Prologue

He was five when his life changed forever.

The night seemed to come alive and become one giant play, put on for all to see.

Every beating he took were the lines, Number Four Private Drive was the background, and his screams were the soundtrack.

Every crunch of his bones were the beat, the cries of anguish were the chorus and his sobs were the closing melody.

He was the main character. A tragic hero confined by those who have there own agendas. The villains were always the same three people who made his life a living hellhole.

There was no comic relief either. No damsel that needed saving. No fairy tales.

No Magic..

As he lye there in a pool of his own blood, staring unseeing up at his blob of an uncle, he wondered what it would be like if he had a normal life.

One where his parents were alive and he could always rely on their love to get through the worst in life. Or one where he'd be able to defend himself. Anything other than this, he'd gladly accept. It was a wish he thought was going to die off with him on the floor soaked in his own crimson ink.

The notes written in his blood dancing across the page coming to a sudden halt. The music of his life had come to a stop and... the silence, deafening.

His uncle finally thinking the boy had ceased to sing to his own tune, laughed gleefully at the outcome. He'd finally killed the freak. His drunken haze clouding over any thoughts of what would happen to him now that he'd killed the boy. He was rid of the cause of his problems.

Thinking clearly, as only a shit-faced drunk could, he gone down stairs to grab a spare rug to dump the body with. After he'd rolled the body up in the carpet and slung it over his shoulder, he'd brought it out to the car and put in the boot. Starting the car and peeling out o the drive way, he was finally getting rid of the brat and nothing could go wrong.

Oh how terribly wrong one person could be.

You see, the boy was still alive. Barely clinging to life as the magic inside him fought to keep him alive. It needed to save him and used every action it could to accomplish the task. His body pulsing with raw power sent wavelengths across the plane of existence. The waves of power felt by all of those who could sense souls, nearly wiped them off their feet.

Magic herself was so angry that it effected everything. The earth quaked, the wind raged and the seas crashed.

In her attempt to save the child, she had been forced to change him. She rearranged his genetics and forced new genes into his existing ones. He gained the Demon Weapon gene and his soul changed. Before it had been a simple purple flame of magical power, but now it was something else.

A redish-black blaze of fury was the result, with blade like wings dancing around the center. A fitting soul for the weapon of death he would become.

DWMA: Eastern Europe Headquarters

The Lord of Death had been at the DWMA: Eastern Europe division when the first shock wave was felt.

It was like nothing he'd ever felt before. Such raw power, that only the strongest of beings could omit such a blast was slightly terrifying.

So he'd ordered all teams on standby and to be alert in the chance an attack occurred. This was someone new he'd never met so he wasn't taking chances.

When the second wave hit, he realized that it was a beacon. The person omitting the waves was calling for help and everyone felt it.

The wave was one full of anguish and pain. The feeling of sorrow washed over the meisters' and weapons of the DWMA bringing a heart clenching pain felt by all.

It was almost as if the world itself was wailing in grief and frustration. Death instantly started trying to locate the source so he could help the whoever they may be. He was having trouble locating their soul when the third and final wave hit.

The force of the shock wave alone made those sensitive to soul drop to their knees. But it was the emotions that came with it that made even the toughest of those in the DWMA choke out a sob. The feeling of despair felt in the deepest parts of their souls was heavy. Like a weight added to their shoulders to forever hold them down, everybody hit rock bottom at once.

It didn't take Death long to find the source after that because the soul was practically broadcasting it's location for all to see. So with out a second thought he raced towards what would become his future.

Death City, Albarn Residence

Maka Albarn was playing with her parents when she felt the first shock wave.

She felt the wave flow into her soul and be absorbed. Her parents, also a meister and weapon respectfully, also felt the surge. Except theirs wasn't as strong as their daughters so when she collapsed on the floor and started crying, they were understandably worried.

Their worry increased tenfold when the second and third wave hit and their daughter only increased her wailing. The only thing they could do was hold her until she got herself under control.

When she was reduced to the occasional sob, they'd asked her why she was crying and all she would say was that she could feel his soul dying. She didn't know whose soul it was but she felt the connection forming in background as she grew.

Over the years she would feel his soul occasionally and it would be a bit staggering. It would come at random moments and she could feel what he was at that moment.

Happiness. Sadness. Determination. Anger.

She felt them whenever they were in abundance and sometimes she swore she could see a pair of glowing green eyes when she closed her own.

When Death arrived at the location he instantly knew that something was wrong.

The air around him seemed dead to world and so stale that he could hardly breathe. The moon high in the sky shining down with an eerie gleam to the forest in front of him.

Fog rolled over earth as even the wolves cried in distress. The trees creaked and groaned at a covert force tried making more room.

As he made his way into the grove, he followed the invisible path leading to his mark. A force guiding him to an open patch that could only be called a meadow. There in the center of the opening lye a rolled up rug.

Fearing the worst as he glided upon object of emotional upset, he slowly unwrapped the it's coverings. What he found inside was sickening to say the least.

Inside was a child, rags covering his body with blood everywhere. His skin covered in the substance, bones lye at all angles and bruising marking the exposed skin.

Yet somehow he was still alive. A miracle.

Working as fast as he could, Death set to take the child back to HQ. And so with a little bit of magic he was off to get him medical care.

It would take Harry five months to recover from his injuries. Two being spent in a coma.

Death would end up adopting him into the family and he grew up. When he was seven he found out he was a weapon. He was a sword.

A blade so divine that the gods themselves would be jealous. The handle encrusted with red rubies, and the blade black with red streaks. When is use, the colors blended in a demonic fury that made his enemies quiver in fear and his allies rejoice in his alliance. He also found out he could use his hands as guns if he needed. They too were black with red streaks flowing across the metal.

He would end up searching for a partner by the time he was ten. The search for a meister took so long because he couldn't find anybody compatible with his soul. Eventually he gave up searching and stayed meisterless. He was always different so why not be different in this way as well.

When he turned eleven, he reached his third star weapon status and left home at the DWMA to travel the world and learn about his parents.

It would be two years before he showed up again. And when he did show up.

It would be the start of what would be known as the Blade Dance.