Chapter Text
It's been three years since the Kishin Asura was defeated, and everything has been fine. The Death Scythes have all gone back to their normal positions, though Marie still visits often to see Stein and Crona. Classes have gone back to normal, with a new teacher in the likes of Mifune who accepted the teaching offer to keep his charge safer with promised protection from Lord Death. Unfortunately though, peace is hard to keep, and it seems the great old one wasn't so easy to get rid of as they thought, after all a reaper soul is hard to be rid of permanently…
“Ugh, Maka, why are we even all the way out here anyways? This is no place for a cool guy like me. The only thing out here anymore are ruins, arachnophobia was cleared out… What's wrong?” Soul pauses his complaining as Maka stops walking, looking off into the distance. She brought them here for some sort of closure after recurring nightmares about the kishin fight, hoping to silence some of the nagging doubts and fears that surfaced after the death of Asura. Just to make sure that he's really gone. That everything is the way the academy left it. Judging by Maka’s expression though… it's not the way they left it.
“Soul… there's… the kishin!” Maka yells, startled as she recognizes the same wavelength they fought years ago. Although now somehow it feels… wrong. Smaller. “He feels… weaker now… Come on Soul, we beat him once we can beat him again!” She continues, prompting Soul to turn into a scythe as she runs to find the kishin.
“Maka, are you sure about this!?” Soul questions, now looking out at her through the blade of his scythe. Even as he himself hesitates, he'll always go along with her, even if it is just to protect his meister. The only answer he receives is a self assured nod from the girl as she runs into the ruins to seek out the kishin. They defeated him once, yes, but that was with Black Star and Death the Kid. They nearly died, they could’ve died so easily.
Yet, it's surprisingly quiet as they approach where Maka senses the soul and surprisingly… unmaddening. No hallucinations or madness tug at their psyche. Nothing lunging at them or lurking in the shadows. Yet a strong sense of fear permeates the air, almost tangibly so, sickly and sweet and raw. The ruins of Baba Yaga castle have been largely left to simply be reclaimed by time, anything of note or interest having been taken by the academy after the battle, and the nature of the amazon was left to reclaim what was once the homebase of a powerful organization. So as the weapon meister pair traverse deeper into the ruins, the small signs of life surprise them.
Scratches on the wall in one area that almost hold an abstract art look to them, like something made by a bored child.
Remnants of a small fire, remnants of previous attempts to make a fire too.
Dried mud tracked from outside, mud that was played in judging by the splattering.
“Maka… There's something off about this. Are you sure that it's actually the kishin you're feeling?” Soul questions, eyes caught on a splash of mud where it looks like small hands wiped through the mess, finger painting and playing as small hands are known to do. To one who can’t see souls like him, there’s no sign of a kishin, or even a kishin egg. All the signs point to something young. Something small. Something… Innocent? The only thing even hinting to the thought of a kishin is the sense of fear that permeates the air. Maka slows her pace, her eyes catching on much the same as Soul’s did, wondering the same herself. “Im… I'm sure it’s the kishin, it’s the same soul, but you’re right... This doesn’t feel right, but it doesn't feel like a trap either.”
A small gasp and a sound reminiscent of bare feet slapping against stone draw the pair's attention towards a hallway, Maka snaps her head towards the sound and starts to follow down the hall, slower now and keeping on alert. As the two make their way down the hall, they can faintly hear the panicked breathing at the end of the hall and the feeling of fear in the air grows stronger, pulling at their own minds and squeezing their chests. The hall ends in rubble. A dead end. A dead end with a single soul at the end.
A soul full of fear, small, trembling, dirty, and curled up under clothes too big.
“No, that… That makes no sense. That can’t be the kishin. That’s… a child. A scared child.” Maka murmurs, prompting Soul to leave his weapon form, standing with his hands shoved deep in his pockets as he watches the child, barely aware of his partner looking around for something, anything, reflective enough to be called a mirror. “Maka. What are we going to do? That’s the kishin right? We can't hurt a child, that’d be uncool.”
“No we can’t… He’s so scared too.” Maka responds as she pulls a pocket mirror from her pocket, normally she doesn’t like to use it to contact Lord Death as it’s small, but in a situation like this. A small mirror is just as good as any floor length mirror. After all, it still allows the meister to call Lord Death so she can show him the situation.
“Hi! Hi! Hello! Maka, did you need something? How goes the soul collecting?” A goofy voice calls out from the small handheld mirror, prompting a whimper from the being huddled under the clothing, afraid of the new voice, afraid of everything about the situation. It doesn't even hear the words as Maka explains the situation to Lord Death, only peeking out from the clothing when it hears, “Oh my, I don't believe I've ever seen you this small Asura. Almost makes me miss when Kid was young."