I have thought about things for a very long time.

It does not matter to know anything about the outside world, for true wisdom lies within. To know oneself is better than knowing the innermost secret of the universe. I am aware of who I am, and what I am perceived as. I am considered an evil spiritual entity that is bred and born from madness, and the embodiment, the very beginnings of the fear that lurks within the hearts of man. I have fleshed my own mind out to the core, have delved deeper than any normal mortal would dream of. To learn the vastness of the world is nothing to the infinite soul, where our true selves bleed from.

Why then, must shadows choke, and terror seethe, for intangible ghosts?

I sit within the warm walls of this temple, far away from all that I knew, in a time period that I am unfamiliar with, and I am worried. I am merely watching the world slowly burn underneath the pressure of my own insanity, and I feel my strength increase with every passing moment. The new world will rise from the ashes soon enough, a world where madness reigns above all else; A world free of fear. A place where I can truly be happy. My hedonistic side does have a tendency to take over with things like this. I know all of myself, have explored my sub-conscious so completely, I wonder if it even exists anymore, and yet I still understand so little of it's meaning. I tell myself that it means nothing...

But I am scared of myself.

I must learn the truth of their world that so desires to kill me. I need to find some sort of comfort from this darkness. I need this knowledge in order to continue. I need this power.

I propelled myself further into the belly of the beast, this cavernous ruin that I call home. It stretches endlessly from one direction to another, but I can fly, and my eyes are so accustomed to the darkness, I may as well be just like the small animals and insects that might have occupied this place, if I had not already obliterated the millions of tiny souls within several thousand yards. Safety first, and so on. I sat upon one of many giant broken pillars that sprout from the ground, walls, and ceiling like stalactites and stalagmites. I settled myself into a lotus position, and sent out a small sampling of my soul-wavelength in my own version of astral projection towards the one thing in this world that I am familiar with: my old master, Death.

He told me about the school he founded to teach those demon-weapon children how to use their powers. Their main purpose is to fight against "evil" kishin beings, such as myself, while the school, and Death's own city were built to contain my tomb. I floated through this city, styled in Death's somewhat absurd manner, on the way to this school of his. That bag he sealed me afforded me no such luxury like this second spirit of myself that is so easy to control. How fitting that I be free to search this, the weight that was once upon my skin, as I please. I am just a waif; completely invisible to all those around me, and my wavelength is carefully contained from my meditative state.

It took no time at all for me to explore the school my old master so lovingly described. I watched the children of the DWMA with mild interest at first, chuckling at their crippling fear of me, and their foolish attempts to strengthen themselves so that they may defeat me. All these years, and this is the force Death has managed to put together? My own fears seemed for nothing after all, if this is truly the army that is to defeat me. But oh, how wrong I was...

I learned the queer workings of the school, and soon moved on to the students themselves. Most of them are faceless drones, merely following the orders of Death without a true will of their own. I naturally drifted towards the students more prone to madness. What is there to fear when you know what to expect, after all?

These students were, funnily enough, all in the same high-ranking class, taught by an obviously insane Professor.

Franken Stein, I learned, is always balancing precariously on the brink of losing his sanity entirely. He wants to have fun without fear more than anything else, something I can sympathize with. I watched as the madness in the air slowly pushed the man closer to acting on his wants, and he will make a powerful asset, when the time comes. It is the mad teaching the mad, in the meantime.

I lingered for a time near a meister named Crona, whose madness filled his very body, and would likely devour him relatively soon. The massive store of power that Crona holds within is very interesting indeed, and it will be incredibly destructive when the skinny little thing finally snaps. The child's constant state of fear is slightly endearing, I admit. Crona will find my new world to be a wonderful place to live, indeed.

I floated around these dozen or so little children, little demons in their own right, some housing more madness and power than others. Death's son fits cleanly into this category. The way that they deny themselves is truly a sad, sad thing.

Lately, my attention shifted curiously towards the one girl in the class, who, at first glance, had no trace of madness in her. Such an oddity was something that I could not help but to hungrily investigate.

I observed, with some interest, the pool of madness that resides deep within her soul. It's cleverly hidden underneath the waves of a Grigorian soul, but the madness inside is vast, and potentially all-consuming. All the better reason to exploit her pure, angelic soul. That light is a garish one.

How does she look? She is a plain girl: Short and thin, with long boyish legs. A button nose, thin lips, and rather large green eyes. Fine wispy blonde hair pulled too tightly on both sides of her head. Layers of clothing, ending in a yellow sweater and pleated skirt, sometimes with long black coat. I vaguely remember her at some point during my revival, but I do not think she played an important part in any events of that night.

Even with this small wavelength of mine, born from me as it is, there is still an amount of madness to it. It is small, very, very small, but my presence still hold an amount of influence in this place. Yes, my relationship with Maka is insubstantial at best, but she has already reacted to me more than even the most aforementioned insane. I smiled, and made to flick her ear with my fingers, simply because it is there, and she turned around in her school chair, looking straight into my eyes with those massive green ones. I halted my motions entirely, holding my breath, and she turned right back around. Even she does not seem to realize why she acted as such. I shoved my arm through every other student in this classroom, and not a single one of them so much as twitched.

There is an odd, disquieting feeling to her. There is an apprehension when I am near this girl that I can not place, but it is a gentle prickle of fear, inconsequential to the terror I've known. Despite myself, I'm fascinated. I sit here in this old temple, utterly alone, with nothing to do but wait. What is it to watch from afar, in this case, even for lack of anything better to do? I would rather avoid venturing outside anyway.

During the day, I sit beside her, this little Maka. I watch as she quietly sticks her nose in books at every available moment. Sometimes I'll read along with her. She has a vast array of interests when it comes to novels, and I hear her deriving their wisdom into her own often. Her classmates know her as intelligent, teasing her with names like "bookworm" and "nerd." She uses these books at makeshift weapons often, when this juvenile name-calling occurs. I'd hate to be on the receiving end of these blows to the skull, despite my obviously superior strength. Her understanding of the world seems to stem entirely from the library she retains in her head, and what a slim, bereft knowledge she wields as such. While I had gained as much, she is not a particularly shy child. She gives commands without fear of repercussion, and has a rather large group attending to her at all times. Maka may even be a leader, amongst the mad children in this class.

Maka takes great pride in her studies. There is an obsessive perfectionism in this, even when the outcome of her work never seems to have any sort of impact on her life. Especially on matters of the soul, she is well-learned, one of the few subjects that carries over into the tangent world. She would absolutely quake in fear if she were ever to see my soul. I am certain that her heightened perception would back-fire. Her madness would be very enjoyable, indeed.

Perhaps it's because of her serious demeanor that I feel so unsettled? But no, there is so much more to the mind, I must dig deeper.

During the night, Maka shows to me a softer side when she believes that she is alone. Her appearance changes entirely: She pulls her hairbands out carefully, shaking her head and sighing with relief. Most of her clothes are discarded, instead donning oversized shirt and soft pants. I wouldn't mind some clothes to that affect, myself. She tidies her room, keeping her treasured objects in pristine condition. Maka's eyes do a quick once-over, taking every last detail into consideration, before finally allowing herself to have fun. She seems to fear chaos, doing everything in her power to hold the sanctuary that she so tenderly grasps within her frail fingers. Even this mundane routine speaks volumes; when learning the secrets of the mind, nothing is mundane, every action and thought has equal and opposite reaction.

Despite her scholarly habits, Maka is truly a child of this new era. She introduces me to so many new things. She likes to watch a great deal of television, mostly anime. She plays a large assortment of video-games. She spends a lot of time on the internet. She scribbles in a notebook she so lovingly dubbed the 'Maka-Note,' and I read her poetry with detached interest. These habits hold great emotional hold over Maka: I have seen her cry and laugh because of these fictional imaginings. Sometimes she sees images on the internet that frighten her, and she leaves her light on all night, huddling herself on her bed. If only she knew of me; I'm the only real monster that she should fear.

Maka is very still when she sleeps. Her hair fans out behind her like a halo, face passive and still, barely breathing. The first time I witnessed this, I was so worried that she had died suddenly that I maneuvered my tall form around hers in order to listen to her heartbeat, assuring myself that she was indeed still alive. Why did I do this? Because I am not finished with her yet. Even when she is asleep, this fear of her never leaves me. I am afraid that it will never leave me again, until I find it's root.

Some days, I sit in front of her, blocking her view of whatever she is so intently focused on, and smile. Time means nothing to me; I can not remember how long we simply looked at each other. Our relationship has transcended very slightly, going beyond simply studying from afar. Maka is aware of me to some degree, I am sure of it. Sometimes, when I am positioned just right in front of her face, she smiles back.

I have memorized all of her movements. Every pattern, tic, and gesture is carefully choreographed in my mind. A million Maka's dance across my memories, every one possessing their own individual language that tells me a story. I've began to play a game with Maka, where I shadow her and carefully repeat every one of her movements in perfect, lightning-quick synchronization. I play this game giddily, easily keeping up with her. Sometimes she tries to throw a wrench into this game, the clever girl, putting the end of movement A at the beginning of movement D, or only a small twitch of an obscure movement X, but even those I have learned to predict.

But it isn't enough. Our game is enjoyable, but I can not know her every thought. I can predict her movements, I can read her body-language, but I can not know the inner machinations of her sub-conscious. It is not enough, I need to know my Maka in her entirety. This fear that I hold for her is nothing in comparison to the power I shall wield once I can understand it. There will never again be any reason to fear this girl, and then perhaps I can meet her!

I have fallen in love a few times, but I can not say for certain if that is what I feel for Maka. If it is, then all of my previous emotions have been something else entirely. I am comforted by this girl, in her clean, safe world, and yet I am scared of it all the same. I have done away with my imagination, I have nothing to fear any longer... And yet here I am. If this is love, then it is a torrential, billowing love, born from interest... And understanding, for I am sure that there is something mutual in the games that we play together. She begins to respond to me more and more, even if she does not know it, I am influencing her all the same. We've smiled at each other for what seems like years, but I can not even know if only a day has passed, because she is the only thing that I can think of now.

I have progressed, and made a discovery: Maka is the one that is destined, by Death, to defeat me. She is being groomed for this one task more than all of the other students at this accursed Academy. This must be where my fear of her stems from. This fear, it is like a dream. It is a chilling feeling, that in another life, a different universe parallel to this one, she has already destroyed me, but it is more than that... If I realize this, then what is this ignominious fear? No, no, there must be more, I haven't even scratched the surface. I must devote myself entirely to this. While I am meditating, my metabolism is slowed almost to a stop: Eating and sleeping are inconsequential. I can never think of anything again until I find the ultimate truth that lies within her. Our games may seem absurd and mundane, but I have never done anything more important.

A/N

This is either a two-part'er or a three-part'er. Things get weird from here on out, but that's Asura for you, yeah? Thank you for reading, tell me what you think so I can make this sucker AWESOME.