CHAPTER 1

A/N – Hello everyone, and welcome to my latest SE project. I must confess that in this story I will be using some themes previously employed in other fics I've done for other fandoms, but not too much, mostly IT IS a brand new idea (and I have a lot of crazy ideas, as you might have noticed). So, like I said in the summary, it will be M rated for gore and violence and something else, all the 'good stuff' in later chapters. Enjoy and let me know what you think!

Large green eyes opened slowly in the now familiar semi-darkness of the dungeons, the girl's ears alert to the sounds of the preparations made for a new day in the Arena. There was a constant rattling of chains as new slaves were brought in their cells or moved around and a clinging of armors, shields and weapons as they were being repaired, cleaned and polished for a new day of glory and death. The blonde forced herself to sit upright in the small bed, pushing the rough blanket away from her bare skin, and stretched her back and her neck. The cut on her right upper arm still stung like hell every time she moved, but it was obvious that Ox would show her no mercy. Quite the slave driver, wasn't he? But then again, I am a slave now… Maka thought.

It was almost noon – everybody in the Citadel would wake around noon and go to bed around midnight - Maka got dressed quickly and went to grab some breakfast, mainly almost raw meat, some dark bread and water. While munching on the food the blonde observed the lycan slaves toiling around – it was the only distraction she was getting before heading to the training area of the Arena where she would most likely spend her whole day. Since she was still an apprentice, Maka had not had any match yet – training master Ox had assessed that she was far worse than just 'not ready' – and she had never as much as seen a real match, not even as a spectator.

Apart from various trades, the Arena was the main source of income for the kingdom of Styx's capital, the Citadel. Many wealthy men from other kingdoms, noblemen and merchants alike, came with the King's and the Lords' permission and were willing to pay good money to be entertained by the most fantastic, dirty and gore fights, which were not allowed elsewhere. Slave warriors were used in these fights and each House had such slaves, who fought to bring glory to it. They were kept in the dungeons beneath the Arena, and it was the training masters' duty to take care of their maintenance and training. Besides being a means of entertainment, the public fights were also the way in which the Lords chose to solve their conflicts, by means of challenge. If the conflict or challenge was particularly serious, sometimes the training masters themselves would fight.

When the blonde eventually stepped into the training area, the other apprentices were already at work, which could only mean that she was going to get a scolding for it. The large stone paved hall was only lit by a few torches, which sent flickering shadows on the numerous weapons panels hung on its walls. As expected, Ox Ford threw her a disapproving look for being late and shook his head.

"You know, Master Galiel has requested better results from you lot and as of this moment you're all completely useless!" The training master, who was never seen without a pair of bizarre black goggles and who was bald except for two long spikes of hair on each side of his head, gave her a disdainful once over before shoving an old steel scythe in her hand. "As for you, Albarn, you were just a bad investment, but Master Galiel wouldn't listen to me. What the hell was he thinking? You'll never make three million to repay your father's debt! It's going to be a blasted miracle if you make as much as two hundred!"

"It's gonna be a fucking miracle if she makes any money at all. And Kilik is willing to bet that she won't last ten minutes in a real match, but I disagree. I think she won't last two!"

Maka turned swiftly to where the poisonous comment had come from, gritting her teeth in annoyance. Soul "Eater" Evans was a human scythe like her father and the absolute champion of the House of Galiel, he'd had more than twenty matches already and was yet undefeated. The white haired boy stepped from the shadows ruffling his naturally spiked hair and sauntered lazily towards the group of apprentices, his trademark sharp toothed grin plastered on his face.

"Honestly, Ox, why is she here?" he went on in the same tone. "I mean, she's not even pretty. And look, no boobs!"

The blonde's temper instantly flared and she smacked away the hand pawing her small breast over the simple leather bra she wore before shoving her weapon under the boy's chin. "You have a big mouth, don't you, troll eater Evans!" she retorted. "Why don't you fight me instead?! Let me show you why the hell I'm here!"

But Soul simply laughed in her face, pushing the blade away with two fingers. "You do know this side doesn't really cut, don't you, tiny tits? Fight you? Yeah, like when you grow up or something!"

"Cut it out you two!" Ox intervened. "Evans, this is your day off, you should rest. The rest of you make pairs and continue practicing, I'll be watching you," he ordered the other slaves, throwing them an overall glance. Then he sighed. Apart from the ogre Orlog, all of them were human and quite pathetic looking.

Bastard, I'll show you! Maka thought, weighing her weapon in her hand impatiently. It was heavy and she'd previously had the misfortune to injure exactly her fighting arm. The cut stung at the movement and she could feel the stitches pull at her skin under the bandage. The blonde hissed and swore under her breath.

"That's a real scythe for you, tiny tits, not as light as your dice rolling Papa, huh?" the white haired boy continued to pester her, now leaning casually against one of the stone pillars.

Maka's jaw clenched and she blinked back her tears. Her father, the once famous Death Scythe Spirit Albarn had taken to drinking and gambling after her mother had left him (left them both, actually), to such an extent that he'd ruined them and buried their small family in debts. And he had ended up in such a state that his old associate Galiel could no longer use him for fighting in exchange for the money he'd paid on their behalf to the Star creditors. So the ruthless slave merchant had taken his daughter instead. Oh Papa, you were such an idiot! Three million! How will I ever raise so much money?

The blonde rolled her shoulders and straightened her back, doing her best to ignore the stares she was getting, as usual. All the other slaves in training in their House were boys, and although female fighters were not a rare sight she had still stirred their curiosity. On top of that, Maka's outfit only consisted of a simple leather bra, a very short matching skirt and knee length boots and she did not feel exactly comfortable in it. Instead, she struggled to focus on her current opponent – a tall but rather muscular young man named Will, who had been doing some warm-up moves with a long sword, the same kind of weapon which had given Maka her wound in the first place.

Damn it! she thought. Her father had only taught her to fight with a scythe, since he was himself one, but the scythe was usually an awkward weapon, too large and long, heavy and difficult to maneuver except for very few fighters. One had to be very fast to be able to take advantage of its relatively long range and in the same time dodge attacks from an opponent carrying a lighter weapon. And unlike any different weapon wielder, Maka could not carry a shield and was basically without any protection.

"Stop staring, idiot!" the training master urged the boy, shoving him forward. "Fight!"

The blonde gave a tentative spin of her scythe, discouraging the advance of her opponent, before lifting it backwards on her shoulder in preparation for a blow. The boy lunged forward and then she suddenly lowered the heavy, broad blade to the ground, causing him to stumble brusquely and stoop forward. Taking advantage of his momentary confusion, Maka hit him in full with her forearm, shoving him backwards. But the boy recovered faster than expected and thrust forward with his own blade, leaving her no choice but to jump back in defense and rethink her strategy. Unfortunately, the heavy weapon swung backwards by the swift motion made her lose her balance and the blonde landed on her back, dropping the scythe. The sharp, curved tip got stuck between two stone slabs in the floor and Will, carried away by a sudden sense of victory, tripped on the blade and fell forward face first, the long sword flying from his hand.

"Now that was particularly idiotic!" Ox hissed, scrubbing a hand over his face and upsetting his goggles in the process.

"Oh come on Ox, you have no sense of humor," Soul laughed. "Just how cool was that?"

"You know what? I don't know why I even bother with you lot," the training meister said sternly. "You're fucked anyway, you're stupid, you can't fight, you're all dead meat even before walking upon the sand. If the House of Galiel can only have two good fighters and the rest are trash then it's not my fault – it wasn't me who paid almost two hundred thousand galleons for twenty useless scumbags and three million for a dumb little girl who can't even stand on her legs! You'll all be used in the 'filling' matches and that will be it!"

The High Priest known as Lord Death took a deep breath in the chill evening breeze, gazing upon the cloudless sky, golden in the last rays of sun. The strong, sweet scent of the countless roses in his garden filled the air and he stopped for a moment to contemplate the sheer beauty of the surrounding nature. Next to him, the Great Wizard Eibon sat on a stone bench, slightly bent forward as he rested his palms on his knees.

"He's my only son, you know," Death said, although he knew his words to be useless. "I shall have to ask of him something that I, as a father, shouldn't be. He will probably think me cruel, perhaps he will even hate me for it…"

"Blame it on me, then," Eibon spoke wearily from behind his golden mask. "I know that if this had come to pass in the years of your youth you wouldn't have hesitated to do it yourself. But now we are both old men. Our days have passed, that's why it has to be your son. Would you even trust anyone else with this task? You know it requires a multitude of skills…"

Lord Death sighed and wrapped his black cloak tighter around his bony shoulders. "But how can you be sure… are you even sure that the prophecy, or better said the one who can bring the prophecy to its fulfillment can be found? Do you really think that the one who will finally slay the immortal Ourouboros was actually born?"

"The one was born, not very long ago. I know that much," Eibon confirmed."And I know that we do not have much time, we must find them before the Ourouboros does and puts an end to all our hopes. You should speak to your son, delay it no more"

"Kid, you're back!" the taller blonde named Liz cried, rushing to greet her shinigami stepbrother, but the younger Patricia beat her to it, jumping straight in the arms of the pale, dark haired boy. She was holding a crooked paper giraffe which got squeezed in the process.

"Patty! You're more and more beautiful each day," Kid said, kissing the girl's short golden curls affectionately.

Liz crossed her arms, petulantly. "Honestly, Kid! You know how much we worry every time you go on a mission without us. I mean, we're your sisters, who else can take care of you?"

The young shinigami walked to the sofa with his little stepsister still in his arms and plopped down, sighing. "I hated to leave you two all alone in this big house, but you know I had to. I realise you were bored thought, I know my father is no fun. What else is new?"

The taller blonde sat down next to him, pulling her knees to her chest oblivious of how bad she was creasing her white chiffon dress. "He wants to speak to you, father I mean. He told us to let you know as soon as you arrive…" she sighed, "I have a feeling that he'll send you away again." The girl grabbed a cup from the low table nearby and poured her brother some wine. "There, you'll probably need it"

"Well, that's the job, is it not?" Kid observed, taking a small sip. "It's not like I didn't know it would suck."

"You know, Kid, I was thinking…" Liz began, chewing nervously on her lip." I was thinking that it's time for me and Patty to do something, about our lives, you know… I mean father picked us up from the streets and raised us, but… well there is a problem. You know we can't make a life for ourselves, or ever have a life of our own without a decent dowry. And we have no dowry. This isn't so much about myself, but Patty… And I was thinking that I could raise enough money for her if we took part in the games at the Citadel"

"The… Iron games of the Citadel? And you would fight, with Patty as your weapon?"

"Yes. I mean, how hard could it be? We are pistols, for Gods' sake"

The shinigami shook his head, putting down the younger sister. "Liz, the games are very dangerous. People die in the games everyday, just because a crowd of bloodthirsty lunatics wants to be entertained. And Patty is still too young for this, her range isn't very good and her accuracy not yet perfect. You won't get a clear shot very easily, especially if you are to fight someone who is very fast. And not a clear shot could mean death, for you at least." He stood up, lightly patting the younger blonde's hair. "I'm going to go see what my father wants. We'll talk about this when I get back"

To be continued