A/N: 'sup guys. You ready for some craziness? Without spoiling too much, content warnings include: Justin's conservative misogyny, sexual assault, and "canon-appropriate" violence in quotations. So you know: this is a LONG-ASS CHAPTER.

HAVE AT IT.


His tea was rippling.

"Noah-sama! Are we under attack? Have the DWMA forces somehow discovered our location?"

Noah didn't dignify his manservant's drivel with an answer. "Have you located Giriko yet?"

"Ah, my apologies, sir. He wasn't in the pigsty he calls his room."

Fingers tensing around the handle of the cup, the sorcerer took a sip of tea. There were irregularities in his Book of Eibon, two of whom were of significant interest to the chainsaw in particular. Yet there wasn't a trace of Giriko to be found. The Kishin's executioner was nowhere in sight either. Nor was their little guest…

Noah laid the teacup into its saucer and observed the ripples on the surface from distant tremors.

Just what in the world were Giriko and Justin doing?


SPILLING THE ACID (III)


"Hey pal, I finally found you. If I didn't know you so well, I'd reckon you were avoiding me!"

Blue eyes peered up at his fellow Death Scythe with a curious expression.

The memory flitted from Justin's mind as another chainsaw-laced leg hurtled towards him.

Lonely. It was such a loaded word.

H͚͖̹̻̜ͯ̕O̺͈͇̔̔̈́͘W͓̺͆ͭ͐͂̀ ͔̱͈̻̘̂͒ͭ͝D͇͉̥̜͓̘̫̭ͩ̀R͊̃̔͏͍̼̝͙̺̠̫O̢̲͍̜͉̠̦̰̯͋͋L̵͕̬̱̮̙̜͂͗ͬLͯ̓͐ͦ͏̰͈.̖̰̰͎͎̠̞̠̐̏͠ ̺̫̇ͦ͌͗͞Š͇̟͕̣̲̍̌͞Ņ͕͇̖̗̂͂ͬ̚Ő̱͓͕̓̃͟W̶̪̲͕͓̣̔ ̸̥̜́̑ͥͬW͗ͤ͏̻͖̦Ḣ̅͛҉̯̲̙͈̙͕Ĭ̸̦̲̹̳̘̊ͦ̄T̈́̀͏̻̣̹̞̟̳E͉̣̗̜̿͝ ̵͉͔͚̬̦͒ͬ̈F̬̖̪̐ͨͫ̇͞O̡̰̞̩̖͐̓Ų̘̮̖͕̣̜̮ͦ͆ͤͣŅ̙͓̭̮̯̝̔Ḑ͉̪̙͐ͪ͊̈́ ̸̠̘̺̟͙̱͑̚H̭̙͎̺̮̋̍͋ͨ̀I͙̙̜̜̲̍ͣ͜ͅM̙͖̓ͭ̚͜Ṣ͇̝̏͂͆̑͝Ȩ͎͓̗͓̺͐ͪL̮͉͔͍̙̼̦ͫ̾́ͦ̕F̼̺̂̇͂͘ ̭̻̫͓͙͎̝̈̓͢A͉͈͈ͣ̍̆͝ ̠̳͈͔͍̯̥̈͟Ṋ͓̥̊̾͌͞E̸͔̼͂̒Ẉ̲̼̞͇̼̯̉̆ͧ̈͘ ̢͍͇͖̮͓̇P̘̯̲̳̭̰̰͓ͧ͛ͯ̿͘Ò̯̯̱͍̹͞W̨͓̩̳̞͇͚͈ͣ͐E̟̺̩͙ͥ͛ͯ͜ͅR͕̭̻̩̜͓̝̖ͥ͘Ų͈̱͔͉͉͕ͣͪ̾ͭP̪͔͎̼͙̦̿͢ͅ ̵̤̣̜͓̖̀͂͗I̶̗͈͉͓ͫ͂ͭ̂N̷̼̜̟̞̝̳̖̥͌͗ ̨͉̰̳͍̭̖͓̑T͔͇̫͍̃̀ͩ͢H̹͖̱͍̥͓̞̏̽̕E̢͎̹̺̠̹̬̽ͣ̔ ̞̟̝̙͋̅͢M̨̥͔̠͊̄͊O̢̲̘̳͇̩͖͇͙͊ͤͬͤS̛̰̖̟̿̽T͇̘̀̿͑̂͠ ͧ͐̄҉̖͙̞͈̙̰̪͍Ũ̞̪̲͇̣͐͟N̢̝͇̍̏̿E̩͓̣̫ͮ̈́ͅX̱̼͔͕̚͢P̸͙̦̼̰̳̋̀̎̄Ē̦̮͚͙̤͘ͅC͎̫͚̹͕͈͚ͫ̒͠T̨̘̩͙̬̩ͤͅȨ̝͚̋͌ͅD̢̼̜̼̠͇̭̼ͧ ͖̜̼̩̄̑ͬͯ͜O̡̳̣ͭ̒̋F̡̙͓̱̻͍̻̓̉ ̪̟ͬͭ̍͒͠P̧̗̻̥͚̘̞͎͉̾̔͋Ḽ̻̲̯̬́̓͂̍͞A̠̩͇̳̩̱̠͆́C̡̹͈ͬ̅͌Ē͗͏̩̲̜S̡͚͌̆ͬ͗ͅ.̧̲̩̩ͩ̾̓

Of all the godforsaken things that could have happened… how? HOW?

D̴̥͇̹̼̋̐̂Ó̲̟̘͍̪͙̝ͥ̈͊́ ̺̗̲̼̱̬̿ͥ̑͘T͇̭̫̺͐̽ͧ̆̕H̡͉̞͚̲̰̤̥̦͑͒E̼̘̮̰̼̚̕Y̟̠̾͆͌̏͡ ̪̱͚̻̻̔͊̀T̶̲̱̮̈́̐̾̚H̨͖̮̭̼̪̹ͤ̽ͅͅÏͧ̿ͭ͏̤͚͕̜͈̞ͅÑ̢͔̮̭͈̳͎̃ͧK̴̰̺̱̞̩ͤ̃ ̷̹͙͖̦̱͍̰͊A̵̝̥͖͆͑ͧ̐ ̦̦̮̇̅̎͝ͅL̢̤̰̝̬͔̪̻̈́̍̍ͅI̅̐̄҉̮͇̲͎̳T̸͉̟͎̗͛ͤͦ̆T̶̺͔͎̜̠̐̐͒L̈ͯ͏̤̥̺̤͙̯̙E̴̬̼̔ ̫͈̪̙͈̯̀ͯ͒ͪ̕B̴̬ͣ̇ͅO̜̱̦̦̝͓̽͠O͖̝̳͙̼̅̈́̑ͮ͢S̭̣̩̝͇̜͔̍̀T̩̟̹̗͉̖͇̯̉͛ͧ̉̕ ͔̟͚͙͈̐͂͒̕L̛̦̲̓İ̢̘͙̬̩̜ͧK̷̜͎̩̩͔̩͈͓͊È̝̱̟̭̳ͪ͂͠ ̲̼̞̣̼̯̱̄̋̔ͫ́T̡̳̙̞̘̲̞ͪH̺̦̹̞̤͉͕ͯ̄̆͛͢A̸͉̭̝͙͚̲̘͉̒ͥ̈́T̵̖̖̙͔̽̿ͤ͆ ̭̜͙̑̆ͯ͞W̯̪ͥ͘I̦̖͉͋̏̕L̛͈̖̬̲͍̎Lͪ̉ͥ́҉̥̹͙͙ ͐͏͕͕S̰̤̺͔̘͊̒ͩ͠Ȁ̮͇̫̱̭̻͢V̏̿̑҉͔͕͇E̶͖͔̹̝̖͍̮̭ͨ̌ ̧͙̳̗͂ͅT̷̞͚̈́̃H͚͍̬̮͗͝E̶̺̘͑ͭ͊͋M̧̜̥̥͋̅͑?̧̣̲͉̠͈̋̑ L͇̜͚̦͇͛͠E̷̲͎͓͇̲̦͓̗ͤͧT̸͇͉̫̬͚͂̃̐̇Ş̣̼͉̆ ̵͔̬̉ͥ͗̚E̢̟̤͈̖̭͂ͣ̽X̨̳̥̝̆ͮ͗̓Ę̲̳ͣ͛C̠̠̻̯̗̰̬͕ͧ̏̄͢U͓̯̗̇͑ͤ̃́T̮̙͉̟̬̥͋̈̚͜Ȩ̳͖̹̦̥̬̥͒̋ͭ͑ ̏͏̠̮̩̗T̬̣̩̺͓̰̦͋̓ͦ͠ͅH̪̬̩͓̣̳̥ͩ͝E̫̝̠̠͉͓̞̭ͮ̿̐͠M͓̮̣͔͕̮ͦ̂̏ͦ̕ ͓̼̭̲ͪ́Ḅ̨͚̰ͦ̓O̴̮̘͈̙͆ͪ̔ͮT̸͖̻͖̥̖̩ͥḢ̭͕̘̣̩͌͛͠.̰͖̽͆ͮ̈͟

Without another inhuman roar, chains whipped out Kishin eyes-adorned sleeves in a frenetic chaos of sounds and motions.

Madness—roaring, blinding madness fueled by rampant jealousy—betrayal—no, injustice—howled within Justin at the revelation. Rage, disgust, spite, envy, loathing—disgust, disgust, disgust consumed his soul, sucking his consciousness into a maelstrom of desires and emotions he couldn't process so he was simply going to kill them all and let God sort them out.

"That all you've got, priest?! Absolutely PATHETIC! What, what? You think I'd be weaker just 'cos I'm in a female body now?! SHIT."

Jeanne's body landed flush on one of the claw's chains and sawlegged up the length of the chain—there was a flash of white—a blink—and Justin was rewarded with a sharp kick to his helmet that sent his head clattering against the metal.

(Why.

Why couldn't Jeanne just have died quietly? A clean slice was all it would've taken to grant her a painless, dignified death fitting of her own heritage. Sending her off to the pearly gates was the best ending he could offer her. But instead she had to be so fucking persistent like a cockroach. One hit was never enough; it would continue to scuttle lopsidedly, tenaciously clinging onto to life. Now he had no choice but to repeatedly smash her beneath his foot until she was reduced to a goopy, twitching mess sticking to his sole.)

Somewhere in the eye of the whirlpool, a tiny, barely audible voice piped up: but what would that accomplish?

Justin blinked.

Another sharp kick landed on his helmet, sending the tiny ornaments jangling and rattling the cogent thought from his mind.

'Y̡͔̖̫͉̖̍ͫǪ̭̻͉̆̄̿Uͫͨ̄̃҉̥̠̯ͅ ̺͙͖͓̦̟̠͑͜N̬͉̲͕̐͂̚̕E͒͒̏̍҉̣̣̺͎̯̙̫Ḗ̵̘͉̬D̯͈͈̹͌̔ͧ̊͞ ̨̤̖̹̩̳̠͑̀T̨̥̹̞̲͙̥̟ͭ͊̾̊O̵̗͉ͣ̐ ̝̰̯͗̆̈́́F̶̺̝̎ͭ̂̀O͑҉͍̩̥̬͕̖C̞̲̥̣̗͉͈̔̇̈̎̀U̞̟ͩ͜S̱͙̼̯ͮ̎ͨ͘ͅ.͍̣͒̒͝ ̗̣̮̖̬̞͖͆̈̑̚͠W̦̠̱͓̫ͩ̾͜ͅÉ̛͉̟͎̜͓̫̙̥̾̊ͪ ͩ͗ͫ͏̼̥̤͙M̧̲̹̯̗̰͖͍͊ͭͅU̺͕̤̙̞̞̓͆͛̕S̶͔̞̩͒ͧT͙̝̣͔͉̂͘ ̼̞̻̙͒̄͒ͧ͢E̸̪̯̖̳͓̓ͅX̞͍͋ͨ̔ͣ͢E̥̞͚̓́C̵̙̘̞̠̺̙͒͆ͩU̻̣̬̦͇̾̊͢T̼͔̜̦̦͓ͯͣͨ͡Ẹ͎͖͓̩̣̩̞ͬͬ́ ̯̠͇̤̇͟Ṭ͕̯̼ͭͨ̾̎̕ͅH̢̤͙ͣE̜̪̖͎͑̃͝M̱͖̗͚̱̫͕̀̓̊́͜.̘̣̠͖͍͂̅͝'

Yes, their laughable resonance and bonds wouldn't stop him from punishing these two fools for—

Indistinguishable blurs, jolts of pain, streaks of golden hair, and Jeanne's face warped in laughter.

'E̼̖̥̝͉̫ͤͧ̎́ͅX̖̠̦̥̝͍͊̒ͬ̀͜Ḙ̞̣̱̤̱̤ͫ̐ͦ͟C̝̭̀ͬ̈́͛͘Ų̗͎̘̞̲̽̿͑T̜̮̤̬̔ͣͯ͐͡ͅͅẼ̟͚̝̼͌̌͢ ̭̬͇̝͔̪̹̇̊́T̨̻͙͉͔̤̯͋̂̏̇H̰̟̥ͯ͡E̝̫͕͈̹͎̜ͯͮͦ̾͘M̸̬̗ͫ.͎͖͇̪̥́̌ͭ͘'

…for what?

For which transgressions?

For which sins?

'E̼̖̥̝͉̫ͤͧ̎́ͅX̖̠̦̥̝͍͊̒ͬ̀͜Ḙ̞̣̱̤̱̤ͫ̐ͦ͟C̝̭̀ͬ̈́͛͘Ų̗͎̘̞̲̽̿͑T̜̮̤̬̔ͣͯ͐͡ͅͅẼ̟͚̝̼͌̌͢ ̭̬͇̝͔̪̹̇̊́T̨̻͙͉͔̤̯͋̂̏̇H̰̟̥ͯ͡E̝̫͕͈̹͎̜ͯͮͦ̾͘M̸̬̗ͫ.͎͖͇̪̥́̌ͭ͘'

For threatening Kishin-sama?

E̼̖̥̝͉̫ͤͧ̎́ͅX̖̠̦̥̝͍͊̒ͬ̀͜Ḙ̞̣̱̤̱̤ͫ̐ͦ͟C̝̭̀ͬ̈́͛͘Ų̗͎̘̞̲̽̿͑T̜̮̤̬̔ͣͯ͐͡ͅͅẼ̟͚̝̼͌̌͢ ̭̬͇̝͔̪̹̇̊́T̨̻͙͉͔̤̯͋̂̏̇H̰̟̥ͯ͡E̝̫͕͈̹͎̜ͯͮͦ̾͘M̸̬̗ͫ.͎͖͇̪̥́̌ͭ͘'

The chains decelerated, slackening…

(…how were these two a threat to the holy Kishin-sama…?)

'E̼̖̥̝͉̫ͤͧ̎́ͅX̖̠̦̥̝͍͊̒ͬ̀͜Ḙ̞̣̱̤̱̤ͫ̐ͦ͟C̝̭̀ͬ̈́͛͘Ų̗͎̘̞̲̽̿͑T̜̮̤̬̔ͣͯ͐͡ͅͅẼ̟͚̝̼͌̌͢ ̭̬͇̝͔̪̹̇̊́T̨̻͙͉͔̤̯͋̂̏̇H̰̟̥ͯ͡E̝̫͕͈̹͎̜ͯͮͦ̾͘M̸̬̗ͫ.͎͖͇̪̥́̌ͭ͘'

(Why…why were they fighting?)

'I̫̞̳ͦ̀ͥ͜Ṭ̡̩̙͖̲̅͑S̳͖̈́͊̒̏͞ͅͅ ̀̑͏͇̰Ȳ̩̝̝̙̯̎͗͜O̵̹͍̥ͦU̶͔̲͇̳̲̗̖̎ͤ̉R̢̺̦͈͎̐ͤͮ͆ ̝̳̉̓̀Ḏ̭̳̝̭͓ͣ̃̈́͜U̶̝̹̱̥̮͛̓Ṭ̘̻̰͓͖͗͟ͅỴ̓ͭ͐͟ͅ ͍͍̥̑ͧ͑̚͞T̛̜͓̯̳̪̍͊Ọ̜̲͋̓͋͟ ̟̫͇̝̰͍ͪ̆͛̃͟Ë̷̝̭̗X̤̬̲̞ͦ̎͘E͙͎̖̲͍ͯ̄͌̕ͅC̱̮̹̾͞Û̫͚̙̲̫̪̥ͭ̒͠Ț͇̺̹̯̥ͥ̋̿̔͘Ę̱͕̅ͦ ̸̭̝͖̗̗͍̼͖̒ͮ̚S̡͙̰̖̠̩̗̍İ̵̜̥͖͉̣̳͙̗͂ͮͮN̨̻͛ͅN͖͚̭̏͛̉͠Ë̢̦̯͙͔͓́ͭṘ̩̞̓͐̅͘S̗̝̩̞̯̲̋̀̚.͚̜̞̃͆̄́̚ ͕̟̠̹̫͎̬͌̔̉͞ͅW̵̳̺͔̳̳̠̓́H͙͈͕̻̹͈͑͜ͅY̠͖̣͍͖̠ͣ̽̄͊͝ ̞̗̗̺͚̽͌̅͞A̻̝̘͗ͧ̆̿́Ȑ̶̥͇̝̹̞͓͍ͅE̛̙͖̟̝̙̼̣ͩͮN̛͙̳̩̗̒̌ͬ͂T͓͇͇̩̺̝̜̯̂ͫ̓͠ ̨͇̟̫̱̤̬ͥ̇̇̄ͅY̲̳̠̲͍̰̎ͨͣ͠O͒ͫͮ̆҉̦̘͉U̢͍̲͙̖̗̲ͣͭͫ ̺̲̫̠̓̿ͦ́͢D̢̝̗͓̫̱̯̹̫ͦͮ̌O̤̖̣̥͖͙̜͌͗͟I̴̝͔̾̽̚Ṋ̥̮͓̐ͫͩͥ́G̓̍͐҉̯̦ ͖̫̟͇̗̝̳̔́Y̡̮̜̏̚Ȏ̗̱͈̬͈̙͆̈́ͮ͞U̷̠͙͂ͭ̔R̛̞̟̖̫̟̈̈ ̲̺̗ͣ͞D̶͚̘̎ͥÚ̺̯̝͙̟̚ͅͅT̛̰̺̲̮͆̋Ỵ̠̦̹̪̞̰̯ͧ͜,̶̬̤̪̯̥̎̈́̐ͅ ̫͚̹͙̄ͭ̀J̍̓ͥ̑҉̤͙͉U̟̠͙͔̲̺̫̹̎͠S̢̱͖̰̣̳̞ͪ̓T͎̭ͪ̆͑̇́I̥̮̪͋͠N̴̲̦̖̣̎̉̚ͅ?̮̥͔̬̪̟̫̳ͬ̓͡'

Justin riveted his attention to the shadows. 'What did you say?'

The Clown paused. It opened its jowls to repeat its words, but Justin cut it off with an order—

"Deactivate the Madness Fusion."

Like discarding a thick cloak, the Clown's encompassing darkness unfurled from Justin's body and retreated into its corporeal form of pipes and patterns while its host collapsed onto the wet grass. The guillotine quickly rose to his feet, chest heaving as the pale, red mist slowly dissipated from his vision. Duty. He clung onto the word, reclaiming his thoughts from the slurry of insanity.

From the opposite side of the battlefield, Jeanne's jaw dropped.

"…HUH?"

Turning away from his opponent's gobsmacked gawking, Justin edged his gaze towards the culprit behind these accursed headaches and irrational actions. A pair of lopsided eyes stared back at him enigmatically. Almost innocently.

"WHAT'S WRONG?"

"Did you think I wouldn't notice?"

The Clown blinked, clearly taken aback by its host's brazenness, before creeping forward. "COME AGAIN?"

Justin met the shadows with a steely glare. "My former meister and her wavelength." A pause. "It scares you, doesn't it?"

The way its face hardened confirmed he just pinpointed the source of this entire fiasco.

Apparently, the contagion of madness failed to infect Maka Albarn the way it did himself, thanks to her own anti-demon wavelength and aid from her white-haired weapon partner. A partner and a wavelength resistant to madness—Jeanne technically checked those boxes. It was only reasonable for the Clown to assume Jeanne would jeopardize its control over him and take matters into its own hands once it realized the lone Death Scythe who stepped foot into the factory all those months ago wasn't as solitary as he initially seemed.

…Hah.

"Your concern is unnecessary—and unappreciated," Justin intoned flatly, throwing a look at the duo who suddenly began squabbling among themselves. "I won't succumb so easily."

The Clown followed his gaze. "ARE YOU CERTAIN?"

Jeanne's wavelength had been enough to briefly rattle him, but little more. "Yes. So stop interfering. I can't carry out my duties if you keep sticking your nose into my affairs." An oblique glance. "Or would you prefer I be a raving puppet dancing under your control?"

Music droned in Justin's ears as the Clown briefly entertained his proposal.

"I WAS MISTAKEN. PROCEED AS YOU WILL, JUSTIN. I HAVE FAITH YOU WILL DO THE RIGHT THING."

The Clown issued a nod at his glaring host before vanishing in a swirl of color. Instantly, the crushing negativity at the back of Justin's head lifted, as if his skull had been freed from a concrete press. The space in his mental chambers became placidly free once more and the howling cacophony of voices diminished into a familiar mantra: O Lord, My God…

To think, he'd almost lost himself entirely over something so asinine.

"…hey, HEY! Will you quit ignorin' me?! I'm talkin' to you here!" Jeanne's pretty lips were sprouting coarse language and Justin's attention darted up to investigate them. Was Giriko really throwing a tantrum?

He straightened himself. "Ah, you're still here. I hoped you would've left already."

Sputters. "WHAT DIDJA TRANSFORM BACK FOR?! What happened to all that crap about wantin' to execute us?!" Jeanne's foot stamped the ground impatiently, demanding answers it wasn't entitled to receive.

Justin closed his eyes and took a breath. Sarcasm rose around him like an impenetrable barrier and when his eyes reopened, the bored yet pleasant expression that settled on his face was only partly feigned.

"You mistake me to be some senseless killer. I only execute sinners. And while you're far from righteous, your insignificance to the Holy Kishin-sama doesn't warrant the effort I'd waste in hunting you down—so rejoice! You get to live another day in our Lord's glorious kingdom."

His explanation was met with a guffaw. "Oh man, seriously? Are all your excuses this friggin' pathetic? Admit it—you're just a damn sore loser!"

Like rain on oiled silk, the insult flowed right off him. "Yes…that I am," Justin conceded dramatically, smirking slightly when Giriko's grin dipped into a scowl. "Now, I must insist on bowing out of this tedious tussle. I'm quite busy, you see. Tasks to attend to, duties to fulfill." A tilt of the head, and a strangely penetrating stare—as if staring into the other soul in her body. "It's been a real pleasure catching up, Jeanne, but alas, it's time to part ways. I'm sure you can see yourself out. Ta-ta."

With goodbyes said, Justin turned to leave, all too happy to disappear if only he wasn't stopped by a threatening rev.

"Hold up right there, Father. What makes you think I'll just let you go?"

His lip thinned. Really. Really. Invoking all the patience of a saint, Justin expelled a suffering sigh from his chest and unfurled his arms. "Because. If you haven't gotten the memo yet, Giriko-san, you and I are on the same side."

Giriko blinked stupidly. "Well, I mean…yeah."

"So then why exactly are we fighting, pray tell?"

Such a basic question caught the chainsaw off guard. "Shit, I, uh—that's—"

What followed was a sequence of half-coherent thoughts so haphazardly strung together Justin was only able to make out the words 'rivals', 'taking me seriously', and 'goddamn resonating'. An absolutely riveting motivation.

(This was the caliber of man Jeanne fell for?)

Justin's gaze darkened momentarily before it was shuttered away behind a wall of sarcasm.

"While I'd love to stay here and watch you bluster, I've wasted enough time here." Leave. Exit. Disappear. But Justin couldn't resist the urge to break into a tight-lipped smile, thin and condescending and contemptuous, underlined with a parting jab— "I'll leave you two lovebirds to your own affairs."

With the tension in his chest tightening, Justin spun a heel and strode away from his dumbfounded opponents.

No sooner had he made a few gains towards the church did his battle senses attune to the direction of the wind and Justin pivoted, blade ejecting from the center Kishin eye, to block the predictable chainsaw-laced kick that was aimed straight at his head.

"…the hell do you take me for?" Giriko rumbled with wild frenzy in his eyes. "I ain't like your other opponents. You can't just make a 'courageous retreat' from this battle."

He should've figured. Just another case of people simply not leaving him alone.

Disengaging and bounding back, Justin allowed a sarcastic chuckle to vibrate his ribcage. "Always so eager to fight until you're the one at the end of his rope—then who's making the courageous retreats?"

"Hey, those were all tactical withdrawals," was the retort as manicured hands slid over her skirt before finding purchase on her waist. "Here? You ain't got nothin' to lose but your pride. That's why you're so dead set on hightailin' it, ain't ya?" The smuggest grin settled on Jeanne's pretty face, as if Giriko had everything figured out. "This is your last chance to show me up, kid. So whaddya say? You gonna try runnin' away again or are you actually gonna face me like a man?"

That caused pause, though it didn't underlie Justin's airy tone once he unpicked his tongue from the roof of his mouth. "…Perhaps you'd like to rephrase your words. After all, how can I 'face you like a man' while you're in a woman's body?"

"Heh, like that matters for shit. You could put me in a fuckin' tutu, and I'd still be more of a real man than your pansy ass."

A humorless slant of the mouth. It was the same old pedestrian taunting aimed his masculinity, as if Justin hadn't heard some variation of the insult countless of times throughout his life, from his N.O.T. days spanning across his tenure as DWMA's youngest Death Scythe. Calculating fingers grazed along the edges of a spare demon tool, courtesy of Noah. A beat; his hand slipped out his robes and spun into an upturned palm to accompany his next statement.

"I must admit, I'm baffled by your definition of a 'real man'." Justin cocked his head in mock curiosity. "Does it entail copious amounts of sleeping around and drinking?"

"No, you fuckin' dweeb," the chainsaw snorted, an action that looked wrong in Jeanne's elegant body. "Bein' a real man means you don't backstab your partner, you protect your women, and you ain't a spineless wimp that flees just 'cos shit hits the fan. Not bein' a limp-dicked virgin also helps."

The smile faded. What stood out sharply from that chatter filler was Giriko's declaration of ownership. His woman? Every muscle in Justin's body tightened until he felt like steel held together with rubber bands—only to be interrupted when Jeanne's arm suddenly jerked unnaturally.

Giriko made a confused face that Justin understood to mean Jeanne was communicating through their mental link, and it was the desire to know what she was saying to Giriko that made him unclench his fist.

"…oh, c'mon—just lemme enjoy myself a bit longer! No fun in wrappin' things up so soon!" Giriko flung Justin a playful look, completely blind to the guillotine's internal state of mind. "Besides, battlin' ain't nothin' new between me and Father Noise here. The two of us got history, don't we, Justin?"

A wooden blink. They what now? "Ah," he commented, switching gears. "If you're referring to those fights that ended with you turning tail, then yes, we have loads of history together."

"I just said those were TACTICAL WITHDRAWALS! You really know how to piss a bastard off, y'know that?!" Giriko snarled before his outburst was tempered with a haughty grin. "Hmph, whatever! Your engine better be up and runnin', twerp! Time for round three!"

…'No' was not a word in Giriko's limited vocabulary, was it?

"Hey, it ain't like you got anythin' better to do!" the chainsaw quipped once he caught sight of Justin's deadpan "must we?" expression. "What kinda duties d'ya have to scurry back to anyway, huh?" The rhetorical question was punctuated by a windup for an aerial attack, plaid pleats unfurling as Jeanne's body went airborne, causing Justin to pointedly avert his gaze from the indecency. "That's right—you ain't got none!"

The downward kick hit like a sledgehammer. Aftershocks rippled through Justin's arm, ripping any taunts off his tongue as it snapped behind a row of clenched teeth while his hamstrings strained to bear the brunt of the blow. Staunchly refusing to let his knees buckle, he stabilized the blade with his other arm and tried not to look too winded when they disengaged.

"Shit, if that's the best you got, then maybe the girl'll get her wish after all."

Features blanking and chest deflating with an exhale, Justin raised his fists and eased into a guarded stance.

Pointless.

So pointless.

This whole endeavor was pointless.

So why, then, did he feel such a vicious need to prove himself?

And they were at it again. Sparks and metal, and the chainsaw's cocky grin and rowdy jeers clashing with the guillotine's intense gaze and coldly silent demeanor.

It was jarring how much Giriko shone through Jeanne's face, voice, and body: the crazed glint in her eyes, the rows of gleaming teeth exposed by the permanent grin plastered on her face. Her movements had Giriko written all over it, lurching and lumbering, with her hands planted on her hips or palming the ground for spins. Justin quickly learned to un-train his muscle memory associated with her visage; there were no punches or feints to watch out for—just direct brute force in the form of chainsaw-laced kicks and breakdancing maneuvers.

Said maneuvers really emphasized how ill-suited Jeanne's attire was for Giriko's over-the-top fighting style. Her skirt kept fanning out with each and every spin, flip, and high kick to grant her opponent generous eyefuls of flesh and underwear between exchanges. Though not exactly a stranger to combating half-naked enemies, Justin found his gaze constantly drawn to the contours of Jeanne's…hindquarters and the thin, gauzy fabric stretching taut across her…hmm

The muscle under his eye twitched.

Scrubbing the image of…that from his mind, Justin threw out a series of rapid-fire punches that were parried by saw hair. Cackling, Giriko twisted out of the hair flip to spring into a windmill, kicking up a deadly, fluttering whirlwind of blades and pleats. Justin kept his gaze firmly fixed on the influx of spinning legs, blocking each and every blow, only for a stray sweep to still graze him in the end.

"S'matter? Gettin' distracted by the peepshow?" the chainsaw leered as his opponent wordlessly thumbed away the blood from his cheek wound. "What—is this the closest a virgin like you's gotten to the real thing?"

His gaze hardened almost imperceptibly. Justin's left arm transformed in a glow of light, a trio of Kishin eyes stretching menacingly over the shackle guard.

Giriko guffawed at the supposed challenge, cocking a leg up for a strike. "Sure ya wanna get all close an' personal?"

Gleeful eyes morphed to shock when the carcan launched like a harpoon cannon and nabbed a saucy ankle. Grabbing onto the chain, Justin whirled around his flailing opponent and slung them straight into a thicket with a high-pitched "WAAAAAAAAAAHhhhhh" fading into the dark woods.

Idiot.

The carcan snapped back into his shoulder and reverted to a human arm that immediately wiped the sweat from his brow. Perspiration, salty and smelly, clung onto his clothing and for the first time in ages, Justin wished he could strip off these stifling robes.

Leave. Exit. Disappear. There was no real merit in continuing, not when he was barely pushing half strength. The piece of paper crinkled enticingly in his pocket, yet for some unfathomable reason, his hands refused to pull it out. He never had qualms about retreating from meaningless battles like with Stein and his pet pulverizer or Medusa and Tezca—but here—

(…what did Jeanne see in the chainsaw anyway? She turned down so many other boys cut from Giriko's exact cloth: rude, vulgar, and reeking of testosterone left unchecked.)

—not yet. Things hadn't been taken far enough for this to be over.

Regaining his breath, Justin shuffled into the woods to search for his opponent.

It didn't take long to locate them, though Justin wished he hadn't upon witnessing the comically raunchy position Jeanne's body landed in. Letting out a disgruntled sigh, Justin rolled his eyes away from the sight of Jeanne's skirt failing to protect her modesty for the hundredth time. Honestly, it wasn't even rewarding taunting an enemy this inept.

"Get up," he growled, only reestablishing eye contact once leather loafers were flat on the ground again.

Huffy hands planted on her hips before swiveling to her waist, not yet fully acclimated to the lack of coat pockets. Giriko shot Justin an offended glare, as if he was upset that the guillotine dared gain the upper hand. "Tch, guess I shouldn't have let down my guard there. Why don'cha—huh?"

An annoyed squint appeared on Giriko's expression like he was being berated, and Justin gleaned some solace knowing Jeanne was also fed up with the chainsaw's antics.

"…hell yeah you bet this is necessary!" Giriko finally chortled, apparently trying to justify his body-napping. "I got some unfinished business with my rival!" —Justin quirked a brow— "Look, you like all this autonomous shit, right? Bet'cha just dyin' to know how things went down between me an' Justin!" The chainsaw flounced back into battle with his supposed rival more than ready to meet him head on. "So the first time I met this bible-thumper, it's 'cos he's tryin' to stop me from layin' waste to a bunch of brats—"

Justin's expression flattened out. So this is what they were doing now. Everybody was getting aboard the nostalgia train.

"—the runt head-butts me and d'ya know what he calls that shit?! He calls it—huh—wait, YOU'RE THE ONE WHO NAMED IT?!"

"Giriko-san ultimately ends up retreating," Justin cut in helpfully.

"Hey, screw you! I got a damn direct order from my lady!" Giriko barked. "Tch! Where was I? Right, so—"

…was resonating actually doing anything for Giriko? Having fully adapted to the battle now, he could objectively say he didn't see that much of a difference. At most, Giriko's blows were slightly stronger than Justin remembered…or perhaps that was just the fatigue speaking…

"—and choirboy here cruises in pumpin' out beats from his loud-ass speakers—"

…oh, may the Lord watch over his beloved snowmobile whatever snow-heap it slumbered beneath. Time permitting, there might be a chance to locate the vehicle and refit it with the appropriate motifs… hm, those gloves would have to be re-embroidered, too…

"—THE ASSHOLE CAUSES AN AVALANCHE THAT WIPES OUT MY WHOLE UNIT. Those golems took time to build, y'know!"

…and there was his favorite coffin speaker abandoned on the outskirts of Death City as well… could its width accommodate all three eyes?

"—glad we both agree that the priest has the most basic fightin' style ever! But don't tell me you're also responsible for taggin' his religious death beam with that 'Radiant' crap! I mean, couldn't you've come up with better soundin' attack names? Huh?" An aghast scowl crossed Jeanne's face. "NO, I DIDN'T RETREAT—"

"He retreats."

"BITCH, I LET YOUR SCRAWNY ASS GO!" Giriko gnashed, kicking out a length of chain which Justin wisely chose to leap away from rather than be subjected to more panties. "Why the hell are you so damn focused on the retreating part anyway?!"

Mid-air flip, Justin tore his attention away from calculating coffin dimensions to offer Giriko a mildly withering upside look. Their eyes made brief contactblue on green—before the guillotine landed on his feet and the chainsaw lowered his host's leg and settled hands on hips, finally claiming it as its new home.

"Tch. Anyway, the next time we meet was after—it was, uh…it's when the priest teleported my ass to this shithole. Yeah. After he becomes buddies with the creepy-ass acid mime." —Justin's gaze shuttered— "Point is, me an' Justin are long overdue for a rematch. We haven't gotten the chance to duke it out since we're, uh, on the same side, I guess, but—ow!" A spasm of the arm. "Okay, okay, don't get'cha panties in a bunch—OWWjust gimme ten more minutes, alright?!"

Giriko was too caught up bickering with his body-mate to notice his opponent quietly assessing the situation in the background.

"…You seemed to have skimped on the details of our most recent encounter," Justin suddenly piped up.

"GIRL, WILL YOU QUIT FIGHTIN' ME—…huh?" Breaking off their squabble, Giriko lobbed a confused look at his opponent. "What's that now?"

Kishin eyes danced impishly against black fabric as Justin dusted off his robes. "You were describing our engagements in such painstaking detail, I'm simply asking why you cut the last time short. Have you forgotten what happened?" And the way Giriko suddenly locked up was just so telling, there wasn't even a need for interrogation techniques. "Here, I'll jog your memory: The third time we crossed paths, I discovered Giriko-san stumbling around in the empty ruins of his master's castle. With nowhere else to go, he accepted my offer to join us."

Shoulders squared and hands scrunched up against her skirt in some shoddy stab at indifference. "…yeah, totally eventful shit. Why d'ya think I skipped over it in the recap, dumbass?"

"Yet you failed to mention what occurred leading up to these events," Justin's genial smile creased into a veiled smirk. "Does Jeanne know why you woke up alone?"

"Oi." Giriko cocked his head as he began to catch on. "You must be sick of gettin' your ass beat if you're resortin' to mind games." He snorted bitterly. "Nice try, but the girl knows that Arachne kicked the bucket."

"Then the two of you are closer than I gave you credit for. You never struck me as someone who'd be forthcoming with their failures, but I'm delighted to see that there are no secrets between lovers."

All of a sudden, the temperature dropped.

"…the fuck is that s'pposed to mean?"

Blue eyes idly observed the pieces fall neatly in place. "I was only expressing your trust in Jeanne. After all, you wouldn't reveal to just anyone how you were passed out cold while your master fought for her life."

And like that, Giriko revealed his pressure point as Jeanne's pretty face instantly twisted into an ugly expression. "Whaddya tryin' say, ya little piece of shit? YOU TRYIN' TO SAY ARACHNE DIED 'COS I COULDN'T PROTECT HER, HUH?!"

"I thought it was obvious you played a role in the witch's downfall," the guillotine drawled, now allowing the sarcasm to seep into his tone while Giriko began quaking. "Surely, it couldn't have helped matters with you being derelict in your duties, indulging in some hedonistic activity, no doubt."

"Indulgin'?" Her voice slid up several tones in pitch until it cracked. "BITCH, I'LL SHOW YA INDULGIN'!"

Goodness, Giriko's incensed attack was obvious and Justin dodged out of the line of fire with ease, robes billowing and eyes gleaming viciously: this was the reaction he wanted.

(He could've described how BJ died in explicit, painstaking detail: the exact expression the investigator wore as his still beating heart was ripped clean from his chest, the taste of his soul—sharp and smoky with the faintest hint of roasted coffee beans. He could've hurt Marie so much more—if only he remotely cared enough to bother.

He didn't. Executing BJ hadn't been personal. It'd merely been another job.)

But Giriko…oh, how Justin longed to see Giriko hurt. The chainsaw's taunting unearthed a hidden trauma buried deep in his soul—questions that his adolescent mind never finished grappling with before his appointment to a Death Scythe pushed them down beneath his attention: an irrelevancy.

"DOES THIS LOOK LIKE INDULGIN' TO YOU?!"

The ground rumbled.

"I wouldn't know—I wasn't there~"

Yet perhaps the Lord was punishing him for his own sadistic indulgence, because their next exchange resulted in a headlong chainsaw burrowing into Justin's unsuspecting gut, a cough spurting from his mouth as he was flung into a tree. Wildfire coursed through his midriff; a clean hit like that was no joke. His gaze immediately darted up to his opponent hurtling towards him like a bull, and he braced himself for the inevitable impact.

"YOU LITTLE—MRGH!"

Without warning, Jeanne's body suddenly lurched back, as if she'd inexplicably crashed into an invisible electrical field. Justin watched with shuttered curiosity as her body convulsed and clutched her own chest before palming her face, her expression creased in pain. Several moments passed of intense juddering before the calm settled back on her face, albeit wary now.

"…yeah, yeah, I'll beat his ass to a pulp. Tch." Giriko tramped over to the fallen guillotine and cut a long, hostile look from under the blonde lashes. "Alright, punk. You got your little digs in, but playtime's over now." The motor roared. "From here on out, the only things that should be comin' outta your mouth are screams."

Justin smiled mockingly. "My, my…what a violent reaction. My words must've struck a nerve. Does it hurt hearing the truth?"

"Fuck you—runnin' that motormouth like ya got a goddamn clue what it's like to protect someone."

A throaty chuckle rumbled from the ex-Death Scythe's throat as he strained to regain his footing. Oh please, was that the best retort Giriko had up his sleeve?

"…are you seriously implying I don't know anything about protecting people? I was overseeing the safety of 400 million souls when I was 13a job I did rather well, I might add." Justin allowed the weight of the statement to sink into the taut lines of Giriko's expression. "Meanwhile, a geriatric coffin-dodger like you can't scape together the competency to save a lone witch from a couple of schoolchildren."

"SHADDUP!"

A streak of pain jolted through Justin's nerves, undoing any gains in vertical ascension he'd made, his back hitting the trunk once more. Inverted Kishin eyes rubbed away the blood from the curves of his mouth; masochism had never been up his alley, but the pain felt good.

"That's the difference between me and you, Giriko-san," he wheezed, grinning up with bitter malice. "You're all bark and no bite."

Another momentary twitch in Jeanne's body afforded Justin the precious seconds to twist out of the way before her heel cratered the ground.

"YA THINK I'M GONNA TAKE SHIT FROM YOUR TRAITOROUS ASS?!" Giriko roared, blasting a resounding stomp that sent his opponent's heels digging yards-long tracks in the dirt. "Who the hell're ya protectin' now, huh?! You ain't a Dick Scythe no more or didja forget how you betrayed Shinigami?!" —Justin's expression flickered from behind his raised arms— "Nah, you know the real difference between us? I ain't a two-faced jackass that turns on a dime to serve some new head honcho! I'm actually loyal to my master."

Lowering the blade revealed that the physical blow was blocked, but the verbal one landed.

"…it's hard to stomach you accusing me of lacking loyalty," Justin uttered. "You may have served the same master your entire existence, but loyalty is more than simply remaining on the same side."

"You're gonna argue over goddamn semantics?!" Giriko shot back, jabbing him with a manicured finger. "Betrayal is betrayal! Crap—at least have the balls to own up to your friggin' actions!"

A crack in the calm demeanor. "My actions? What do I have to own up to?"

"Are you for REAL, kid?! Did Pennywise give ya amnesia or somethin'?!"

Blue eyes narrowed. His defection wasn't a topic he'd ever bothered explaining to the dissenters that crossed his path—not to Stein, Marie, Kid, Tezca, or Medusa—but it was here the justifications came gushing out, spurred by Giriko's hypocrisy, by Jeanne's visage and the soul that laid beneath the shark-toothed scowl: she, of all people, would understand, would she not?

"I have devoted every fiber of this mortal flesh in the service of my God, following His divine orders without question and enacting His holy will with no hesitation," Justin boomed, wide-armed and clear-eyed. "To cast aside all worldly distractions in order to faithfully serve: how is that not the definition of loyalty?"

And he believed every word. He'd shown unwavering and unfaltering dedication since the day he was bestowed with a divine purpose by the masked deity in black: O Lord, My God. Many of his ex-colleagues bemoaned missions, preferring to rest on their laurels and lead comfy lives, but Justin remembered the exhilaration that coursed through his veins with each new assignment delivered through the mirror. There wasn't a single soul at DWMA who could match his devotion to Shinigami—not even the more conscientious Death Scythes possessed his hunger to serve, viewing their role more as a job than a calling. What did it matter if one day the black mask was suddenly replaced by dark, imposing eyes?

She would understand…wouldn't she?

Jeanne was silent.

"WHAT IN THE ACTUAL FUCK ARE YA YAMMERIN' ON ABOUT, YOU UNHOLY NUTJOB?!" —Justin's face drew taut— "Whose friggin' orders are you even followin'? What, is Noah your god now?! Shit, I bet'cha just listenin' to the voices in your messed up little head and callin' it the word of god!" Giriko spat out a scornful scoff and it was almost a sin how the chainsaw's ugly contortions besmirched her angelic features. "I hate you religious types. Face it, Justin—you ain't loyal to no one but yourself."

As Justin shook off the blurry image of a mask, his resolve crystalized. He didn't need to justify his allegiances to anyone.

"…spoken like a true hypocrite, Giriko-san. You talk a big game about loyalty just because you were by the witch's side for 800 years. But when push comes to shove, you're only loyal to your own vices." Eyes flashed in arctic amusement. "I mean, didn't you abandon your master to booze while Arachnophobia crumbled around you?"

And just like that, the power shifted back to Justin once more.

"You don't know jack-shit—not jack-shit, ya hear me?!" Two loops of chain came out flying out, same old same old. "You keep flappin' your gums like that and I'LL LOP YOUR HEAD OFF."

"What don't I know? How your love for liquor clearly outweighed your love for your master?"

"I'LL KILL YOUR ASS!"

The screech of garden-variety death threats only deepened Justin's smirk as he twirled away from another cratering blow. Giriko's attacks came in faster and sharper now, each kick shredding the air like lightning with her saw hair as a third appendage. Flashy breakdancing maneuvers were traded out for wild swings thrown so fast Jeanne's skirt sucked in from the after-wind—good riddance. On Justin's end, parrying was entirely forwent in favor of evading; quick sidesteps here and there, leading the chainsaw in a dance.

"Hm, you're right. Even you wouldn't be feckless enough to drink yourself into a stupor while the enemy raided your base," Justin taunted at the whirring blades inches away from his face. "No, it couldn't have been mere alcohol that knocked Snow White out. What was it, then?"

Giriko's response was absolute gibbering incoherence—as expected.

Still. Despite the guillotine's razor-sharp words, his blade was worn down and blunt; four scraps in a row had taken its toll. A frenzy of dodging sloppy kicks ended with Giriko seizing Justin's shawl and slamming his back against a tree, knocking the breath out of him but unable to shake the mocking grin.

"Come now, tell us what stopped you from protecting Arachne-san," Justin gasped, undeterred by the tight grip on his mozzetta. "Which vice left you out of commission in your master's most pressing hour of need? Was it drugs? A food coma? Or perhaps your swooning bouts of narcolepsy were related to the pleasures of flesh?" —and the way Giriko's gaze splintered just clinched it— "Ah…let me guess: you were trying to fornicate with some woman who got the slip on you."

Crunch.

The burst of white-hot pain splitting his vision told Justin everything he needed to know. Blinking away the spots, blue eyes zipped back to Giriko's rage.

"…I'm right, aren't I?" Laughter, hoarse and vindictive, bubbled from the base of his throat: a rattle of sarcasm that quickly arced up and down. "Really, Giriko, really? Have you no shame?"

Knuckles smashed into Justin's cheek again, snapping his head to the side with a sharp crick, instantly flooding his oral cavity with rivers of coppery blood. O Lord, his dental bills were going to be through the roof.

"Shut the fuck up—"

But Justin returned for more.

"Haah…why did you do it? What—were her breasts larger than the witch's?"

"SHUT—"

Crunch.

"—YOUR—"

Crunch.

"—LYING—"

CRUNCH.

"—MOUTH—!"

From the stars framing his vision, Justin spied blood-stained knuckles cocked back and ready to pulverize his bruised face into mincemeat—tensing against invisible restraints. Tremors coursed through her muscles to fire the gun, but somebody wouldn't let the trigger be pulled. With a swell of triumph rising in his chest, his tongue flicked out to lick away the blood before a vicious smile, like a wide-gauge needle, slid in.

"…are you done?"

"Another fuckin' word, brat, and I swear I'll—"

"—and you'll what?" Justin hissed, his blue eyes lighting up in cruel mirth. "Hit me again? Call me a traitor? Or will you mock me for being a virgin?" Bloodied lips drew back into a sneer. "Go right ahead. Say what you will about my allegiances and lack of experience, but at least I serve my masters effectively. If you'd shown half as much loyalty to your duties as you did your penis, perhaps Arachne would still be alive."

Green pupils dilated.

"S-SHUTup…"

"You. Let. Her. Die. And all because you couldn't stop indulging in your vices. You wake up reeking of cheap whiskey and semen spent to a deserted castle and a battle long over, failing to protect your woman. Are you proud of yourself, Giriko? Are you proud to be a real man?"

Something visibly snapped in Giriko's expression, like a string wound up too tightly—and Justin knew he'd won. But, perhaps more out of spite than necessity, he delivered the coup de grâce right into the chainsaw's numb face:

"…and you thought we were rivals? Don't make me laugh."

Jeanne's body twitched like automation. The death-grip on his shawl loosened and Justin shoved his opponent off of him, causing her body to wobble and then slump to her knees, her eyes wide and empty.

There.

A quick scan of her body revealed the presence of two souls and oh my, did he break their Soul Resonance? Well, that ultimately didn't amount to much at all. How brittle their bond must've been for some simple words to rupture the connection of their wavelengths. A dark satisfaction filled his chest and Justin reveled in the afterglow for a bit longer before addressing the original soul of this meat container.

"Jeanne. I don't know what your plans were, but your fatal mistake was entrusting them to Giriko." The corners of his lips crept upwards, still tinged with faint disdain. "You ought to know he doesn't have the foresight to see things through."

No response. A thin eyebrow quirked.

"Jeanne." He dipped down and cupped a hand over her chin to tilt up her face, her glossy lips shining under the moonlight. "Speak to me."

Silence.

This was odd. With Giriko's will demolished, Jeanne should've been able to retake control of her body—so why wasn't she resurfacing? Was she still trying to protect the heretic? Or perhaps…she was frightened of the individual looming over her?

"You can deactivate your Stigmata," Justin said quietly, dropping all malice from his tone. "I have no intentions of killing either of you." A beat. "You have my word."

I kill sinners. That was a guillotine's raison d'etre. He executed individuals on God's command or who he deemed a threat to his Lord—and Jeanne fit neither category. DWMA-affiliated with knowledge of Noah's hideout, yes, but ultimately, she was little more than a civilian inconsequential in the scope of things. No, it was Tezca whose tracking ability landed him a spot on the kill list…shame. Even Giriko wasn't truly a sinner, at least not anymore.

Really, the Clown should've known better.

The taste of blood lingered, prompting Justin to idly dig his tongue into the gap where a tooth used to be. It hadn't been the first one he'd lost to her either. A faint crackle; her cheeks squished in his constricted grip before quickly regaining its form. No. The scales were balanced now, erasing the need for further retribution.

There was no need for further anything. Given that both of his opponents were dispatched, the rational course of action would be to leave, yet Justin found himself rooted in place peering over his unresponsive ex-meister. Her attempts at leashing Giriko didn't go unnoticed. They assuaged a sore part of his soul, a salve for a wound he didn't realize he possessed.

Jeanne still cared. Even after everything.

Perhaps deep down inside, he did too.

A swift, painless death: those weren't just ravings of a deranged mind. In his haze, he rationalized it would be mercy to put Jeanne out of her misery. This foolish girl would continue to try and break him out of insanity's chains, putting herself in harm's way time and time again until something truly horrific stopped her pursuits.

He should leave—if not for his sake, then for hers.

"Jeanne?"

He felt her pulse against his pinky.

Maybe it wasn't the desire to put Giriko in his place that shackled him here. Maybe it was the desire for a proper goodbye. Seeing Jeanne through the slats of a helmet and wrapping her body with arms made of cold metal had been a hollow farewell, but one that he'd made peace with back then. Now it was no longer enough. He had the chance for a real hug with his own arms around her shoulders…for the first and last time.

The guillotine blade folded back into his arm with a metallic shirk. Blue eyes softened.

"…Jeanne, come out," he murmured. "You don't need to be afraid of me." A beat and everything that rested in the unspoken silence. "…I want to see you."

It seemed as if his pleas reached her because Jeanne's mouth began groping for words—accidentally causing his thumb to drag over her lips in her trembling. Giving her space to recover, Justin spared a muted glance at the gloss that smudged off on his thumb. Wearing makeup to a battle…after all these years, Jeanne really hadn't changed one bit, had she? That was how her lips remained so luscious, and Justin's own lips arched with a small smile at the comforting familiarity. Having read these lips countless of times, he had all but etched the different shapes and contours they formed into his mind's eye and memorized the exact sequence of motions they made when she spoke his name.

(…or moaned Giriko's name.)

"—!"

Without warning, a jolt of raw, undiluted fury lanced through his skull and Justin clutched it, grunting, pure negativity crackling off his thoughts like electricity—that had to be a lie. Jeanne wouldn't…she wasn't…so wantonly…

Blue eyes were shaded dark when they rested on his twitching ex-meister again.

"Speak to me, Jeanne," Justin commanded, nostalgia gone.

Just say his name. Say his name one final time so he could finally put all this dug-up trauma behind him and carry on with his duties.

He stared hungrily in anticipation as her lips parted.

"…G-Giriko…"

Ẁ̙̯̳ͧ͆͆́H̷͖̗̬̠͕̜͐͒Y̶͇̦͎̍͒̚.̝̩͚͔̲͚̗͓ͬͦ̉ͧ͜ All at once, Justin's world zeroed in, even the bassline of his music fading into white noise as he bored down at his treacherous meister's pretty lips spilling some vile heretic's name instead of his own. Before his mind could filter his actions, his fingers were already thumbing open Jeanne's mouth to mold it into the shape of his name.

It wasn't enough. Muscles suddenly gripped by an unspeakable force, Justin pressed further in violating her, stretching her cheeks crudely and yanking at her tongue, seeking to punish this mouth for its transgressions—say it, say his name, call for him like she always did—until Jeanne's pretty face was all distorted. With her jaw hooked open by his thumb and tongue yanked out, foamy globs of saliva were visible in the crevices of her overflowing mouth. Transfixed by the perverse sight, blue eyes followed the trail of saliva dribbling out of the corner of her lips, sluicing down her chin…and pooling on her breasts.

His breath hitched. From some secluded corner in Justin's soul arose a sticky, prickling heat that spread through every tendril of his 17-year-old body, consuming any shred of respect he ever held for his ex-meister.

Who was this girl? The Jeanne he knew was a virtuous angel who wielded her beauty with grace and dignity unlike so many other girls her age. She would never allow herself to be groped by some two-bit scumbag or manipulated into flashing her panties or be caught dead kneeling and drooling obscenely on her own chest like a whore. The Jeanne in his memories wouldn't do that so who was this whorish sow in front of him—and where was his Jeanne?

A blink, and then another one, prolonged and disenchanted.

Did his Jeanne just…not exist? Maybe…she wasn't the girl he thought he knew. No self-respecting female would settle for trash like Giriko and what kind of fighter wore a skirt and slutty panties to battle and who was she even trying to impress with these glossy lips anyway?

An insidious whisper slunk into his ear: but now you don't have to restrain yourself.

Justin blinked again.

None of the other boys ever did. Her breasts trembled with every breath, practically demanding to be ogled at and drew in a constant bombardment of eyes—even from teachers. He and he alone had been the only one who never looked at her like that…because he was the only one who held back.

Hah. For what.

Fingers left her mouth and wound into her blood-matted golden locks. "Jeanne…are you in there?" Justin gave her lolling head a friendly shake, casting an amused eye at the threads of saliva that snapped loose. "Oh dear, you accidentally got your blouse all dirty. Here, let me clean it for you."

A coy, outstretched palm reached down to wipe away her mess—and then grabbed her breast.

Not. An ounce. Of resistance.

Glee amplifying, Justin squeezed, sinking his fingers into the soft, pillowy flesh. A long, contemptuous hiss escaped through his clenched teeth when he finally wrenched his hand away and pulled back, suddenly viewing his former partner in a whole new light.

A whore—that's all Jeanne ever was. Giriko couldn't have been the only one to touch her like this, right? Who else did this harlot seduce with this vulgar body? How many other men did she allow inside of her?

A tongue flicked out and swept over his upper lip.

(Mine.)

Icy blue eyes greedily raked over Jeanne's vulnerable body, drinking in her curves and succulent flesh for the first time ever without restraint. So many years of acquaintance, yet there was all this uncharted territory to explore…where should he even begin? Cop another feel at her breasts? Or maybe he ought to take a closer peek at those panties she was so fond of flaunting…

His gaze crawled up and down until it settled on the root of the evil and peered into the salivating hole framed by plump, glossy, rose-tinted lips. Perfect. If this traitorous mouth refused to speak his name, then it would serve him in other ways instead.

A fire brewed deep in the guillotine's core as he yanked Jeanne's head back, causing her jaw to dip open as if to welcome him in. Ah. This wasn't her first time, was it?

Since Jeanne was such an expert at performing fellatio, there'd be no need to ease into things. He could skip the warm-up and cut straight to the main event: cramming every inch of himself down her slutty throat until his blade was fully sheathed and those luscious lips were snug around his hilt. The sheer depravity of the act sent rampant shivers skittering through his nerves and Justin couldn't reclaim his hand fast enough to start pawing at his pants, swiping his priest robes aside to get to the good stuff. A slew of questions churned messily while he grappled with the damn fastenings: Would she be able to breathe? Would she cry? What kind of face would she make? What kind of sounds? What did a girl's mouth feel like?

(Would doing this make him a man?)

The illusion shattered.

Sin.

Sin.

Sin.

Guilty fingers stuttered off his pants, his robes curtaining over his sin as he stumbled away from the would-be crime scene—icy horror instantly extinguishing the flames, leaving only a cold shame in its wake as the gravity of his actions dripped down his spine.

What was he doing?

Jeanne wasn't… She wouldn't…

His trembling hand latched onto his pendant and squeezed even though its curved shape felt foreign between his fingers, squeezing and praying, until the vicious, seething rage had all but completely receded into the shadows.

Close, too close.

"…I know you can hear me. I'll say it one final time: go home if you value your life. There's nothing for you here."

From the corner of his eye, Justin spied his ex-meister kneeling in the grass with the same dazed look clouding her gaze. This was the best goodbye he would receive.

Unsticking his feet from the ground, Justin willed his legs to trudge in the direction of the base without another glance backwards.

Duties awaited. They always did. There were a myriad of tasks he could direct his efforts towards on rather than languishing here.

The location of his Lord was still the topmost priority, knowledge that needed to be wrestled out of Noah soon enough. Until that time, however, his focus remained on eliminating parties who threatened his Lord's slumber. Medusa was still lurking around, concocting foul creations which could potentially pose a danger to Kishin-sama down the line. Maka Albarn was surrounded by too many allies to realistically target, although the menace of her abilities may soon be eclipsed by Tezca's. His gaze shuttered. Not a problem yet, but…

"Hey, pal!"

…hold on. If he remembered the finer details of Tezca's ability… hmm…then DWMA must already be aware of their location. In fact, there was a chance a team was heading over right now…

The church loomed in the distance and as Justin weighed using the demon tool, his body ached at the possibility of yet another battle in such a short while. Alas, work never let up, did it? It was an endless stream of objectives and missions, but he didn't mind—after all, Justin Law was happiest when he was alone and serving his Lord.

As if beckoned by his conviction, wisps of darkness started snaking around his shoulders, earning itself a wary side-eye from the executioner. Knowing he'd been manipulated to murder still left a sour taste in his mouth…though it was to be expected, he supposed. There was some consolation that the Clown would never try to corrupt him too much; he was far more useful to Asura at least semi-cognizant than keeled over in complete blithering lunacy.

"Noah-san has yet to make good on his promise of disclosing Kishin-sama's location to us," Justin uttered to his coalescing companion. "What do you think? Shall we pay the sorcerer a visit?"

The shadows blended together just enough for a pair of lopsided eyes to fix him with an ominous stare.

"NOT YET, JUSTIN. IT'S NOT OVER."

…?—

The warning was barely processed before a force slammed across Justin's gut like a crowbar, folding his entire body over as if he were a creased sheet of paper. His breath nosily vacated from his lungs as he catapulted into a tree, cracking the trunk down the middle from the impact. Pupils blown open and heaving a stuttering gasp, Justin pressed his fingers against his midriff. D-did…did his ribs just splinter?

A feminine form towered menacingly over him, Jeanne's lovely curves a stark contrast to the unladylike words that spewed out of her lips.

"You. Little. Shit."

Before Justin could mount a defense, an outstretched hand, dainty and slender, seized his face. Propelled by the power of a sputtering sawleg, the executioner was driven straight through the tree trunk—and into the tree behind that one—until he finally rammed up against a boulder like a bug splatting into a windshield.

Jolts of bright, jagged colors exploded in front of his vision. Pain and disorientation clattered his brain, meshing with the fire in his abdomen. Justin breathed against the oppressive palm pinning him down, the sheer strength behind Jeanne's manicured fingers positively maddening. How and why and what—a hasty scan revealed their farce of a Soul Resonance was still broken, yet somehow the wavelength emanating from Jeanne's body was skyrocketing.

It wasn't hers.

Fingers peeled his head off the hard surface. "You've got alotta nerve, kid, alotta fuckin' nerve to lecture me 'bout highbrowed morals like LOYALTY—"

A slam.

"—AND DUTIES."

Another slam.

"You think you're the only one who's been dutiful? Ya think you're the only one who's served?" Once more, Justin's skull was hoisted into the air, his blue eyes quivering between the slats of his ex-meister's fingers. "I was on active duty for 800—" smash "—fuckin'—" SMASH "—years. Hidin' in some backwater village—waitin', protectin' Arachne—watchin' all of history play out in front of my eyes—lifetime after lifetime after lifetime. That ain't no damn way to live, but I endured it for her. I was so good for so long I just wanted to finally unwind once she returned. Finally enjoy that ZERO ACCOUNTABILITY LIFESTYLE, Y'KNOW?!"

Rearing his head back, Giriko burst into peals of unhinged laughter at the grinning moon, waxing from hysterical cackling and waning to a bitter, rueful chuckling. Jeanne's fingers finally unhooked from the fleshy folds of his face to rake over her own.

Scrambling to his feet, Justin spared no time putting distance between them. Light emitted from his right arm which curled in a guarded stance, a feat that went unnoticed by Giriko. The chainsaw was caught in a trance, shoulders slumped and green eyes wide and haunted.

"Fuckin' irony…I finally let my guard down after all these years—and BAM. There goes 30 lifetimes of waitin' right out the damn window!"

A sigh. This imbecile and his incoherent rambling… With the chainsaw's words fading from his attention, Justin entertained the fantasy of shutting him up with a wavelength blast if only Giriko weren't in Jeanne's body. Jeanne. Focusing his gaze, Justin scanned the body—

He broke off, gasping. What was that?

"…I wasn't always like this, you know…wasn't always a useless slacker who fucks up left and right… But an eternity of holdin' back all this madness wears you down. 'm tired. Maybe that's why I couldn't protect Arachne…"

Steeling his nerves, Justin flicked on his soul perception again and trawled through the oppressive carnage for any hint of his former partner's wavelength. Where was she? Where was she? Why couldn't he sense Jeanne's soul in her own body? None of this was normal. Her Soul Stigmata didn't work this way.

"…still don't know how I got knocked out. Last thing I remember is sharin' a nightcap with these bombshell maids that just showed up outta nowhere. Guess that shoulda tipped me off, r-right? …One of 'em musta slipped somethin' in my drink when I wasn't lookin'…y-yeah…that gotta be it. Heh…heh. Shit." A hollow guffaw. "Figures that's what did me in." Frenzied green eyes suddenly magnetized to Justin, as if just acknowledging his existence. "I always had a thing for blondes, you know?"

An ice-cold chill crawled down Justin's spine from the chainsaw's sudden admission.

"Nobody asked for your type."

The sharp response prompted Giriko gear his head at a jarring angle. Slowly, he rotated his, or rather, Jeanne's body to face Justin fully.

"Oi. So you are still pissed I boned your meister, huh?" —blue eyes narrowed, wrought with hatred— "I bet'cha thinking 'how did this stupid meathead snag my girl?' That's what you think I am, right? I'm all bark and no bite."

A brown loafer took a shaky step towards Justin.

"Fact is, bein' muzzled like a damn mutt for centuries has left these ol' jaw muscles outta practice. Now all I can do is bark. Thought that shitty resonatin' business would help me bite, but it turns out the girl's just another muzzle."

Another step.

There was a quick flutter at something morbid. "What did you do to Jeanne?"

"Nothin'. Just unmuzzled myself, 's all."

Step.

"Those were some low blows back there. Really dug up some wounds you shouldn't've."

Step.

"Did I now?" Arms tensed, calculating the odds of Jeanne's body surviving a Silver Gun fired at pointblank range.

Step.

"Yeah. But thanks to you, I learned how to bite again. See, all I gotta do is focus this damn murderous rage at someone—and I'm starin' at the perfect target." The feet stopped. Maniac eyes drilled two holes straight through their opponent's skull. "I mean, you ain't exactly the twat I wanna kill, but guttin' you will tide me over till I get to the main course."

O Lord, he could fill up a book with these death threats…

"…You just don't know when to give up, do you?" Justin muttered, as a blue glow began shimmering from his blade.

"GUESS NOT! IT'S TIME FOR ROUND…WHAT THE FUCK ARE WE UP TO?! AWWWW—WHAT THE HELL! TIME FOR ME TO SHOW YA HOW I BITE! I'LL BITE YA REAL GOOD!" Giriko roared hysterically as his wavelength suddenly erupted from Jeanne's body, sending shockwaves shearing through the ground. The chainsaw's madness was dissonant from the Kishin's dark, insidious whispers—dissonant from Justin's own carefully-tethered sadism—this was raw, unadulterated carnage, guts and viscera and torture for the sheer pleasure of torture—a chainsaw grinding against his skull until every nerve and blood vessel in his brain felt like it would explode from the pressure—crack—squishsplick—

The chains jammed to a screeching halt. "—the fuck?!"

Justin blinked, the light fading from his guillotine arm.

Sharp metal teeth rippled beneath the surface, leaving behind nothing but bare skin. "H-HEY!"

Jeanne. She was still in there somewhere, most likely being oppressed by the chainsaw's bloodthirsty wavelength. Muddled relief and a wave of appreciation washed over Justin, sucking out the tension from his limbs. He watched, in slightly mute disbelief, as Giriko swivel and stamp the disarmed foot into the ground as if hoping to manually trigger a switch. Good God.

"…tch. Still resistin', huh?" Giriko growled, finally giving up his efforts. "You never did know what was best for you, girl…" Green eyes zipped back to Justin. "Shit. Guess we'll just hafta do things the old-fashioned way."

An exasperated sigh heaving his shoulders, Justin lowered his arm just enough to reveal blue eyes rolling a full 360 degrees. Just how much more nonsense was he going to have to tolerate from this simpleton? Now that Giriko was unable to access his weapon form—

—lucid thoughts were instantly obliterated when a leather loafer crushed Justin's face, caving in cartilage and musculature, whipping his head clean over his shoulder with a spray of spittle from his distorted mouth.

Like being hit by a truck couldn't do the description justice.

"Well, would ya look at that!" a feminine voice chortled. "Finally got those damn things off!"

"H-glkkk…" was Justin's articulate reply.

With his brain rattling in its cage, Justin set aside the challenging task of processing words to rearrange his facial muscles into their original formation. It took him several cross-eyed blinks before he could see straight again and a few more for his addled mind to realize something was amiss. His groggy gaze swung to the left, to the right, and then dropped to the earphones rattling against his chest.

"A-ahh…—!"

Before his hands could even graze the wires, they were redirected to clutch his midriff. What felt like a steel rod had plunged straight into his gut, violently ripping the air out of his lungs and Justin nearly keeled over, mouth wide open and blue eyes bulging. Every last ounce of willpower to remain standing drained from his body before he finally crumpled to his knees, his Kishin-eyed earphones dangling mockingly within his line of sight as he strained to breathe.

Never—not in all of his countless battles—had an opponent ever separated him from his music—and it instantly left Justin unmoored. Wheezing through the crippling pain, he pried a hand off his ruined gut to try and hook onto even a single elusive bud, too desperately absorbed to register the leg looming over his head…

"Not a chance, kid."

The axe dropped.

And when the plume of dust cleared, it was a sight to behold: the former Death Scythe sprawled out on the ground with his rump in the air and his thin black limbs jerking against the grass like the spasms of a decapitated insect. The blade rutted fruitlessly against the ground and Kishin-eyed sleeves convulsed, unable to break free of 800 years' worth of murderous rage.

"…y'know, I always thought you an' me were cut from the same cloth, Justin." A heel ground against the white zucchetto, smudging the executioner's face into the dirt while his earphones witnessed the shameful display. "My soul's pitch-black and proud—but you—you don't even realize how dark yours is. Piece of shit like you actin' all high an' holy just grinds my gears the wrong way."

The tip of Jeanne's loafer slid under Justin's chin and tilted his grime-coated face upwards with a flex of the foot. Contempt simmered in green eyes as they surveyed the kid's unfocused gaze and gasping mouth.

"Now get up—"

His head fired straight back over his shoulders like a soccer ball on a spring, instantly snapping his body upright and Justin was on his feet once more, skull awash with blinding agony—metallic liquid swilling in his mouth—blurry shapes shifting as his head flopped forward—

"—AND TELL ME HOW I COULDN'T PROTECT ARACHNE!"

In a heartbeat, he was staring cross-eyed at his own shoulder again with saliva splattering against his pulverized cheek.

"Lookin' down at me for not doin' my duties—what the fuck is your duty anyway, huh?!"

A spluttering string of incoherent syllables was Justin's eloquent answer as his brain tried to process why he was goggling over the opposite shoulder all of a sudden.

"What the fuck is a smarmy brat like you even fightin' for? What, you wanna serve the Kishin—BITCH, HAVE YOU EVEN MET THE KISHIN?! Who's your holy ass serving—that's right, yourself!"

A blond head bobbed like a cork in stormy water, the tendons in his neck straining to cling onto his skull as his face savagely whipped around trailing drool and blood in all directions, each mind-scrambling blow slowly but surely pushing him to a point where he'd no longer be able to stand up unaided.

"You're just a snivelin' little fuck who's too big for his britches!"

Kishin eyes jangled.

"An ass-kissin' coward!"

A blade jerked haphazardly.

"You're just a dirty, hypocritical traitor" —his lips mashed beneath the crook of her foot— "without a drop of loyalty" —he tasted the dirt in her sole— "to anyone but yourself! YOU FUCKIN' PISS ME OFF!"

From the darkness pushing into the corners of his vision, Justin could barely discern the fuzzy outline of a female with her arms akimbo and her bent leg cocked like a crossbow aimed squarely at his head.

"You deserve everythin' that's comin' to ya," growled Jeanne's voice.

Her foot powered into the underside of his jaw like a piston, sending every ounce of skin rippling simultaneously and snapping his face skyward in a neck-wrenching instant to catch a scattered glimpse of the moon's grin…

Justin was out cold before he hit the ground.

No longer afraid of the dark or midday shadows –

– Nothing so ridiculously teenage and desperate –

Upturned earphones splayed in the grass spilled soft music into the air, the piano melody swirling comfortingly as Justin was reunited with consciousness. Ow…

– Nothing so childish –

Footsteps plodded closer until a familiar face peered down at him, golden hair cascading around her like a waterfall. Blue eyes rolled up to greet the arrival of his meister.

"…Jeanne…"

A pained groan. He really needed to stop goading her so much in the future because she did not hold back when she was upset. Medusa-sensei was going to have a field day resetting his jaw…

"Yo, Father," drawled Jeanne's voice, breaking Justin out of his daze. "Gotta say: you always looked real good all beat up like that."

W-what?

A pink tongue flicked out and swiped her upper lip.

His chest lurched from Jeanne's body bouncing onto his waist with a girlish titter—and as fire burned his lungs, Justin curled in some feeble attempt to protect himself. To no avail: Jeanne's body tore through his paper-thin defenses like a child ripping open a present. Her bare thighs straddled his flank and her breasts bobbed threateningly as manicured hands pinned his wrists over his head in a vice-like grip. The demon wearing Jeanne's skin leered down at him with unspoken promises of torture folded into her sick grin and hooded eyes.

"…FYI, kid, I didn't actually fuck no one while Arachne was gettin' butchered—it's your dirty mind that filled in the gaps. You've just been a jealous little virgin this whole damn time, haven'tcha? Too busy kissin' your god's ass to get laid, huh? Tch…" Her teeth bared into a snarl, before scraping into a twisted smile. "Well, you're in luck, Justin. I'm gonna give ya what ya always wanted. That's right—" A shark-toothed grin reamed Jeanne's face in half. "Get ready to lose your fuckin' virginity."

Justin's vision greyed.

No.

Panic—mind-wiping, inhibiting panic and a staccato of no no no cascaded through Justin's fractured mind as his world exploded into frenzied scrabbling. Hands were touching him, yanking and twisting his habit on a ruthless hunt to expose skin. His vestment put up a brave fight against the onslaught before quickly succumbing with a 'shrrrrrk', followed by the bottom most button snapping off. A stuttering blink, another deafening rip, and the second button was gone. Dainty claws rucked up the torn robes to reveal the thin, black undershirt clinging to the priest's erratically heaving chest.

"S-stop—"

Green eyes feasted on his terror. "Huh? What's wrong? Don'cha want this?! Don'cha wanna be a REAL MAN?!"

'No' and 'don't' and 'stop' spewed out of the boy's mouth like a malfunctioning lawn sprinkler.

"Shit, there ain't no need to be scared! First time's always the worst, BUT I PROMISE I'LL TAKE YA TO HEAVEN—"

Conquering hands gave his pants' waistband a hard downward yank, exposing the angular curve of a pelvis and wrenching a strangled sob from Justin's throat.

"—Giriko—" he finally spluttered, pride broken, blue eyes round and vulnerable. "—please…"

Jeanne's face froze.

Wrong.

Words.

"GYAAA-HA-HA-HA-HA! I KNEW I LIKED YA, JUSTIN~! THAT'S THE STUFF, KID—say my name like that but with more screaming. SCREAM, YOU GOT THAT?! REMEMBER TO SCREAM MY NAME!" Yowling maniacally, Jeanne's body reared back, golden curls in flurry and green eyes ablaze, scrunching the holy fabric in her claws to fully defrock him. "ALLLLRIGHTYHERE WE GOOOO! GET READY WITH THAT SCREAM, YOU LIMP-DICKED VIRGIN!"

As the "no's" peaked to a high-strung crescendo, Justin cried out the name of his meister in a final, desperate plea for salvation—

Her hand twitched.

"H-huh?" A blink and his robes were free. "HEY! W-what're you—wait—don't do that—"

Jeanne's body was destabilizing before Justin's shell-shocked eyes. Blink—chains erupted from beneath random parts of her flesh, unspooling from its pivots—blink—gears materialized on her stomach—and then Justin shut his eyes for good, knowing exactly what would happen next.

The sickening sound of a blade rupturing through flesh.

The ear-splitting shriek of Jeanne's voice.

The slick gushing of blood.

(For a splintered moment, Justin was 12 again.)

A glow of light penetrated the darkness of his eyelids followed by the wooden plop of a body dropping to the ground and the heavy thud of a burly man landing on his rear, his chainsaw blade still sputtering fruitlessly.

"Fuck," Giriko gasped, pupils blown wide open from the forced manual ejection from her body.

"…aaaahh…haaaahh……"

Giriko's quavering pupils landed on Jeanne's prone, convulsing body for a few pensive seconds before magnetizing back to Justin. Staggering to his feet, he lumbered to the fallen ex-Death Scythe and loomed over his cowering form.

"So…where were we?" he rasped. "I was in the middle of showin' ya how I bite…" A sickening grin sawed Giriko's face wide open and he geared his foot up for an insect-squashing stomp. "I'mma lop off these limbs so you can't crawl away—THEN I'LL RAM MY HARD, THROBBIN' CHAINSAW RIGHT UP YOUR ASS!"

No, no, no

A whoosh breezed past his face and Justin cracked open a bleary eye to witness a saw chain grinding against the striped cylindrical arm that stretched out to shield him.

"NOT ANOTHER FINGER ON HIM."

Giriko's hazed attention immediately veered to the new competitor, beady eyes locking with lopsided ones.

"Well, look who finally showed up to the party!" he cackled. "You gonna throw your hat in the ring too, Pennywise? FINE BY ME! GUESS I'LL FUCK YOU UP, TOO!"

"TAKE YOUR BEST SHOT. THE MADNESS FROM A MERE WITCH CANNOT HOPE TO MATCH THAT OF A GREAT OLD ONE."

The laughter screeched to a dead stop. "…huh? You talkin' shit about Arachne?" A twitch. "…you know what I do to bastards who talk shit 'bout my lady? I RIP 'EM TO SHREDS!"

The chainsaw's wavelength detonated in a plume of dust and grit, immediately sending Justin into a panicked huddle behind his protector. Sound, there was so much sound from Giriko's murderous soul

"ARACHNE WAS IMPUDENT ENOUGH TO THINK SHE COULD ABSORB KISHIN-SAMA AND LOOK WHERE IT GOT HER." A jagged grin crammed into its cheeks, and in one fell swoop, the Clown detached its nose and slung it at Giriko. "DING-DONG! THE WITCH IS DEAD~"

"MOTHERFUCKER!"

The world ruptured into motion and sound once more. Loops of chain crashed against zig-zagging rubber balls and machine gun bullets in a swirl of frenetic chaos that melted into the backdrop.

From beneath the safety of his huddled hands, Justin blinked once, twice—before his trembling body uncurled itself. Fingers blindly fumbled against his mozzetta for his earphone wires, his breathing stabilizing once he was enveloped in the safety of his music again. Justin swerved to the twitching body with blood staining the grass beneath her, dragging his knees along the grass as he scrabbled over and turned Jeanne around.

"…h-haaahh…"

The laceration extended from her toes all the way to her thigh. Blood gushed from the edges in rhythmic squirts, carpeting her entire leg in sticky, oozing liquid. Justin blinked. A squeamish feeling coiled in him as he realized her bone was visible.

Misty green eyes widened in recognition, before the word the guillotine so desperately needed to hear spilled from her lips.

"…Justin…"

There she was. Seeing the familiar motions of his name on her lips filled Justin with an indescribable relief. A hasty scan of her soul confirmed what he already knew: Jeanne, it was Jeanne.

Careful touches at her shoulder and hip before Justin slid his trembling arms under his former partner to scoop up her broken body. With a glow of light, a carcan tightly snapped over her eviscerated thigh in some stab at staunching the blood flow.

But Jeanne was already fading.

Music and explosions all waned into static and even breathing suddenly became too much to ask. The notion that the one person in his life who might've meant anything to him was going to have her existence snuffed out like this sent Justin into a fit of shuddering wheezes. Not her. Not like this. Jeanne was a pure soul who didn't deserve to suffer—this is exactly what he wanted to spare her from—no no no

"Hush, love…none of this…"

Justin blinked, craning over to peer at her fluttering lips.

"Hah…not my first rodeo…right? I'm a pro…" A weak, rueful laugh. "I'm fine…I'm not hurt…haah." Her bluish lips curved into a soft smile. "See? I'm not hurt."

His attention latched onto Jeanne's smile, stubbornly blotting out the blood in his vision that dared to prove her words wrong. Not hurt.

A jagged streak of motion in his peripheral left Justin anchorless again.

"—no, no, no – eyes on me…" And when her words fell on deaf ears and blind eyes, shaky hands clasped his bruised face to shield his vision from the outside world. "Look at me – you're a good boy." Justin whimpered. "You didn't do anything wrong – no tears, okay? Not your fault…okay?" Her breath was getting shallower now. "Come here, mon chéri…"

Her pallid fingers seemed so safe and welcoming and Justin didn't think twice about easing his face deeper into her cupped palms, feeling her fingertips lock behind his jaw.

"Dear God," she whispered, the warmth radiating from her fingers like a shot of morphine. He breathed. Closing his eyes, Justin allowed the world to dissolve into nothingness as he focused on her wavelength.

I'm sorry.

Stay with me.

(Don't give up on me.)

It was so weak.

Like shining a flashlight into stygian waters, her light and warmth could barely penetrate the murky surface. Refusing to be deprived, Justin's own soul crept out from the darkest depths and trawled upwards, pushing against the smothering darkness until he could finally feel the faint glow of Jeanne's warmth. It wasn't enough. Still too cold, too much pain, too much sound and turbulent emotion—he needed more. Worming through the surface, his wavelength wrapped around hers in a dance long-forgotten that intensified her light and warmth until its radiance began searing away the edges of his madness…

The lightbulb burned out, leaving Justin drifting in the pitch-black waves.

His eyes snapped open and dropped down for an explanation. Jeanne was staring up at the sky, her glassy gaze quivering in disbelief.

"I don't…why…?"

"Jeanne?" he hazarded.

But she no longer had the energy to respond. Her eyes flickered with a final glimmer of confusion before they glassed over completely and drifted to the back of her skull, now separated from consciousness. Cold palms skimmed off Justin's slack face to plop limply on the grass.

Blank blue eyes blinked.

Once.

Twice.

"…Jeanne?"

This never happened before. Never. Their wavelengths always matched.

Was it…because of…the madness?

Justin gaped at the unconscious body, his heart sinking like a stone in the slowly creeping pool of blood. There was the placid emptiness, hollow and howling—before hot, scalding rage welled up in his chest.

Then how the hell had she been able to resonate with Giriko?!

A hulking form cast a deep shadow over the ex-Death Scythe and his meister.

"Right, so WHERE. WERE. WE."

The chainsaw's sudden presence did not, in any way, turn Justin's blood ice cold. Justin dared peeking up to find Giriko hunched over them shuddering jerkily, his brown eyes still psychotically glazed as they surveyed the blond pair's tangled limbs in morbid titillation.

"We havin' a bit of hanky-panky here?" He cranked his head sideways. "Well, shit—got room for one more? C'mon, let's make it a menage a trois."

Justin immediately shrunk back, clutching Jeanne tighter against his chest—whether to protect her or himself, who could say.

"Stop. Jeanne needs medical attention," Justin spluttered between breathless gasps, and for once, Giriko's gaze didn't immediately magnetize to the guillotine like a homing beacon. The sight of Jeanne's pale face seemed to cause some glint of humanity to flicker in those blurred eyes—a blink, and it was gone.

"Tough shit. The stubborn bitch knew what she was gettin' herself into."

"She…she saved your life. She let you use her body. You…" resonated with her, but Justin couldn't spit out the words. "You can't do this…"

"I can't do what, exactly?" And as the chainsaw bent over and leaned up close, Justin then realized the psychotic haze had always been present in Giriko's eyes. "…after all the crap you put us through, you're tryin' to appeal to my better nature? After you hit her—terrorized her—nearly executed her—and tried to rape her, it's me and my 800 years' worth of murderous rage that's gotta be the moral compass of this whole shebang, huh, Father?" Giriko reared back, saw chain puttering as he let out a soft, disgusted snort. "…fuck you, Justin. Keep usin' the girl as a human shield and her blood's gonna lube up the chains I plow into your guts."

'But you', 'But I' , 'How did you—' "Giriko…don't make the same mistake twice."

A mechanical twitch. "Huh. What."

"Don't do something you'll regret." And it was here Justin's voice broke entirely, quivers giving way to hoarse, half-slurred stammering. "Y-you had regrets about failing Arachne and it ate you up." (Giriko's mouth trembled.) "D-don't l-let your vices blind you from saving someone else you care about."

Justin squeezed his eyes shut

"You can make it right this time."

and waited for it all to be over.

A beat.

A hundred beats.

And when Justin dared open his eyes once more, Giriko was just staring at him, hollow-eyed and slack-jawed.

"…you're such a piece of shit, you know that," Giriko whispered. Those words had already been hammered into Justin's demolished mind, but it was the look that the chainsaw aimed at him—one of hard disillusionment—that drove the nail into the coffin. Heavy feet trudged back, freeing up the path to the church. Brown eyes cast down and away from the pair, something tormented roiling in his gaze.

Justin breathed.

There wasn't a second to waste. Stabilizing the unconscious girl in his arms, Justin mustered every bit of strength in his battered body and willed his legs to rise—only for them to tremble and collapse on the spot. A deafening beat. Refusing to give up after coming this far, Justin tried once more to stand up while Giriko's dead-eyed stare stopped boring holes in the dirt and tiredly lifted to see the guillotine's plight. Golden locks bounced and limbs jostled as Justin crumpled again.

"Here." A hand withdrew from his coat pocket and unfurled. "I'll get her back to the church."

Justin froze and stared at the outstretched hand. Tense fingers squeezed Jeanne's limp body.

(Mine.)

"C'mon, you're in no shape to be goin' anywhere." Giriko's throat hitched. "Look, I…I ain't gonna hurt her, okay?"

Hurt her? "She's injured because of you," Justin hissed, causing Giriko's quiet tension to snap.

"Yeah?! And what of it?! Don't act like you didn't play a part in this! We were havin' a good time, weren't we?!" —blue eyes narrowed into slits— "So why'd you hafta to go and make things personal?!"

The boiling emotion bottled within Justin shattered.

"You're the one who made it personal," he choked out.

None of this had to turn out this way. He never spared Giriko a second glance prior to this encounter, the chainsaw being just another opponent in a long line of adversaries whose battle pride was wounded by a silver-tongued teenager. But bringing Jeanne into the equation unlocked something dark and visceral within Justin when he was the most unstable, something subterranean he wasn't yet ready to process or understand.

(Mine. Mine. Mine.)

Giriko squinted in disbelief before erupting.

"…WHY THE HELL D'YA CARE 'BOUT HER SEX LIFE WHEN YOU KEEP TRYIN' TO KILL HER?!" A furious roar. "For fuck's sake, it was just trash-talk—like your holy ass has ever gotten rattled by that shit before!" The hand stuck out once more, now an order. "Look, we ain't got time for this—hand 'er over!"

"No."

Both hand and jaw dropped. "Are you fuckin' serious. Are you actually gonna let her bleed out 'cos of your dumbass jealousy?!"

"I'm not—" Jealous. He didn't sin like that.

Jeanne was going to die. Emotions Justin could scarcely articulate, one that wasn't of religious zeal, threatened to swallow him whole. A pale, red mist began to creep into the corners of his vision, filtering everything in his world through a film of inky red.

"…h-hey…hey—Justin—JUSTIN!" And all at once, Giriko was in his face, causing Justin to recoil like a startled animal. "Listen to me: the girl came here for you. Not for me—you. You're the one she wants. Yeah? Alright?"

Justin blinked, his hazy gaze focusing on Giriko's mouth.

"I wasn't s'pposed to be involved in any of this." Brown eyes simmered. "But I jumped in and made a real mess of things—I-I fucked up okay and all I wanna do is erase the red in my ledger. That's it. Swear to God. Now the girl is gonna to die unless we act fast and I can't carry you too—so give her to me and I'll make sure she survives." A swallow. "Please, kid. You wanna talk regrets? Don't go and do somethin' we'll both regret."

For a brief moment, Justin nearly acquiesced to the words he so desperately needed to hear. Burdened arms stretched out, ready to forfeit Jeanne over to Giriko.

As if fate would be that kind.

Giriko is lying. What can a chainsaw do to save a life?

Arms faltered.

"Justin?"

He just wants to have his way with her one final time before polishing off her soul for dessert.

"No, c'mon…don't do this, kid…" Giriko moaned as Justin retreated from his outstretched hand and curled up defensively, mistrustful eyes glaring out from behind blonde hair. "You gotta - you gotta fight this…"

Justin bared his teeth at the chainsaw.

That's right. She's your meister.

(Mine.)

But look at her.

She's too far gone. She's barely breathing.

There's nothing you or anyone else can do to save her.

Kishin eyes stretched tighter around Jeanne's bloody leg.

Yet there is one thing you and you alone can do for her—

Put her out of her misery.

A blink. What?

Put her out of her misery.

No, Justin mouthed. No. No no no—he wasn't going down this route again. Justin Law only killed sinners and Jeanne didn't commit any transgressions against his Lord

This is your duty as a guillotine.

You were created to give souls a humane, painless death.

Would you rather she suffer?

Would you rather her bleed out?

Is this your idea of justice?

In the background, a chainsaw softly puttered.

"Don't make do this, Justin…you gotta get ahold of yourself—"

Don't allow your emotions to cloud your judgment.

Even if you were able to save Jeanne, what good is she to you now?

Her body, heart, and soul all belong to someone else.

You can't even ~resonate~ with her any longer.

His breath stuttered to a halt.

This is your duty, Justin.

Do your duty as a guillotine.

A GUILLOTINE EXECUTES.

Eͯ͂̈́ͧ͏̬̖͉̖̗̖̘̬X͙͚̫̬̠̀̈͡E̸̪͉̍̓ͬC̴̘̥̹͕̟͗͆̾̋U̘̱͍̙̱͋̂͡ͅṰ̻̗̻̩͙̜̠̄͟E̯̺͈̩̟̦̲ͨͫ̚͡ ̹̗̠ͤͦ̕H̳̥̠̮ͤ͐ͮͤ͘E̫̦͔̠̪ͧͫ͝R̒҉͉̤̮.̮͍͙͍̳͒ͭ͐̓͢

"NO!"

He smashed up against a hard surface. Through a mist of red, blurred eyes slid from the unlocked lunette of one arm to the blade glinting on his other arm. There as a glimpse of boots shuffling towards him—immediately followed by the telltale rustle of shadows emerging and surrounding him like a sentry, whispering insidiously into his mind:

'Y̡̫̫̹̲̣͈̓̚ͅͅO̘̫͔̞̬ͬ̋͑̀Û̸̮͍͓͕̪̪͓͆̐̚ͅ ͐ͨ҉̹̮͔͈̻S̴͍̪̟͍̝͎̝͍̄Ḧ͚͔͍̰͚̃͝O̘̻̺̠̩̥̺͛̽̔͘ͅU̺̙̱̜͔̝͍̅̊͜L̥͙̺̮̙ͬ͝D̥̰̟̲͑͒ͨͭ̀ ̠̤̝̩̤̣̼̆͛͝H̸̰̟̹̻̳͉̀̆̊A̞͉̓̂̇̐͜V̢͇̳̦͇̏̊E̷̠̮ͫ̆͊ ̨̟̬̩͖ͯD̙͉̯̞̱͛̇͠O̧̩̠̰̩̎̆̌̉N̡̹̱̣̼̹̠͓ͫ̈́E̝̝͍̲̭̻̦̞̒͢ ͚̠̠̂ͮ̏͒̕ͅT͕̪͈̼̟̖̀ͤ͢H̷̹̥͗̿ͦE̷̩̫̱̯͈̤͇ͤ̈̓͐ ̱̙̫̤͍̠̤̜̓́̌͝R̳͓̙̰̖̍͗̽̎͜I̵̫̝̲ͧ͛G̤̭̳̲̼̍̂̅͆́H̯͎͛̋͡T̜̰̜͉̞̹̼̤̿́ ̲̫̑̆ͫ̕T̼͉̲̗̈́̚͝Ḩ͙̖͔͉̠͇̺͒ͪͬ̈Į̝͇͙͙̦ͭŅ͍̙̈̇G̤͎̞͌̋ͮͭ́.'

The Clown's wavelength encased his consciousness in a thick, oppressive darkness that began sucking him deep, deep under, but before the black ooze dragged him completely beneath the surface, Justin rasped out a few final words with his last fragments of sanity—

"…take her awayI can't…"

The roar of a chainsaw faded into the distance, leaving the ex-Death Scythe to fester in his madness alone.


The tea finally stopped rippling.

"Gopher," the sorcerer uttered.

"Right away, Noah-sama."


And of course, the first word that left the girl's mouth when she woke in his bed was—

"Justin?"

Motherfucking CALLED THAT SHIT. Tossing the amber bottle to the side and wiping the booze from his mouth, Giriko rolled over from the couch to face her.

"…shit, girl, glad you're finally awake. Took your sweet damn time."

She took one look at him and screamed.

Giriko immediately leapt up to muffle the strangled, shrill shrieking that pierced his eardrums.

"Hey, hey—calm down! You're gonna hurt yourself if you keep thrashin' around like that…"

The look of raw fear in her eyes tore into his soul as she struggled to free herself from his meaty grip like a trapped animal. The girl curled herself into a ball and gazed up at him with quivering green eyes, letting out a low whine of someone who had just been violated. Cowering from him. Like Justin had.

"…monster…"

Giriko deflated.

He was one, wasn't he. He'd made her a hostage in her own body, gagged and duct-taped to the front row seat of a movie where she watched her own hands commit unspeakable atrocities. The distant echoes of her pleas begging him to stop—please, Giriko, that's enough—how Justin had learned his lesson, how Justin was defenseless—NO, PLEASE DON'Thad all fallen on deaf ears, her light and her love swallowed up by the void of bloodlust until she physically ripped his soul outta her own body.

He fucked the kid up.

Hell, he'd nearly fucked the kid.

It'd been centuries since he'd last bitten like that.

"…What's with that look?" Giriko growled gutturally at the terrified girl as the walls came back up, hiding the hurt, hiding the pain, hiding everything but the rage. "You knew the shit you were gettin' yourself into. I told you before—it's a dark fucking road to go down with me. Everyone's hearts are pitch-black inside—mine most of all."

And p-proud.

"Told you," he swallowed thickly as his gaze misted over, "that resonatin' wouldn't work."

His mouth warped into a crooked grin that didn't quite match the distant, haunted look in his eyes. The chainsaw tipped his head back and barked out long, thick strains of diseased laughter that echoed hollowly throughout the room while Jeanne shrank further into herself.

It was all so fucking ridiculous—the futility pressing around him like concrete, so that he had to face the ceiling just to breathe. The ceiling's texture was uneven, puckered with welts and cracks; maybe that shit would finally put an end to this miserable existence by falling on him. It'd be a bitch-ass way to go out but at least it meant he wouldn't have to pay too much attention to the all-consuming guilt, or the dug-up trauma with the priest, or the fact he'd lost any bit of trust the girl had in him, or that for a brief moment, he'd almost fooled himself into believing anyone could be saved in this shitty world.

No. He couldn't die just yet, not before he carried out his final duty—he had motherfuckin' duties too.

"…is Justin alive?" a tiny voice quavered.

Giriko breathed, reclaiming his thoughts from bleak oblivion. Figures. The kid was the only thing she cared about.

"I didn't kill 'im."

Would've. To save the girl. Except then she'd hate him even more.

"…why did you save my life?"

Brown eyes couldn't snap to her fast enough. "You really need me to spell it out for you?"

Giriko caught her flinch before he dragged himself back to the couch and plopped down, burying his face into his palms.

Jeanne's gaze trailed over to the workbench that must have served as an operating table—and widened. "Who—who is that?"

Surrounded by mounds of blood-stained clay, dirty bandages, and a contraption of thin plastic tubing and tap ending with a hollow needle, laid the unmoving body of another girl.

A beat.

A hundred, no—eight hundred beats. Eight hundred beats and 30 lifetimes that would soon be 31.

"That there…is our daughter."