A/N: This is my entry for Resonance Bang 2013. It's set in the Supernatural Canonverse around the same time as when the world is ending, which is always fun. Anyway, enjoy!

Disclaimer: Don't own Soul Eater or Supernatural; Ookubo and the CW beat me to it. Damn.

Chapter 1: The Hunter and the God

It started in the middle of a moonless night, as stories like theirs are wont to do, the darkness and stillness of the early morning setting the tone nicely. Although, it really couldn't be described as beginning, per se, for it really was more of a continuation of a story started years ago. A story that had just undergone a completely unexpected plot twist—but after all, those are the kinds of stories that keep the reader turning the pages in anticipation. Actually living through this surprising change of events, however, wasn't nearly as pleasant as the storybooks made it out to be, not that Maka Albarn necessarily lived the fairytale life. When you're surrounded by the scent of rotten flesh nearly every day, a master at almost every fighting style, and have learned how to stitch up your own battle wounds, it's a bit difficult to think of yourself as a Disney princess. Especially on nights like this.

With a grunt Maka Albarn swung the machete like a baseball player going for a homerun, wincing as she felt the blade snag briefly on bone then slice cleanly through. Out of a habit born from years of unpleasant experiences, she threw her arm up to shield her face as a splatter of blood hit her sleeve. "Rest in peace, you son of a bitch," she spat, voice cold and emotionless as she used the tattered cargo pants of her victim to clean the gore off her blade.

Standing up again was a challenge, every part of her sore from when the vampire had thrown her against the metal dumpster, her spine bending unnaturally backwards from the force. Rolling out her shoulders, Maka looked about her for a place she could dispose of the mangled body; liberal and used to violence as they were, New Yorkers most likely wouldn't overlook a decapitated corpse, and she really did not need to be the target of a manhunt right now. A brief survey of the dirty alley showed there was no place to hide the body besides the dumpster she had been unpleasantly acquainted with a few minutes prior, and Maka sighed. A dumpster would be better than nothing. At least she would most likely have time to get out of the area before the body was found and the cops were called.

Corpses were never fun to deal with, what with rigor mortis beginning to set in, the dead weight, and the inescapable knowledge that she was dragging around a dead body. Not for the first time, Maka cursed her rotten luck that it had to be a vampire. Dealing with vampire corpses were the very worst, because you not only had the body itself to deal with, but also the head, since the only way to kill one was through decapitation. As Maka stared down at the headless monstre, she thought back to the medieval times, when an execution was almost a cause for a feast. She never did understand the fondness for decapitation people in the middle ages had. It was really a nasty business, although she guessed it would get the job done.

Nose wrinkled in disgust, she dragged the cadaver to the dumpster where she had decided to hide it. The body left behind an unmistakable trail of blood, and the young hunter sighed again. Another thing she would have to deal with before she went back to her rundown motel room and treated herself to late night television and cold pizza (or maybe she would splurge and get Chinese food, she wasn't quite sure yet). Through an impressive show of determination and strength, fueled mainly by the thought of being able to put her feet up, Maka got the body into the dumpster. Then, gagging and quickly losing her appetite for Chinese food because, oh, God, it looked too much like lo mein, Maka Albarn grabbed the head and, running, threw it into the dumpster.

Yes, she definitely hated this lifestyle, she thought as she leaned against the grimy dumpster, gasping for air. Recovered a little, she pushed into a standing position; she swore mildly under her breath as she felt something slimy and squishy give under her hand. Maka made a face as she wiped her hand on her already filthy jeans. She did not want to know what the substance was and hoped that when she did laundry the next day, she wouldn't be able to tell the difference between the dumpster goo and the street muck.

Twenty minutes later, most of the blood had been wiped up with crumpled sheets of newspaper and flyers found piled in corners of the alley and Maka was once again covered in a sheen of sweat despite the cool autumnal air. Checking to make sure the deadly blade was concealed under her trench coat, she stepped out of the alley and onto the sidewalk.

Maka was surprised at how different the streets of the city were so early in the morning. There were still a few people awake in the city that never sleeps, but they either hurried to their destinations, hands shoved in their pockets and collars turned up against the wind, or they staggered down the sidewalks, harrassing those who brushed past them. She curled her lip at the deadbeats, angry that she had saved their sorry hides just so their addictions could kill them slowly.

Despite humanity's best efforts to dissuade her, there were reasons she did what she did. Like, there—the couple kissing under the streetlight, eyes closed and faces awash in their love for one another or the man out for an (extremely) early morning jog with his tongue lolling dog before work or the pair of what were most likely very wasted girls skipping hand-in-hand, tripping over their own feet but laughing with their whole hearts because they didn't know the terrors the world hid. Those were the moments and people that Maka worked these shitty hours to protect, the memories that got her out of bed each morning-or afternoon, depending on ghe night before-and gave her the strength to deliver the finishing blow to a creature with a child's face.

She found her courage and determination in the ordinary moments that most took for granted or didn't even notice. There was so much beauty in the world, in nature, in the love friends and partners had for one another that the horror and absolute wrongness Maka dealt with on a regular basis filled her with nothing but righteous fury. Why should there be monsters under the bed who existed for no other purpose than to destroy and pervert the beauty she so cherished? Was it because the rest of the world passed by the child laughing with the homeless man as though they were equals, the flowers that grew out of the ashes of a destroyed home, the way the setting sun reflected off the glass skyscrapers and painted the city ethereal colors, without a second glance? Was it heaven's retribution for humanity's transgressions? Maka wasn't sure, but she adamantly hoped the God she wanted to believe in wouldn't abandon His people who, though foolish, ultimately meant well. She wanted to believe in a God who would forgive. Needed to believe in a God who would forgive.

The young woman pushed sweaty bangs back with a sigh that died on her lips as her ears picked up a feminine voice speaking words that were definitely not English coming from the alley where she had parked her car. A frown tugged down both corners of her mouth; she had specifically chosen that side street because the warehouses around it were all abandoned. She flattened her back against one of the buildings and listened to the voice lilt and fall in a musical chant.

Maka's concern was quickly replaced with confusion as she deciphered the combination of Latin and an ancient dialect of Japanese. If her translations were correct—and she was fairly certain they were—then what this woman was chanting was nothing but absolute gibberish. Rise from the ashes...exchange your metal exterior for flesh long forgotten...free the soul from its imprisonment? Okay, the last one sounded fairly morbid and caused warning bells to go off in her head. But the rest? Absolute nonsense. Maka could almost swear that the woman was talking about a car-

Her car! A terrible feeling of foreboding washed over her, and, heart pounding, Maka leapt into the alley.

Her war cry was drowned out by a deafening boom and a blinding flash of light. The explosion sent her flying back amidst rubble and chunks of the abandoned warehouse and slammed her into the building across the street. Maka stayed there, slouched against the worn bricks, ears ringing, vision fading in and out of focus, gasping for breath for a few moments as she attempted to figure out what had just happened. A gas line exploded? Construction company scheduled a demolition of the building she had been unfortunate enough to park next to? No. Her head felt like it was splitting open and blood trickled into her eyes from a gash on her forehead, but she was fairly certain that what she had seen was pure white lightning strike her car, but instead of illuminating the smooth lines of the '67 Toronado, she had seen the silhouette of a long-limbed man, back arched in pain.

As she struggled to her feet, Maka sent up a prayer to the God she almost believed in, asking Him to smite whoever had stolen her car from her before remembering to beg for the safety of the man just struck by lightning. The young hunter grabbed her aching head, groaning when her fingers accidentally brushed the large lump at the back of her skull. Given the way the world was spinning, she probably had a concussion at the very least, but that wasn't important to her at the moment. As a hunter, she had the responsibility to mankind to protect them from the monsters they thought of as nothing more than nightmares and myths. In part, the civilians were correct, because, after all, not every tale was true. Some were simply stories, told to keep children long dead from misbehaving, a fact Maka was extraordinarily grateful for. But this man had accidentally—Maka hoped, at least—crossed one of these monsters, and she had to save him.

So she stumbled forward, tripping over chunks of bricks and pieces of plumbing, simultaneously trying to determine which ground was the real deal and go through the mental encyclopedia of all the creatures that had magical powers, sounded like a flirtatious woman, and spoke both Latin and a mostly forgotten form of Japanese.

Maka really, really, really did not like any of the options she came up with.

First of all, the machete strapped at her waist (that she could have sworn wasn't so bloody difficult to draw the last time she used it) was all but useless against most of them, and the one monster it would actually work against was one never seen outside of Greece, and Maka really hoped would stay that way. Even worse, though, some idiots had apparently stolen her car, so any of the weapons that would have worked were all gone with it. At this point, she really couldn't imagine how this night could get any worse. But, of course, she would soon find out.

The woman was standing at the edge of the crater surrounding the man, face stretched into a triumphant smile as though she had just won the biggest prize of them all. Her quarry, however, did not seem to share her sentiment, couched and snarling as he was. His muscles were taut and he appeared ready to leap and tear out the woman's throat, more animalistic than human. As Maka limped closer to the two, she could see the bewilderment in the man's shadowed eyes, just visible under his fringe of outgrown white hair. She had to give him credit, though; even though he appeared to be undergoing some kind of existential crisis, he was still prepared to fight someone—no, something—who was above him on the food chain. The man would have made a good hunter, if fate had dealt him a different hand in life; he had the right kind of stubborn refusal to submit in the face of almost certain defeat.

Maka's heart stuttered when the monster leaned down to the man. "Hey!" she yelled. It didn't have the effect she had hoped it would because her voice was weak and hoarse, but it did get the job done, she thought, when the buxom woman straightened up and turned to Maka, one delicate eyebrow raised in polite inquiry.

"Yes?" The woman's voice was high and sweet, and Maka narrowed her eyes as she took in the creature's appearance. For the most part, she appeared human, the only give away that she wasn't a fellow homo sapiens were her claw-like nails and her riged, venous face. Not to mention the fact that she was wearing a dress that was at least two hundred years out of style and more suited for a woman of the night than an aristocrat, though the fabric (miraculously free of plaster and brick dust) was a high quality silk and velvet combination. The v-cut bodice was turned more respectable by web-like ribbons holding it closer together, mostly covering her cleavage. Maka didn't like her, if for no other reason than she was unfairly bodacious.

"Sweetheart, are you alright? I heard the explosion and ca—"

"Save it for someone who will believe your lies," the hunter spat, drawing her machete and pointing it at the monster. "I know what you are." The woman, whose once beautiful face was contorted into a snarl, suddenly laughed, throwing her head back and revealing a a mouthful of sharp teeth.

She was directly in front of Maka in the time it took the hunter to blink, grinning down at the shorter woman. "Do you now, my dear?" The creature purred, leaning in so the tip of the weapon dug into her slender throat. "Then you should also know that I just can't let you have this weapon in my presence. My apologies." She reached up and petted Maka's wrist, grabbing and snapping it before the hunter could even react. Maka screamed, dropping the weapon and clutching her broken wrist close to her chest. She stared wide eyed at the monster who was looking demurely up at her, and this close, even in the dim lighting, could see her multiple pupils and light blue irises. Only one creature had eyes like that.

Arachne, the Spider Queen. She was a Greek goddess, body like that of a beautiful woman with spider arms growing grotesquely from her torso. She was the mother of the race of monsters known by the same name. Born in Crete, her children were common there, but she had migrated to Japan when the samurais were in power, drawn by the chaos they submersed themselves in. Arachnes had never been seen in America, so Maka hadn't thought the information about the goddess and her children would be relevant. Now, as she stared their mother in her disturbing eyes, she was grateful that she had committed the facts to memory.

Maka gulped as what she had guessed this creature to be was confirmed, but she set her shoulders stubbornly and narrowed her eyes at the goddess.

"How absolutely beautiful, you do know who I am! And yet you're still here and haven't soiled your pants. I do believe I shall keep you for a pet for a while before I eat you."

As she backed up, the hunter flicked her eyes over to the man who was still crouched in the middle of a crater, watching the two women with a concerned frown. Upon closer examination, she saw he was held there by Arachne's web. Her eyes widened in fear for him. "Hey, you!" she called, voice shaking. He shifted her gaze to her briefly before refocusing on the Spider Queen. "Look at me, dammit! Did she get you? Answer me—did she bite you?" When he didn't respond, she turned back to the goddess, good hand clenched in anger. "Did you bite him, you eight-legged freak?"

The goddess merely smiled, and it was everything Maka could do to keep herself from leaping at her. "Don't be angry with him, my dear. I'm afraid he's a little bit tied up right now, still trying to remember how to move his limbs. But you can't truly blame him if he doesn't want to leave, now can you? He did swear to me that he would rip my fucking throat out, I do believe those were his exact words, yes."

"You're repulsive," Maka said, lip pulled back in a sneer. Inhumanly fast, Arachne had the girl by her broken wrist, nails digging into the tender spot between the two bones as she twisted Maka's arm up behind her. The hunter ground her teeth together, refusing to give the god the satisfaction of knowing she was in pain, though she was panting from the exertion of keeping silent.

"I'm sorry, what did you just say to me?" Arachne's voice, promising vengeance and pain, sent shivers down the hunter's back, as though a bucket of spiders had just been dropped down her shirt. Maka laughed at the irony of her predicament, and the god, not appreciating the humor the girl found in the situation, used the leverage her hold on the girl gave her to push Maka to her knees, lest her shoulder be dislocated. The hunter's laugh turned into a cry of pain, and it was Arachne's turn to chuckle.

"You see, my dear, attitude gets you nothing but a slow, painful death."

Gasping, Maka forced out, "I—I can't wait to chop your fucking head off."

"Oh wonderful!" The hunter was sure that had she been able, Arachne would have clapped her hands in childlike glee, such was her delight. "Now I have two pitiful humans threatening me. I haven't had this much excitement since feudal Japan and those wonderfully unpredictable samurai! However, I'm afraid that you and Mr. Potty Mouth over there are proving to be too much of a problem to keep around for fun. I was going to turn him, but alas, now it just seems like too much of a hassle." As she was speaking, her voice was changing from its high, sweet tone of earlier to a throatier and rough version, and Maka could hear popping and crackling sounds coming from behind her that did not give her any feelings of comfort whatsoever.

She felt a hand gently brush her hair off her shoulder and was confused until she saw from the corner of her eye that Arachne now had eight arms, just like a spider, all ending in deadly sharp talons. When a claw traced her neck, leaving behind a stinging pain, Maka shrieked, losing her cool and flailing about in her captor's many arms. She was reduced to tears and desperation now that she was so close to death.

The goddess made shushing, calming noises before throwing the woman away from her. Maka grunted as she hit the ground, curling into herself to try and ease the pain. Arachne's steps were light, but with her heightened senses, the hunter heard every one loud and clear. Her vision cleared just in time for her to see the monster's foot rushing toward her face. Maka reached up and stopped the kick at the last second, sliding back over the destroyed asphalt from the force of the motion.

Arachne made a displeased noise. "Sweetheart, it'll be so much easier for you just relax and accept it. Please, do not feel as though you have to suffer for my entertainment, though I appreciate the effort." She grabbed the hunter by her ponytail, lifting her until the two were eye to eye. Maka cried out in pain, hands scrabbling at the goddess's wrists. From somewhere behind her (a place Maka really didn't want to think about), the monster produced a web, guiding it to tie the hunter's hands up and stick her to the wall. Soon, the pain of being held up by a broken wrist was overshadowed by the pain from the goddess's fists. With her one set of human-like hands, aided at times with a slice from a talon, Arachne delivered her beating. By the time the goddess was through, a majority of the girl's face was swollen, she was sure she had lost a tooth or two, and she could see only partially out of one eye, and then only occasionally, when blood wasn't clouding her vision.

At first, Maka had fought back against the goddess, trying to cut her way out of Arachne's web with her short nails, kicking out at the goddess's knees and stomach and, really, any part of her body the hunter could reach, but the Spider Queen and her web appeared unaffected by her efforts. As it got harder to breathe and the pain reached an unbearable point, Maka's attacks were slower and held less force behind them until, exhausted, she ceased all movement, hanging limp in Arachne's web. She was crying again at this point, silent tears of defeat leaving clean tracks in the dirt and burning as they traced over split skin.

In disgust, Maka assumed, Arachne cut her free, and she landed in a heap. She didn't even have enough energy to push herself into a sitting position. Besides, she thought, what would be the point? The goddess would just take it as an invitation to deliver more pain. Wheezing as she tried to breathe through the bloody mess that was her mouth, inhaling dust and dirt particles along with the vital oxygen, Maka glanced at the white haired man through the curtain of her hair. What she saw made her face lift in a painful smile; he was struggling with renewed effort to get to his feet, knees shaking, roaring something that Maka couldn't hear over the ringing in her ears. From the way Arachne's head was thrown back and her shoulders rose and fell in laughter, the hunter guessed that he was yelling threats at the goddess.

Yes, she thought, in another life, given another chance, the man would have made a fine hunter. And he still could!

Renewed strength rushed though Maka, heating her head to toe, and she twisted herself around enough to be able to look up at the Spider Queen. Muscles screaming their protests, she reached out and gripped the hem of the woman's tattered skirt, tugging to get her attention. Eyebrows raised that the puny human was still conscious, Arachne turned and looked down her nose at the hunter, who was glaring up at the goddess through one large green eye. Her haughty expression was quickly replaced with one of horror and she froze at the look on Maka's face. It was the look a predator gave its prey, a look the goddess had seen only once before, in the eyes of heaven's angels as they laid waste to the spider queen's followers.

Arachne swallowed but covered her fear with a sneer. She crouched down next to the hunter, brushing the hair from her face tenderly. "Come to ask for more, did you? I never took you for a masochist, but then again, I suppose that's just something that you only learn once you get to know someone intimately." Maka's lips moved in a whisper, and the goddess grabbed a handful of her hair, wrenching her head back. "Don't you know it's quite rude to mumble; your mother would be ashamed if she knew about your bad manners."

Maka spit blood into Arachne's surprised face and then grinned, her face contorting horrifically. "Then I guess it's a good thing my mother's dead—kind of like you'll be, and soon, I believe."

A startled laugh tore itself out of the goddess's throat. She kicked Maka in the stomach again, and the girl curled up on herself, coughing. Maka tried to back away from the goddess, one hand in front of her and the other covering her mouth. For all Maka's effort, however, Arachne kept advancing, eyes gleaming maniacally. "What, is the wrath of god going to smite me down where I stand? You poor, stupid soul. Your precious God doesn't care. About you. About me. About this whole damned planet! It's Godforsaken, get it?"

She had just brought her foot back to deliver a strike to the hunter's face when a gale-force wind blew through the alley, stirring up little dust devils that picked up the smaller pieces of rubble and tossed them aside. Arachne was forced to stumble back to regain her footing, Maka shielded her eyes with an arm, squinting against the onslaught of particles, and the white haired man, the closest to the source of the wind, stared defiantly into it, hair blowing back from his face.

Silhouetted in the veil of dirt was a lanky figure clad in a well-tailored suit. As the dust settled down and lighting turned to normal, details of his appearance could be made out more clearly. He was definitely male, but when the three concluded that he couldn't be more than eighteen, they were very confused. The kid seemed not to notice the unimpressed faces of his companions as he casually brushed non-existent dirt from his suit. He had long, obviously dyed black hair, with, Maka saw when he ran his hand through it, strange white stripes wrapping around only half of his head. Altogether, he seemed like an unusually well-dressed scene kid, but nothing more. Until he looked up at Maka, and she noticed that his eyes were golden, and they glowed.

Who was this kid? She desperately prayed that he was a friend, or at the very least, an enemy of Arachne.

The kid's mouth moved, and despite the distance, Maka heard him clearly, as though he were standing right next to her. "Who says I cannot be both?" His voice was cold and unemotional, very nearly crackling with a power that made Maka's eardrums pop. Her eyes widened and he nodded before placing his hands in his pockets and strolling—as though he were walking through the mall or something, and not to his imminent death, Maka thought incredulously—towards her. He passed right by the white haired man without sparing him a more than a cold glance, gaze focused over Maka at the goddess who was trembling where she stood. It appeared to the hunter that Arachne was frozen in place by something, be it fear or an external force, she didn't know.

"S-s-stay back," the Spider Queen whispered. The closer the kid got, the more her breathing sounded like hyperventilating. When he stepped over Maka, placing himself right in front of Arachne, so close their chests were almost touching, the goddess raised her chin defiantly. "Let me go this instant. Or are you too afraid to fight me on even terms, fairy?" So she was being held in place, and it seemed as though it was this kid's doing.

He seemed unaffected by Arachne's insult, merely lifting an eyebrow at her desperation. Maka wondered if he really was a fairy; she knew they existed, and as she had never seen one before, it was entirely possible that he was one. But it wouldn't explain why the goddess had used the term as an insult if it really was just a simple statement of the kid's race. Either way, the two seemed to have some history—and not the good kind.

"Come now, Arachne. Certainly even you cannot believe that I would let you go when I've finally found you after years of searching. I must admit, it was quite impressive that you managed to hide from us for so long; I suppose you really are a spider, able to disappear in the smallest of cracks." The goddess snarled at him, trying to simultaneously bite at his fingers and flinch back from his hand as he moved to pat her cheek. "But you do know what I must do now. It will be a beautiful moment for me, so try very hard not to ruin it, will you? I know destruction is in your nature, but please restrain yourself."

This time, she couldn't flinch back from the kid as he cupped her head in his hands. His eyes lit up a bright white as he stared at her, and her face stretched in pain as she screeched, a death wail that had both humans covering their ears in pain. Maka couldn't help but watch in morbid curiosity as blood leaked from Arachne's eyes and nose, as she went limp in the kid's arms, as the light faded from around him and he let her drop in disgust, wiping his hands on the goddess's clothing because he wouldn't soil his own suit with such dirty things.

When he turned to Maka and held out a hand, she cringed back away from him, curling into herself once again, as though she expected him to deliver death just like he had to Arachne. Maka didn't know what or who he was, but this kid, who looked so silly and pretentious on the outside, was powerful enough to kill a goddess with his bare hands. The kid sighed before grabbing her elbow and pulling her to her feet surprisingly gently. Though she was most certainly older than him the top of Maka's head barely reached his chin. She whimpered at the strain her body was under as she tried to stand on her own. He wrapped a supporting arm around her middle, and, against her better judgment, she leaned into him. The pressure on her torso hurt, but it wasn't as bad as trying to support herself.

"Better?" His tone was soft now, high and nasally and no longer coated with raw power.

The hunter couldn't twist her neck around so she couldn't see the compassion in his face. Though it hurt to speak, she forced herself to do so anyway. "Who," her voice squeaked and she cleared her throat uncomfortably. "Who—what are you?"

"I'm an angel of the lord, Maka Albarn."

She searched his face, and apparently finding something she didn't like, scoffed and pushed him away. Her efforts didn't do much to him, but she did manage to make herself stumble back a few steps until she found her balance at the wall. Clutching at the bricks to hold herself up, she narrowed her eye at him. "You're full of shit," she said coldly.

"I'm…what?"

Maka's derisive laugh quickly turned into a hacking cough. She fell to her knees, fingers digging into the asphalt as she choked, spitting blood. She heard her name called, the two syllables echoing in her head as though they were yelled from the opposite end of a tunnel. She was struggling to breathe again, the ground below her blurring. She heard the scuff of steps on loose stones, saw the distorted outline of a knee, felt the light touch of two fingers on her forehead, and then she knew no more.