[Crona's mind is easy to twist at the best of times, too unstable to handle doubts well. Crona's been learning, of course, learning to use innate stubbornness and sharp temper to best advantage in navigating a world not seen through the fisheye lens of insanity or the gentle cruelty of Medusa's instructions.

But right now, with Maka's voice still ringing accusations in Crona's ears, with fire and confusion and horrified aching panic, Crona listens to the whispers without processing their words. Crona accepts what the whispers say without question.]

Lady Medusa's dead, isn't she? No, maybe not. They'd said she was dead before, but they were wrong. She might not be. She might be here. That could be right. Maybe she is here.

[Ragnarok laughs inside his meister's skull, inside his meister's veins. He's missed this paranoid instability and the possibility of violence.

Crona's mouth twists in a broken smile, eyes wild and voice a rambling whisper.]

Hey, Ragnarok? Should we? We should. [A hand held out to the side, fingers grabbing at the hilt of a sword that appears in a pulse of blood.

Ippo is first, Ragnarok's black blade slicing across and through, severing his spine just below the last set of ribs. Not a quick death, no, but it doesn't matter. When he goes down, maybe Crona will stab him through the skull later.

Crona knows a lot of ways to kill. Lady Medusa had given Crona a book, a picture book full of all the ways to kill, all the ways to chop and slice and stab.

Alucard will be next, Ragnarok's sharp edge aimed to slip through ribs and pierce the heart from behind.]