Mulleb: *Smiling* Hello, here's a second fanfic. This is just a little something I wanted to try out. Oh one moment. *Shouting* Sistine, where the doctor and his equipment! He should had be here hours ago.

Sistine: *Pocking her head into the room a phone up to her ear* Seem like he out sick today.

Mulleb: Go to plan B and fetch Red. And call in Maka and Crona. *After an okay she left and taking her place were the two meisters* There the two of you. Ready for the story.

Maka: *Shrug* I guess, but why did you call us in.

Mulleb: For a blood transfusion. *Get blanks stares* What? The title say it all. This story is about you and Crona switching lives and last I check. The demon swordsman has black blood. *Both made a run for it, but Mulleb grabbed them the collars* Oh no you don't.

Crona: But I don't know how to deal with a blood transfusion. *Maka nodded in agreement*

Sistine: *Came in with Red* He right in here talking to... need some help.

Mulleb: Yes, please.

*Sistine walk up to the two touching them lightly with an electrical charge to knock them out. Several hours later*

Maka: I don't feel so good.

Mulleb: Sorry about that, but it took a lot of blood thinners to keep the black blood from clotting. As for you Crona enjoy not having someone live in you for a short while. As for the readers, enjoy the read. Oh, before I forget the characters will be OOC but still be in character. It a little difficult to explain so just read.

P.S: With the help of Hinata0321 this chapter had been edited.

Chapter One

Soft footsteps echoed through Death City Hospital's hallways. One of its doctors was making her way somewhere, a box folded under her arm. A woman of average build, her dark, spiky blond hair was dull in the moonlight coming from the long, narrow windows. Her free hand was idly twisting a long strand of entwined hair over her chest. Yellow eyes were deep in thought as they looked at the black-glossed fingernails adorned with bright yellow arrows.

She wore the standard doctor's outfit, an open white lab coat over a black shirt. Black pants stained with a little blood on the legs stopped right above her ankles, allowing shiny black shoes to gleam in the moonlight.

The hallway she was in held a theme to mirror that of the rest of the Gothic city. Its high arching ceilings were supported by tan walls. Long, narrower windows tinted a little by the years filtered in a slightly brown light. Tile floor had been cleaned with bleach and other disinfectants that added their smells to the air. Along with posters promoting health, pictures of famous doctors, benefactors, and Death himself hung from the walls.

All in all it was one of the woman's favorite places to be – though not for the reason most people would have imagined. It was a shame that she would have to leave this institute of pain and research, but she had bigger plans involving the world. Adding in what she was about to do, it would be best if she left town for a little while. Peering out of a window, she looked at the moon; its crazed, toothy grin had blood pouring down, dripping somewhere off in the horizon. If she had her way the world would soon have a similar attitude.

"Good evening, Doctor Medusa," said a voice that pulled her out of her trance. She cursed herself for being careless. Janitors were always a nuisance she had endured over the years. The janitor in front of her showed what the worst of human lives could produce. An average sized man possessing greasy hair and a little brain wore a light blue shirt with jeans. In hand he had a mop and at his feet a bucket full of soapy water. In good humor he said, "Making sure that your patients are healthy before taking off for the night? Don't worry, haven't had to clean up a corpse yet."

Forcing out a laugh she said, smiling, "That's nice to hear. I heard that your kids had been getting into trouble." She couldn't care less for this small talk, but she had built the illusion of being a caring person. Sickening, but people lowered their guard easily enough before a friendly smile and a warm voice.

"Teens will be teens," he said, returning her smile. "All we can do is hope we did our best to turn them into fine adults."

As fine as any idiotic human can be. "I guess so."

"Speaking of kids, how did it go?"

She had momentarily forgotten that the news of her pregnancy was so widespread. Gossip of who the father was had been going around since the telltale bulge first appeared and betrayed the secret. Just a few days ago she gave birth to a son. He was too weak for what she had planned for him, but opportune coincidence had given her what she needed. "A healthy boy," she said, feigning motherly enthusiasm.

"The first born is usually the special one," said he with a wink as he went back to cleaning.

Feeling that this man had worn out his welcome, she said, "I guess, but I should really be going now. Need to clear out my office." Dashing by, she kept to a fast pace until he was out of sight. "Let's get this over with," she grumbled in annoyance.

After several more minutes of walking the maze-like halls she came upon a section of the hospital she rarely visited; she'd never had reason to do so before. Using memory from a map she'd borrowed she navigated until she came to her destination. Even in the dim light she could discern the bold, black letters, 'Nursery,' on the translucent window.

Digging keys out of her lab coat pocket, she flipped through them and with a smirk jammed the right one into the lock. With a turn of the key she was in. Inside the room were cradles in a nicely arranged fashion, facing a window for the new parents and relatives to view. Each infant's gender was indicated by a blue or pink blanket, while a tag on their wrists confirmed who they belonged to.

Right now all of them were asleep, which Medusa was happy for. Last thing she needed was for one of the little brats to bring a nurse a running. Going to the front row she carefully searched through the newborns, scanning for the right one. Finding the girl she wanted, she checked the nametag just to be sure it was the one she desired.

"Maka Albarn…" she said, tasting the name. "Not a bad name, little one."

The sleeping form of the blond haired girl peacefully sucking her thumb took no notice of the person speaking to her. "But let's take care of that Albarn, shall we?" Balancing the box on the edge of the cradle, she removed the lid to reveal a sleeping boy wrapped in a blanket, a fuzz of pink hair just dusting his head. The nametag around his wrist identified him as Crona Gorgon.

Carefully, without waking either of the two, she replaced the girl with the boy.

"Goodbye, Crona," she crooned as she slipped the lid back onto the box. "Enjoy your meaningless life." The boy wriggled a little, but did not wake.

As silently as she'd come, she locked the door behind her and was soon out of the hospital, on her way home. She felt it was one of those days worth treating herself.

Normally, stealing a newborn that was only a few days into this world wasn't a good idea. Being able to nurse the child herself would suffice for that minor problem.
Since the child was the progeny of a death scythe and a powerful meister, the risk, she believed, was well worth taking. Either way, in time she would find out if the girl had been worth it or not. With that thought mulling darkly in her head she set off toward the desert, a box folded under her arm, neither she nor the girl to be heard of again for many years.

Humming to himself, the new father was walking up to the nursery to take another glimpse of his daughter. In his late teens-early twenties, the tall redhead sported a red shirt with blue jeans and tennis shoes. He was in a good mood, for everything seemed to be thanking him for his new role. When he left his house that morning the sun was high in the sky, accompanied by puffy white clouds and an uncommonly cool but welcome breeze. His wife was in good condition and as excited as he was. Lord Death had given him the day off and Stein had sent his good will. To put the icing on all this, he now got to see the cute nurses again.

Strolling up to the observing window, he peered in and looked around. After a few good scans of the room he went over to a counter and asked the young woman,

"Excuse me, beautiful, but I'm just wondering if you moved my child somewhere else." She asked him for the child's name, gender, and what its parents' names were.

"That would be Maka Albarn, girl, and Spirit and Kami Albarn."

Looking through the computer and a list in front of her, she told him his child should be in there. With an eyebrow quirked he said, "Can you please point her out to me?" She agreed to show him and at the window she pointed to a crib at the far right. He frowned. "Um, I'm no doctor, but that isn't my daughter." Not convinced, she said if it made him happy she would check herself just to make sure.

As he watched the woman enter the room, Spirit at that moment knew today gifts were either pitiful attempts to lessen the blow or a twisted way of taunting. As the woman picked up the child his theory was confirmed; a bewildered expression appeared on her face. When she tried to assure him that nothing was wrong he spoke plainly, his voice devoid of emotion. "Find her now. If this is a sick joke, I want the damn bastard responsible for it. If not then I'd like to know who took my baby so Ican rip them to shreds."

Not eager to experience the wrath of a death scythe, she hurried to a phone behind the counter and asked if anyone knew where the girl was. As minutes passed it became clearer and clearer that no one had a clue where she was. Spirit stood there, still as a rock as the world around him rolled into a panic. The only almost coherent thoughts on his mind were how he was going to explain this to Kami.

It took a little while for the news to reach his wife, but when it did she leapt out of bed and stormed her way into the administrator's office. Sinking her teeth into the first person she saw, she verbally assaulted the secretary, demanding to speak to whoever was in charge of this, in her own words, flea-ridden rat hole. Weathering her attack, the man calmly said to her that she shouldn't be out of her room. This served only to get her more riled up, increasing the onslaught of colorful vocabulary.
A half an hour of this later the secretary gave in and allowed her to take a shot at his boss – or a bomb, it should be said, for she redoubled her assault on the poor woman. Seeing that mother bear ready to kill, she told her in the nicest way possible that they would do their best to locate her child. It wouldn't help to go on the attack if all that had happened was a little mix-up. At last persuaded to go back to her room, an exhausted Kami had no choice but to leave them to handle it, no matter how desperately she wanted to go look for herself.

After a day of investigation, two things came up. One was that the child was abducted at some time during the previous night. By whom they couldn't say without proof, but with a janitor's testimony it seemed the primary suspect was one Dr. Medusa Gorgon. A respected if unremarkable employee, she had been working for the hospital for the past ten years. She was a person who loved to help others and could be counted on in emergencies. She was also the last person seen going toward the nursery, with a box under her arm large enough to hide a newborn in.

The second discovery made was that the good doctor had made a trade. For the girl she'd given her own little boy, Crona Gorgon. This child was currently being held in Spirit's arms as he walked up to his wife. Lying on a bed covered in sheets, she looked ten years older just then. Her short, brownish-blond hair was a mess and emerald eyes red from dried up tears. A few small scars complemented her wide, round face, though there was a new one within that could not be seen. In a white hospital gown, her slender frame held moderately sized breasts.

Staring up at the bundle her husband had, she said blankly, "That isn't her."

"No," said Spirit, taking a seat right beside the bed. "This is Dr. Medusa's child. For whatever reason she took ours and left her own behind." She kept staring at the bundle, seemingly asking it for some type of explanation. "Kami, there's a full scale search going on right now. They are doing the best they can, but things look grim. The good doctor hasn't left any trace hinting toward where she went. Her office was cleaned out and the apartment she lived in showed no signs of her returning to it."
Getting a glare from his wife, he sighed. "Look, I'm not saying that we should give up. I'm saying we should consider our options." By silent communication she reached out to grab the bundle and look onto the child's face. With it held close to her chest she peered down at the small, peaceful, sleeping form. The first thing she noticed was its pink hair. "It's a boy," Spirit clarified to make sure she didn't get the wrong notion. "He's about the same age as… as Maka."

"Does he have a name?" she asked as she brushed aside a few delicate strands of hair.


"Crona Albarn," she said, taking a liking toward the idea. "He can't replace her."

"I know."

With a fond smile she stroked the babe's head, saying, "You did wish for a son."

"I know," he said, lowering his gaze, "but not like this."

Before she could reply Crona's eyelids flickered open. With a yawn he looked about, taking in his surroundings. "Hello, Crona," said Kami, placing a finger in front of him.

"Are you hungry?" Looking up to the origin of the voice, his dark blue eyes stared at the woman beside him. She placed her finger in his hand, and he clasped. Tugging on it, he kept on staring as if uncertain what to do.

"Why would anyone abandon you…?" she asked as she placed a kiss on his forehead. "Worst thing a mother could do."

Managing to chuckle a little, Spirit said, "Guess that means we're keeping him." Being optimistic he added, "When Maka gets back, she'll have a brother."

"That would be nice," said Kami as renewed hope put a grin on her face.

For months they searched – all in vain. There was no sign of either the woman or the girl. As months faded into years, all but the parents truly gave up. They knew that the chances of recovering her were slim. That didn't mean they couldn't send out letters to friends and family to keep an eye out. So while they waited for any news of the girl, life dragged on.

As soon as possible they adopted Crona and cared for him as if he was their own flesh and blood. As he grew older he showed signs of being different from the other children. His hair aside, they noted a strange trait about his eyes. When he grew nervous or scared, the dark blue of his eyes would shrink from the gray hiding near his pupils. He was always tall for his age, easily being the height of the next oldest age group. Yet he had a thin frame with a small bone build, making him an easy target for bullies.

It didn't help much that he was timid, gentle, and kind by nature. He wouldn't dare to lift a finger, for he wished no ill to others. His parents worried that he would never stand up for himself, causing him to withdraw into a shell. Their worries were relieved when the timid boy somehow made friends with a blue headed, hyperactive egoist.

One day Crona was minding his own business, playing on a swing set in the park with Spirit watching over him. Several older kids thought it would be smart to pick on him by pushing him off the swing and harassing him. Seeing that his kid was being tormented, Spirit got up to shoo the others away when a blue blur came barreling out of nowhere. Dust was thrown up and several seconds later, as the dust settled, the adoptive son of Sid was left standing there on top of the bullies, boasting of how he'd saved the defenseless girl from these villains.

Grateful, though a little insulted at being called a girl, Crona thanked the loud boy and asked what his name was. The boy proudly shouted it out, a name he recognized immediately. Having seen him on several occasions, Crona had stayed his distance because he was so loud. Now that he had helped him, however, he thought to ask Black*Star if they could be friends. To his delight the boy accepted, though Crona did need to inform him he wasn't a girl.

Except for the rare times Black*Star called him a girl, they got along pretty well. The hyperactive boy would often lead them on some quest to prove how awesome he was, while Crona would go along with it. Spirit and Kami agreed that it was good for their son to have found a friend, and allowed them to play together as long as Black*Star didn't get too aggressive.

Due to his friendship with the egoist, Crona's own ego received a good kind of boost. With Black*Star around to encourage and tell him how great he was (of course, not as great as the egoist himself), his confidence grew. He lost much of his shyness and became more outgoing. He still, however, was more of an introverted person.
As he matured it became obvious to the scythe meister and death scythe that their son's soul was strong, and so they asked him when he was old enough if he would like to enroll in the Death Weapons Meister Academy, better known as the DWMA . At first the boy was uncertain, for he didn't feel he was up to the task the unique school offered. After some chatting with his friend, who he learned was also going, he gave a positive yes.

Fifteen years from the night of the exchange, after all this had passed, Crona was sitting in the Silver Moon Classroom drawing on a piece of paper as he listened to the instructor's lecture. A tall young man, he towered easily over most of his classmates. Thin as a post, though, he hadn't gained any width. His hair was long, thick, and shaggy, cut up in a jagged fashion.

He wore a white, long sleeved shirt with an open black vest over it. Black jeans covering his lower half were held up by a black leather belt with a Shinigami skull buckle. On his feet were the black boots with white cuffs that he usually liked to wear.

What should have been notes were nothing more than doodles. He didn't know why, but he found it easier for him to learn the subjects by drawing them out. Just now he had a stick figure holding a scythe ambushing a kishin from behind. Below that was an ice cream sundae. I should have eaten more of breakfast, he thought to himself.

Glancing aside to take his mind off food, he checked on his weapon partner. Snoring away, Soul Eater was lying on the desk with his head on his arms. In his usual attire of yellow-sleeved black jacket, brown pants, and headband, Crona reckoned he should have been roasting in this hot weather. As a matter of fact it could be noted the albino was failing the class as we speak. The sun must have fried his brain.

Deciding not to wake him, Crona returned to his doodles thinking little of anything until the teacher said, "Crona, what's the best way to track down a kishin?" Glancing up at the teacher seated in a rolling chair, he put on a faint smile. Professor Stein – best meister ever to graduate from the academy, and sane manic – was once again trying to get him to slip up.

Dressed in a lab coat, a dark shirt, and pants lined with stitches, he was a little smug. One of his hands was cranking the large screw sticking out of his head. Stitches ran down his face, from his messy gray hairline across the bridge of his nose and to the right side of his chin. Neutral gray eyes peered at his student through glasses.
This wasn't at all unusual. Stein sometimes amused himself by requiring a zoned-out student to tell him what he'd been talking about. Crona, on the other hand, was always ready with a good remark. The only reason Stein asked was to try to get him to trip up at least once.

Truthfully, Crona enjoyed parrying the crafty teacher's attacks. Putting his pencil down, he answered, "Best way would be to gather information on the target. Even soul perception only works if the soul wavelength is easily detectible. In a small area finding kishin is somewhat easy, but in a much broader field asking around is the best way. By learning when, where, and how frequently it attacks the search can be narrowed down – hopefully letting you find the kishin before it can consume more souls."

"That is correct," said Stein with a smile. Ringing of the school bell put his lecture on hold. "Class is over for the day." Lighting a cigarette, he leaned back in his chair, taking a deep breath of smoke. "Remember," he said as he exhaled, "to study for the test on Friday, and tomorrow we are doing another dissection. You're dismissed." With that said the students got out of their chairs and rushed for the door.

Waking Soul by lightly knocking him on the head, Crona said, "Class is over. You can stop faking death now."

As Soul's eyelids slowly parted, blood red eyes lazily glanced over to his meister. Sitting up, he stretched his arms and said, "Alright, give me a moment." Getting to his feet he asked, "What'd I miss?"

"I'll fill you in when we get home." Leading the way out, they were stopped at the door by a bright pink-haired girl.

"Hey Crona," asked Kim Diehl as she blockaded the doorway. "Do you mind helping me with my homework?" Green eyes pleaded as she put on a sweet smile. In a light green sweater, green skirt, a collar, and high black socks she ignored Ox Ford as he tried to offer his assistance.

Shrugging, Crona said, "I don't have anything planned this afternoon." Turning to Soul he asked, "Is there anything I'm forgetting?" His partner shook his head. "Okay, where should we go?"

"School library," she said, grabbing him by his wrist, "right now." Being dragged on his heels, Crona tried to tell her he needed to do something first, but she chose not to notice.

As Soul watched the two leave, a very disappointed Ox asked, "Why won't she ask me for help? I'm the smartest person in this school." Outfitted in a white dress shirt, black sweater vest, tie, shoes, and belt, he had a particular look. Bald except for the two peculiar prongs of hair shaped in horns, he also had thick glasses with shields on their sides.

Rolling his eyes, Soul said, "Probably. But unlike you, Crona isn't going to badger her if she gets something wrong. That, and he won't be begging for a date every five minutes." That was one thing Soul found a little strange about his partner. He doesn't seem to have much of an interest in the opposite sex.

He knew perfectly well that his partner was not a girl. Whenever he joked about it was the only time the level headed boy would erupt into a quiet form of anger. Yet, he did wonder sometimes if he was straight. Being his partner he should know, but Crona was more than willing to keep things to himself. Then again, it could be he hadn't mentally gotten to that point yet. The closest Soul had ever seen him to being perverted was looking at a hot chick the way one would look at a piece of art. Admire its beauty, but do nothing else with it.

"Besides," he said as he walked away, "this is Crona we're talking about. You're getting upset over nothing."

"Yeah," admitted Ox once the albino was gone. "I'm being irrational about it." Strolling down the hall, he failed to notice that the direction Kim had headed was for town, not the library.

In New York City the inhabitants switch modes as the night falls. In a city that never sleeps, those of the day slink off for home while the nocturnal animals go out for excitement. It also was the time when the predators emerged to prey on the weak and unfortunate. One of their favorite places, locked in by skyscrapers, was Central Park.

The last refuge for nature and real darkness remaining on the island, during the day the place was like any other park. Large old trees stood over the grass that was so rare a sight in the cement jungle. Rocks and boulders of different sizes and colors protruded from the earth or lay in clusters. Large bodies of water were sprawled throughout the park. Sidewalks broke through the grass, while benches lined the sidewalks.
Day kept the worst of the scum in their place, leaving the people to enjoy what the park had to offer. Their time was the night, for the scenery provided excellent cover to skulk in. Anyone who happened to venture into the park during dark hours risked being mugged or killed. If that someone happened to be female then rape was a only too much a possibility.

To two low lives, it would seem they were going to have some fun tonight. Hiding behind some bushes, the pair of well-dressed men watched as a rather tall girl walked on by, oblivious to them and perfectly content in whatever world she was in. "Got a flat chest," whispered one of the men from behind a bushy mustache.
"Maybe, but she's pretty for a tall girl," said the other man with a black fedora hat that had a center dip crease. "She's young, too. Imagine what we can do with her."
His partner nodded his head in agreement, and they stood up from their position. Keeping to the shadows, they followed the girl for a short distance. She showed no signs of seeing them. They came up behind her when she tripped, falling onto her knees. With the little time it took her to get up, they closed in and the mustached one said, "Need some help?"

Getting a good look at her, their lust skyrocketed as they scanned her over. Long, tangled, brownish-blonde hair went halfway down her back. Arms thin to the point of bearing an anorexic slenderness extended from a black long-sleeved shirt, while her legs came out of a black-and-white striped skirt that fell to just above her knees. One hand wore a fingerless glove, while the other was bare. Both were now bleeding, and had they not been so caught up in their desires the men might have seen that the blood ran black as the deepest pitch.

As they bent over her to seize hold, the girl let out a giggle. "Sorry," she said. Twisting around on the balls of her feet, her arms snaked out, her hands snapping around the men's throats. Startled by the action they grabbed her wrists, trying to pry them off.

"Bloody Needle."
Two spikes of hardened blood pierced their necks, lodging with a twin crunch into the cervical vertebrae. As blood drowned them they got a glimpse of the girl's face. Two emerald eyes full of insane playfulness showed her inner workings, while her lips were upturned in a feral grin. Ripping the spikes out, she explained, "I'm already late for the party."

As the bodies collapsed onto the ground she saw the fedora hat fall from one's head. Reaching down for it, she plopped it onto her own. Forgetting the souls of the two recently dead, she walked over to a pool of water. Looking cheerily at her reflection, she twirled around a little and said, "Ragnarok, what do you think of my new hat?"
Sprouting from her back, a large, muscular black creature gave Maka a good whack on the side of her head. Turning her head to glare into the ping-pong ball eyes resting on either side of a large white x on its face she said, "Bad boy." Punching him right in the chin she watched with mild satisfaction as the massive body recoiled.

"Damn it, Maka!" exclaimed the demon, "Stop shopping for clothes or Medusa will punish us again."

"Ah, but I need the right outfit to go to the party." Ragnarok rolled his eyes as his meister admired herself. "Got to look my best," she said as she pushed aside a strand of hair. "Besides, Mom can go fuck a goat for all I care."

"Well," he said, pointing a gloved finger at the two floating souls, "can you at least hand me those?"

Sighing she said, "Fine." Going over to the souls, she shoved them into the demon's hands. Licking his lips – if he had any lips – he opened his mouth wide. Watching him swallow the two souls whole, Maka commented, "Didn't you already eat a hundred of those today?"

"Yeah, so?"

"Shouldn't your belly be all full?" As the girl placed her gloved handed on her chin, Ragnarok, for not the first time, wondered what the point of wearing them was if she cut a rectangular hole in its palm. "I mean, wouldn't you be like a balloon and keep getting bigger and bigger until you pop?"

"That's not how it works," said the demon, though he could see that she was already picturing it in her mind. A funny 'eww' came out of her mouth.

Maka, shouted Medusa's voice in her head. Why aren't you at the club yet?

"I got sidetracked, Mother," she said as she made her way out of the park.

How many times have I told you not to call me that!

"Three hundred twenty-two thousand six hundred and eighty-three," she said. With a grin she added, "Should we make that an eighty-four, Mom?"

Listen young lady. I don't keep you around to sass me. If this behavior doesn't stop I'll... Tuning out the witch's threats by filling her head with other thoughts, Maka said to

Ragnarok, "Mom wanted to say hi."

"What's she going to do this time?" asked the demon, feeling discouraged.

"The usual. Starvation, thirst, experimentation, leaving us..." The last part she paused on and just said, "You know. Nothing she hasn't already done."

"So who is talking? Maka, or one of her many personalities?"

Chuckling she replied, "Don't know. Ask for the host after the party." Sighing, the demon went back into his place, ready to stop his meister from doing anything plain out dumb.

Within the lit-up city Maka kept to the sidewalk, forcing herself to refrain from dashing into the buildings out of pure anxiety of being around so many people. The sidewalks were packed with pedestrians going this way and that. Many of them had an air of needing to get somewhere quickly. She wasn't afraid of them; actually she loved being part of the crazy waves of flesh. It was just that she had a hard time keeping herself from playing with them.

Surely they had better things to do than go beat up a few old geezers. Relieved when she turned into an alley, she made her way through the backstreets till she turned up in a rundown neighborhood. Feeling the pitiful mood of the place get to her, she quickly walked up to a rather nice looking place within the slums. Standing in front of the entrance to Gama's Bar of Pleasure was a huge black man dressed in a stain white shirt and greenish brown pants.

Trying to walk on by the guy she said, "Don't mind me. Just a prostitute arriving late for work."

Placing a hand on her shoulder he shoved her in front of him saying, "No can do, little girl. Run on home to mommy before I have to get ugly with you."
Frowning, she said, "Aw, but I want in."

Shaking his head he replied, "Get lost."

Turning her head to peer over her shoulder, she said, "Looks like the meanie won't let us in. Can you please move him aside?"

"Look, girl, I don't have time to..." His sentence was cut short as Ragnarok's massive form towered over him.

"Get lost, bastard," said the demon.

Hand darting for a pistol in his pocket, the guy kept a wary eye on the huge, humanoid form. "Don't say I didn't warn..." The gun slipped out of his hand, landing right in front of the girl as he went flying into a pile of trash.

Cracking his knuckles, the demon said, "Taught that asshole a lesson."

Smiling, Maka bent down and grabbed the gun. "Time to have some fun." Lowering it to her hip, she pushed aside the curtain that served as a door. Coughing, she entered the smoked filled building feeling ready to leave right then and there. The place was a bar combined with a brothel. Waitresses wearing very exposing clothing went around serving the tables. Once in a while one of them would take a man into a room to the side where strange sounds of moaning and pleasure could be heard. In the back was the bar, its tender currently talking to several men.

Tilting the front end of her hat down, she said with a maddening grin, "Showtime." Strolling up to the bar she could hear some lewd men yelling to her in the most inappropriate fashion. One of them went as far as to grab one of her cheeks. Nothing more than holding up the pistol made the guy flinch back. After her showing off the firearm, everyone in the room shushed up. Hands on handles of concealed guns, they watched as she neared the bar.

The guys on the tall stools were ignorant of her, so she took a seat between two of them. "What's your strongest drink?" she said coolly as she placed the gun on the counter.

Glancing between her and the gun, the middle-aged man with a balding head gave a shrug. "Miss, in here women either serve the customers or entertain them. I must ask that you leave at once."

"Aw, come on, Reg," said one of the men, his speech slurring from too many drinks. "A fresh face around here could do some good."

"Yeah," said a man beside her, reaching out to grab her ass. "Why not help her loosen up a little?"

Seeing the hand come near her, she glanced over to the man, her smile once again feral. In his drunken state he couldn't understand it. His buddies could, however, after she grabbed the gun and pointed it at him. A crack of the trigger and the bullet pierced his forehead, cutting straight down the middle, killing him instantly.
The sound of the gunfire drew all attention to her. Everyone who was armed pulled out their weapons, glaring at the loony girl. The person beside her who was a little slow said, "What the fuck was that..." Whipping the pistol around she double-tapped him, both shots cutting through the aorta. Before the guy beside him could lift his pistols she shot him down. Being the wisest of them all, the bartender ducked behind the counter.

Laughing maniacally, she turned around in her seat and pointed her lone gun against dozens of others. "Well, boys," she said, putting on her best mobster voice, "looks like only one of us is leaving here tonight. Sorry to tell you," –pointing the gun at herself, "–that would be me."

"Girl," shouted one of them, "you are deranged if you think you'll get out of here alive. With the Mafia, when you kill one of us you get to pay the price."

Humming while waving the pistol about, she didn't care they were insulted that she had zoned out. Coming to she said, sounding quite innocent, "Did you say something?" Pissed off, they pointed their pistols and Tommy guns and fired. Smug was her grin as she leaped off the stool to sail behind the counter. A hail of bullets vandalized the bar within seconds. Bottles of glass shattered, spewing liquid as the shards spilled onto the ground. Holes riddled the wood, sending huge splinters flying. After peppering it for a minute they stopped their fire to observe their work.

They watched for any sign of movement about the destruction, but seeing none they were convinced that no one could have survived. Most of them went back to what they were doing, while a couple of them checked to make sure she was dead. Tommy guns ready, they crept up to the bar. Peering over it, they searched over the mess to find the girl was gone. The bartender was cowering, scratched up, but there no sign of the girl.

"She's not here," shouted one of them. Women's screams from the other room were silenced by gunshots. Rushing over to the doorway, they reached it only to be cut down. A black broadsword with a single white strip running down the middle to large, bright red, inhuman lips sliced right through their rib cages. The hilt of the blade had several gray, spiked bands wrapped around it, and holding it in her right hand was a smiling girl.

Jumping onto their feet, the Mafia men opened fire as the waitresses ducked for cover. Grinning like a madwoman she rushed them, easily evading the shots as she danced her way from table to table. Around and around she went, dancing to the music only she could hear. Swinging the blade with ease she cut down her victims, paying no heed to the wounds inflicted on herself. Whenever a bullet struck her the black blood hardened on impact.

The sword's lips curled into a maddened smile as he watched the prey be slain. As madness took hold of his meister he could tell that right now she was too deep into her role to be stopped. Being a ruthless killer sent to finish off all who hinder her boss's plans, she smiled sharply as red sprays of blood splattered everywhere. Sickly red blood to her eyes. "Ha, ha," she cried with fake malice, but it sounded frighteningly real. "My blood is a pretty black, while your blood an ugly red," she sung out.
Falling back to the bar, they concentrated their fire on the girl in hopes of doing something, yet she advanced as if the bullets that were hitting her were nothing more than raindrops. Positioning Ragnarok in front of her to act as a shield, she tried to evade as many bullets as possible. They may not get too far into her skin, but it still felt like she was being stung by wasps.

Nearing those left standing she swung the sword in a wide arc, succeeding in opening one of them up – spilling his guts onto the floor. The others split up to surround her. One of them shot her in the back, a hit she did respond to. She flopped onto the counter; her hands drooped over its edge. Not taking chances, they unloaded their clips into her body. Only after they were empty did they move in closer to see if she was dead.
At first she was still, but she started to vibrate. Insane laughter bubbled from her lips as she rolled over and sat up with a lurch. Before they could get away she swiped the blade across their chests, bringing the rest down in one fatal swoop. Down they went, their last sight being that of a girl who could not stop laughing at their demise.

She laughed for a little while, unable to stop. She laughed and laughed until she was short of breath and crying bitter tears. Turning back into his charming self, Ragnarok waited for her to get through her fit. As he waited he surveyed the damage they'd done. Corpses of men and women littered the place; limbs were strewn far from their origins. A cocktail of blood and guts was pooling out among the destroyed tables and chairs, adding its mixture to the spilled alcohol. Fresh souls hovered over their remains, a tempting treat he couldn't enjoy until his meister calmed down.

When she settled down, he said, "Let's eat those souls and get something to drink." Turning back into his weapon form, he smiled as Maka slowly lifted the blade up. Not bothering to brace herself she watched with little interest as her partner's screams drew all the souls into his mouth, sending her staggering back. This done, she turned her head to look at the lone survivor of her attack.

Sliding off the counter and onto the stool, she faced the trembling bartender and said with a cheerful smile, "Now, about those drinks?"

"You can have anything you want," he said quickly at a whimper as he scanned what remain of his stock.

"I'll have something nonalcoholic, while Ragnarok here will have a shot of everything that isn't on the floor."

"Yeah," shouted the demon as he reappeared on her back, "and be quick about it."

Not wanting to die here, he quickly got something together and handed the glasses to the two. Maka took one glance at the water before drinking it. Ragnarok swallowed his cocktail in one gulp before setting the glass back down. Content with himself, he went back into his meister's body while Maka got several more drinks.
Once done, she got up and nodded her head slightly to the man. "Have a good day," she called back as she left, walking out as if nothing of what she'd done had just happened.

Mulleb: Well, hope you like it and before anyone start shooting me... *Hide behind bullet proof glass*

Crona and Maka: *Destroying bullet proof glass with new weapon partners and shouting* What do you do to us?

Mulleb: I knew I should had disappear and let Sistine take care of this. *Sigh* Oh well, let me explain. *Sistine appear with a psychology textbook* Thank you. *Looking through it he came to the chapter he wanted* Okay, normally I feel if I need to explain myself I'm not doing well enough when it come to writing, but I'll give a quick summarize what I did. You see psychologist now a days believe someone personality is effect by two main factor, genetics (nature) and the environment (nurture). They don't know how much each effect personalities so they use identical twins, because of similar DNA, who been separate from birth and see how they compare years later. Turn out that genetics does have a lot of influence. However, if one of the twins listen more country than rock they be more likely to act positive to country than rock music. Of course they never tested out how one would react in an extreme situation like Crona is put through, but what I basically did was remake your new personality base on how you would normally behave and what would happen if put into a new scenario.

Sistine: And since different people react differently under same conditions. We came up with those two possible new personality after a little thinking. So please cool your jets and wait for the story to play out. This is only one chapter.

Crona: Oh... um, you didn't do this for some personal reason.

Mulleb: No, just wanted to try out a new idea. And don't worry unless people review, this is only a side project. I still plan to work on my other story more which I need to get started on after this.

Sistine: Yap, only way Mulleb will keep on writing this if he get reviews. If you like this and want him to continue, flames, good criticism, and any comments are needed. As always have a good day.