This couldn't be real.
There was no reason for them to still be alive. Not only that but they were normal, not a huge power-hungry dragon swordsperson fuelled by fear. They looked like the Crona they had been back at the DWMA, though a little more gangly, if that was ever possible.
"Crona? What are you doing here?"
He knew how they had gotten here of course, but he had not expected them to survive. They had been here for such a long time that he had suspected that they would have died of something or another. That was obviously not the case.
"Are you alone here?"
They nodded, still hunched up, untrusting of the Lord Death that he had become.
"I'm Lord Death now, you know. Don't try anything."
The menace was empty though. This was a sane Crona, at least more than they had been. Ragnarok was so weak that he was barely detectable. There was not much of a difference between their souls, and Crona's seemed to englobe what seemed to be the dormant one of the black blood blade. They were stronger in a sense.
"I can tell that you've changed."
"Myeah," they answered, playing with a strand of hair. "You too."
A tense silence followed. They didn't really know what to say, and it was bothering Death. He didn't like it, there was supposed to be a hierarchy between them, but there wasn't much of one save for Crona's shyness.
They got up after a while, turned their back to the God and walked off.
Death wanted to stop them, but why? What was there to say?
"Hey," he called anyway, and the swordsperson stopped and faced him. "Do you want to come back to Earth?"
He was as surprised as Crona by his own forwardness. What he was suggesting would lead to nothing but trouble, and yet he felt compelled to suggest this anyway. He had a certain tenderness for them, despite everything that had happened. They were just a traumatised young adult that had been caught up in a war too big for them, just like he was, and all the other students of the DWMA.
"Sure," they answered, but they weren't really. Death could tell through the irregular beat of their soul. It matched the beat of their heart.
Embarrassed, Lord Death turned and dialled his own number in the dust with his foot, all encapsulated in a perfectly symmetrical circle. He frowned in disgust. It was too spell-like, it reminded him of witches.
"You're not a witch, I gather?"
Crona hummed, a spike of panic apparent in their soul beat. "I don't think so? I know no spells, and… well, I'm not a lady. Nor a kishin. Not anymore, I think."
Death stared them down. "I… I mean! Everything I could do was thanks to Ragnarok and… well, he hasn't been active in a while. Or my mother. She did the… mathemagic stuff."
They scuffed the moon-dust, eyes lowered. Death wasn't sure if he should trust Crona, but what could he do? Besides, as long as he kept them close there shouldn't be much of a problem. A plan was starting to form in his head too, and he would like to try it out…
"All right then, I'll allow you to return to Earth. I'll offer you protection, accommodation and pay, but you will work for me. I am Lord Death, so do not dare to get in my way: I remember what happened the last time you were trusted."
They gulped and nodded; this time, they were truly afraid.
Good, thought Lord Death, and pressed dial.
"Heya Death-Boy, what are you calling for this time? Still alive, I guess?"
"Not even knocked out, Black*Star," answered Death irritably. "You'll have time to cool down in the cells under the Academy. You'll be staying there until you've learned your lesson, however long that takes."
Death went and grabbed Crona's wrist, who flinched back, terrified. Their skin was cold and clammy, and they resisted the pull at first, but they finished by relenting and letting themselves be guided to the portal. Death sighed, annoyed by the immaturity of all those he relied on, and jumped back to his office, the black blade in tow.