Sorry for the wait on this one. Couple of things have been kicking my ass lately - both school, and... well.
I'd like to dedicate this chapter to a friend of mine, who for the sake of their family's privacy shall be named Red. They suddenly and unexpectedly died on March 30th, which is part of why this chapter is later than I'd have liked - as it is I've been pounding away at this for... well over a week and just finished this a few minutes ago.
I miss you, Red. You were a great source of enthusiasm in my life, even if I didn't know you as well as I'd have liked. I dedicate this chapter to you, my friend.
... without further ado, let us begin.
I do not own Soul Eater or Owl House.
If I did... well, I wouldn't be sure which devil to pick between Disney and Cartoon Network. Maybe Adult Swim?...
"IT'S NOT FAIR!"
The childish, whining tantrum stood in harsh contrast to the guttural scream it manifested from; each word was punctuated by another swing of that oversized knife, its chipped edge gleaming in the moon's golden light with every wild swipe and stab.
Each and every one, however, was easy for Maka to read.
Their sheer power mattered little to the Meister as she ducked, weaved and parried, the brute's pure might not enough to so much as scratch her on its own. Even with his speed, the brute's movements were easy to read, making evasion an easy task, despite having her back to the canal.
"IT'S NOT FAIR AT ALL!" Sonson roared again, the paper bag on his head doing nothing to muffle his deep, warbling wails, "YOU DWMA BRATS GET TO KILL AS MUCH AS YOU WAN'!"
A heavy downward swipe forced the grey-haired girl to leap back with a flip that was a tad less graceful than she'd have liked, evading the knife as it plunged into the stone; where metal should have snapped and skittered across the cobbles, the blade instead sank into the solid rock and concrete with disconcerting ease, gleaming with its weilder's maddened Wavelength, every bit as vicious as it was erratic.
She took the instant of reprieve she had to breathe before Sonson pulled the knife free, descending upon her with another howl, "WHY CAN'T I KILL AS MUCH AS I WAN'!? WHY!? WHAT'S THE DIFFERENCE, HUH!?"
She didn't answer; even if she weren't too focused on trying to keep that blade well and away from her body, she knew that the Emerald Lake Killer was too far gone for any rational argument to reach. Instead, she breathed, raising the steel staff of her Weapon and shoving forwards.
The blunt, but thin tip slammed into Sonson's solar plexus with all the speed and force of an artillery shell; the Meister felt as much as she heard the air as it was forced out of his lungs in a single, involuntary burst, part of the madman's abdomen tearing under the blow. Had she aimed higher, she may well have shattered his ribs, perhaps even broken his spleen in its entirety.
Nonetheless, it was enough; he doubled over, bloodshot eyes bulging through the cutouts of his paper bag mask, hands clutching desperately at his stomach as his knife fell to the ground, fumbling to grab the offending steel in his stomach even though Maka had long since pulled it far out of his reach. His eyes darted back and forth, trying to keep their focus on the girl-
But she was already circling, Soul's edge spinning in her grasp and arcing down across the back of his neck.
Sonson's muscle and bone did nothing to stop it.
The Weapon's blade wheeled down to rest gently on the bare brick and cobble floor, Sonson's head tumbling down as if to follow suit; the body swayed only briefly, clutching at its bloody, spraying stump before all at once unravelling into hundreds of strips, all black as night. As if his whole form were naught but a tapestry, or a bandage wrapped around empty air, he came undone, the dark strips unwinding into thousands upon thousands of black strings, and then to nothing - leaving behind only the pulsating red flame of a Kishin Egg Soul.
"... well, that's that."
All at once, Maka felt her body relax at the sound of Soul's voice, her grip loosening; in a flash of white light, he was standing beside her, hands in his pockets with his usual lazy smile, "Job well done as always, right Maka?"
"It was a little more luck based than I'd've liked," she admitted, though she felt her lips stretch to match his cocky gin, "We're lucky he attacked us rather than forcing us to search up and down the canal. Even though it didn't make any sense for him to do that…"
"Kishin Egg," he reminded, striding up to the floating flame and reaching out, "How often do these guys use any sort of tangible logic?"
"Surprisingly often," she noted, crossing her arms, "You know Madness itself isn't specifically correlated with actual mental conditions. Having a condition or having difficulty with logic doesn't make you a monster, and being a monster doesn't mean there's something wrong with you or that you can't think rationally."
"True, true," he conceded, idly bouncing the Kishin Egg in palm; despite the fact that his fingers had clearly wrapped around it, its flame-like form seemed to behave more like a gas than anything solid. Tongues of crimson combust licked harmlessly at his hand, and rather than any solid surface beneath the flame, it almost seemed to float between his fingers, like a mist that had formed into a ball and, against all laws of physics, refused to dissipate into the air around it; despite its translucency, despite its apparent lack of solid form, it even bulged when the Weapon squeezed it, as though he were holding a marshmallow or a lump of uncooked cookie dough.
And like a child shameless in his inability to wait for it to be properly baked, Soul wasted no time in stretching his mouth as far as he could, and shoving the Kishin Egg in whole, chewing as loudly and as messily as he could as he licked his fingers.
Despite herself, the disgusting display brought a smile to Maka's lips, "You sure enjoy those, huh?"
"Damn right," he managed around his meal, a noticeable bulge forming in his throat as he finally swallowed; it disappeared as quickly as it had formed, the Weapon letting out a satisfied sigh, "Believe it or not, it was these things that really helped me realize how much I actually love eating."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. They don't taste like much, but they all have this… texture?" he gestured, then wiped his mouth on his sleeve, "They're all different, but they have a lot of chew to 'em."
She pulled out her notebook and pen, letting a coy playfulness bleed into her tone, "Well, maybe I'll have to eat it the next time we go on collection."
"Do it on your own time, Maka, not when you're making me into a Death Scythe," the Weapon snickered, swaggering over to stand beside her, "Besides, you're a Meister. Would you even be able to eat a Kishin Egg Soul?"
"I don't see why not. It's not like there's a ton of difference between Weapons and Meisters-"
She stopped, blinking.
"Maka?"
She turned on her heel without an answer, eyes going unfocused as her gaze swept across the Venice skyline.
She couldn't tell anything about the individual Souls; under any other circumstances, they would have been lost, dozens amidst millions within the swirling sea of Souls that was present within this city alone, especially as far away as these ones in particular were.
But it wasn't their presence that she noticed.
It was their rapidly dwindling number. One after the other, the Souls were vanishing, disappearing into the shadowy ether faster than she could count them.
"Maka, is something wrong?"
Soul's question did nothing to distract her. She simply stared, something between dread, fear, and horrified curiosity forming at the base of her stomach as the mass vanishing continued to unfold before her eyes.
Within seconds, the Souls were gone.
All but two.
Two Souls that gleamed crimson in the distant shadows.
A Weapon, and a Meister.
"... we might not be done yet tonight, Soul," she murmured, reaching out to take his hand, sending him the chilling vision she had just seen.
Immediately, she felt his own unease; though it didn't appear on his face, she could feel the ripples of apprehension in his being as he stared out over the water, towards the distant pair of Souls that stood where less than thirty seconds prior, there had been many.
He let out a slow exhale, "North side of the city… we'll have to cross the river."
"We can't just let this happen, Soul," she tightened her grip, hoping it would reassure them both, "We're DWMA Students. Dozens of Souls just disappeared right in front of us, and there's a Weapon and a Meister in the same area. Regardless of what's going on, we have an obligation to step in."
He nodded, "Then we'll have to be quick. Let's get a move on."
The pair immediately rushed down the street, hoping they reached the two Souls before they could disappear as well into the night…
Not so much as a single word had been spoken since they had left Hexside.
The ride on the Witch's staff hadn't been anything like the ones before. Even the flight to the Conformatorium, as intimidating as the prospect had been, had carried with it an air of excitement, anticipation, an adventure unfolding by the second as the skies darkened and the prison's dizzying spires and colossal walls came into view, the surrounding landscape diseased, decaying and cursed, its cracks and crags overrun with infected, reeking rivers of poison and pus. Despite the foreboding visage, the frigid chill of the air and the foetid stench of rot that emanated from the very earth, Luz hadn't been able to deny a certain excitement that had only grown the closer she had gotten to that horrible place - even after learning just what kind of nightmares were held within its halls.
This, however, had no such exhilaration.
The silence between them was thick, heavy, a tangible tension that strangled all the words in Luz's throat before they could fully form. Although the anticipation of her mentor's anger was slowly driving her crazy, the teen had not been able to bring herself to break it, instead quietly clinging to Eda's body the entire way back into the forest.
As for the Witch herself, Eda was entirely devoid of cheer, having made absolutely no attempt to break the uncomfortable quiet between them, or even meet the girl's gaze. She kept herself firmly forwards, each breath slow and steady, but lacking the casual ease that seemed so characteristic to the Owl Lady.
Even after they touched down in the forest, the One Woman Parliament hadn't said anything. She'd simply set off, staff in hand, striding with a beat that was oddly mechanical, keeping time over the dirt and the roots.
Luz, meanwhile, was doing her best to keep pace, one arm hanging limply at her side, the other clutching at her elbow. Her whole body ached; her feet were numb, protesting with every step, and although Eda had taken a moment to heal her bruises when they'd landed, her wrist and the back of her head throbbed painfully to the rhythm of her heartbeat, making her bite her lip to keep herself from whimpering every time she jostled her arm or moved her head too much. With the energy of the day's events slowly draining away, the only thing keeping her awake at this point was the slow churning of her stomach, as fear and guilt marinated together at the very base of her being.
The darkening shadows of the trees around them did nothing to ease it as they lengthened against the backdrop of the sun as it slowly dipped towards the horizon. Already, the very edge of the sky was beginning to darken, the golds giving way to a deeper orange, tinged with pink right above the edge where the sky met the sea beyond the trees, or what little she could occasionally glimpse of it as she followed Eda through the thickets.
The wonder these forests normally held for Luz had withered away in a miasma of menace, the branches arched and sharp like talons. Though there was no breeze, they seemed to move in the corner of her eyes, reaching out from the shadows to drag her away into the dark.
And so, she redoubled her pace, trying to keep as close to the Owl Lady as her own anxiety would allow, trying not to let the shadows pull her eyes away from the Witch's back.
Thankfully, it was still light enough that she could recognize the sudden orange gleam that cut through the trees for what it was; the shine of light through the Owl House's windows. The weathered stone tower and the sloping roof stood stark against the surrounding forest, the cliffside grove entirely silent save for the faint lapping of the waves far below.
Despite her anxiousness, Luz couldn't hold back the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, her whole body sagging with sudden relief.
Eda, however, didn't stop. She kept her pace even as she entered the clearing, not pausing for so much as a second.
"Heeeeyyyyyy, guuuuuuuuuyyyyyys!"
Hooty's voice rose into the evening ambience in a shriek that was as cheery as it was shrill, marble-like eyes gleaming as his neck stretched out, his face seeming to hover alongside them as they approached, "You're back!"
"... hey, Hooty," the girl forced a smile, trying to raise her arm to wave, wincing slightly at the sharper ache.
"Boy, am I glad to see you, Luz!" the owl-faced creature shouted, the pep never fading from his high pitched voice, "You had us all really worried there, going off all on your own!"
Immediately, her smile warped into a grimace. What cheer she had managed to summon shrivelled in her chest as her eyes fell to the ground, chewing at her lip before she could stop herself.
"No time, Hooty," despite the Owl Lady's tone, Luz was grateful for her interruption, "I need to check on your wards, now. We might need to move."
"Already?" Hooty's head tilted, his own "smile" vanishing into immediate protest, "But we've only been here for-!"
"I know. Look, I don't think we're going to have to leave the Bonesborough area," Eda assured, "I still have business to take care of here. But I'd at least like to be safe instead of sorry."
"Alright, alright," the Demon conceded, the door of the house swinging open on its own, "Just get inside!"
Neither of them needed to be told twice; as much as the girl was following her mentor, she was equally drawn to the Owl House by the prospect of warmth and her sleeping bag, resisting the urge to try and push past the Witch so she could get out of the evening air faster.
As soon as she was through the door, she felt her knees buckle as warmth and relief washed over her in equal measure. She stumbled, catching herself on the wall, the light of the room dancing and flickering with the flames in the fireplace, all the other lights in the room having gone dim.
"LUZ!"
She heard the scampering before she caught King's small form; he skittered across the rug and hardwood from wherever he'd been hiding, little claws scrabbling for purchase before he finally reached her. He clambered up her leg, onto her hip, and up her back, finally coming to rest on one of her shoulders, glaring furiously through purple eyes.
Again, she tried to force her smile, "Hey, King…"
He worked his stubby claws into her shoulder with his free paw, the other clutching his stuffed rabbit with the strained gentleness that could only be maintained by an angry child clutching at their security blanket. His eyes gleamed in the firelight, the growl in his throat strangled, as if a dozen separate sentences were trying to escape his throat all at once, trampling over one another in a single continuous sound.
"Rrrrrrrgh! I'll have you know that I wasn't worried! At all!" he finally snapped, the angry relief in his tone betraying his words, "But do you have any idea how hard it is to find a halfway decent minion!? You had Francois worried sick!"
He shoved his plush bunny into her cheek, the toy's cloth surface standing in harsh contrast to the bunny's button eye that was gently digging into her skin, "APOLOGISE TO FRANCOIS!"
At this, she was torn between the laughter that wanted to bubble up in her throat and the fresh wave of guilt that was now crashing against the rest of the emotions that were already swirling in her stomach. She felt her face warp and twist of its own accord, forced to split the difference between a smile and a grimace as she reached up to gently pet the bunny's head, "I'm sorry, Francois. I won't worry you like that again."
"You promise?" King's eyes narrowed.
"I promise," she reiterated, still perfectly content to act as though it were the plush toy she was speaking to rather than the diminutive Demon.
He stared at her for another long moment before giving a huff, closing his eyes and looking away. Clearly, he wasn't fully placated, but he seemed to have calmed a little, his manic energy having settled however slightly, "Well… then good!" he pulled the rabbit back, instead jabbing a small claw into her cheek, "You'd better remember, though! I'm gonna hold you to that!"
He hopped down from her shoulder, landing on the back of the worn couch, and ultimately settling on the far cushion with his plushy; even as Luz wandered over to the fireplace, she could now see Eda, who had drawn all the curtains and, had the golden glow of her eyes and hands not indicated otherwise, would have appeared to be staring off into nothing. A series of circles of gleaming runes and sigils had appeared on the floor and in the air around her, gently spinning in place as the Owl Lady's hands flexed and gestured, causing some sigils to grow in size and brilliance, and others to dim, shrink or even disappear entirely in their dismissal.
Even now, she hadn't yet broken the silence that was still building between them.
"... you're mad."
Luz hadn't even realised she'd spoken the words until she saw that the Owl Lady's hands had gone still, and heard the long, slow sigh that accompanied the slump of the Witch's shoulders.
"... well, I'm not going to pretend I'm particularly pleased with you," Eda finally stated, continuing to work with the sigils before her.
Slowly, the teen rounded the couch, coming to sit more or less across from where the grey-haired woman stood. Her hands clasped each other in her lap, jaw tensing, lips twisting as she tried to find where to start…
Ultimately, she just sighed, hands going limp as she leaned forwards on her knees, gaze falling to the floor, "... I'm sorry…"
For a long time, Eda didn't answer, the golden glow not giving so much as a flicker. Only when she gave a somewhat satisfied nod did it finally fade away, the Witch's eyes falling closed. A heavy sigh escaped the elder woman as she waved her hand, her staff drifting off to some unknown corner elsewhere in the house as a chair was drawn up behind her, letting her sit down without so much as a backward glance. Her eyes slowly drifted back open, her gaze finally falling upon the teenager.
"... I don't want to be angry with you, Luz," she began, tone kept carefully neutral as her arms folded over her chest, legs crossing before going almost unnaturally still, one finger tapping against the pale skin of her bicep, "Really, I don't. What's done is done - getting angry isn't going to change what happened, and it's definitely not going to fix anything, either."
It took every ounce of effort Luz could muster to not squirm under Eda's gaze. Those gleaming eyes pierced through her, fixing her in place with the same paralyzing ease that they had when the girl had first stumbled through the portal; her hands slid from her legs to the cushions as she fought to keep herself still, as though that would somehow let her hide from those rings of frigid gold that, in the Witch's current reservation, seemed more judgemental, more predatory, than they ever had before.
"... but by the same token," her teacher finally continued, "I do have to say that you've made quite a mess. The Conformatorium, that was one thing - I'll grant that it wasn't small by any means, but it was premeditated. I knew what we were getting ourselves into, and it was far enough away from here that I wasn't concerned about being tracked. Appearing on Hexside's school grounds to claim a lost human, however, is definitely going to get people looking for me. For us. All of us."
The Witch gestured to King, who was still seated at the other end of the couch, quiet, but attentive. Again, that heavy, uncomfortable silence settled across Luz's shoulders, seeming to seep in through her mouth and nose, a miasma that coagulated in her throat with every breath she took. She broke from Eda's gaze once again, eyes falling to the floor as her shame redoubled.
"... I want to be fair here. And I need to decide what exactly is going to happen next. That means I have to know a few things, alright?"
The girl gave a nod, eyes still fixed on the rug beneath her feet.
"Luz. Look at me."
Reluctantly, Luz obeyed; while Eda's eyes were sharp as ever, something in her expression had softened, if only slightly.
"... I need you to tell me what exactly happened in Hexside," the Witch instructed, "I think I already have a pretty good idea, but I need to make sure I'm not missing anything important."
"... okay," she murmured, voice quiet as she tried to force her throat to cooperate. She swallowed, licking her lips as she searched for the words, hands once again clasped, "... I was… pretending to be Willow's Abomination."
A harsh snort escaped the Owl Lady, her lips twitching up into a hint of a smile, "I could tell that much from the goop that's stuck to you."
The teen had to bite down on a laugh. Instead, she forced herself to continue, "Things… went well until about noon. Or, whenever lunch is here… Willow brought Gus in to try and get me out of Hexside… but then, that's when Amity showed up with the Principal."
"Which is how you got dragged off to Bump's office."
Again, Luz nodded, "Yeah… I got stuck to a chair, and Bump tried to get in contact with the… the Imperial Coven?"
"The Emperor's Coven," Eda corrected, "Figures he'd do that first. Bastard's a real stickler for protocol. Sounds like I got there just in time."
"... how exactly… do you know him?" the girl queried, daring for a moment to allow her curiosity to win out over her anxiety.
"Old teacher of mine," a hand rose in a dismissive wave, "Ancient history. No real point in dredging it up now."
"But-"
"Don't you 'but' me, kiddo," the hand fell again, along with the Witch's tone, "It's not important and I'm not in the mood. What happened next?"
The teen flinched, her curiosity firmly quashed by the look in Eda's eyes. She hunched, eyes falling back to the floor as she searched for the words to continue, "... he… he spoke with someone he called… Lilith?"
This time, there was no answer - but the Owl Lady didn't have to speak for the air to chill. Despite the fire barely ten feet from where she sat, a shudder passed over Luz's body, only her fingers on her skin confirming that frost hadn't spread across her body. Eda's eyes were wide, her lips drawn in a thin line and her entire body having gone unnaturally still, looking for all the world like she had simply been stopped - as if her personal time stood stock still, a split second stretched out too far, too long, into the moments that followed.
"... black hair?" Luz ventured, trying to take her mind off the shivers that had overtaken her, "Deep voice?... very… proper sounding?"
"You're sure?" Eda interrupted, unwinding all at once; her hands slammed down on her knees, her whole torso pulled forwards, her heels planted firmly against the floor as if she wanted to spring up and forwards in a lunge and sink her teeth into Luz like an animal, "You are absolutely sure he called her Lilith?"
"H-He also called her L-Lady Clawthorne," the human stammered, spurred on by the bone-pale woman's entire shift in demeanour, "H-He was surpri-ised t-to hear from- from her. He said she was supposed to be in Capital-"
"Cavitol," the Witch corrected, but it seemed more on impulse than a conscious motion, every last ounce of her attention on her apprentice.
"-b-but apparently she's in Boneborough," Luz finished, never slowing down despite the interruption, "B… by her own request?..."
Eda's eyes lost all focus. She seemed to be staring through the girl rather than at her now, her pupils making tiny, but rapid movements back and forth as they drifted away from Luz's eyes, down, then up, left, then right. Her fingers flexed on her knees, talons digging into the fabric of her torn dress and leggings.
"... fuck," she hissed, rising to her feet, eyes staring at nothing as she started to walk. Back and forth across the carpet she paced, one hand on her elbow, the other digging its talons into her temple. The intensity of the fire rose with the elderly Witch's vehemence, snapping and crackling with each hissing breath and curse that escaped her lips, "Fucking Blood, Bone and Marrow," her hand trembled as her fingers curled into a fist one by one against her scalp, "Titan… Damn it!"
Like lightning, her fist slammed into the wall, the impact reverberating through the wood and stone, causing all the furniture and fixtures in the room to slightly jump. Luz let out a yelp as she was tossed by the physical thunder, forced to steady herself by throwing her arms out to the tattered cushions, and then flinching and scooting away as the hearth's flames flared, scorching the stone of the mantlepiece black and viciously devouring the wood beneath the iron cauldron. The cauldron itself had taken on a dark orange hue with the heat, almost completely obscured by the leaping flames that surrounded it. Eda had both hands pressed to her temples now, slender fingers sliding through her hair and across her scalp as she paced. The candles amidst the room were burning wildly on their wicks, devouring the wax with an anxious hunger, the room slowly filling with a heavy haze of smoke…
"... Eda?" the tanned teen slowly rose to her feet, eyes fixed upon the Owl Lady.
The elder woman didn't answer. She took slow, but shuddering breaths, one hand still clenched in a fist against the now cracked wall, the fingers of the other arched into claws against her skull as her whole body stilled once again, eyes screwed shut and lips pressed firmly together into a thin line. Slowly, however, they began to settle and smooth, slowly pulling her hands away from her scalp and the brick in a controlled, deliberate motion. The flames about the room dimmed, losing none of their intensity, but having been brought firmly to heel, even the fireplace taking on a singular focus.
"... Luz."
"Y-Yes?" Luz squeaked, all but snapping to attention, back ramrod straight and hands firmly at her sides.
"Whatever you do, you do not leave the house until I tell you otherwise," Eda's tone had settled, but it had lost none of its edge, leaving Luz unsure as to whether it was a warning, or a threat.
Either way, the girl knew better than to argue. Instead, she swallowed, "... okay. May I… may I ask why?"
"Later," Eda stated, voice clipped as she finally turned to face them, expression grim, eyes landing on the diminutive Demon at the teen's side, "King, that goes for you too. No excursions, no wandering off without my say-so."
"... Eda, what's going on?" King started, finally rising to his feet; an unusual twinge of concern had entered the miniscule monarch's voice, eyes wide beneath his skull as he stared up at the Owl Lady.
"Later, King."
"You can't just brush us off like that!" he snapped, pensive anxiety swiftly igniting into rage, "Something's got you freaked out, and that's freaking Luz out!" he pointed at the human, glaring up at the silver-haired Witch; despite herself, Luz couldn't bring herself to complain about being used as a scapegoat for the Demon's own mounting fear as he scrambled up onto her shoulder, glowering, "You-!"
"Listen to me."
The words came out in a hiss, Eda's gaze once again sharpening into a withering glare; King swayed on Luz's shoulder, all fire gone as he nearly lost his grip, forcing Luz to raise her hands to catch him.
"... I don't have answers for you right now," the one-woman parliament began, words curt, clipped, and sharp, "For either of you. Right now, we might be in more danger than I had realized, and I am not in the right mindset to explain how or why."
"... how much danger are we in?" Luz spoke up, finally managing to force words past the dryness in her throat.
"... depending on what I can find out over the next few days?" the Witch debated, the harsh hiss finally fading from her voice as she rubbed her temple, "We might need to leave Bonesborough."
The girl blinked, "... but… but your clients-"
"I'll figure things out," Eda interrupted, the assurance offhand, "This isn't the first time I've left this town on short notice. Hopefully it won't come to that, but if it does, then I have some arrangements to make.
"In the meantime," the elderly vixen looked to the human and Demon once again, "For now, Luz, just go back to your room. I know I promised to teach you Magic tonight, but there's things I have to look into, and they can't wait."
She turned away again, starting towards the door. She held out both hands, a cloak floating into her left, Owlbert floating into her right, throwing on the cloak with gusto.
"W-Wait a second!" Luz rose to her feet, moving to follow.
"Later, Luz."
"Eda, please!" the girl begged, "I-... I'm scared… I just… I need to know…"
The Witch paused, fingers wrapped around the doorknob. After a moment, she sighed, defeated, but did not turn around, "... one question. Then to your room."
"... is… Lilith…" Luz stammered, lips and mouth dry, "... is she really that dangerous?"
At this, Eda went ramrod straight… and then sagged, seeming to age ten years in matter of seconds, even beneath a heavy red cloak. All at once, the tension seemed to drain from her body - not so much relaxing as simply going slack, shoulders sagging, head hung and fingers going loose as all the wind left her body in a single dry, exhausted breath.
"... you know how I'm the most powerful Witch on the Boiling Isles, kiddo?"
"... yeah?"
"... Lilith is a damn, damn close second. Close enough that I don't want to push my luck with her, especially since she has something I don't," the Witch confessed, "So yes. She is that dangerous. I don't think she'd go out of her way to hurt you, but…"
"... she said she was going to come to pick me up personally," Luz murmured.
"... wish you'd brought that up sooner," Eda muttered, taking in a breath, "I need to make sure we weren't followed."
"... would she hurt Willow and Gus?"
A harsh snort, "Doubt it. She's never liked hurting kids; I doubt that much has changed."
"But you just said-"
"You're a human, Luz. You're a special case here," finally, the Witch opened the door, "Now go get yourself cleaned up, then go to your room and try to get some rest; I might not be back for a while."
With that, Eda slipped out into the night, disappearing into the shadows faster than Luz could even hope to follow. Hooty's door slammed shut behind her, echoing in the silence of the house as the candles and fireplace finally began to die down, casting the room in darker, deeper shadows.
"... Luz?" King asked, still perched firmly on her shoulder.
"... King… have you ever seen her like that before?" the tanned teen asked.
"... not like that," the Demon admitted, gesturing vaguely towards the door, "We've moved before, sure, but she's never been this…" he flicked his claws, as if physically groping for the right word, "... twitchy."
"That's one way of putting it, I guess," Luz licked her lips, turning back towards the stairwell, "... are you worried?"
"Pfff," he snorted, turning up his nose and closing his eyes in a petulant display of denial, "I'm never worried! I'm the mighty Ragnarök, after all - the King of Demons!"
"Is that what that means?" the girl cocked an eyebrow, starting up towards her room, "I thought that Ragnarök was the end of the world in Norse Myth."
"It may as well be!" he clambered up atop her head, seeking a higher vantage point from which to display his grandeur, "The Ragnarök is the most powerful Demon of all, earning their title through war and conquest against their rivals, devouring the Souls of all who cross them until they stand undisputed as the strongest!"
As King continued his grand speech, Luz slowly made her way up the stairs; though she did her best to listen, she found herself continually drawn back to the day's events.
To Amity's glare, the wounded pride that had permeated every one of her actions. To the Principal's cold eyes, the way he'd looked at Luz like she wasn't even a person.
To Willow's concern, and how the young Witch had gone so far out of her way to protect her. To Gus' fear, getting wrapped up in something he never asked to be involved in.
And now to Eda. How she'd faced off with the Principal; how she'd saved Willow; and now, she'd sped off into the night, doing who knew what else.
All to protect her. All because she'd wandered off instead of going straight back to the Owl House.
"... today was supposed to be a good day," she murmured under her breath, hoping King wouldn't notice as they finally reached her bedroom door.
The silence of the night was chilling.
Even considering how many of the tourists had slipped away from the Venice's streets and canals as the sun had slipped beneath the horizon, there should still have been a decent number of people out and about. In the distance, the lights of the city danced upon the waves, but the sound was distant, so distant Soul had to strain his ears to catch even the slightest hint of noise.
The Chiesa dei Santi Geremia, however, was both completely dark, and completely silent, despite the relatively early evening hour.
No lights shone from the windows. No music or melody or muffled sermon emanated from within.
Even the front lights had gone out, plunging the whole building into darkness, beyond the ambient light of the surrounding buildings.
"... are they still here, Maka?" he asked, glancing at her.
"... yeah," she nodded, eyes unfocused as they swept over the building, unease bleeding through her very posture, hands clenched into fists at her sides, "They're still here. They haven't moved at all…"
"... what do you think we're dealing with, here?"
"I dunno," the Meister murmured, "I can't really tell for sure what's happened here. Just… one moment, there were dozens of Souls here… the next… there were only these two. I can tell that there's a Weapon and a Meister, but beyond that…"
Soul let out a low hum, eyes narrowed as he turned his eyes back to the doors, "Well, we won't know until we get in there."
His partner didn't answer, eyes still fixed firmly forwards.
"... having second thoughts?" the Weapon queried.
"No. I just…" she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, "The closer I get to those Souls… the less I want to go in there. Something's wrong here, Soul - I can feel it."
"... do you want to go get Stein and the idiot?"
This time, the grey-haired girl paused. She bit at her lip, chewing anxiously before finally letting her eyes refocus, shaking her head, "No. We don't even know where they are; the longer we stand around out here, the more likely those Souls in there are going to make a break for it. By the time we get Stein and Death Scythe, they might not be here anymore."
"... then there's no point in just standing here."
To her credit, the only hesitation Maka showed was a single, shaky exhale before she started towards the heavy black doors. Slowly, she ran a gloved hand along the center, before pushing the doors inwards.
Her harsh gasp, followed by her backwards stagger should have told Soul all he needed to know; she had her hands firmly clasped over her mouth as if to stifle a scream, eyes wide and unblinking with absolute horror, unable to look away from whatever it was that laid within.
Nonetheless, the Weapon took to her side, peering into the shadows with a grimace.
The first thing that hit him was the familiar scent of iron; it hung in the air with a stronger presence than he'd ever smelled before, making him wrinkle his nose in disgust as his eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness.
The second thing he noticed were the bodies.
Several had been piled right inside the door; slumped against the wall or even against the doors themselves. A severed hand still clung to one of the door handles, hanging limply from its fingers, almost in a sick mockery of how close whoever it had belonged to had been to escape. Still further in, more bodies lined the tile; run through, cut in two, hacked to pieces - and those were the ones still recognizable as human. Several were too badly maimed to have any distinguishing features beyond their clothes, having been thrown or smashed like ragdolls into the now damaged marble pillars or the splintered pews that had been roughly shoved aside or overturned. Men, women, children, elderly - dozens of victims, no single one like the others that surrounded them aside from the unifying features of mutilation and bloodstains.
And in the center of it all, stood a slight, spindly figure.
They were smothered by the black dress that they wore, featureless save the cufflinks at the end of their sleeves that covered their wrists and most of their hands, and the high white collar that almost reached their chin; their body was impossible to make out under the fabric, thin as it was, with only their head and hands exposed. A mop of wavy pink hair hung about their head in a somewhat tangled mess, just reaching the bottom of their ears and messily chopped above their brow, leaving their bangs cut in a straight line across their forehead, save for a few stray hairs that escaped the cut, as if scissors had roughly been taken to their hair against their will.
But it was their face that fixed Soul firmly in place; the kid couldn't have been much older than he was. The pale pallor of a poltergeist peered not at the Weapon and Meister pair, but somewhere far, far away, eyes unfocused as they rapidly shot from one spot to another. They didn't even seem particularly aware of their surroundings, swaying back and forth in place, a buoy in some current only they could perceive.
"... Maka?" he whispered.
"... so many…" she murmured, eyes darting from one corpse to the next.
"Maka," Soul urged, his eyes shooting to her, "They're all by themselves. What the Hell happened to their Weapon?"
The question was as much to gently nudge his Meister back into focus as it was a genuine query; after a moment, Maka's eyes went unfocused once more, tracing the Wavelengths of their Souls before abruptly snapping back into focus.
"... they're both here," she began, tone and eyes hardening, "Standing right in front of us."
Soul set his jaw, but he knew better than to question Maka's ability to sense the Souls of those around her at this point; he turned his gaze back to the lone living figure within the chiesa, lips pursed…
Only to find that those pale eyes were now staring right at them.
"... you see?" they asked, voice light and quiet; were it not for the cavernous echo of the church, the white-haired Weapon doubted he'd have heard it at all, "The doors. They only open one way."
"... who are you?" Maka demanded, stepping forwards into the church, "Did you do this?"
The black-clad child didn't answer; they simply stopped their swaying, one arm clutching at the other as they continued to stare, utterly unblinking, seeming utterly perplexed by Maka's presence.
"Answer me!" Maka reached out her hand; almost on reflex, Soul transformed, his Scythe body spinning in Maka's hands before being levelled at the child, "I can see that you're a Meister and that you have your Weapon with you somewhere! If you're with one of the DWMA branches, then you need to identify yourselves and your campus right now!"
The figure whimpered, seeming to shrink in on themselves, "... I don't know what you're talking about…"
"Look around!" the grey-haired girl snapped, "All these bodies and not a single Soul to be found! And you've been here since it happened!"
The figure blinked; slowly, their eyes traced the room, seeing, but not fully comprehending the grisly scene that surrounded them. All the while, Soul took note of the room, doing his best to commit every detail he could to memory; the ceilings were high and vaulted, domed as one got further to each "wing," with the highest dome being dead in the center of the chiesa. The windows' panes had all been broken let light stream in from the night sky beyond, though it did precious little to illuminate the interior, all the candles having blown out and every lightbulb in the building that he could see having been shattered. The overturned pews, the smashed altar at the end, the broken cross - it seemed that nothing survived the rampage that had occurred earlier.
Finally, those eyes settled on them, the figure giving a confused tilt of the head, like a beaten dog that didn't understand why they were being scolded, "... but she said to eat as many as I wanted to. If she says there's nothing wrong with it, then… then I don't see anything wrong with it."
Maka's grip on Soul's staff tightened; he could feel her anger growing, felt her teeth slat and her whole body tense with a furious energy. Cautiously, he sent a pulse of calm up through her hands; almost immediately, it settled into her bones, and a long, slow breath escaped her lungs as the tension flooded out of her, replaced with a calm, crystal focus, the anger present, but pushed firmly down into the depths of her stomach.
She opened her mouth to speak again-
And then something tore itself out of the pink-haired figure's back.
They didn't scream; they didn't so much as flinch as the black fluid didn't so much as leak as it did rip and tear its way out of their skin, seeping through the black dress, rising higher and higher into an ever larger torrent of inky blackness. The liquid caught the shine of the moonlight seeping through the window, glinting ominously before abruptly beginning to congeal, thick, bulging muscles taking shape under a thin film - water balloons attempting to mimic human anatomy, each muscle that formed in the monstrously massive torso nothing short of hideously bulbous, heavy spiked belts of grey steel forming on its wrists and shoulder. White gloved hands flexed at the end of each grotesque arm, and on its disproportionately small head, a pair of white orbs formed on either side of a pale X, each marked with a smaller X of their own, mimicking the countenance of a cartoon character's dead eyes, but bearing an unmistakably malicious focus that had instantly fixed upon the Scythe and his Meister.
"... takin' your sweet time with these ones, aren't you, Crona?"
The hulking figure's voice was somewhere between the harsh hiss of vented steam and the heavy grinding of the engine that it turned; despite its facsimile of a masculine form, Soul couldn't bring himself to call the monster anything other than an 'it.' It reached down with a heavy hand, starting to clap its host's head about the temple, "What's the matter with you? There's two more Souls right in front of us and you're not gonna feed me either of 'em? What, you think my stomach's full already?"
"No!" 'Crona' reached up, weakly trying to bat the assaulting hand back, "You know I don't know how to deal with girls! Especially when they're loud and pushy!"
"Oh, I see how it is," a twisted edge entered the mild echo of the dark figure, "You thought you could get me into a food coma so you could have a main course for yourself!"
"No, I-!"
Before Crona could protest any further, the clapping turned into a crushing strike, its gunshot-like crack echoing in the chiesa's high hall. The pink-haired Meister stumbled, clutching at their head, and the hideous creature wrapped a balloon-like arm around their neck in a vicious headlock, the other hand reaching up to grind its knuckles into the child's scalp.
"Here's a reminder for ya; I'm the one who eats the Souls," it snarled, heedless of its victim's struggles to get free, "You're the one that gets them ready for me! You understand how that works!?"
"Stop it!" Crona cried, "I've had enough, Ragnarök! Let go already or I won't feed you anymore!"
"That's enough!" Maka sank into her stance, raising Soul high; for a moment, the creature and the child stopped, their attention drawn to the Scythe Meister as she snarled, teeth bared, "I don't know who you are or what's going on, and frankly, I don't care! Our duty as Weapons and Meisters is to protect people, not reap their Souls for power! As students of the DWMA, it falls to Soul and I to make sure you don't hurt anyone else!"
'... you sure about this, Maka?' Soul asked, eyes narrowed.
'No,' she confessed, 'No I'm not. But we can't just let these two run free, Soul - who knows how many people they'll kill if they get away?'
'Right…' Soul breathed, then sent out his Wavelength, feeling a grin spread across his 'face' as Maka bounced it right back, "I'd surrender if I were you. If not… well, your Souls are ours'."
"... hmph. Promises, promises," 'Ragnarök' snorted, but nonetheless it pulled its hands away from Crona's neck and head. It reared up, staring down at Maka and Soul with a renewed hunger, "Tell you what, you can make it up to me by killing these two and feeding them to me. What'd'ya say, Crona? I'll even let you sleep through the night tomorrow if you do."
"... you're lying…" Crona murmured meekly, but did not protest; instead, the monster's hulking body lost its shape and composure, returning to an inky black flood that swiftly sank into the pink-haired child's thin back.
Then they held out their hand; a long, black scar that the Scythe hadn't noticed before spanned Crona's entire palm, freshly scabbed despite its horribly dark colour. The scabs then split open, sending flecks of metallic, congealed ink to the floor, a stream of black spewing out of his hand and quickly solidifying into gleaming onyx metal; before long, a Sword, far too large and heavy for Crona's thin body or weak stance to properly wield sat in their hands, a long white strip etched into its fuller, its handle wrapped in white fabric and the guard and pommel being simple blocks of spiked, grey steel.
'... well, I guess that answers what that… thing is,' Soul intoned, unable to resist a shudder that ran through him even as a steel blade.
'Do not let your guard down,' Maka urged, 'That is not a normal weapon!'
As if on cue, Crona did not so much rush forwards as they were dragged forwards. Ragarök's heavy blade seemed to move entirely of its own accord, independent of its Meister's will, not so much swung as it was pulling on Crona's arms like some sort of demented, out of control hound on a leash too short for the child to manage.
Even with that handicap though, the two were fast, the sword sparking on the tile as it arced up from below.
Without so much as a word, Maka swung; Soul's blade caught Ragnarök's before the upwards arc could be completed. Instead, the sword plunged into the stonework beneath their feet, sinking into the floor with disconcerting ease and nearly doubling Crona over entirely.
Before the Sword Meister could react, the Scythe Meister was already in motion, her momentum carrying her; the punch caught Crona full in the jaw, forcing them to stagger back, and then the strike with the back of Soul's blade sent them spinning as it caught them on the wrist, hoping to break their grip on the Sword entirely. They reeled, but never once let go of Ragnarök's hilt, clinging to it as if their very life depended on maintaining their hold on the Weapon.
Nonetheless, Maka kept swinging; by now, Crona seemed to have regained their faculties, dodging back from the first downwards swipe.
Straight backwards, as the Scythe Meister had hoped.
'Got 'em!'
Soul grinned at Maka's grim satisfaction as she used the momentum to spring completely up and off the floor overtop of the black-clad child's head, flipping and driving her knee down into the back of Crona's head. The Sword Meister crumpled to the floor in a heap, and Maka swung down with a mighty cry, "YOU'RE MINE!"
The sound of metal upon metal rang out. Soul's blade stopped dead in the air, unable to move so much as a centimeter further.
And yet, Ragnarok's blade had not moved. It still sat in Crona's hand where they had fallen to the ground, face in the broken tile.
No; rather, the very tip of Soul's blade had stopped dead in the pink-haired child's skin.
"... what…?"
"Maka!" the Weapon urged, "Move!"
She immediately reacted, pulling Soul free and leaping back as the Sword once again dragged Crona's body across the floor in a swipe that would have taken off at least one of her feet; she came to a stop atop one of the broken pews; Soul could feel her confusion, the sudden stroke of fear that had struck her when what should have been the finishing blow had in fact failed to finish anything.
He was feeling the exact same thing - and it was only exacerbated by the tip of his blade. It had bent, slightly, dulled as if it had been driven full force into solid iron; rather than red, the liquid that dripped from the tip of the Scythe's edge was a shining, metallic black.
Slowly, Crona pushed themselves to their feet, staring at Maka with a disconcertingly blank look, as if nothing had happened whatsoever.
"... oh, no," they murmured, "Not with a stroke like that…"
"...b… black blood?" Maka managed past the shock
"Yes," they confirmed, as though the question had not been rhetorical; they reached behind their back, and their hand came away stained dark; they flexed, the material causing their fingers to stick together briefly before coming apart, "My blood is black."
Without so much as another word, they went on the offensive once again, swinging wildly for Maka; she leaped back, eyes jumping back and forth between the Sword and its wielder.
'... the way that thing came out of them earlier,' Soul started, 'Maka, is that thing their blood!?'
'It's the only thing I can think of that makes any sense; we got through their skin, but got stopped dead after that!' her grip on Soul tightened, raising him to parry a strike that otherwise would have run her through, retaliating with a kick that sprung her back and well out of Crona's reach; but they were already upon her again, forcing her to duck, Ragnarök's blade lodging in the stone pillar beside them, 'Like it formed an armour underneath somehow! If Ragnarök is flowing through their whole body, then-!'
'Then there's not a whole lot we can do to hurt either of them, not without something like Black Star's Soul Wavelength to do some internal damage!' the Scythe cursed, turning his gaze to his Meister, 'The only other thing I can think of is Witch Hunter!'
'We can't do that now, Soul! If we have another Resonance Overload, they'll just kill us both outright!'
'Not seeing a whole lot of other options, Maka! If we can't fight, then we need to run!'
"I don't know what to do," Crona mumbled, once again spinning after another of the Scythe Meister's parries, "I don't know what to do about girls that fight like this! None of the others fought like this, they just ran!"
Abruptly, they came to a stop; they cocked their head, as if they had heard something.
Then they began to giggle, a vicious grin splitting open their face.
"... all I have to do is kill her?... I didn't realize that," they muttered, eyes darting about the room, "But maybe I can play with her hair first. Just for a little while," then those eyes snapped back onto Maka, a new, mad gleam shining in their dark depths, "The doors here open inwards. They only open one way…!"
They raised the Sword again; a pair of crimson lips sprouted on the black blade like a rapidly blooming rose, grinning and exposing slates of iron grey mimicking human teeth - but there were too many, and they were far too sharp. Even as a Weapon, Soul could feel their Wavelengths, erratic, but rising together as one as the mouth opened-
And let out an earsplitting scream.
He felt Maka flinch under the sound, some horrid mix of a human's screech and the squeal of metal upon metal. The chiesa, built deliberately to echo music and voice alike, only served to amplify the power of the scream as it rose in both pitch and volume, so loud and horrid it seemed to be drilling into Soul's very skull. It was everything he could do not to revert to human form and slam his hands over his ears, and as it was he could already hear the telltale whine of tinnitus over the howling…
And then the black jaws nearly closed on them both.
'Maka!'
'I know!'
She threw the Scythe's handle forwards in a desperate block against the construct of sound and metal, a veritable dragon's skull of black iron that threatened to chew them both into paste if it caught them in its horrid, jagged jaws; just as quickly as it had appeared, however, Crona was closing in, their movements more confident, no longer being dragged by their Sword as they had been before. They thrust upwards, forcing the Meister to block with with her Scythe-
And Ragnarök was still screaming.
He may as well have been used to fend off a buzz saw; the pain flashed through Soul's mind an instant before he could properly react, blood pouring down his shoulder in the blackness and down his staff in Maka's hands. He couldn't stop the scream that rose from his mouth this time-
"Soul!"
He felt, more than saw, Maka's kick, driving Crona back with all the viciousness and strength she could muster. He breathed, trying to regain his wind, pain lancing through him with each breath he took, each beat of his heart as blood continued to pour down his body in both the realm of reality and the shadows of his weapon form.
He couldn't stop it; he knew his pain would be pulsing out of his body, and then up into Maka's hands, through her bones and into her very Soul. She felt every last ounce of pain pulsing through him in the here and now - and in turn, he felt the newfound, visceral fear that tinged her Wavelength, the sudden understanding of just how much danger they were in.
'Are you okay, Soul!?' there was a new desperation in her tone now.
'Stay focused!' he cursed, 'I am your Weapon, Maka! That means it's my job to protect you! Do not let that Sword touch you!'
'But-!'
'They're coming, idiot, MOVE!'
She obeyed; but Soul could tell even from the first dodge that Maka had lost all of her former momentum. Her movements were swift, but lacked all their normal grace and flow; her sidesteps and flips were gone, instead replaced with the constant backwards movement that had been beaten out of her in the first month of their training.
'Maka!'
"Shut UP!" she demanded, no longer bothering with their mental link, "I'm not going to put you at further risk! We have to retreat!"
"Then make an opening!" he shouted back, "They're not just gonna let us run!"
"I'd certainly love to see you try," Ragnarök's voice was filled with equal parts greed and bloodlust, the voice of a glutton eager to taste its next meal.
Crona just giggled madly, continuing to slice and stab at empty air in their attempts to kill her-
And then Maka's back hit the door.
On impulse, she threw herself against it, hoping to burst through it or break it down.
It did neither. It held firm, wood, stone and metal holding firm against even Maka's considerable strength as a Meister.
"Open UP!" she shouted, trying to shoulder through.
"That's not going to work, you know?"
Ragnarök's blade was already raised as Crona's matter-of-fact tone echoed around them.
"You need to pay attention to the things other people say. The doors only open one way - they open inward."
He felt her fear - not just of dying, but of losing him. Losing her friend. Her partner.
He felt that fear harden into resolve.
He felt her fingers loosen, and a fresh wave of terror overcame him as Maka did the unthinkable.
The one thing a Meister is trained to never, ever do.
Rather than raise her Scythe to meet the falling Sword, she threw Soul to the side, raising her arms to defend in his place - unwilling to risk his life for her's.
And Soul felt his heart stop, and the world around him slow to a complete and utter crawl.
"MAKA!"
The black Sword fell.
Soul couldn't have stopped himself if he tried.
He threw himself to his feet in front of his Meister, arms splayed.
The blade tore through him.
Maka screamed, raw and bloody, "SOUL!"
And everything went black.
Soul collapsed backwards into Maka's arms.
Everything else seemed to just disappear - the chiesa, the blood, the bodies, even Crona as they stood over her, they all vanished as she stared at the red that spread across her partner's yellow jacket. It seeped from his ears, from his mouth, from his shoulder, but most of all from the horrific gash in his chest that ran from his left shoulder to the right side of his abdomen. She could see the flesh, the bone, and it was all she could do to cradle him in one arm, and helplessly paw with her free hand, trying to hold the wound closed and only succeeding in staining her glove a dark crimson.
She knew first-aid. How did that go again?
First-aid for lacerations; rinse the wound and apply pressure.
But this isn't just a laceration - she could see his bones, his severed collarbone and ribs and sternum and he was bleeding, he was bleeding too much, there was so much blood-
"Soul," she mumbled, voice hoarse, throat dry - she could barely even hear herself, "Soul, wake up. I need you to wake up."
He gave no answer.
"If you don't wake up you'll die," she managed, "Y-You're losing way too much blood, I need you to wake up!"
Still, her partner said nothing, instead laying silently in her arms.
"Soul, please!" she wailed, the reality of the situation hitting her with all the force of a freight train. She pulled him close, hoping vainly that the pressure of her embrace could somehow stop the blood, hold the wound closed - anything to keep him alive, keep him with her, her sobs breaking free from her chest in racking spasms, "I-I'm begging you, Soul! You-! You promised you wouldn't walk out on me! Y-You PROMISED! Please don't leave! PLEASE!"
This time, she did receive a response.
The heavy shift of metal.
She looked up, saw Crona, saw the heavy Sword slowly rise once again. Their crimson Souls gleamed in the dark of the chiesa like paired candles, erratic and sparking, but nonetheless in terrifying sync, the Madness as palpable in their Wavelengths as it was in their grins. She could feel it tugging at her mind, trying to unravel her, to pull and pull and pull away until there was absolutely nothing left of it…
Her mind went blank.
She had nothing. No moves left to play, beyond shield Soul's broken body with her own.
It was over.
She couldn't do anything but flinch, hunching down over her partner's body as the pink-haired Meister brought the Sword down.
The heavy sound of metal on metal reached her ears once more.
She wasn't even sure where the figure had come from; clad in a heavy dark cloak, they now stood between her and the swordsman, their figure and face obscured by their garb.
"... well. So much for 'no playing the hero.'"
She couldn't quite tell how old they were from the voice - high, but masculine, tinged with annoyance as the figure rubbed at his forehead under his hood. Then he glanced down at her over his shoulder.
A single tuft of blond hair escaped the depths of his hood, hanging over a golden Carnivale mask that spread over his forehead and dipped over his nose, vaguely resembling some sort of bird with its feathered brow and beaked nose, exposing his mouth and the scar on the bottom of his jaw. She could have sworn she saw a lilac eye in the shadows of its eyeholes, but the colour was gone as soon as it had come, leaving her uncertain as to whether she'd seen it at all.
But that wasn't what had her attention.
She'd let her eyes go unfocused, using her Soul to see his...
His Soul was a brilliant gold, tinged with gentle purples that brought a sunset to mind. It shone, compressed and focused, carefully reserved…
"... there's another one," Crona whined with all the petulance of a frustrated six year old, "Stop it! Just stop getting in my way and let me kill you!"
"I don't think so."
With a grunt, he parried Ragnarök's heavy blade, letting it crash into the tile floor and retaliating with a vicious kick to Crona's stomach, Soul pulsing on contact.
The shockwave of their Soul Wavelength was enough to throw Maka backwards, and she hadn't even been the newcomer's target. She heard Crona choke for a brief instant before they were hurled back across the chiesa, their body smashing down atop the damaged altar. Slowly, they pushed themselves back up with a pained groan, glaring back with a maddened glower, smile gone.
"... too late to back out now. Titan damn it all," the figure sighed, leaning on a large staff in his hand, tipped with a wing and a glowing crimson crystal. It emanated its own Wavelength, but it didn't feel like a Weapon - in fact, its Wavelength felt like nothing the Scythe Meister had ever faced before, pulsing with a brilliant vermillion strength.
"Ah, well. Guess I'd better just make the best of it."
... as solemn of a note that I started this posted chapter on? You gotta admit, that ending is hype. I've been sitting on that particular cliffhanger for MONTHS.
NEXT TIME: Crona and Ragnarök vs. The Golden Guard! Place your bets, everyone, because this battle is going to be a SCORCHER!... at least until Stein and Spirit show up! And that's not spoilers, they're in the city, they can sense Souls, you KNOW they're gonna show up. But until then I get to show just what these fighters can REALLY do!
We're also starting to get a bit into the realities of Eda's life as a criminal. It ain't all deals and glamour - sometimes, you need to know when to cut your losses... regardless of whether it's a town, or your apprentice. So that'll be interesting for when we circle back to Eda and Luz, though I admit, that might take a chapter or two.
Thank you for your patience, everyone, and I'm so sorry this took so long.
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Side note: Sorry about the repost, everyone. Fanfiction's being weirdly screwy and I didn't get any notification regarding Owls and Souls' update in my email, so I deleted and reposted the chapter as a test. I'm still not getting any updates though, so I might need to look into this.
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Please be sure to leave your thoughts below! I hope you all enjoyed the twenty fifth chapter of Owls and Souls, Witches and Resonance!