Her teeth clenched against the awful and wonderful sensations elicited from her body. She fought back the urge to moan, whimper, cry out; let out any sort of vocalization that confirmed to her would-be lover that she enjoyed his administrations. Hands grazed slowly over all the places women long to be touched. To her eyes, the man looked like her partner and life companion. In her heart, she knew his appearance was only a facade, a sham. He caressed her sides and spoke sweet nothings into her ear, just as Soul had done when they united in her bed. The same touches and words from this monster, however, sent erratic shivers up and down her spine just the same.

It was this fact specifically that scared her to the point of insensibility. He wasn't Soul. At least, not in the sense that he was currently joined together with Soul as part of the same personality. The demon had somehow separated himself from Soul's consciousness and manifested here, in her private sanctuary. He took every advantage of the fact that she didn't seem able to resist his advances. Not when he came to her looking and sounding like the man she loved most in the world.

Maka Albarn should know better. The brightest student in all of Shibusen should easily be able to recognize a fake when one presents itself. But loneliness and frustration are cruel mistresses, too, and when the real Soul couldn't even spare her a minute of his time, it became far too easy for Soul-who-is-not-Soul to take advantage of that weakness. Her head and her heart knew all too well that the man in her mind was nothing more than a dark entity out for revenge. Her body, however, was not so easily convinced.

He liked to take her over the piano, fingers crashing against keys like gnashing teeth, naked form bent over the bench and leaving nothing to the imagination. He would enter from behind, slowly and agonizingly hard as what looked like Soul's cock disappeared between her upturned thighs. With the right amount of effort, he could elicit entire symphonies from her cries of pleasure. Fingers playing with her breasts, a clawed hand caressing her button, and an exclamation of "Come hard for me, Maka" in his host's voice ensured that she did exactly as commanded. This time was no exception.

"Does it feel divine, Maka?" the mongrel asked in his own voice with a laugh. "I thought you might enjoy creating a concert with me. You're such a talent, my dear."

Picking up her spent body bridal style, he moved them to the bed. The same one she had created specifically for Soul upon his departure to Brazil. Beginning to panic, her insides tied themselves into knots. No. This wasn't right. She hadn't even slept here with Soul yet. It was bad enough that they had defiled the piano on multiple occasions. Now the demon wanted to mimic his host in bed with her. No. It was supposed to be for Soul, not this creature!

"Don't resist me, dearie," he said in his own gruff voice. Hands that had once resembled her weapons 'suddenly sprouted dark claws, running themselves up her sides, over her breasts, teasing the nipples, and provoking a gasp to pass her lips. Bony knees crushed her legs beneath them, and the teeth in his mouth at once grew larger and a far cry more menacing than before. Suddenly, the monster above her had become somewhat of a demon/Soul hybrid that chilled her to the very core.

"Why are you so worried about betraying Soul? Have you forgotten that we are the same? I am his baser instincts incarnate. His darkest desires. Everything he knows about you, I know the same. And I know exactly how to get what I want from you, dear princess."

The size of his grin grew tenfold, and the heat of his gaze burned her soul to the core.

"Besides, Maka, this is your mind, after all. If you really wanted to deny me, it would be an easy task. Push me away. Go on. Do it."

He melted back into Soul again, and their lips met in a crash of lightning that sent her heart reeling. The clawed hands still present, the demon learned something very new and valuable in that moment: Maka's skin shivered beneath the light, tickling touches left in their wake. Her body trembled, skin flushed and covered in goosebumps as one hand moved to fondle her breast, the other delving lower to play with the sensitive skin of her womanhood.

She liked his claws. She liked them a lot. And she wasn't fighting back. Instead, she sank into the kiss, swallowing hard in the back of her throat as he chuckled, then shoved his tongue and fingers into their respective openings.

"You like it rough, don't you, Maka?" he questioned with a defiant sneer against her lips. She whimpered softly and began grinding against his clawed fingers to the hilt. "You liked it this way last time, as well, if I recall."

Positioning himself at her opening, Maka gasped loudly as he entered her in one swift motion. Her hands rushed to her mouth, silencing the scream attempting to escape.

"Let's make beautiful music, shall we? Just like Soul is surely doing right now, with a nice foreign woman of his very own. Don't you think so, too, Maka? I wonder what kind of tune they're playing?"

He began thrusting deeper, at a pace that she felt would definitely rip her apart. It was all she could do to keep the tears at bay.

Six thousand miles would be a far stretch for any imagination. For him, it was sheer torture to be out of range of her soul's wavelength for such a long period of time. St. Louis to Death Valley be damned, at least it was still possible for some communication at nearly opposite ends of the same continent. Separated by at least that and an ocean, however, and those little trysts in his head became rather impossible.

He laughed out loud at the notion of the link having any type of comparison to a radio. Maybe her "reception" was more advanced than his own, because if her ability to detect souls was any indication, he could feel the impatient poking behind his brain at times even when he wasn't able to respond. Being stationed in the far south of Rio de Janeiro didn't help that problem, either. He wanted nothing more than to drop the bullet and engage in more worthwhile activities whenever that slight fluttering tickle began in the back of his consciousness. However, it required an almost steel-like determination to ignore the sensation and wave it away with the proverbial flip of a hand. The only emotional feedback he received at those times was her indignation and disappointment that manifested as a guilty sickness in his own stomach, eliminating any kind of appetite he might have.

It was hard enough to find a private moment amidst this current chaos of lights and noise. It was even worse when his fucking job prolonged this fact indefinitely.

The carnival was in full swing. He could hear it quite clearly even a few blocks over. This annual Rio tradition sent a steady stream of samba music wafting forth from various instruments as the passing parade sauntered down the street, making it nearly impossible for his musically-inclined self to resist walking without a matching tap to his steps. Or maybe it was a twitch. He had no idea. The market was still overcrowded. Even after dusk, vendors were still selling their wares, and greedy tourists partook of anything that was offered them at a decent price. Or even if it wasn't. Either way, a feathered blue dress complete with butterfly wings equivalently priced at over 300 American dollars was just a bit too much for a weapon of his particular tastes. Still, imagining Maka in any one of these items sent his heart to start fluttering inside his chest.

"Você quer para comprar o vestido?" The vendor had noticed his stance as an invitation to attempt selling something.

"Um…sorry?" He suddenly realized he hadn't brought his translation book with him. Or paid attention during the brief language lesson Spirit had attempted to give him before he'd left on this excursion.

"Você quer?"

"Eerrr….no me gusta."

"Quê!"

"Yo quiero Taco Bell, dude. I don't understand you!"

Soul swiftly dodged the tambourines aimed directly at his head. and continued the trek back to his hotel.

The carnival had moved all over the place. In the streets and squares, bars, clubs and all other venues, taking over the entire city of Rio, culminating in a festival the likes of which he had never witnessed before. Even outside his hotel, he was surrounded by the dancing, music, shouting, and merrymaking of a cultural experience he only wished he could appreciate to the fullest. To these people, it was a celebration of life. It provided a means for families and friends to come together and revel in the sights and sounds of their culture, and take advantage of each others' company as they danced and sang the night away. He wondered if Maka would enjoy this, and dance with him like so many of the couples were dancing. He watched as one pair in particular was locked in a passionate embrace beneath the fireworks. He tried to gulp, but for some reason the knot in his throat prevented it.

Stealing away from the balcony and latching the door tightly behind him, the fluttery embrace of cool sheets and a soft pillow were a welcome change from the muggy and humid atmosphere of the Rio evening. The bed was comfortable and inviting as deluxe accommodations go, but missing the crucial touch of Esencia de Maka required to ensure he had a restful night's sleep. Then again, he hadn't had one of those for quite some time, and unless she came sauntering through the door with that determined look on her face in the next five minutes, he assumed it would be yet another fitful attempt at slumber. Only one amidst so many others.

Unless he took the initiative. Maybe it was the dull music still playing merrily outside. Or the faint sound of shouting and singing being carried over the wind and into his ears through tiny, miniscule openings in the balcony door. He didn't know what suddenly came over him in that moment. All he knew was that he wanted to be near her. It couldn't wait anymore. He'd had to push her aside, telltale exclamations of "not now" or "I'm busy" ringing solidly in his head each time she'd tried to connect with him. And he'd ignored her. That was definitely, undoubtedly not cool at all.

What the hell kind of lover was he?

He needed concentration. At this distance, it would take every bit of it he could muster. He'd never attempted to seek her out on his own before. Usually, it was by her own invitation that they were able to meet in the two respective rooms, whether White or Black. Without her initiating Resonance and using her uncanny ability to detect his soul, locating his meister on another continent would be like identifying one boat afloat on the waves of the Pacific Ocean.

Please, he thought, make this connection work. I've got a lot of making up to do. It's got to start now. I need to see her again.

Soul searched blindly through a sea of uninteresting pastels and sparkling stars for a trace of his meister's soul. He still wasn't used to the appearance of the world between their bodies. At first glance, it appeared to be a dark and gloomy void. Shadows played together peacefully, and a current of wafting wavelengths from various people were like mini seas whisking him back and forth along the path to Maka's. He couldn't detect the nature of these souls like Maka, but their general disinterest and inability to detect his presence made sifting through some of the most robust ones a much easier task

Once he could feel the edge of her wavelength graze his own, his soul snapped around like a snake on the trail of its prey. Out of nothing, he could suddenly feel her. Maka! Her spirit was hot and invigorating. He could feel it pulsing and trembling, like a beacon sent out to guide him. Her wavelength was screaming his name, over and over, and he just couldn't prevent himself from salivating at the mouth. What the hell was going on? Where was this sense of need coming from? And why was it so sporadic?

He would follow her beacon a short distance, and then it would spike, jumping here and there, making it nearly impossible to determine her precise location. He attempted to reach out and pull her wavelength to him, like empty hands searching blindly for a light switch in the dark. She was getting louder and louder. The link was singing with every spike and shake of her soul, and he followed it frantically, trailing and wheeling until he literally hit the White door with his face.

He wasn't aware that his soul could be hurt. Let alone run itself into a door. Either way, the link was screaming at him that he'd finally arrived. Before him was a solid white-painted door, and on the other side, his ears detected the uncanny cries and exclamations of his meister. What the hell? Was this distress? No. It was something else…

He palmed the doorknob and attempted to push through, but soon discovered that it was locked form the inside. He couldn't open it. Her voice was getting louder, and he found himself starting to panic.

"Maka! Maka, are you there? It's me! Open up!" He pounded on the wood with his fists, once again attempting the knob, but still there was no indication that she'd heard him. He could definitely hear her on the other side. But she wasn't coming to the door.

Then he heard his name. In something almost like a scream, Maka shouted for him. Once. Twice. After the third time, he resolved that there was definitely something wrong. And Maka needed him. Right now.

"Maka!" He slammed his body into the door, but it held steadfast. Again and again he pushed with all his might, but it wouldn't budge at all. He tried to give it one hard kick, but a large, red hand melting away from the wood of the door put a stop to his attack. It grabbed that leg, and flung him away from the door, out into the void between their bodies. A low, guttural laugh engulfed his form, shoving him into the floor of space. If his soul had bones, they'd be breaking.

She screamed again. With a shout, he clawed his way out of a sea of red and made his way back to the door, despite gravity's unyielding hold on his body. He placed his hand on the grain, then pulled it away with a start. It was stained with blood.

"Maka!" he shouted. "Let me in!" Silence.

"Maka, answer me!"

The doorknob shook within his grasp, and he could feel the pull from the other side as Maka, or someone, attempted to turn the knob against some great resistance. The entire door quaked. Using all of his strength, he helped her release the knob, and with a sudden jerk, the door swung open and he fell forward into the room.

He was a bit dazed and confused at first to see himself having sex with Maka on the bed she'd imagined just for him. She was on her back below him, and as he took her hard and fast, she emitted a plethora of gasps and squeals as she held on to the headboard for dear life. Her knuckles were white with the effort, and dark purple bruises covered every visible inch of her body. Unless he was having an out-of-body-out-of-soul experience, there was no logical reason why he should be fucking her.

This wasn't some fabrication of her imagination she'd created in his absence. It became increasingly clear when the other him turned to meet his gaze, a bloody, toothy grin the only indication the doppelganger knew of his presence. This other him was taking advantage of his meister in her own private space. She didn't seem to realize his real self was even there. However, when her eyes met his suddenly from across the room, she mouthed his name and attempted to sit up, one part horror and the other part disbelief etching themselves into her features.

"Soul!"

The Other Soul would have none of that. Lifting her hips off the bed, he forced her back down, pounding into her again and again, increasing his thrusts as he grinned back at the man still lying disheveled on the floor. Maka's cries reached his ears, and it wasn't him eliciting them from her form. This explained why the demon hadn't been present in the Black Room for some time. The bastard had somehow made his way here. Soul hurried to stand, but something continued to hold him down.

"Hello, Soul," the double exclaimed with a very maniacal laugh. "Come to join in the dance?"

Soul managed to haphazardly stagger to one knee. "Fucker! What the god damn hell are you doing to Maka? Get away from her!"

Pandora's beast giggled somewhat like a little schoolgirl and thrust again. Maka was taken by surprise and couldn't stop the gasp brought forth from the movement.

"Now why would I do a thing like that? She seems to be enjoying herself, after all." As an afterthought, the monster leaned forward and brought her knees to meet her chest before he continued thrusting, providing Soul with a front row seat to the effects such activities were having on her body down below. She was extremely wet.

"Fucking bastard! You came to her looking like me! It's not her fault!"

The demon cackled. "That's where you're wrong, Soul. She's come to me like this many times. You've been neglectful, haven't you, my boy?" He turned his head to look again at Maka. Horrified, she tried to push him away. But once again, the devil had control of her body and began playing it like a fine-tuned instrument.

"S-Sooouul..."

Soul regained enough control of his body in order to leap forward and attempt a carefully-timed swing at the demon's face. However, his movements were still too sluggish, and the fiend was able to avoid it by disappearing in a puff of silver smoke and wretched guffaws.

Immediately realizing the tormentor was gone and she'd been released, Maka went into defense mode and curled into a ball on the bed. Soul noticed with a growl that the sheets were stained with her blood, and the bruises covering her body were larger than he'd originally noticed. Rushing to her side, he stooped to gather her to him and hold her to his chest. She was shivering all over as if freezing, and her skin was red and puffy wherever his eyes looked. He attempted to pull her to him. Panicked, however, she swiftly shoved him away with a resounding, "No!"

He was taken aback. "Maka...what..."

"Leave me alone, Soul!"

"Maka, it wasn't your fault! He took advantage of you to..."

"You don't know anything! Get the hell away from me!"

Burying herself beneath the covers, she couldn't stop the tears from falling or the whimpers and cries from escaping. He'd never seen her so vulnerable before. He wanted to console her, tell her everything would be all right. But even he wasn't entirely sure that was true. He tried one last time to provide some level of comfort with a hand on her head through the sheets, but she violently pushed him away away with a shout.

"Please, Soul...just go. That's an order."

He couldn't defy his meister's wishes. As he left the White Room to return to his own sanctuary, Soul sent out as many soft caresses and words of comfort as possible over the link to his partner. He wasn't sure if she received them or not. He was too shaken up to attempt reading any feedback she might leave him. He hurried forward to the Black Room. If the demon was there, and he was certain he was, Soul was going to be dishing out one hell of a payback to that son of a bitch. Beginning first with the severing of his dick from his body, then subsequently shoving it down his conniving throat.

c h a o s v i p e r . t u m b l r . c o m

Authors note: It's been brought to my attention that Spanish isn't the national language of Brazil. I was not aware of this. Apparently it is Portuguese. While this may be the case, during my time in the country for the Rio Festival five years ago, Spanish was a well-spoken and popular language among the people there. Not only Spanish, but French, Italian, and English, as well. It was very much a cultural hub, and while it may not be the national language, Brazil is bordered by many other Spanish-speaking countries. The people there have an influx of it into their culture. Many may not speak it fluently, but they are exposed to it on a regular basis. Our host family during my class trip spoke primarily Spanish, and even if it isn't the people's language, I felt it would be most recognizable to my readers. However, for technicality's sake, I have changed the language of the vendor harassing Soul into Portuguese to be more accurate. Sorry for any confusion this may have caused.