Halloween night their first year was a momentus occasion. Kilik hadn't been able to go on many missions in the beginning, instead throwing his efforts at every promotional gig that was posted. His thought was, if he and his weapons were on all the adds, people would start asking the school to send for them by name. It had sort of worked, but his efforts were over shadowed by the rematch between Maka and Black Star at the battle festival. While he was busy shooting commercials in fake snow with soda bottles, the others were quickly rising in the event's rankings. There was no way to do both, and gig work would pay off more in the long run.

That didn't stop him from running his mouth every chance he got. Before he became friends with the other meisters in the spartoi squad, he'd claimed the only reason Maka and Black Star were always the top two, was they didn't have lives outside of school. Maka was a book worm obsessed with getting full marks and Black Star picked as many fights as he could get away with, regardless of a prize. His fellow jealous classmates ate up every word hook, line and sinker.

He'd overheard Shinigami-sama talking with other staff members about a zombie mission. Things only got worse from there. It sounded so cool, he had to be the one to take it. He exaggerated every little detail to anyone who'd listen so that even the top students would be nervous to accept the assignment.

"A statue stabbed him right through the forehead." He said. "His brains were shoved right through his skull all over the pavement."

"Eww." Jaqueline squealed while Kim just grimaced in disgust. "No way, no one can survive something like that."

"That's just it." Kilik raised his arms limply above his head. "He didn't! He's a lost soul trapped in a corpse, looking for the student that backstabbed him." Teeth clicking, he gnawed on the air, maiming a pretend victim. He'd told the story so many times, he hadn't really thought about which teacher was the victim, until Black Star had caught him mid performance.

"Outside, now." Black Star said. It was a duel challenge on sight. He tagged the first teacher he could on the way out to witness the duel.

The fight was brutal. Of course he was pissed, Kilik realized in hindsight. Sid hadn't just been Black Star's favorite teacher, he'd been a mentor to him since he was small. Kilik had something to prove, but he couldn't keep up with Black Star's raw power at the time. Wave after wave of searing grief was channeled into Black Star's soul menace. The fight continued as it had in the past, but Kilik was a stronger fighter now. He remembered each punch and thrust of a sword. For once, he'd come out on top, but it sickened him.

That was around the time Black Star had gotten really careless with his missions and thrust into probationary status. The last thing he needed was everyone in the school, including his friends, to be spreading nasty rumors. If anyone asked, Black Star would say he was fine, but now that he knew him better Kilik could tell that wasn't true. Things were better now. Sid was back at the school like nothing had changed, and greater enemies had risen to be the target of everyone's fears and frustrations. He offered a hand to Black Star, but he refused to take it, a glare carved into his features.

"You're not actually you, are you?" Kilik was taken aback. It was like standing in a recording. The people moved and acted the way they had in the past, looking at him, but unable to adlib once he act out of place. He looked around, if this was a stage, there had to be a way off the set. Perhaps, if he tried to go somewhere he hadn't that day, the visage would fall apart.

Abandoning the fighting arena, he walked past the faceless students towards Lord Death's office. It tried to open it, but it acted like it was locked. So Kilik shot flames with the fake version of Fire he was equipped with, only to have the door unscathed like fresh porcelain. He went into one of the classrooms, took up a chair, and returned to the door with unwavering certainty this was the way out. He hit it over and over again, until the illusion chipped and a brilliant white light peaked through the cracks.

At long last, he was able to escape the fake school grounds out into a blank white hallway. Both sides were lined with plain white doors, some had golden plaques on them. The first he stumbled upon was Noah Ararat, but there was no window to see if that was who was inside. Picking up the pace, Kilik skimmed the names, looking for a familiar name to gather more man power. Giriko Warsaw's door was open.

Chapter 5 : SLOTH

Soul's memories were a blur, like something was thumbing through a book of photographs. In rapid succession, he was reminded of every time he stood by silent as his parents compared him to Wes. The way he loathed his older brother for achieving praise so effortlessly while he scavenged for scraps of acknowledgement. Even though he knew in his heart, there must have been countless hours Wes spent playing the same songs over and over again in a place he hadn't been able to see when he was younger, it didn't change his perception of his childhood. Wes had been the golden child and Soul wallowed in self-pity hoping someone, anyone would notice. Wes was the only one that did anything of note.

So, when news of a different golden child's destined arrival to the steps of Shibusen came when he was feeling his lowest, he'd jumped at the chance to smack them down of a few pegs. It didn't matter what fancy weapons he'd brought from outside of the academy, for the last year and a half he had been the top weapon when it came to raw power and Black Star had been the top meister.

He was standing back on that battle field, the sun beating on his skin until it itched and broke apart. Nevada heat be dammed, as soon as he stepped inside, he'd be cold again. The hoodie stayed on. More importantly, Black Star had ditched Tsubaki to choose him as a partner. It was clearly the most obvious choice; the most accomplished meister would want the best weapon to take Lord Death's precious little baby down.

"You always cozied up to the strongest person in the room." Soul was jolted out of the memory to see a knee high, red imp cackle from the sidelines. Behind him, Tsubaki watched on with a pained expression. His own meister seemed content knowing the deck was stacked in his would-be opponent's favor. She knew he'd lose and come crawling back. "And if you hadn't lost, if you'd been able to actually act as Black Star's weapon, would you have gone back?" The imp grinned up to his eyes. "I think not, and so soon after she told her fears of being abandoned. Do you really think she'd forgive you so easily?" Black ichor rose up between the cobble stones and pooled around his feet. "She remembers." The scene all around him kept playing like he hadn't been pulled out of sync, while Maka watched him sink with disappointment in her cold eyes. "They always remember."

Everyone who could see souls insisted that Sid was indeed himself, including Shinigami-sama. It was the mic drop to any argument Black Star could make. His spiritual sense was close to dead, so he often had to rely on his other senses to compensate.

Sid had this sweet smell to him after coming back that gave Black Star a headache, formaldehyde, it perfumed everything in his classroom and lingered in the back of Black Star's throat for weeks. His skin was mottled and cyanotic, with the soft tissues of his face pulled into a ghastly grimace that was hard for him to pull out of. His shuffling footsteps were clumsy and loud compared to how effortlessly he used to sneak up on his students. Most of all he kept talking in odd third person phrases, like he remembered how he used to be, but couldn't be bothered to keep up the act.

Black Star wasn't sure it'd be better if he did try to fall in line with his old ways, it might have been even more uncanny. Nygus had gotten on his case for treating him like a stranger, and he accidentally let slip that he didn't think that was Sid. Sid had died and whatever Dr. Stein had brought back was something else entirely. Even if he did have the same soul, he wasn't the same person, and it deeply disturbed him. One little slip of the tongue earned him a few weeks of mandatory grief counseling, where he had a good long staring match with a stranger until he could convince them to let him go. He didn't need therapy, he needed someone to admit what had happened was wrong. The real Sid wouldn't have wanted his body to become the experiment of one of his old classmates. No one wanted that.

"Are you saying you'd rather he died?" The counselor asked in that same clinical tone Medusa had used when he was forced to talk to her. She'd been up to something, and he couldn't articulate into words what gave him that impression, but he'd been right. Hiding behind the veil of preferring talking to a male therapist didn't get him out of therapy like he had hoped.

"He did die." Black Star swiveled his head. The room was tight and claustrophobic. Any attempt to be friendly and welcoming to minors just came off as half hearted and patronizing. A brightly colored wall and art drawn by children half his age did not make him feel anymore like talking than when he'd been forced to see the school nurse. "Why am I back here?" He was certain he bullshited his way through enough sessions to get cleared.

"Your weapon's been concerned you're taking dangerous missions on purpose." Again with evading his questions. Tsubaki knew he was fine, telling him the contrary was just some strategy to make him feel guilty for not wanting to go. "You've exceeded the amount of duels the DWMA considers healthy growth for a meister." They were all trying to hold him back. It was ridiculous. Maka didn't get forced to sit with know it all professionals, and her weapon almost died in front of her. That was actual trauma. This was just punishing him for being awesome and keeping his head on his shoulder.

"I'm fine." It wasn't crazy to think dead things were supposed to stay dead. If making a zombie was that good of an idea, Lord Death would have fleshed out the ranks with them instead of bringing Dr. Stein to the school to keep him on a tighter leash. His mother had said the same...

No, that wasn't right. That was just a weird dream he had last night. He didn't even know what she looked like. The only reason he knew his dad's name was he was such an awful person everyone was afraid of him.

"Is there anything else you'd like to talk about?"

"No."

Maybe it was the fact he was rooted to the couch, but this session felt like it was taking hours. No matter how many times he asked to be let go, he was stuck, answering the same stupid questions over and over again. People wanted him to be happy and fine with Sid being back, he'd tell them just that. It wasn't like he was being an asshole about being skeptical when the literal god of order thought it'd be funny to lie to him about what happened to his mentor. What would he get for being honest, a goofy apology?

"If you ever change your mind, I'm always here. Nothing leaves this room." The door to the therapist's office went hurtling toward the back wall in a cloud of fire. He'd never been so happy to see someone march through that door. Fake. It was all fake, he didn't have to be here. He jumped up from the couch cackling as the illusion kept rattling on at nothing.

"What's all this?" Kilik asked, only for Black Star to grab him by the shoulders and point him back toward the door.

"Don't worry about it."

"Why are you talking to my dad?" Alarm bells went off in Black Star's head. He was more insistent on getting them out of the room before Dr. Rung could say anything incriminating thanks to Black Star's own memories.

"Don't worry about it." Black Star said through manic, almost panicked laughter.

The basilica was illuminated by streetlights refracted through stained glass and casting cool tones on the ground. Maka's gloves did little to aid her grip with the humidity and the chill in the main chapel. Curiosity had lured them over here when Soul could have told her no. She was the meister, but it was his bike to command down the streets of Italy. They thought students were in trouble, and in a way, there were.

Chrona had been detached the entire fight, like a puppet on a string. Helplessly jerked around by the whims of a demon weapon, they lashed out blindly; Maka was trying her best to predict their moves. She was just a hair too slow, her grip too lax to withstand the force of a duel handed sword crashing into them over and over again. At some point, she realized they were out matched and rammed her shoulder into the door. When it wouldn't open, she panicked, too focused on finding an escape to prepare for the next slash.

"The doors open from the inside."

He used his body to shield Maka. Raganrok's blade was razor sharp, he hadn't even felt him cut through muscle and bone until he tried to breathe and blood poured from his chest down his jeans. It burned like fire, the slick halves of his torso rubbed against each other as he fought to breath deep enough to stay awake. Only when Spirit had come crashing through the chapel did he know Maka would be safe.

"What did you think would happen?" The red imp stepped around the splatters of red and black blood with distaste. "One teacher tells you it's noble to sacrifice yourself for your meister, and you throw yourself into the first blade that comes along?" It leaned over him, blocking his view of the hand painted ceiling. "It's like you were waiting for this to happen."

"What are you talking about?" Soul's breath was ragged, the scent of iron colored the air and clung to his tongue.

"Death." The imp grinned. "Dead people don't have to worry about grades, or disappointing family members. Before me, that was your only escape from this mess." Soul's legs went cold, his hand raked over with pins and needles. "You would have died a hero, but they took it from you."

"Shut up!" Maka's hands barely ghost his skin, she saw him as fragile. She couldn't bare to even glance at his scars without becoming consumed by guilt and pity. If something worse had happened, she would have blamed herself the rest of her life, regardless of what people told her.

"She knows." The imp pulled away from his line of sight, and Maka's teary face was back in view, hazy around the edges from the blood loss. "You chose death over her."

"That's not what happened." He hadn't been thinking anything at all, just that she needed time to open the door. Guiding her to guard or attacking on his own would have gotten them both hurt. Had he known Spirit and Stien were a few feet away, he would have made a different choice.

"You don't know that." The ichor rose past his shoulder and swallowed him whole. "You'll never know for sure."

She had a name once. Not his name, another name, another soul. Everyone in the village worked hard at making golems, but her father was the best. Lady Arachne approached him personally to make an army to rise up against Lord Death and his oppressive rules. A rich lady, with lots of money, and an entire village desperate to show old magic was far more worthy of respect than automated machines. She hadn't cared.

Eight-hundred years ago, the future for a girl was limited. She could marry someone in the village, risk traveling to another village to get married in a place surrounded by strangers, or become a nun. Though rumor had it, if you were strong enough, you could go to a fancy school in the desert. She'd been practicing on little mud dolls to see if she could make a golem fast enough to be considered a weapon. Her father joining a war against Lord Death wouldn't help her in five or ten years. She had her own plans.

Then Lady Arachne had wanted to see her. Gave her this weird purple blob that reminded her of a rat for some reason, and was asked to eat it. She didn't want to. They made her.

What was her name?

Her soul had changed shape after. She could feel the power of creation melt her into something awful, her humanity stripped before her until she was a tool. In a final act of rebellion, she refused to take the shape of a hammer or anything her father would know how to use. An embodiment of everything he hated, a mechanized wonder that could only tear things asunder. Her weapon form would never make him a better artificer or enhance the golems.

She had a name before he took it away.

Before she stopped being his daughter and was forced to harbor his aging soul in her body.

What was her name?

"Knock it off you stupid book." Giriko leaned against the white walls as he searched for the brat that killed Arachne.