*kicks down door* I'm back, bitches!

In other words, unlike the prior two installments of this series, Soul Eater is a fandom I have actually written in before (technically I did write some Black Butler before The Teacher, but that was never finished). Please for the love of Christ do not look at what I wrote here before this. I was in middle school and that shit should never see the light of day, except I'm also a weenie with a phobia of deleting stuff some OTHER middle school gremlin will enjoy, so…it's still here. Lurking. Reminding me of my shame. Bleh.

Fair warning to those of you that need it, but unlike my other fics which feature violence and swearing, this fic will also have a significant amount of horror. Unspecific I know, but like –body horror, existential horror, psychological horror, more graphically-described-violence. Y'know, horror. Scary stuff. Suspense. Also, since I take the gentle liberty of assuming the DWMA would train their students to actually effectively face, track, and investigate the monsters they're fighting, rather than pointing in a direction and saying "sic 'em," this story will also feature a fair amount of forensic science, psychology, and criminology being tossed around. I've taken a decent amount of psychology courses, but the other two are not fields I'm confident in and therefore I may get stuff wrong sometimes. Give a holler if I do, I'll correct my mistakes.

Also, if you've read my Trekker and Teacher fanfics, you may ignore the unbolded portion below and simply continue reading, but for those of you who have not, this is in fact a continuation of a series that includes prior fics in Hetalia and Black Butler. It can be read alone, but I WILL reference a lot of things from those fics, so here's a premise of what happened in them:

Aryana "Arya" Thompson was a 16-year-old female from Virginia, USA. Due to a "spell" that a casual internet friend gave her to try, she was sucked out of our world and placed in the Hetalia one. As she enters the world and associates with the characters, they are attacked by the "2p!s" ("Second Players"), a fanon, darker version of the Hetalia characters. After much fighting, hardship, and near-death experiences, they (Arya and the canon characters) defeat the 2p!s and send them to a far-distant world they can't escape from. During her stay in the Hetalia world, Aryana (who prefers Arya) learned fluent German and a somewhat basic grasp of Italian, although she did learn a lot of curse words from her teacher, as well as gun safety (she was not a very good shot), an informal strategy education, and a brief apprenticeship in magical theory. (She also turned 17.) She was sent back to her world by her teacher (England/Britain), however he messed up on his spell and sent her to the Black Butler world instead.

In the Black Butler world, Arya was forced to delve deeper into magical theorem to create her own spell to send herself home, as her teacher (England/Britain) could not help her on that score. She learned French, Greek, and Latin to assist herself to that end, as well as improved her gunmanship and tactical thinking. She more or less followed the manga plotline of Black Butler, which involves hijinks n' stuffs and is unimportant to this summary, but acquired a scar on her ear from a zombie fingernail and later befriended the German so-called witch called Sieglinde, teaching her the magic Arya learned in Hetalia and hooking her up to Arya's teacher England/Britain. The extremely clever Sieglinde broke through the troubles Arya was having with her spell, and Arya left the world of Black Butler, promising to eventually visit Sieglinde again, or at least make it possible for her to visit Arya.

ALSO, this fic is going to take a while, since (slight spoiler) I run Arya through all of the 99 Kishin required to create a Death Scythe. Probably 100 chapters minimum. So...buckle up kiddos, we're gonna go on a bit of a ride with this one.

June 19th, 2020

Arya's POV:

SPLASH

CRACK

I felt the cool embrace of water close over my body, and abruptly let out my breath in shock and no small amount of pain as the back of my head cracked against what felt like stone not a second later, followed by the rest of my back a nanosecond afterwards. Luckily, whatever water I was in was shallow, so as I thrashed and sat up, coughing, gasping, and choking all at once (if that makes any sense), and losing my grip on the straps of my apocalypse bag into the bargain, I was able to do so without also continuing my drowning experience.

The second I could breathe without feeling water in my throat I groaned and clutched the back of my head, feeling it throb painfully. Thankfully, as I gingerly felt around, no blood was drawn and my skull remained un-dented. I would probably just have a monster of a bruise for the next few days/weeks.

Then I opened my watering eyes and looked around for my apocalypse bag, seeing it floating in the foot-deep water a few inches away. With a sigh of relief, I grabbed it and slung it over my shoulder again, taking the time to look around my landing site.

It appeared as if I was sitting in a decorative fountain in a city square or something, and my heart sank, because number one I knew there was no such thing in the town near my house, or any towns anywhere near my house, and number two I had no idea where I actually was, given that the architecture was…suspiciously funky for a real-life location. Skull motifs and wacky weathervanes were alarmingly common, and the roofs of the houses and the houses themselves were…skewed, in a way that didn't feel architecturally sound.

Perhaps it was just an artsy part of town. Perhaps I had landed in a very odd sort of festival. Perhaps this was an amusement park.

Perhaps I was desperately in denial.

At the moment, though, all I did know for fact was that it was a very bright, very hot, and probably middle-of-summer day, and for once I was actually mildly glad about being dumped in water. This particular occasion certainly beat being dumped in an ice-cold river in the middle of winter –an image and situation I couldn't help but long for, just for a second, as I squinted hatefully up at the sun.

At which point I froze, my eyes going wide, before I winced and closed them again, forcibly reminded that staring into the sun, no matter how cartoony and anime the world, hurt like a bitch.

What. The. Fuck.

Everyone remembers when they were little and in kindergarten, and you drew a landscape for whatever childish reason, and you always drew the sun with one of two things: a happy lil' smiley face and/or sun rays, when you had never in your grubby crayon-grabbing life seen the actual sun with anything like that? Hell, I remember that some of us would put shades on the damn thing, because there's nothing that four-and-five-year-olds like better than poetic irony.

Well the toddlers and kindergarteners of my world had a sudden basis in fact, because the sun I looked up at just now, while still throwing off as much light and heat as my native, beloved hydrogen-and-helium star, had everything except the ironic shades: flaring, conical rays that circled its entire –...body? Head? Self?– and a billion-watt smile that could put any comic book hero's to shame, gaping wide in amusement as faint laughter drifted down from the heavens. The sun had a face. A face that was laughing, something intrinsically impossible in my home dimension.

Well fuck.

I didn't even bother to make sure there was no one around as I screamed in furious anger and cursed anything that seemed appropriate to curse, shaking my fist at the sky. I cursed my novice abilities in magic and I cursed my mentor for using a faulty spell that got me into this whole problem in the first place. I cursed the damn Soul Eater sun for causing such damn hot desert temperatures in wherever the hell I was –Death City seemed a prudent guess– and I cursed the stupid fountain I landed in for almost breaking my head. For variety's sake, I cursed Medusa for being a bitch and a bad parent, because the lord knows Crona needed someone to take his (I was going on his until better notice) side and curse her out in his favor.

Once I was done cussing in English, I sucked in a deep breath and began spitting just about every Italian swear word and phrase I knew...which was, shamefully, quite a lot. The dude who taught me the language (who also happened to be an avatar/physical representation of aforesaid country –best way one could explain it out of Hetalia context) was a rather large pottymouth, and pretty much the only stuff I ever retained from his lessons was a whole lot of ways to insult someone's mother and/or sex life in Italian...which was, uh…useful…I guess.

Usually it was only useful when I needed to relieve pain or express frustration, but hey, whatever works. That's what swear words are for, really.

When I finally ran out of Italian, I was frustrated enough that I would have liked to continue cussing in the other four languages I knew (being German, Latin, Greek, and French, roughly in order of fluency), but the fact remained that my knowledge of Latin and Greek was limited and for technical spellcasting only –so German and French were the only two that really lended themselves to cursing– and I was flustered and angry enough that I couldn't really remember anything but the main three curse words in either language. Which therefore made saying them over again, bilingually, rather redundant.

That and I was getting soggy –sure, I had dressed for the possible occasion of getting drenched, but the fact remained that my clothes were not entirely waterproof and neither was I.

So applying logic, I looked around and noticed that in my first actual spot of good luck for the day, no one had been around to see me scream and shake my fist at the sky, screeching curse words. So no one was around to watch a dripping wet blonde with a forced smile on her face (which consisted mostly of gritted teeth) as she flounced her way out of the awkwardly carved fountain –the stone curves of the edge were very inconveniently placed for someone trying to climb out of the fountain's bowl with a heavy rucksack in tow.

Standing on the cobblestones and feeling warmth drift upwards from them like an oven, I let my apocalypse bag swing down from my shoulder to rest on the pavement near my feet, before I straightened up again and started wringing out my hair.

Okay. Ideas. I did not want to be stuck in an anime, even one as interesting as Soul Eater, for the rest of my mortal days. This situation definitely warranted a call to my magic teacher, Britain (who inhabited the same verse as Romano, my friend and Italian/curse word teacher), because I had felt positive that the magical pentagram and ritual –which I'd spent painstakingly long months on– that I had made would work. Britain had even okayed it when I turned my cellphone on and used some of its precious battery to send him pictures and a text of what I planned to draw and say, and he'd spent some thousand-and-fuck years as a practicing magician (and a pretty competent one at that).

My hair mostly dry, I pulled off my shirt, exposing my swimsuit top, and started wringing it out as little droplets of water spattered onto the hot paving stones, hissing and fading within moments. Of course, now that I was in a world that maybe had plug-in outlets, I could be a little more caviler about phoning him in for a chat. Back in Black Butler, the world that I had just vacated mere moments ago, I hadn't had that luxury, and had to rely on the dubious texts and sources on magic provided in-verse. That isn't, of course, to say that magic in that world was hackneyed –it was just far more geared towards summoning magic creatures, literally ripping part of their power away, and then using it towards one's own nefarious ends. Britain didn't work like that and neither did I, and to hell (badum-tss) with it if I was gonna start then. Real magicians worked by equivalent exchange –FMA had it more right than the fans in my world knew– and voluntary cooperation from both parties in the equation, or, if it was a good magician dealing with a bad creature, they killed it dead and didn't fuck about with half-crippling it, then expecting a happy little reunion when they crossed paths once again.

Honestly, it was no wonder Ciel hadn't (yet –the manga was still ongoing and whatnot, and the last thing I had read in my world was the introduction to the arc with that one fortune teller and the music hall) ever encountered anyone with real magic to them, aside from Sebastian and the Grim Reapers. It was a source of personal bemusement to me that there were any humans left alive to practice any kind of magic at all, what with vengeful magical creatures chomping them left and right (deservedly so).

But, anyways. Logically speaking, given that Britain had approved of my attack plan and he had more magical experience in his eyelashes than I had in my whole body, this probably –potentially– wasn't a fuck-up on my part. (For which I was rather disproportionately glad. The first really major spell I had ever done, and I hadn't fucked it up. Yay me!) Ergo, this meant that, yet again, the universe had decided to screw me over in the most lengthy, time-consuming, and generally asshole-y way it could, by kicking me to yet another anime dimension instead of gracefully allowing me to make it home and wallow my days away in rustic splendor.

I knew my separation issues were getting bad, because when I missed my home, that was rock fucking bottom. The farm we owned probably hadn't changed in a hundred years, the town in fifty, and the people in eighty. Honestly, it was horrifying how bland my life was. My family traveled out of town twice a year, on Christmas and Easter, and that was it. That was my sum total experience of life up until about midway through 16, in which I most stupidly tried a spell to send me to another dimension and ended up in Hetalia. That was just over a year ago: I was seventeen now, older, hypothetically wiser, and with an infinitely bigger vocabulary and lack of clear skin. I knew what it felt like to be in a car crash and escape a sinking ocean liner, I knew what it felt like to stab someone in the chest and what it felt like to have your own throat cut. (Newsflash, it's painful, and very, very wet. Lots of liquid. Lots of blood. Not putting people off their tea, am I?)

Most importantly, I knew how to keep myself in shape, because I knew that unless my body was a lean, mean, fighting machine, that machine was going to be shattered into pieces by someone, somewhere, with an ax to grind. I knew how to cast a spell and how to reload and fire a gun into an encroaching horde of the mindless undead without being torn apart, or how to briefly tango with an experienced knife fighter and not end up dying for the privilege. I knew what it felt like to be tortured by a psychopathic madman with exquisite weapons expertise and I knew how to live in a house with a demon who had a chip on his shoulder against all magicians for nine months and avoid getting fucked over.

Oh yes, packed full of adventurous learning, I was. After all that (which was not even remotely a fully comprehensive list), even the most dewy-eyed and thrill-seeking of naïve and adventurous teenager protagonists would have been longing for some stolid rural laziness in a backwater town full of nonentities and nobodies, half of whom could drop dead on the streets without the rest of the others noticing, the place was so sleepy.

Problem being, I actually had to get to that fucking point. As recent events demonstrated, I was far from out of the woods yet. Soul Eater was still a hurdle on my horizon, and, well, it was one I was gonna have to jump if I ever wanted to see Kansas again. (Okay I lived in Virginia, but like when else could you make that reference?!)

Since I was in a desert, completely drying myself off might not be the best idea, I thought as I pulled my shirt back on and then picked up my apocalypse bag –so named because I had originally playfully packed it with the intent to survive any disaster scenario I came across, and brought it along with me during my first disastrous spell attempt. After Britain had cast a spell of hammer-space upon it, this bag basically became my only worldly possession, and I had been living out of it for months.

Speaking of which, I should probably go find a bench or something and put on some socks, since there would possibly be quite a bit of walking in my near future.

Hoisting my bag over my shoulder, I looked around, taking note of the fact that the square I was in seemed to be filled with cafés, with a bunch of decorative plants in pots and ground boxes and spindly outdoor chairs and round tables gathered by the spacious ground-floor windows, frequently covered by some sort of arched awning. That was probably why no one was around –it wasn't the morning caffeine rush or the afternoon snack rush, and just from looking down the three roads that led into this square, I could see that the way into this square was twisting and complex, which meant it'd be hard for casual passersby to wander down this way.

Well, alright then.

I wandered over to the nearest café, pushing open the door and hearing the bell tinkle as I did. Since the entire place was empty, I got prompt and immediate attention from the lady behind the counter, and I smiled tentatively.

"Uh," My eyes flicked over to the chalkboard behind her head, and I perked up a little. "-can I get some sweet tea? For a table outside?"

"Of course. Coming right up!" she chimed, and I smiled again before turning right back around to walk outside, sitting down at one of the cream-colored plastic chairs outside and leaning back with a sigh, letting my shakes recede.

Ordering hasn't gotten any less scary, I see.

Setting my bag down on the ground, I reached inside and pulled out my money purse, opening it up and fishing around for some American bills. To the best of my memory, Death City was in Death Valley, Nevada (hence the scorching heat), but most of the money in my bag was British pounds and change from the year 1889, with a thick wad of bills tied incongruously together with a ribbon at the very bottom. I pulled out a ten-dollar modern bill, which should cover my drink with at least little bit left over, unless she left me a pitcher.

Carefully stuffing this inside my boys' swimshorts, which were already more damp than wet thanks to the incredibly bright sun and hot air, I closed my purse and put it back in the larger bag, reaching down nearly down to my elbow to find some socks, which I retrieved after a comedic few moments of rummaging.

Scooting out my chair a little, I kicked off my shoes and pulled my socks on one by one, managing to hastily scoot back in and at least hook my toes into my sneakers before the café owner (or possibly employee) walked back out, and I salivated a little at the golden glass of iced sweet tea she put down at my table, garnished with a lemon wedge, my eyes sparkling. It had been forever and a half since I'd gotten some good sweet tea, and I nodded to her gratefully as she smiled and walked back into the café, before seizing the glass and working very hard not to chug it straight as I took a long, savoring gulp.

Oooooooh boy have I missed this.

Some of my irritation faded away: sure, I was going to call Britain and chew up him the fuck out, sure I had messed up and sent myself to another anime world, but like, what was the harm in stopping for a drink first? I could be touristy for like twenty minutes, and what a lovely experience it would be, having a drink in the actual Death City in Soul Eater?

The fact I hadn't gotten artificial flavoring or ice like this in nearly eight months was neither here nor there.

I was also fairly confident of being able to fix my problem fast –aside from any quick corrections Britain would make with the virtue of hindsight, this place had the Death Weapon Meister Academy, which had Lord Death, a god, and if he couldn't fix my problem, I was in more trouble than I thought. I could just skip up to the DWMA, get pointed to the Death Room, and lay out my problem, and since Lord Death was also a god of order, he'd probably be highly motivated to iron out this irregularity in five seconds flat.

Giving a quick glance around out of habit, since in Black Butler whipping out a cellphone was grounds for an accusation of witchcraft, I slid down in my chair and unzipped one of the side pockets for my apocalypse bag, pulling out my phone with its Italian-flag casing and powering it on with one hand as I took another sip of my sweet tea, enjoying the chill.

My lockscreen flashed on, and I swiped into the dial feature, typing out Britain's number by memory and holding it to my ear. He picked up after only one ring.

"Did it work?"

"Does this sound like the voice of victory to you?" I deadpanned.

"…Bollocks."

"I know, right!? What went wrong?!" I cried into the phone, waving my free hand furiously. "You said it was fine!"

"It should have been fine!" Britain snapped, though his flash of anger didn't seem directed at me. "There were no technical errors in that spell, and as you survived, clearly you performed it correctly! Are you sure you're not in your home world!?"

"The sun has a face, dude. A face."

"I'm sorry, WHAT?!"

"Its Soul Eater. Uh, its another anime, a lot of things are weirdly anthropomorphized here. The moon has a face too. Lots of things are whimsical and not entirely restricted to one form."

"You're sure of this?"

"Dude, I know that face."

"The sun's face."

"The sun's face." I agreed, taking another sip. "That smiling, laughing face…"

"I'm sorry, are you trying to make a mangled Batman reference or is the sun actually smiling and laughing?"

"It's actually doing that. And you know what Batman is?"

"Must you be such a brat?"

"I must. Don't let America hear about it, though, or he'll hound you to the ends of the earth."

"Too late." he said, then sighed. "Well, I confess that I am utterly bamboozled as to why the spell didn't work successfully. By all rights, you should be sitting in your home at this very moment."

I groaned. "I was afraid you'd say that."

"Do you have any plans?"

"Uh, well, there's a god in this world, Lord Death, the Grim Reaper." I explained, leaning back in my chair a little. "He's hundreds of years old, and he's been fighting Witches –which are like an evil separate species from humans in this world– for just as long, so like, he should probably at least have an idea of what to do?"

"I'm not very reassured by the fact he hunts magic-users."

"Ugh, no, it's Witches, not anyone with magic." I explained, rubbing my forehead. "Its like- they're always female, they live hundreds of years too, and their souls –souls manifest physically after people die here– are tangibly different than humans, corrupted or otherwise. He's not going to Reaper-Chop me just because I show up and have magic."

"And you're willing to bet your life on that?"

I hesitated. Britain's paranoia was somewhat contagious.

"Okay…maybe I don't roll up and explain that I'm a magician. I've got plenty of practice at dancing around it, thanks to my last world." I told him after a moment. "Unfortunately, that means I probably can't use magic to find the sigils like I did before, since they'd be able to track me down. I can check with the DWMA library though, its huge, and there's bound to be the kinds of books I need somewhere in there. I mean, its not like I'm trying to blow stuff up, I just need reference books."

"That would probably be a wiser course."

"I'm still gonna try to talk to him." I said stubbornly. "But no reason I can't do both. Uh, listen, there's probably outlets in this world, so I can call you back later, but for right now I've got to finish my iced tea and head up to the school."

"YOU PUT ICE IN YOUR TEA-"

I hung up on Britain before his outraged tantrum could go full-throttle, powering down my phone again before sticking it in my bag.

Draining my glass in one last gulp, I picked up my bag and stood again, entering the shop one last time to hand the lady the glass and pay for my drink.

"You know how to get to the DWMA from here?" I asked as I handed over my bill, and she hummed without looking up, tapping out my numbers on the old-fashioned cash-register.

"Deathbus 42, runs throughout the city to pick up students on their commute." she answered instantly. "The nearest stop is down Massacre Avenue, out in front of the Deathsteraunt. No fare for students, 1.50 for everyone else."

"R…right…" I said, sweatdropping a little. "Thank you, ma'am."

I accepted my change and headed out again, pulling my apocalypse bag over my neck to rest across my body diagonally rather than resting on one shoulder, scanning the three available streets before spotting Massacre Street and heading down it. I was still a little hung up over how macabre the naming conventions around here were, but then again, it was Death City, and I could appreciate them making their aesthetic and sticking to it, come hell or high water.

Well, this was a desert, so high water wasn't very likely…it was hot out here. After all, Death Valley was called Death Valley in my world because this particular desert valley was one of the hottest places on the planet, with a record-setting 134 degrees Fahrenheit (56.7 Celsius) in the air one summer in 1913, and 210 degrees Fahrenheit on the surface in July 1972. Place was HOT.

Not as hot as I might've expected, though that may have been something to do with all the buildings and plants everywhere, or maybe the fact that Lord Death had inadvertently done something to the weather when he rooted his soul here. Either was possible with my level of science comprehension.

I saw the bus stop, which looked normal enough except for the familiar cartoonish skull plastered across it –three dark round holes for eyes and nose in a circular face, three white spikes sticking out from the bottom like stylized teeth that made up over half of the skull's length– and a funky-looking poster of what seemed to be a musician's album over one wall, as well as a large graffiti 42, and ducked under the small bit of shade from the overhang with a sigh of relief. Hopefully, I could get out of here soon, since I definitely wasn't used to a desert climate and would probably burn to a crisp if I stayed too long.

Waiting for the bus allowed me to dry off completely, as well as stick a dollar and two quarters in my pocket, ready to pay the fare the moment I had to, and agonize over the makeshift plans I had made. Would Lord Death not accept someone who used magic if I went to him for help? As far as I could remember it, there was no precedent for someone who had magic but wasn't a Witch in Soul Eater, aside from Blair and the other "Monsters" like Mosquito, both of which had transformative capabilities that I couldn't match. I walked like a Witch, talked like a Witch, and ergo I would probably get axed like a Witch if I waltzed up to the DWMA and stated my name and purpose.

Since I wasn't being swarmed with meisters right now, I could assume that my soul wasn't tangibly witchy, which was a sort-of-point to my favor, though I wasn't sure if that would stick around if I started actually using magic.

Dangit.

Such plots continued to absorb me as the bus pulled up –it was a red double-decker just like in London, which gave me a momentarily double-take– and I got on, paying the driver and picking a seat near the middle. There were a bunch of other kids on the bus, ranging from my age to about middle-school age, most of them wearing some kind of school uniform with a skull motif tucked away somewhere, usually sitting in pairs on the wide bus seats. As one of the only ones sitting alone, I stood out, making me cringe guiltily and shuffle a little closer to the window.

Guess this really is a bus meant for DWMA students. Makes sense, Maka and Soul have their own apartment –heck, don't all the EAT students live on their own? Getting everyone to school would be a hassle without some kind of bus system, and I guess it makes sense to also have it available to civilians, since they might have to come to the DWMA to ask for help.

My eyes slid sideways, watching some of the students glance at me with varying degrees of curiosity.

But I don't think that's the regular thing. I'm also not looking nervous, so it wouldn't make sense that I was riding to the DWMA to ask for help.

Eh, whatever.

I sat back to enjoy the ride, watching with interest and amusement as Death City passed by. Despite the uniformity of it in the anime (something undoubtedly done to save budget) there was actually a lot of cultural mishmash in the streets we passed. Aside from the seemingly ubiquitous red-tiled rooftops and long square plastered buildings that seemed to make up residences, there were soaring domes and plazas and obelisks like I'd seen in Italy, and ten-story skyscrapers and other vestiges of modern cityscapes, and gardens for a dozen different climates, along with the Death-City-centric architecture that featured those improbable huge staircases to nowhere and a profusion of weird, whacky, and whimsical skull motifs –mostly versions of the same skull I'd seen at the bus stop, which was Lord Death's own mask– and twisted lines that made up the regular shops and buildings in the areas we passed.

Death City itself was constructed as a single large hill, rising up from the valley floor like a lonely mountain –from a distance it looked like nothing so much as a huge pile of buildings with the DWMA sitting in pride of place at the very top of it, though there was a spread of other buildings and streets on the level ground as well. The bus wound a complex route as it steadily climbed the slope of the city, sometimes driving in a slow curve upwards, other times ascending a brief sharp hike, stopping frequently for more students as if followed the rising, twisting, and turning cobblestone streets. Eventually it dropped us off at the bottom of the DWMA stairs themselves, flanked by the huge black tiered walls that cut the school itself off from the rest of the city and created an enormous peak for the DWMA proper to rest upon.

As I got out with the others, I noticed with interest that there was a small parking lot to the right of the stairs, mostly for motorbikes, though there were about a dozen spots for cars as well. Next to them, right up against the soaring wall itself, was a thick forest of occupied bike racks, indicating that not everyone bussed to school.

At the reminder, I winced and looked up the long, long bank of snow-white stairs, which most of the other students were already ascending. Just from where I stood here, I could count over a dozen stories of flights of stairs, and since those flights were unfolding away from me as they went upwards, there was probably a dozen more that I couldn't see yet.

Oh boy.

Don't they have an elevator or something?!

***Time Skip***

The answer to that, apparently, was no, and an hour later by my watch –which wasn't set to Soul Eater time (whatever that was) but could obviously still count– I was sprawled over the courtyard of the DWMA, slightly to the side of the stairs so that my collapsed body wouldn't be in the way of anyone climbing up.

Holy Jesus fuck those are some long stairs.

After enough oxygen had re-entered my system and I was no longer experiencing climber's high, I groggily sat up, adjusting my bag a little to pull it closer to me and make sure no one had gotten any funny ideas about stealing it.

The spacious courtyard I was currently collapsed in was made of irregular yellowish stones cemented together, surrounded by a low black wall along the outside. The school itself rose above us, with several more tiers of courtyards rising upwards before three huge white skulls interrupted the pattern, facing the front of the school: the middle one had red needle-like spikes sticking upwards out of the nose and eye holes, and the spread of its three teeth was much wider, giving room for students to walk between them into the school. Flanking the three huge skulls were two squat black towers with red conical roofs, and sticking diagonally out of their bases were huge white candles, larger than the bus I had rode in on, somehow lit with enormous flames that were bigger than cars. Another four candles of equal size stuck out at regular intervals as they circled the school, and two slender black towers rose between them in the middle.

The central mass of the school was comprised of more black towers with red peaked roofs and rings of courtyards and balconies around them, mirrored against one another so that the whole school was symmetrically designed from the front. Three black orbs hovered above the very highest peaks of the school, and the negative space between them and the red spires of the roofs created the illusion of yet another Lord Death skull –which, of course, was also studded as a white mask near the top of every tower in the school.

Let it never be said they did not stick to their theme like glue.

Staggering upright and trying not to feel too awkward in what were very obviously swim shorts and a T-shirt, I made my way over beneath the teeth of the huge skull arching over the courtyard entrance, my legs practically whimpering as I climbed the meager three steps up onto the dais beneath said skull and walked into the school itself.

More teenagers of varying ages and uniforms strolled around, talking and chattering with each other, some with transformed Weapons over their shoulders or at their belts, and I shuffled a little and tried not to look too weird with my large rucksack and conspicuous lack of second person, especially since I was in essence lurking and waiting for someone to conveniently say something along the lines of "Hey, I'm going down to the library for…"

"Hey! You know you can actually wait five minutes before running off to the library again!"

Well, that works too. I thought, deadpan, then began to trot after the suspiciously familiar voice.

Sure enough, I spotted Maka Albarn and Soul Eater arguing about half a hallway length ahead, with Soul insisting that she didn't have to immediately bury herself in books the second school was in session again and Maka telling him firmly that she had to check to see if they'd gotten anything new over break. Granted, I was seeing them from the back and through a crowd, but Maka's thin ash-blonde pigtails and the long black trench coat was a dead giveaway, as was Soul's spiky white hair and headband, along with his vaguely letterman-esque yellow and black jacket and maroon pants. From their arguing, I gathered I had arrived on the suspiciously convenient first day of school, which explained why I wasn't the only kid at the entrance looking confused and a little lost.

Thankfully, since they were talking rather loudly, I didn't have to actually keep Maka and Soul in sight and thus alert them to the fact they were being followed as I trailed after them through the surprisingly complex, near-identical hallways that led up and down and tilted occasionally in subtle directions, serving to further complicate any path a student might take. If you weren't careful, you might even end up in the bowels of the school… I felt a bit nervous about finding my way out of here after I checked in at the library.

Another pleasant bonus, the library was so huge that by the time I walked into it, Maka and Soul were already occupied. I didn't want to compound my problem by becoming memorable to the main cast, since that was just asking for trouble at this point. I mean, a basically-transfer student on the first day of a new school year at what was functionally a supernatural school, hooking up with the main characters?

Bad idea, unless I welcomed the implicit shenanigans. Which I did not.

The library itself was a huge, tapering cone-shaped room with story-high bookshelves on each level, with the levels above the ground floor accessed by a walkway ringing the edges of the room, accompanied by a metal railing on the other side to keep students from falling. More walkways bridged the diameter of the room on each new level, connected to a central turret, which at the ground floor held the librarian's main desk. There were skull-shaped glass lamps everywhere, though these were currently off, and as I looked up, walking across the floor, there were at least thirteen stories that I could count, indicating that this was probably located somewhere in the center of the school.

There were also stacks of books everywhere on the ground, some nearly as high as I was, as well as several divided study desks/cubicles with wall sconces and unlit candles in them, and a few more tables of a more open nature scattered about the room, which I picked my way through carefully.

"Uh, hi, sir." I said as I got to the desk where the librarian was, a guy in a uniform that reminded me oddly of an old-school bellhop, only all grey, with short frizzy dark hair and a toothbrush mustache. "Can I ask if we have any books about Witch languages and symbology?"

"Witch language and symbology?" he asked slowly as I nodded a little, trying not to sweat nervously. "Hmm, hmm. Not a common subject for a student: it's pretty advanced stuff. May I ask why?"

"Its for research." I said, which was true enough, my hands tightening a little on the strap of my bag. I was relying on social engineering here –this guy worked in the library of the DWMA, which was an independent facility not technically open to the public. Many of the students –most of them, actually– were the same age as me. This was a day for new students, and also with the hundreds attending at bare minimum, it seemed iffy that he would instantly recognize every one of them. Furthermore, if I was someone who was up to no good, I'd probably be a Witch or a Kishin, both of which would be easily spotted long before they could get halfway up the stupid monumental steps.

In other words, plausible excuse + other options being unlikely + confidence = vindication.

The librarian sighed and clasped his hands, laying them atop the desk, which made me sweat a little more. Bad sign.

"Level 1 books are for students with 1-star and 2-star rank." he explained to me, speaking slowly, like I was a kid. "They cover a vast range of subjects both fictional and nonfictional, and as for nonfiction goes, I can assure you myself that they explain Witch culture and terminology as much as is safe for the student body. 3-star students may access Level 2, as it includes more sensitive and specific information regarding the various enemies of the DWMA. Anything beyond that is instructor's materials, which cannot be accessed by the student body regardless of rank, or the Level 4 materials, which have rare and dangerous manuscripts printed by Witches themselves, which for reasons of security as well as education, we cannot allow anyone but Death Scythes and certain meisters personally selected or given permission by Lord Death to access. I hope you can understand."

I understood, but that didn't mean I had to like it. Given as the books I probably needed were Witch products, the security on them would be insane, which meant I probably couldn't just jimmy a lock or something and walk out with them, never mind the fact that I didn't know which of the books I actually needed.

Well, diplomacy and decency having failed, I was going to have to try and talk to the manager.

"No problem." I said with a smile that was more of a grimace. "Thanks for your time."

***Time Skip***

Unsurprisingly, trying to find my way up (or was it down?!) to the Death Room was an absolute chore. Firstly because the actual location was never really mentioned specifically, never mind how to get there, and secondly I was beginning to realize that whoever had designed these hallways, they had been made as deliberately confusing as possible, which I suppose was really cool from a training standpoint, but fucking frustrating when I was just trying to find my way around.

Conveniently, however, after I'd pathetically wandered down my dozenth hallway and felt the sympathetic, slightly pitying stares of the other students burn into my back, I spotted a cardboard cutout of Lord Death holding an arrow saying "This Way."

Oh thank the gods.

I turned in the appropriate direction and moved a bit faster down the hallway, trying to seem like I belonged here and I absolutely knew what I was doing to fend off more of those awkward stares as I began to follow those signs, which led me further into the confusing maze that was the DWMA. Made sense, I guessed. Hadn't the Death Room been in one of the towers in the anime? It'd been such a long time since I'd seen it, I could barely remember the details of the plot, never mind the ambient two-second details, like what parts of the school went where.

Turning one last corner, I came to a dead stop, my expression falling. This short hallway was painted white with a wooden floor, and at the very end of it was a single wooden door with a slightly lopsided poster taped above it.

Welcome, Welcome
New Students!
Come on in!

I glowered up at the sign, then looked down and shook my head, angrily marching towards the door.

"If the universe is trying to tell me what I fucking think it is…it better not be." I muttered sourly under my breath as I walked. Was it too much to ask just for me to ask someone official for help?!

No, oh no, apparently I had to jump through a hundred hurdles like some kind of weird European fairytale hero, just to prove myself worthy of the quest or something.

Pushing the door open revealed a smaller amount of people than I was expecting, which was weird when I vaguely remembered that the NOT class –the freshmen and others who weren't committed to hunting evil like the main characters in the EAT class– made up like 90% of the school. Then again…these were only the new students, right? It'd been over a year since I'd been in an actual school by the modern standard, so it was a bit hard to properly realize, but students didn't just graduate immediately. It took years, especially since the DWMA was also teaching combat lessons and so on outside of their normal curriculum. If they had one. They should have one, shouldn't they? Otherwise people like Maka and Blackstar, who had been practically raised here, wouldn't have a lick of common sense or basic education.

"Hey there. Meister, or Weapon?" another familiar voice asked, and I jumped a little and looked over, seeing Sid –pre-zombie, it was weird seeing him without blue-purple skin– standing behind a podium with a basket of small rectangular pins, like the name ones you'd see in a restaurant on waiters and waitresses.

"Oh, uh, I'm not really here for Weapon-" I began, only to be interrupted as he held one out.

"Pin this on your shirt, please."

I took it without thinking, and only when I looked down did I realize he'd handed me a meister badge.

Shit.

Well, I didn't need to commit to this, this was fine. Just wait out the orientation or whatever and then ask for a mirror –I remembered the 42-42-564 chant, at least, so if I had a mirror I could get my mitts on Lord Death!

So thinking, I reluctantly pinned the badge to the corner of my shirt and stepped away from the desk as a flustered-looking girl with black hair –I think I recognized her vaguely from Soul Eater Not!– shyly crept into the room.

I looked around as she accepted her meister tag, nervously picking at the corner of my own "meister" badge. Sid had gotten it all wrong, no way in hell was I a meister.

Although…what were the qualifications, really? Combat skills? Oh bitch please. If that was all it took, I had this in the bag. I mean, just look at that loser Hiro –he was a meister too, and he was the wimpiest dweeb I'd ever seen. And meister-ing (was that the correct verb form?) was a lot different than being a Weapon, it didn't seem to be genetic.

Not wanting to give anyone any ideas in regards to starting up a partnership, I stood apart from the other students, watching them awkwardly. It had been a while since I'd interacted with people my own age, too: recently, it'd been a heavy dose of older (sometimes centuries older) people, predominantly male, and two extremely younger exceptions. I'd somewhat lost the ability to chat, and these people weren't my people. Even the students here were more or less younger than I was –most of them looked to still be in middle school, all desperately trying to look like something (cool, normal, emo, tough, goth: pick your poison) while simultaneously striving to make it look like they weren't trying at all and didn't give a crap about such petty concerns, whatever those petty concerns happened to be.

Ah, youth. Such an uncomfortable fucking time.

I then sighed imperceptibly to myself. Well, what's the worst that can happen? I don't need to find a partner, so I don't really need to socialize with any of the students, and then when I don't find anyone maybe I can talk to Lord Death about-

"Oof!"

I grunted as some jerk came barreling into me from outside the room, making me stumble and nearly fall, and whirled around with a glare.

"Hey, watch it!" I hissed angrily, and the guy behind me who had been in such a tearing rush instantly turned pink and took a step back.

He was close enough to my height that any differentiating between the two of us was moot, and, oddly enough, looked to be roughly the same age, which when you looked at the rest of the middle-school-level kids around us was pretty strange. His black hair was cut short and smooth but looked like it wanted to get spiky if he'd given it the chance, and a set of crimson barrettes held the right side of his bangs behind his ear, with the rest was clumped between his eyes or parted off to the left side of his head. A black hat –possibly a fedora, I didn't know– was pulled low over his head, and he was wearing a snappy, dark suit that clung pathetically to his skinny, slender frame like he had been drenched in water, with a thin red checkered tie done neatly at his throat. He also had fine, classy-looking glasses perched before eyes nearly as dark as his hair, and a stud piercing in each ear, with both the glasses and the piercings a dark metallic black.

All in all, he looked like a cross between gothic punk and nerdy pianist –leaning towards the pianist.

"I-I-I'm so sorry!" he blurted as I took all this in with a quick glance, quickly backing away further and holding his hands out in apology. His somewhat light and airy voice didn't crack, which I half expected, and any withering comment I might've made was cut off by the teacher.

"So that's everyone. I'm Sid, school staff. We called you here together so we could get a good look at you. Each meister and Weapon will get partnered up with someone, but there's no need to rush your decision. Take your time and find a partner who truly suits you."

He cast a look in my direction at that one, making me blink and try to smooth over my stormy expression. The last thing I wanted was to get in trouble with any teachers before I started asking about Witch stuff!

"If you have trouble finding a partner here or can't decide, there's a bingo tournament this weekend where we'll be holding a "feeling partner" game that will help you. As a matter of fact, I met my current partner at just such a game. What can I say? I'm not the most social guy."

I blinked a bit at this new piece of Sid trivia. I'd watched Soul Eater Not! a long time ago, obviously, but I only really remembered that there was a trio of main girls in a meister-meister-Weapon partnership and they killed Medusa and Arachne's little sister.

Sid lifted a stack of papers from the podium.

"I'm going to hand out some sheets with a rough outline of what's coming up on the schedule. Take one and pass them towards the back."

I took one as the stack came to me and immediately started reading as I passed the rest on to the next person. Ah…apparently there was an actual school curriculum alongside the "learning how to be a Weapon-meister pair" stuff, though most of this first week appeared to be geared towards settling us into our dorms –there was a disclaimer that all first-years had to live in the dormitories, which were divided up into male and female facilities– and hopefully setting up our partnerships.

"You've had an easy start of it today, but school starts at 7 AM tomorrow, and we expect you to arrive promptly." Sid began, making me look up. "This is the DWMA, and we are a school for heroes. Tax funding from all over the world help us provide the facilities needed to train meister and their Weapons in order to maintain world order. We're frequently known as international government workers, and because of that, even in the NOT class, we expect discipline, enthusiasm, and strict adherence to the rules. This week, we'll be focused on giving you the academy agreement and making sure you understand it: your final decision is due by Friday, at which point you'll be given your student ID card. Turning in the academy agreement prior to Friday will also allow you to grab your ID card."

There were various muted noises of concern or annoyance at that. Sid's eyes tracked slowly over the room.

"If you don't understand the agreement, a lawyer and translator are available for student use: their contact numbers are at the bottom of your sheet. I'd advise you to go over the agreement document thoroughly, since it is legally binding and deals with your relationship between the DWMA and the folks you encounter, as well as any funerary expenses or plans you have to make. This isn't just any other school: merely by being a student, even a NOT student, you have responsibilities that you agree to perform merely by signing that document. Am I clear?"

There was a murmur of agreement from everyone in the class.

Sid fished under the podium again, picking up another basket full of thin envelopes.

"Once of those responsibilities is the spending of your weekly allowance. You'll get it paid in full every Monday, no questions asked, but if we find out you've been mishandling it, especially for criminal activities, there'll be consequences. Take one envelope and pass the basket around."

The basket began to make its rounds, and I plucked my own envelope out, making as if to tuck it into my cleavage before I remembered that didn't work with the construction of this outfit and quickly lowering it instead, tucking the envelope inside one of my apocalypse bag's pockets instead.

That's going to take some getting used to.

Sid waited until the basket had been emptied and made its way back to him, sticking it back under the podium where it belonged.

"The rest of the hour will be devoted to getting to know your fellow students. Remember, you'll be working with each other for the rest of your time here at the DWMA, even if you don't partner up, so try to make a good impression."

We all looked at each other sidelong.

"Please stand in two circles, meisters inside, Weapons outside." Sid said briskly, indicating with one hand as he surveyed the various students. "Alright, now everybody step three people to the right and introduce yourselves. Get to know each other!"

I winced at the raised voice and stepped three people to my right. The weapon I came face to face with was freckled and female, possessed of an extraordinarily cheery personality.

"Hi, I'm Karen!" she said happily, holding out her hand. I shrugged and took it, giving her a firm handshake.

"Nice ta meet you. I'm Arya, Aryana Thompson." I said politely, and she beamed.

"So, you're a meister, right? Any practice with a particular weapon?" she asked enthusiastically. It was only then that I noticed some of the people around us transforming, or trying to, anyway.

I hurriedly returned my gaze to Karen. "I've shot a gun a time or two, chopped a knife around a bit, and a friend of mine taught me the basics of swordsmanship, but that's just about it." I said honestly, and she pouted a little.

"I'm a shuriken, or my family is anyway, I can't quite transform yet, so I guess we wouldn't work too well. Nice to meet you though!" she told me as she regained her cheerful smile, and then we switched off again. I met and chatted with a few other Weapons, all of whom seemed enthusiastic or at least motivated by the whole deal. None of them could fully transform, and I realized with a sinking heart that if I was going to take the long way around and partner with someone to make them a Death Scythe, the books I needed were getting further and further out of my reach.

"Wh- you!"

As we switched off again, I came face to face with the same guy from before, who quickly regained his pink-faced nature and looked at the floor. In retrospect, the shock from my statement was rather redundant, since, after all, I had seen him come in and form a line with the other Weapons.

"U-um, hello." he squeaked awkwardly. "I-I'm really, really, really sorry about the whole thing at the door." he added meekly, seemingly finding his own shoes to be suddenly fascinating as he tied his fingers into various intricate and apologetic knots. I eyed him grumpily, but it was kinda obvious that he hadn't meant to bump into me in the first place, and I sighed and extended my hand.

"Aryana Thompson, but most people call me Arya. You?" I asked with grudging politeness, and he looked alarmed and quickly grabbed my hand.

"I'm Rex. Rex Rayner." he said hurriedly, shaking my hand nervously. I slipped it out of his grip and faced him with a raised eyebrow.

"Rex Rayner, huh? Sounds like a biker name." I said skeptically, and he turned pink again.

"I-I can transform, see?" he blurted abruptly, stuttering in his eagerness to avoid our previous subject, and I blinked as there was a bluish flash and a soft "clunk".

Then I stared at the giant rectangle of steel embedded in the wooden floor. "You're a buster sword?" I said in disbelief, gazing blankly at the leather-wrapped handle, which stuck out from the larger width of the blade like the stick of a lollipop. Who the hell can wield one of those? No, scratch that, who can even pick it up?

Rex appeared on the blade as he sensed my obvious skepticism, looking anxious. "Try? Pleeease?" he begged pitifully, even going so far as to clasp his hands together. "I'm really light for my size, I promise."

I glanced around the classroom in the hopes of finding another person to switch off with, but Rex interrupted me again. "Listen, nobody ever wants to even try, so could you please pick me up, or, or something?" he pleaded desperately, and I gave him a look.

"Fine." I muttered with a grudging sigh, wrapping my hands around the leather grip. "But I still say that you're way too freaking heavy for me to…"

I blinked as I pulled him out of the floor, and stopped lifting with the tip a few inches above the ground, standing motionless for several seconds. "…hold." I finished dumbly, staring at the tapering, four-foot long, six-inches wide, one-inch thick length of metal. This was not physically possible: he should weigh upwards of 200 pounds, but here I was holding him up like it was nothing. I mean, yes, the buster sword was heavier than any weapon I'd ever held before, but it was...barely manageable. More like ten or twenty pounds.

Calculations were already starting to whirl through my head. Rayner seemed like a bit of a pushover, so once I made him a Death Scythe I could probably easily convince him to get me a few books from the library, as a favor between partners, you know? Besides, with most deadly weapons, heavier is better. I could learn to hurl this guy around, no problem. Yeah…some specialized weight training, and maybe I could use the levitation spell if nobody was looking.

If the universe was going to bitch-slap me all over again, I had a backup plan in the form of the long way around, which was at least a tried-and-true method of actually getting my hands on the books –talking to Lord Death, after all, was only a step to that, and if I was having such trouble already, it might take months. And if I was going to take months to get what I needed…I may as well make myself useful in those months.

I could make this work.

"So…Rayner." I said slowly, looking down at the blade and finally lowering it so the tip rested on the floor, my wrists aching. "I believe we can make this work."

He flashed onto the flat of the blade, looking shocked. "Y-you really think so?!"

I gave him a friendly smile. "I know so."

3.40 PM, USA Central Time