Prompt: Lights and Tunnels.

During these ferocious moments of insanity, all is black. I see nothing, hear nothing, feel nothing but this plasurable, fierce rage. I can feel myself warping, my senses distorted, my once-clear thoughts crushed completely under the weight of malice.

It scares me that I love every minute.

But I am jerked into consciousness again in knowing that you are in the same rocking boat of insanity, and you can't handle it. If it's hard for me, I've no idea what you go through. Your grip on me is tense-- not a fearful tense, but one that insinuates a frightening excitement imploding upon your psyche.

I am proud of our bond; the way our soul wavelength's compatibility is astonishingly brilliant. But this is something I've never wished for us to share. This sickening torture you impose upon yourself for the good of humanity. Every hero has limits. Why won't you, for once, fall to yours? (It wouldn't be you, it wouldn't be right, but then at least you wouldn't be crossing blades with the insane, shrieking enemy; then at least you wouldn't have to rely on me to fish for your soul amidst all of this black blood. If you weren't so reckless you wouldn't have been infected in the first place. Admittedly, it was careless of me not to notice in the first place...)

Your swings are erratic, but meaningful, and your laugh pierces the core of me. And then I am struck by an epiphany, reverting back into the depths of our souls, and I see you (you) drifting in no particular direction. It doesn't matter which of us is consumed, the result is the same. My hand remains in a constant state of extension toward you. You have yet to see me, but I will not lose sight of your luminous form.

"Maka."

She who is my master: I tend to reach for her in the madness.