A/n: Thanks for reading this piece of mine until the end. Last chapter of the story. I don't actually know how Asura met Vajra, so I'm making it up. If anyone knows the actual story, please tell me. As always, reviews are always appreciated.

Warning: Extreme manga spoilers. Like seriously, don't read this if you haven't finished the manga.

Disclaimer: I don't own Soul Eater, so please don't sue me.

He knew he was going to die.

Death came to every human, every living thing actually; if you were alive, you eventually died, one way or another. But him, he was a God- Gods don't die.

Except when they do.

His fragment- his son, his precious little boy, with glowing stars for eyes and an overwhelmingly kind soul- was almost all grown up. His powers have nearly come to fruition, and two of his lines of Sanzu have connected. Any father would be proud, and he was. It's just that the phrase "out with the old, in with the new" comes into play.

He would never see his son fully grown up. He would no longer be able to protect his son. He would not be able to impart any more knowledge; he couldn't be his son's guiding hand anymore.

He always wondered if it was enough- will his son be alright? Did he prepare his son enough? Will someone take advantage of his son's kindness?

Was this what being a father is all about? Constant worrying and fear? Was this what Spirit felt like about Maka?

It was, at the same, both the greatest and worst feeling in the world.

To think that his son would need to awaken so soon, that their time together would be this short... How much time did he waste on insignificant matters when he could have been with his son? How much time did he waste dodging Kid's questions when he could have just told me the truth for once. How many times has he told his son he loved him? No matter the number, it never seemed enough. It could never be enough.

He could remember when his son was younger, when his powers were newly blossoming-the human equivalent of eight years old. Already, his son could beat most of the students in his NOT class, even without a weapon partner. He was so occupied with battling the witches, then. He made his academy his top priority- it was all for his academy. DWMA this, DWMA that.

He was extremely busy; he didn't even remember to check up on his son more times than not. So, he had decided to pay a late night visit to his darling cherub that late August night. He thought Kid would be asleep; even a death god needs to sleep, especially a developing one- his son looked positively angelic when he slept, so much that his face washed away the day's stress.

That wasn't what he came home to, though.

He saw Kid, still awake despite it being 1:15a.m., running through the advanced Death God katas- katas he shouldn't even have known about until his tenth human year. His son's form was nearly perfect, far better than his own at that age. That in itself was fine- it was commendable, actually. But, Kid was pushing himself too far; a small twist of the foot or an elbow out of place and he would start from the beginning. He stood there, watching, for hours on end in complete silence- save for Kid's small sighs and breaths. He knew his son would have continued had he not decided to make his presence known.

"Oh, Father, how long have you been here?"

"Long enough, Kid. Well done, even I wasn't that good when I was your age."

"Thank you, Father." He looked so happy- he was beaming, despite the sweat and the bags under his eyes.

"You should go to bed, though, kiddo."

His Kid did as told, and to make sure of it, he lurked in the shadows and watched over him. He was proud of his son's hard work, but was slightly worried about Kid's lack of care. But, he was busy, so the incident faded from memory.

He once found Kid passed out on the living room floor. He thought the worst- he couldn't even breathe. He called Stein to check him out; of course, he supervised- he would not take the chance that slightly insane doctor would take this opportunity to dissect his son.

Exhaustion, Stein said. It wasn't the witches, a pre-Kishin, or even a horrific training accident; it was just Kid pushing himself too hard. Exhaustion. Exhaustion. He left Kid alone on his bed, making sure to lock the doors. He left his son to rest, and thought nothing more on the matter; he had a city to run after all.

In retrospect, he should have known Kid did this more than once. He should have known Kid probably did worse, too. He should have sat Kid down and told him that is was okay to take a break every once in a while. But, no, like a fucking moron- a retarded wastrel- he spent all his time on Death City and his DWMA; he played father figure everyone else's child instead of being there for his own.

What a fool he was. Why didn't he give Kid the attention and affection he deserved? He should have been better- why wasn't he a better father?

Excalibur, an old ally, would come to see his final moments- he, Asura, and Excalibur were the last of the Great Old Ones left in this world, the ones who haven't sealed themselves away or died. Asura, if he was correct that Kid would awaken, would be joining him, too.

Kid would be the new god of his world; he would be the new God of Death. He knew his son would would do a better job than him at creating a peaceful world. One with peace between weapons, meisters, and witches.

His name was Death, and his son was going to be the death of him.

He was on the verge on realizing his dreams; he was free to create a world consumed by madness, and his father would soon fall. His father... that hypocritical bastard, the one who imprisoned his own flesh and blood and left him to rot. 800 years stuck in that bag...

He'd rather not think about it, to be honest. He is in a good mood today, and he'd rather not ruin it.

His clowns and him decided to relocate their hideout to a place no one in Death's service would dare think of- the moon. The only problem was the meisters with extremely strong soul perception; after all, he had a very unique and large soul. The main threat, a subordinate called "BJ" would need to be eliminated, along with this DWMA scythe-meister who killed Arachne, Maka Albarn.

Luckily for him, Death Scythe Justin Law has come to see thinks in a new light- his light. In his name, Justin would gladly murder his comrades; madness makes one more pliable, in his opinion. He was a useful pawn that fell into his palm.

All his clowns have returned; they make an incredibly powerful fighting force: an eternally resurrecting demonic army. The witches, too, would get a power boost from his madness wavelength, making them an even stronger force for Death to face.

Yes, all the pieces were falling into place. The end is nigh.

The only variable would be his little brother. His spies in the DWMA have told him all about the fledgling god; he wielded twin pistols, connected two lines of Sanzu, and his name was, of all things, Death the Kid. Death's arrogance rares its ugly head once more, at the expense of his new fragment.

Only his little brother would make a difference if a battle were to take place between him and the DWMA; Death would send mere humans along with Kid, placing his bet on Kid's awakening to win. If Kid awakened, Death would die; if Kid didn't, he would win and kill Death himself. Either way, Death dies. He would win, certainly.

But that still doesn't stop the fear- the fear that somehow, despite all odds, Death would win. He still couldn't sleep- how could he- when he can see Death arising from the shadows out of the corner of his eye- his ridiculously cartoonish mask narrowing in anger, his deep, raspy voice screaming for his soul's destruction. Large, block-like hands wielding a menacing black blade, a Death Scythe, ready to peel off his skin strip by strip even as he screamed and begged for mercy, for someone, anyone, to save him- ready to throw him back in that living nightmare...

It wasn't possible- he knew it wasn't possible for Death to leave his city- but that didn't stop his fearful mind, his treacherous subconscious from imagining. The bag- his hell on earth; he feared Death would put him in it again. Once more, he would be devoid of any sensation in a never ending daze; he would waste away, longing for someone to finally put him out of his misery.

He would rather be dead than in that bag.

Vajra aches in his throat today; could they sense his grandest victory on the horizon? They never liked disobeying Death, even on little issues; Vajra would always pick Death over him.

Many years ago, back when he and Death were allies, he was introduced to Vajra during a mission in India. A local witch coven had plans to test a new magic on a local village- a new type of magical plague that would cause its victims' bodies to rapidly rot whilst they were still alive. He and Death were the only ones who would definitely not get infected, so they went.

They went directly to the source of the magic and slaughtered the witches effortlessly. He had stayed behind to burn their research; Death hadn't wanted to risk another incident with the spell. Death had went to the village to check for any survivors; lo and behold, Death found a young kid amongst the corpses; the child had been spared because of previously dormant weapon blood. Death took them in, and the little brat became his new partner for one reason and one reason only: Vajra was a mute, so they could never conspire with others or spill his secrets.

As Vajra got older, they got cleverer; they became literate and could now communicate. Vajra often wrote to Death. He always wondered how Death knew when he had done something deemed as "bad." He was ashamed to admit that it took a while for him to put two and two together; Vajra must have been reporting to Death. It was the only logical conclusion.

Despite that Vajra was a despicable human who betrayed him, he still liked them; they were the closest thing he had to a friend. So, he made Vajra apart of him. He had called Vajra out saying that he wanted to train a bit.

When Vajra entered their weapon form, he ate him. The rest was history.

His name was Asura, and he was going to kill his father even if it was the last thing he'd do.

He had returned to his father's side after being imprisoned by Noah in the book of Eibon; it had been a weird experience- floating in white emptiness devoid of human contact. He had met his father's old ally and managed to connect another line. He had grown more powerful, gaining a portion of the strength a true death god should possess.

Still, he shouldn't have gotten captured so easily; he was a death god for fuck's sake! He should have put up a fight, at least, even if Noah was too strong to beat. He should have done something, anything, not just stand there like a deer caught in headlights. Surrendering, behaving so pitifully... He has shamed his father once more.

That bastard Gopher... physical torture wasn't effective on him; he had trained himself mentally since he had found a book on anti-torture techniques in his father's study when he was 11. So, Gopher took advantage of his well-known OCD to get a more desirable result. It was something normal people would laugh at, but it was hell to him- treatment that constantly inflamed his urge but left him unable to do anything about it. It infuriated him- it was mental agony of the most painful kind. He knew that the others wouldn't understand; they'd probably laugh about it and make jokes.

Not only was he a disgrace, but he was also a hindrance, a liability, a weakness just waiting to be exploited. If he was just going to be used to bring his father defeat, he'd rather be dead.

But at least he corrected that mistake; he escaped the book and executed Noah on behalf of his father. He had one other wrong to right before he could ever fulfill his duty as a death god and create a world of order.

The humans who hanged around him, for one reason or another, kept swarming around him, checking up on his wellbeing- in all likelihood, they just wanted to make sure their pet death god was good enough so they could once again poke fun at him without feeling guilty. He knew they didn't really care, but he didn't blame them; how could they care for such a flawed waste of place? Only his father cared and that was because he probably hadn't realized how useless he was.

Black Star was the most enthusiastic, always asking for a spar. If anything, Black Star was the one he felt closest to, especially after their bonding experience in the Book of Eibon. They both knew what it was like to be isolated, even hated, for their bloodline; they both knew the pain of being alone, the pain of never having anyone they knew 100% actually liked them, both the good and the bad. They both knew the unending desire to become stronger. They had both met the Great Old One and bathed in its madness.

No other human he's met had ever tried to help him with his goal. Black Star was the first, and probably the last.

Even Black Star couldn't defy death, though; he would grow old and his great spirit would wither away into nothing. He'd be alone again.

The Kishin has just been found, by accident of all things; he's hidden on the moon alongside an army of clowns. He could finally rectify his mistake all those months ago. The Kishin escaped on his watch, and he would do everything in his power to rid the world of the Kishin's madness.

He's learned that not all madness is detrimental, but the Kishin is mindlessly corrupting every normal soul. Madness and Order, he's learned, are two sides of the same coin; one cannot exist without the other, it's true. However, there must be balance between the two, a beautiful balance between two extremes.

The world he seeks is that of balance, of symmetry. The Kishin would seek to destroy that balance. Thus, the Kishin must be eliminated.

The clown army proved overwhelming, if only because every time they were struck down they were quickly resurrected. This regeneration cost his father many good men. So many casualties... and he couldn't do anything about it. He couldn't even beat a single clown. He was so worthless, so weak.

Auntie...

Even worse, he needed to retreat; he abandoned his men, his comrades! Sure, it was on his father's orders, but still... At least, it was for a good cause- a way to deal with the clown army. He supposed that negotiationing with witches was a start of a new era, his era of peace.

The delegates were to be himself, an immortal werewolf, and four witches. But the witches were taking it easy; in this time of conflict, probably the most important battle in the history of the world, they were not prepared for combat. And they were showering, taking such a long time being so laidback, as their comrades were being slaughtered as they joked around.

Understandably, the witches were not hospitable, despite them being the ones who invited them. Centuries of hostility could not be cleansed within an hour, mutual threat or no. The only thing he could do was bear his soul and hope the witches would agree.

They were let go, eventually; he had chosen to put faith in the witches, hopefully a first step to bridge the relationship between the DWMA and the witches. He headed back to the moon to face off with the Kishin.

His name was Death the Kid, and he was going to create his new, peaceful, perfect world.