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Shibusen is a great school, really. It gives you a lot of freedom, in the assignments and stuff. You like it. You like it a lot.
Honestly, you’re just trying to contain your awe. You’re in Italy, even. For a remedial lesson. That’s crazy. It’s enough of a rush to make you want to say something cliche, like, watch out Italy, here comes Soul Eater Evans.
Maka would probably slap you for that. She’s reasonable that way.
You like the hum of the scooter under your hands, too; it’s a calm rumble, the kind of thing you hope your soul wavelength would feel like, if you could tell that.
It’s an easy assignment, at least. Maka smiles at you, and the soul slips down your throat easier even than usual, and you’re satisfied with the school trip and ready to sightsee when—
Maka senses something. She’s pretty awesome like that, so you’ve learned to trust her instincts. Sometimes you do wish things were simpler, but you wouldn’t give it up for the world. You’ve gone into battle with Maka again and again, and you trust her with your life.
The drive isn’t far, at least not on a motor scooter, but you hope you look cool and confident driving it anyway. The cathedral is cooler, though. It’s super old—as expected of Italy—and the arches swoop so high, you feel like your head is going to fall off your neck if you look at them any longer. The stones are large and gray and intimidating, and the stained glass windows are eerie, and the toll of the bell shakes your bones.
None of them compares to the kid inside the church.
To be honest, the pink hair catches you off guard first, but then they turn around, eyes sunken and haunted, and the sword dragging over the marble floor and creating sparks, and something about the whole scene chills you to the bone.
Also, there's blood everywhere.
When the kid starts talking, their voice is whiny and nervous, and it almost makes you let down your guard, but then they morph into… something else, the sword vanishing into their flesh. If you just listened to them talk, you’d think they’re nothing but a pathetic preteen who can’t talk to girls, and is probably… lost, or something.
But Maka mentioned something earlier about 50 souls disappearing, and now there’s just this pink-haired loser. And then there’s a sword swinging wildly at them, and Maka deflects it with the outside edge of your blade, but it still—really—fucking—hurts.
It doesn’t matter. You would take any amount of hurt for Maka. As long as she’s safe: that’s your job as a weapon, to keep her safe.
She punches this weird kid—Crona—in the face, and they fall back. Maka is so cool and in charge like that, and she swings you right at them, and you can already feel a new Kishin soul slipping down your throat—
You both stop, brought to a halt. Black blood drips to the floor.
This… isn’t a normal fight. The point is hit home when the sword screams, and digs into your handle so badly you bleed. You think you can feel a phantom pain in your shoulder.
After that, Maka just backs up towards the door, dodging every attack—but that’s no way to fight! You want to be useful, and you know you could block the blade this time. Please. She’s scared, and you can tell, but you know together you could do something. Her back hits the door.
“Don’t you know…? Those doors open inwards.”
You don’t have to think twice. You barely even think once. You take the hit.
You collapse into Maka’s arms. Everything becomes pain; you can’t think. Dimly, you see Maka’s green eyes, wide and terrified. Something bursts through the door, and you see only black.
You trust Maka.