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Maka was about a thousand too excited about this mission - as if a masquerade were anything like Halloween, which, no. Just no. What it was nearly exactly like was every hoity-toity assed party he’d gotten dragged to growing up as some sort of exotic show piece/failed trophy child, so all this trite shenanigans meant for him was dredging up a fuck of a lot of deep seeded anxiety he needed on a Deathscythe class mission like a hole in the head. Actually, the hole in the head might be preferable because fast healing as a true Deathweapon was a given.
The fact they were sending the core half of Spartoi suggested both they didn’t know exactly what was going on, and that they thought it could be tackled by one newb of a Deathscythe and a pack of elite students. In Soul’s experience, these things rarely went well for various reasons, but Maka had been eager and Maka was the meister, so here they were, in a questionable room in one of the two run down inns in this questionable town somewhere in the middle of rural Maine, trying to dress for an event with a dress code that seemed more at home in Eighteenth-century Paris than late capitalist New England, but that was why they were here, wasn’t it? Because not only was this party just plain odd, but apparently, those who entered never returned quite the same, if they returned at all.
Whatever. Soul looked over his own monkey suit in the mirror once more with a grimace, the luminescent gray suit with an intricate, swirling black pattern and white lace shirt peeking out far too Black Room chic meets Early Modern foppery for his own comfort, before turning his eyes to his meister, who was busy fussing with the mask she’d painstakingly crafted by hand along with the rest of her extravagant outfit - every last lick of Maka’s artistic skills has been channeled into costuming skills, so the thing really was already perfect, Maka was just that anal with these things in a way that reminded him uncomfortably of his mom’s party planning proclivities. The fact he’d been shocked to realize that that her costuming skills extended to ballroom finary notwithstanding, she looked absolutely ethereal in a way that left him unable to look too long lest his mouth simply flop open like a dying fish. To say she looked like the angel she had worked so diligently to portray, in shimmery green gossamer accented with pure white feathers, was a gross understatement, not that he’d be caught dead telling her that.
“Maka,” he said, trying to keep the slight annoyance from his voice. “You look fine. Seriously. We gotta get out of here. You know how anal kid is about walking through the doors right at 8. We miss it by a second and he’s gonna be fucking intolerable all night, plus, the invite says they lock the doors at exactly 8:01, which means we screw up weeks of…”
“Planning, I know,” she hissed. “But I keep finding-”
“-bullshit? Because it looks great.” Soul walked closer and tucked a stray lock behind her ear to an eyeroll and slightly reddened cheeks he figured were a warning sign “- you look great, seriously - can we go now before Kid has a conniption or Star gets bored enough to accidentally blow up the place?” The irony of the fact that Soul, of all people, was the one prodding his meister, who was nearly compulsorily on time as a general rule, was far from lost on him.
“Fiiiine,” Maka huffed, the puff of air disturbing her bangs so that he found himself tucking hairs again, her face reddening further until she let out a screech of annoyance, grabbed one of his hands, and hauled him out of the shabby little room.
The red that dyed her face vanished quickly, replaced by an excited grin as they finally made it into the hall, only to nearly smack straight into Black*Star sprinting in the opposite direction in his own gray and gold monkey suit, Tsubaki a few feet behind.
“There you losers are!” Star said, too loud as always. “‘bout fucking time. We gotta show to put on, my dudes.” He paused long enough to look them up and down. “Though, damn, Maks, that the best you could do?” he snickered, and Soul nearly groaned. Did his dipshit of a best friend really have to fan his meister’s competitive flames now of all times? Hell, Star had already been foiled from realizing his “second Halloween” dreams of dressing as Zombie Naruto, and had even allowed Tsu to coordinate attire with Maka, but apparently, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t continue to be an utter dick about it.
Maka’s face went a much darker, more ominous red than before at this, and she let out a longer, louder huff. “This coming from the guy who looks like a witless Restoration fop,” she said, voice sharp. Ironically, she had been the one to assure both of them looked like witless fops, but that was beside the point, apparently.
Soul let out a sigh, recognizing this might take a minute, before pulling Tsu aside as he attempted to tune out the mounting meister bickerfest.
“Where’s Kid?” he asked quietly, eliciting a small shrug from the other weapon. Dressed in a long lavender gown she’d created with Maka’s help, and adorned generously with the flowers of her namesake, Tsubaki might have been ready to walk the most exclusive catwalk but for the lavender mask obscuring half her face. Hell, even then - high fashion could be pretty fucking out there. Really, Maka was unbelievably good at this costuming shit.
“I’m afraid he won’t leave his room. Liz and Patti are trying, but-” Star and Maka’s bickering was reaching a crescendo behind them, drawing both of their weapons’ attention. Exchange a long suffering look, they sighed in unison.
“I’ll try to grab Kid, you keep those two from wrecking the joint,” Soul said, the groan of frustration inevitable as he sprinted down the hall towards Kid’s room, earsplitting meister argument echoing behind him.
Kid and the Thompson’s had adjoining rooms in the corner, and Soul paused at the kitty-cornered doors, wondering which to knock on before just picking one. He heard low pitched sobbing behind the opposite door a moment later, followed by cackling laughter, and figured it was par when the door he hadn’t knocked on opened a moment later to an absolutely frazzled looking Liz. Honestly, it was quite the wonder since the other weapon’s appearance was otherwise immaculate, with a long, sleek golden dress and flawless updo he’d wager Kid had already had his way with given not a hair was out of place - yet her face beneath flawless makeup, mask not yet on, was scrunched and contorted in a spectacular mashup of annoyed panic.
“About damn time.” Her tired drawl was completely at odds with her expression.
Soul shrugged as Tsu had before him.
“Meister problems.” He raised his eyebrows. “You know the drill.” Liz sighed in response, and Soul brushed past her into the room. “So, what’s the hold up?” he added.
“Meister problems,” Liz echoed, gesturing vaguely to one corner of the shabby little room where Kid was weeping inconsolably atop a worn faux leather recliner as he clutched a mask in one hand and a sleek, ebony hand mirror in the other, his face twisted into horror as Patti rolled on the ground nearby, cackling.
Watching her roll around on that questionable carpet in her puffy, sparkly pink princess gown had Soul cringing internally about nine different ways, but he really didn’t have time or attention for Patti’s dress when they needed to just get out the damn door , already. Obtaining an invitation to this thing had apparently been an astronomical feat equal only to the rebel spies obtaining the damn map of the Death Star, to hear Sid drone on about it, accomplished at, apparently, great peril (or, at minimum, great tedium,) by some of the counterintelligence students, and to waste it would clearly mean extra lessons until the end of time, a bit of fuckery Soul wanted absolutely nothing to do with.
Fortunately, at least in this case, he had a plan. One of the few ways to pull Kid’s head out of his own ass when his obsessiveness was triggered like this was to trigger it even harder over something else. And on this rare and glorious occasion, the most obvious something else happened to coincide with their collective need to get the fuck out of here
Also fortunately, Soul had recently and secretly experimented, at the urging, and with the less than comfortable assistance of Professor Stein (that he’d prefer not to reflect back upon in any level of detail), with his newly minted Deathscythe abilities, and had just the right one for the job. Suppressing a shudder at that best forgotten memory, he drew on the fruits of his torment; Soul focused, speaking quietly and evenly in words he sent only and directly into Kid’s ears with two fine threads of sound, “It’s ten till eight. We don’t leave now, your perfect entrance is dead in the water.”
As if on cue, Death the Kid, actual Deathgod-to-be, seemingly having reclaimed his dignity, stood up ramrod straight, looked down at his mask with one last agonized glance, dusted it off, placed it on his face, whisked the mirror into his own netherspace with a brief gesture, dusted off the rest of himself despite the reality that he still looked immaculate, as if dust dared not mar him, and cleared his throat.
“Yes, of course, we should…” he glanced down at Patti, who had failed to notice the change and was still in her own world of unbridled mirth, then looked back up, head held high, “...go.”
Kid stiffly walked past both Soul and Liz to exit the premises, and Liz sighed, perhaps, the longest, loudest sigh Soul had ever heard as she pried her sister from the floor and dragged her bodily, still cackling madly, from the room.
Well, at least that was handled. Mostly.
Following behind to close the door behind him with the type of clunky click that bespoke an ill fitting lock, more evidence of just how luxurious their accommodations weren’t, Soul scanned the hall ahead of him, finding that Tsu had, by some miracle or other (more than likely appealing to Maka’s better angels, pun abhorrent,) managed to get both bickering meisters in line, though they were openly glaring at and elbowing one another, and was currently assuring a mirrorless Kid that his mask looked perfectly symmetrical.
Noticing Soul’s reappearance, Black*Star grinned and strode over, clapping him so hard on the shoulder he was positive it would leave a bruise, while bellowing, “Finally, bro, took you long enough! Let’s get this party started!”
An eye roll was all the response deserved, and then Maka was at his other side, muttering, “We have to get there first,” which was all he’d been trying to make happen for the last several dozen minutes in any case.
And finally, impossibly, they left, flying briefly under cover of darkness in haphazard formation to get to the odd mansion on the hill on the far side of town without a second to spare for their masque premier.
---
An hour in, and Soul was absolutely certain they were about a thousand feet in over their heads with jackall to be done about it.
Just as promised, they made their way through the elaborate entrance doors into the oversized ballroom at eight o’clock sharp, a massive, eerily ornate black clock carved with scenes of both hedonism and hellscapes dominating the far wall as it struck the hour ominously, Dong… Dong… Dong… Dong… Dong… Dong… Dong… Dong…
Upon hearing the first chime, Soul’s eyes were drawn to the macabre masterpiece on the far wall, Death City chic on the other side of the country, and he felt a shiver go up his spine. If only, he thought not so very long after, he’d had the time or presence of mind to heed that instinct then and there, for the instant the ringing stopped, just as their noticeably colorful group reached the center of the ballroom, where the dancing had paused with ringing of the bells, the dancers around them absolutely still with faces frozen in varying aspects of discomfort or terror, he knew something was terribly, dreadfully wrong .
The ballroom doors slammed shut, the lights dimmed further, and orchestral music started playing loudly, the frozen dancers resuming their steps, their previously fearful faces twisted into near caricatures of mirth. Given the setting, the large, multicolored, garish ballroom, darkened and creepily ethereal, the fact the first selection was “Danse Macbre” seemed apropos.
And suddenly, Soul himself had felt the undeniable compulsion to dance , and the soulbond he shared with his meister told him she felt the same, so they quickly found themselves swept up together among the countless pairs of dancers. Of course, dancing with Maka was nothing new, but in spite of her two left feet, it was nonetheless always somehow thrilling in a way he dared not name, especially to himself.
But this time? Her left feet were mysteriously transformed into the delicate, graceful steps of the angel she had dressed herself to be, gliding with him across the dance floor as if she had been born to do so, as if they both had somehow found their true calling. And hey, after years of forced and miserable childhood lessons, Soul was a perfectly adequate dancer, but this was… something else entirely .
Not that the scythe had recognized any of that at first, or for a good fifteen minutes, really, when the massive, garish black clock had chimed the quarter hour, and he felt like himself for all of 20 seconds, during which time he’d recognized that the dancing was an unnatural compulsion, and that the others were nowhere within immediate visual range, though he hadn’t had long enough to figure out where exactly they were if not the dance floor. Had they not also been swept up by the music?
Apparently not. Which was all his brief presence of mind had allowed him to discover during that tiny lull before he and his meister were both swept back into the revelry. The quiet, breathless, “what…? ” from his meister, at that precise moment facing away from him but pressed back against his chest in a half executed dance maneuver that was far and away beyond her rudimentary skills, (and which might have left him stained an unflattering red in less fraught circumstances), along with the jolt of shocked concern he felt from her before the music restarted, only reinforced that something was deeply, troublingly wrong .
Not that he was able to comprehend beyond that, at least not in that moment. No, it had taken the chiming of the half hour, and the next quarter hour after for him to reach the two most important conclusions of the night-- one , that they were both, and most likely all, bound up in some sort of compulsory spell that only momentarily weakened at the chiming of the clock, which itself seemed to be tied to, perhaps even driving, the spell itself, and, two, the spell wasn’t uniform, since he’d caught glimpses of their team while dancing and not in his right mind that told him that whatever compulsion they themselves were dealing with from the spell - and there must be something given the others weren’t intervening in their own private Ballroom Dance Dance Revolution hell - it wasn’t to dance. Or at least, seemingly, not yet .
As the clock chimed nine, giving them a slight bit more time to think and talk, Maka had pulled him uncharacteristically close before they froze in place to avoid suspicion from - well, who or what ever was behind it all - and he discovered not only that she had reached the same conclusions, but she also offered a new one, besides - that only a high ranking witch would have magic powerful strong enough to affect a Deathscythe and fledgling Deathgod both, which not only explained a fuck of a lot, but also meant they were almost certainly out of their league. Of fucking course .
It was exactly on the quarter hour chime after ten that Maka pulled him close again, whispering, rough and hot, “soul resonance,” against his right ear, and then pushed her own soul towards his until both their consciousness’ tumbled abruptly into the Black Room as that eerie knell finished it’s echo and the music resumed.
Not a second too soon, either - they found themselves in their current finary in his dark, damaged soul space, seated side by side on the bench of his soul piano, and Soul fought the impulse to slide close and clasp her to him bodily, his relief was that absolutely palpable because he could, they could , at least fucking think for longer than 90 seconds. Instead, he reluctantly slid the slightest bit farther away, then put his head in his hands in sheer relief, ignoring their frantic dancing still taking place in that creeptastic ballroom, “well, fuck,” he muttered.
“That’s an understatement,” Maka agreed with a sigh. “I’ve never even heard of a witch with this ability.” She shook her head in frustration. “No, there isn’t even supposed to be a witch here!”
One hand slammed the keys, a cacophony of sharps and flats startling them both and causing Soul to visibly shudder before taking the offending hand in his, half for comfort, half to ensure no repeat of that ear splitting handslam of horrors. Maka turned her head to meet his gaze at that, biting her lip in frustration. The fact she still looked like an angel straight out of a painting made the move so disconcerting, he guffawed involuntarily, turning the lip biting into an angry hiss of his name and a half hearted punch to the upper arm.
“Sorry, sorry!” He let go of her hand, lifting both of in a gesture of surrender. “This whole thing is just such an utter shit show, you know?”
“Yeah,” she sighed. “I know.”
Outside his soul space, their bodies still danced, involuntarily and frantically, an incongruity that couldn’t help but continually plague them. Still, at least here , within the twisted confines of his tainted soul, time moved differently, and their wills were their own. Here , they could maybe, possibly, figure out their next move, bless his meister for her brains and sheer grit. Not that Soul had any idea as of yet what their next move should be when their time and actions outside here were so damn limited. His only hope was that Maka did , and that their light resonance would remain undetected by the one who’d laid this elaborate trap.
“So, what’s the plan?” Soul spoke the last thought aloud, and it was Maka’s turn to snort.
“The better question is what can we actually do? ”
Well, she wasn’t wrong.
“Resonate?” he offered with a smirk. “And fucking pray?” This earned him another light punch to the arm, which, fortunately, couldn’t even consider bruising further, what with them being essentially stuck in his soul for the time being.
“Seriously, Soul?” Her eye roll was so reminiscent of his best he was almost proud. Punctuating it with a long, low sigh, she suddenly leapt off the bench and began to pace. Maka tended to be a kinesthetic thinker - she did her best planning coupled with exertion - so he shifted around to face her as she moved and stopped, moved and stopped, then began to think out loud.
“First, let’s review what we know,” Maka began, not actually looking at him, her focus on ordering her own thoughts. “We were sent here because this was considered an intermediary level mission we could handle. People in this area have been acting strangely and disappearing, and it was finally linked to these monthly parties. Intelligence seemed certain a new kishin was in play, but that’s obviously wrong since no kishin would be capable of this fine level of magic control, not even Asura, so…” Her pacing stopped as she remembered she wasn’t actually talking to herself, and she turned to look at him from several feet away. “It’s obviously an unknown witch, and a high tier one at that,” she finally concluded with what she’d conveyed to him briefly the hour before.
“Yep,” Soul agreed. “Which puts us at intelligence was shit, as usual, and we’re utterly boned, also as usual.” Flashbacks at the intelligence that had led him to chow down a damned cat soul made him nearly wince before adding, since his meister’s patience was understandably thin, her look of irritation shudder worthy, and since he really didn’t want them all to die as witch fodder in the here and now, “buuuuut, it seems like our souls are maybe resisting a little, since we can at least move freely at the chimes, probably because they’re stronger than a civilian - everyone else on the dance floor just… froze, except their faces.”
Maka nodded, pursing her lips, then resumed pacing.
“Exactly. It’s why we had to pretend to freeze. The question is, does the rest of the team regain themselves at the chime. Or…” She tapped her lip as she spun to look at him again. “...are we the only ones immune. Since you’re the only Deathscythe here, and I’m your meister, it’s possible your soul and our bond is protecting both of us. The fact we haven’t actually heard Star makes me think that may be it.”
That part really was odd, now that she mentioned it. But still.
“Okay, I mean, Star is one thing, but he’s got Tsu - she’s pretty much as strong as a Deathscythe, plus Kid should be fine, right? I mean, he’s a Deathgod, for fuck’s--”
“--a Deathgod who hasn’t matured.” Maka cut him off. “Plus, Kid would never just out himself, so basically, we’re in the dark. The first thing we have to figure out is if we even have a team to help us.”
“...to help us what? ” Soul hadn’t meant to snap, but things were bad, and looking worse by the second. “We don’t even know exactly who or what we’re dealing with, right?”
“Well, finding that out would be the next step, obviously .” He felt as much as he heard the huff of frustration that followed. “We have to wait until the next chime,” Maka added. “Then I can - try to use Soul Perception. We’re already resonating, so it should be… strong enough to at least find everyone else, though I’m not sure I’ll be able to find a witch..”
She plopped back down next to him, having at least thought through a next move, but all he could do was shake his head.
“If it even is a witch,” Soul grumbled, “we’re only guessing. And if it is a witch, and she’s this strong, we’re definitely completely boned, as I was saying.”
“Maybe,” his meister conceded. “Though we have fought and won against a powerful witch, if I recall correctly.” Her attempt at a reassuring smile looked far too fragile for his liking, so Soul held back the quip that touched his tongue and just nodded. “And anyway.” Maka’s smile brightened. “Who even knows if it is a witch? First things first, then.” She clapped her hands together for emphasis, standing back up, letting the comfort of false enthusiasm drive her.
“So,” she began anew. “When the clock strikes next, I’ll see if I can - look. Then, we figure out the rest the next chance. Because we do need more to go on to figure things out, right?”
“Right.” His smirk was even more forced than her bravado, but fake it ‘till you make it had long been their M. O., so Soul figured they were finally getting somewhere.
And then, the clock chimed the half hour, and they both shoved their attention back to their relentlessly dancing bodies, assiduously ignoring the rather risque half dip they found themselves in, and froze as Maka activated her Soul Perception, searching for any souls that weren’t human amidst the throng. While they dared not risk a stronger resonance, Soul sensed that she’d found, well, something at least before the macabre music restarted and they pushed their consciousness back into the Black Room.
“I found them!” Maka proclaimed as they reemerged side by side on the phantom piano bench, grinning and breathless in a way that made little sense in a space that required no breath, but of course, minds were complicated and messy and tended to be mired in habit.
Maka flung her arms around him in ecstatic relief, before seeming to regain her senses, releasing him to scoot back, face flushed.
“Tsu and Star were by the food, Kid, Patti, and Liz seemed to be at a card table, and all of them felt frustrated and - concerned, I guess? So I’m thinking if we could get a message to them, it could help. Though…” She frowned thoughtfully, getting back up to pace anew. “That itself is the issue, and there’s no sign of a witch at all, but several of the human souls felt on the verge of emerging as kishin.” Her frown deepened at that. “And so many emergent kishin in one place definitely means a witch or warlock or something really powerful.”
“Maka,” her weapon interjected as she finally paused for a moment, “ breathe .” It was a reminder to slow down, since again, breathing here was actually unnecessary, and to his relief she took it, stopping her frantic pacing to plop back next to him on the bench.
Before his meister could begin to spiral, he offered. “We can at least get them a message, I’m pretty sure.”
Maka blinked up at him, which at least meant she’d listen. “How?”
“Soul Whisper,” he replied with a small shrug.
“Soul… Whisper? ” The slight tilt of her head nearly made him smile, but since it was hardly the time or place, rather than relish getting one over on her for once, he offered another sheepish little shrug.
“Yeah. Been working on it with Stein, and I can, uh, manage it, and it shouldn’t get us noticed. Probably.” His hand found the back of his hair, scratching nervously. “But it can get a message to everyone.”
“How?” While her mouth held a neutral line, his meister’s eyes bright green eyes practically shone in anticipation, though Soul could also feel a thin thread of annoyance at her weapon for keeping her in the dark about training , of all things, that he found inappropriately satisfying.
“Weeeeellll, I can use Arachne’s threads-”
“Your threads,” she cut him off, refusing to give the witch credit.
“Sure, my threads.” He suppressed a tiny smile of equally misplaced amusement. “To send a whisper straight into their ears. It worked with Kid earlier, and I’ve practiced it a ton with Stein, so I’m pretty sure I can pull it off. Plus,” he added, then paused, his tiny smile widening into a smirk.
“Plus?” Her eyebrows reached her hairline.
“Well, it’s not like we’ve got a better option, ya?”
Maka laughed, probably because it was that or cry, nodding her agreement. “Right.” After a tense pause, she blurted, “Wait, where’s the Oni lurking?” her head swiveling, as if on the hunt.
This elicited a half shrug. “Around,” Soul sounded bored at that. “He tends to avoid you.”
“Ah, yeah. That makes sense.” It was her turn to look sheepish. Honestly, this was getting them nowhere fast, so he tried to put them back on the path to, hopefully, victory. Or at least survival.
“So, what message? And I should be clear,” he added, trying to ignore the feeling of inadequacy that smacked him hard and fast, “It’s one way only. They won’t be able to respond.”
Snapping back into meister mode, all business, Maka straightened, looking instantly thoughtful. “I’m not sure. If it’s one way, it means we need to make… some sort of plan,” she began.
“And it needs to account for them maybe being dead in the water,” Soul added.
“That, too,” she agreed. “So, I guess we just tell them when we make our move and to stand by, and hope we find the witch before then so we can attack?”
Well, there was a Maka plan if ever there was one - seek and destroy did tend to be her style - but he had the sneaking suspicion escaping for backup was likely the better option here, and ventured as much, even knowing how loathe his meister would be to leave with so many civilians at risk.
“If we can’t find the witch, there’s shit to attack, and if the witch is more than we can take, attacking is suicide. So we might need to-”
“I won’t run.” Her chin was jutting out, stubborn, anticipating. “How can we leave-”
“Only if there’s no other option, Maka.” He grabbed the hand she was twisting into her voluminous skirts methodically. “So we can contact Lord Death and get backup, then come back and kick ass .”
“Only if we can’t find the witch.” It was her final compromise, and Soul supposed he should just be glad she’d conceded that much.
“Only if we can’t find the witch,” Soul agreed.
He squeezed her hand for emphasis then let it go. “I think we should move at midnight. The sounding of the clock should last a while, so it’ll be our best shot. We can tell the others we move at midnight and to follow our lead if they can, and we try to find the source before then, and, uh, yeah…” he trailed off, because that was really all there was.
“Then we have a plan!” she said with another far too enthusiastic clap of the hands for emphasis.
“Yeah, I guess we have a plan.”
The nervous head scratch returned, because while Soul had long since done the calculations in his head that it was the best chance they had, it was still a really shitty plan and they both knew it.
---
Midnight came both too fast and too slow for either of their comfort.
Too fast because they still had seen no trace of a witch’s soul - too slow because they were trapped in his soul space with little but nervous anticipation for comfort, and trying very hard not to mind too closely just how frankly obscene their involuntary gyrations had become in the outside world, the ballroom music having been dropped in favor of faster yet sensuous numbers, and the accompanying compulsion resulting in dance moves that looked far more like they belonged in the bedroom than the ballroom. While Soul could, and even had in a dream or three, imagine a scenario with his meister in which this would be absolutely welcome, this definitely wasn’t even nearling such a situation, and it was the best he could do to simply ignore it. Since Maka said absolutely nothing about it, and he could feel a solid thread of mortification along with a whole jumble of indeterminate feeling she herself was shoving down, he guessed she was in a similar enough place that she wasn’t actively Maka chopping him for what was currently beyond both of their control.
Dread and relief flooded him, flooded them both, at the beginning of the elaborate set of chimes that marked the start of a new day, the tone loud and hollow and utterly ominous, because it was finally time .
Yet, before Soul could transform, before they were even fully grounded in the here and now , the lights darkened within the ballroom and a spotlight shone, illuminating a figure in the center of the now cleared dance floor, a good thirty feet away. Soul had noticed her once before out of the corner of his restricted gaze because her costume, with a sleek black dress and massive, elaborate, golden headpiece simply stood out in the same way their own outfits did among the more mundane finary. Of course, hers wasn’t the only one that stood out, there were a smattering of others not of their own party, which is why it had failed to raise his suspicion, but the fact all eyes now turned to her amidst the ominously loud chiming and that she had donned a bright red mask in the shape of a skull screamed that she was their target.
The woman spoke, arms flung wide, voice projecting and echoing oddly over the chiming of the clock, which was currently filling the room with a discordant tune that would have felt right at home in his own soul space.
“And now, my children!” she declared, gaze rising to the ceiling. “We truly celebrate!”
Soul less heard than felt the thrum of strong magic as she visibly released her Soul Protect in a flash, and he transformed amidst Maka’s shout of, “ it’s her!”, resting in his meister’s hands in a way that was both instinctual and right even as she began to charge forward, their resonance flaring strong and bright. Maka’s Soul Perception was equally bright, and it became instantly obvious that this witch was really, really fucking strong.
An ear piercing shout of “Yahoo Buckaroo!” from far across the room, loud enough to rise above the maddening cacophony of the clock, told them they wouldn’t be fighting alone, at least, as Maka began to draw on their resonance to release Witch Hunter, deciding on speed over strength for the first attack.
As their shared power built to a crescendo, the witch’s gaze turned towards them, and her just visible mouth contorted as she shrieked, “ Deathscythe! ” The reality that she noticed their presence far later than Soul could have hoped, even in his most wishful thinking, was perhaps a product of the intricacies required to maintain this entire dog and pony show she’d set up to some as yet mysterious end. Whatever the case, he tried to ignore the ominously scarlet energy gathering at her fingertips as Maka finally unleashed Witch Hunter.
What exactly happened next would remain a mystery ever after, one that would be whispered of in the halls of the DWMA for sometime to come - the tale of the mysterious red masque of death - though none involved could offer any answers, no matter how many times they were questioned.
In truth, it was sheer chaos.
As Witch Hunter hurtled towards the witch in question, as her own scarlet energy exploded, as the Deathscythe both saw and sensed the powerful blast coming from Kid’s Death Cannon along with a shadow energy attack that could only have come from Star, the resultant explosion was both spectacular and contained, as incoming and outgoing blasts collided, and the scattered civilians regained enough of themselves to shriek and flee in panic as far from the energy exploding where the masked figure had just stood as they could possibly scramble in mere seconds.
The clock clanked to a loud, horrendous, earsplitting stop as it began to crack and crumble off the wall in chunks, as the light and smoke and dust of the massive explosion of energy in the center of the room finally dissipated to reveal only a single, shiny, garsh red skull mask left behind in the middle of the fifteen foot crater that had once been the center of the immaculate dancefloor.
The resultant hush was deafening, as everyone, meisters and weapons, humans and death gods alike all gaped at the crater. Then, everything just - exploded into a frenzy again as a voice that clearly belonged to Black*Star bellowed an impossibly loud, “what the actual fuck?” and the civilians seemed to recall their own fear, shrieking, screaming, yelling, running, and just generally getting the hell out of Dodge now that they actually could .
For herself, Maka just stood and stared at the hole and mask both, her scythe still in her hands, shortly joined by Kid, who landed next to them, guns in hand, also staring with a frown at their joint handiwork.
Before Star managed a landing, Maka quietly offered, “she’s gone,” frowning.
Kid nodded his concurrence, and at some unspoken agreement, Liz and Patti transformed to similarly stare down at the eerie mask, shortly followed by Star, who flipped into place on the other side of Maka, Tsubaki transforming to stand beside him.
“That’s seriously it? ” The shadow weapon meister looked disappointed. “All that build up and just - fucking gone ?”
Transforming himself, the Deathscythe scoffed at his friend’s near pout when he himself was just fucking glad they hadn’t become witch food, though it was strange. Yet, their resonance still hot, he could sense what his meister could, and the witch was definitely just… gone. All that was left was the mask, still and soulless and shining ominously.
Really, Soul thought to himself as he listened, first, to Kid and the Thompsons recount being forced into game after game of Whist, and then, Black*Star marvel at the quality of food he’d been forced to stuff his face with, Tsubaki at his side, with Maka finishing off with a harrowing tale of their unending dance of death, they were damned lucky to be alive. That witch seemed far and away too strong to go down so quickly and completely without even a trace of her soul, which meant she may not actually have gone down at all.
The fact that Kid and Maka ended up having to hold Star back bodily from touching the cursed item before their teachers arrived, since, as Kid had put it, the thing was saturated in dark magic energy, only leant to the legend that would emerge around the mask, as did the fact neither witch nor mask were ever seen thereafter.
Some even say the mask lays in wait in the deepest vaults beneath the DWMA for the curious and foolish, darkly hoping for a new master to rejoin the mysterious red masque of death.