small pit of warmth forming in the pit of her stomach. Confused, Maka made sure she didn't show any sign of feeling different. As the orchestra got closer and closer to the end of the piece, the warmth she was feeling spread more and more into her body. It had a familiar feeling. She had felt it before. When? Where? She was so lost in thought that she didn't notice that the piece had finished and the entire audience was clapping. The only thing that pulled her out of her thoughts was a female voice speaking into the microphone…
The conductor was male…
Maka looked up to the stage. The woman on stage was tall, blond, and physically gorgeous. She didn't look particularly young but, there was an air of… energy? No, that wasn't it. Charisma? Yes, but, that wasn't it. Maka concentrated harder on the woman's soul. Authoritative. That was it. It was as if that woman told you to do something, you'd do it. No questions asked.
"I'd like to thank all of you, again, for coming. As some of you may know, I am this season's greatest donor," she gave a nervous, self-conscious laugh. Maka knew that it was a fake one. "I don't mean to brag," She said with another self-conscious laugh, "But, to brag," she said in a way that no one was offended. "I donated seven million dollars." She finished it with yet another fake laugh. The audience gave her a huge round of applause. Maka clapped once.
"You better act the part or things won't go nearly as smoothly as we have planned," the man next to Maka threatened in her ear. Maka clapped four more times.
"I would really like to thank the Philharmonic for giving me the greatest present in the world," she paused to seemingly collect herself. There was something off about this woman's soul. It felt familiar. Actually, there were a lot of things that Maka felt familiar with. It was in the shape of the woman's nose, her cheek bones, her tall, sleek structure. What the hell was it?
"It's been a dream of mine to see my son on this stage. And to think that the Philharmonic has made this dream into a reality, I'm truly grateful." Something sparked inside Maka's soul. Maka looked to the doors that lead back stage. Someone was behind there. Why couldn't she see their soul?
"Please give a very warm welcome to the surprise guest pianist," the doors on the side opened a little. "My son!" The audience applauded accordingly. The doors opened and a young man walked onto the stage. Maka didn't feel the tears run down her face. She didn't feel herself stand up.
"Soul Evans!" The woman walked over to her son and hugged him although he didn't hug back. Maka couldn't believe anything she was seeing or hearing. Her breathing became hitched.
Maka stared at him from where she was standing. He turned to face the audience and bowed twice. He looked awful. There were huge bags under his eyes. His body looked weak and brittle. He seemed as though he was barely standing up. Everything looked wrong though, to everyone else, he probably appeared very professional. But all of that aside, none of it was what concerned her the most.
Maka couldn't see his soul.
"Would you like to say a few words?" His mother asked him. Maka could see Soul physically resist the urge to roll his eyes. He walked up to the microphone and cleared his throat.
"Thank you," he said curtly. Maka, still standing, felt her knees go weak. Could it really be Soul? How? She couldn't see his soul!
"Better sit down, now," the man said tugging at her coat. Maka could care less what he had to say. Maka excused herself out into the aisle. Soul bowed again and began to make his way to the piano that was stage left. Maka was almost running to the stage.
Soul really didn't want to be there, but he couldn't fight them by himself. He had already tried that and they nearly killed him, twice. He looked out into the audience and saw a girl half walking, half running. Must really have to use the bathroom, he thought. He sat at the piano and waited for the piece to start. He looked back into the girl who had to pee.
She was closely followed by two men and there were another two blocking the exit. What the hell, Soul thought. The piece started just as the men caught up to the girl and began to drag her back. Soul struggled to make out the girl's face through the stage lights. Something's not right, no shit, of course it's not right! Soul argued with himself as his entrance quickly approached.
He began to play from memory as he watched the girl being dragged towards the back of the hall. He watched as she managed to free her mouth from one of their hands. She screamed at the top of her lungs. Soul stopped playing. That voice, it was a voice he was so positive that he'd never hear again. And all it said was one word before it was shut up by the man's hand again. His name. That was all Soul needed.
Soul jumped off the stage and ran to her.
"Maka!" He yelled to her. By now the house lights had been turned on and Soul could clearly see her. He didn't care that tears were freely streaming down his face. Her face was one he'd never thought he'd see again. Maka freed her mouth again.
"Soul!" She yelled. Maka had been cutting them over and over but they would begin to heal as soon as she removed her scythes and sometimes even around her scythes. Her clothes were nearly soaked in their blood. Soul caught up with them soon enough and couldn't hide his grimace as he turned his arm into a scythe.
"Maka! Drop your head!" Soul cut the arms off every single man holding onto Maka. She stood up and was pulled into a protective hug by Soul. She didn't have to look to know that they were surrounded.
"You couldn't just sit down and listen," Soul's mother said from behind Soul. Maka couldn't see her but she could feel her. Her soul had a presence that Maka had only felt once before. And that was when she faced the Kishin. Soul's tears were still falling as he held onto Maka.
"Step aside, Soul," his mother demanded. Maka could feel him tremble at the sound of her voice.
"No," Soul said into Maka's hair. Soul's mother began to laugh.
"Sometimes I wonder why I let you live," she spat. Maka flinched. Without any warning, Maka was hit on her right temple, Soul, on his left temple. The world began to blur. Soul reached out to Maka as the world faded into darkness. The last thing Maka felt was Soul's hand on hers…