The shadows writhed unnaturally.

Maka stood at the far end of the ruined nave, her hands loose at her sides. Her pigtails were damp with sweat, swaying with each twitch of her shoulders. Her face—what remained of it—was obscured by streaks of black blood webbing across her cheeks and brow like cracked porcelain. Her eyes no longer looked like hers.

They were wide. Unblinking. Drenched in some untouchable frenzy.

“What..” you breathed out, unsure whether you were speaking to her or to something long gone.

She smiled. It was not warm. It was not human. “You’re scared,” she said, her voice far too calm to match the tremble in your legs. “That’s what’s different. That’s what makes this exciting.” You didn’t reply. You couldn’t. Your legs were locked in place as she took a step forward, and the sound of her boots on cracked tile echoed through the underground of the DWMA like a countdown.

Maka laughed — light, lilting, wrong. “I don’t feel anything. That’s the beauty of it.” Her head tilted slightly. “No shame. No guilt. No hesitation.” She reached behind her and pulled her scythe, Soul, from her back in one fluid motion. “And definitely no fear.”

The blade screeched as it sliced the air, black veins pulsing along its edge.

You dodged on instinct, barely managing to throw yourself aside before the ground exploded behind you — shattered stone and dust rising in a bloom of violence. The force of it sent you tumbling, shoulder-first into a pillar. It hurt. Everything hurt.

“Stop, I don’t know how to deal with this!” You exclaim shakily.

“No.” Her footsteps echoed closer. “It’s me without the chains. It’s me, perfected.”

She lunged again — too fast. You raised your arm just in time, but her blow knocked you clear across the room. Your ribs screamed. You couldn’t breathe.

And then— Silence.

You blinked up at the ceiling, disoriented. You didn’t even hear her move until her shadow fell across your chest. She was crouched over you now. Her fingers gripped your collar, yanking you upward until your faces were just inches apart. “You flinch when I touch you.” Her tone was detached, clinical, like she was studying a lab rat. “Isn’t that funny? You fought so hard to be close to me, and now that I’m here… you tremble.”

You couldn’t help it. You did tremble.

Her head tilted again. She seemed fascinated. “Do you think if I kill you, I’ll finally feel something again?”