Chapter Text
The exorcist rushed through the field, grass whipping at his legs and urging him to go faster. He was panting, hyperventilating, wheezing—whichever it was he wasn't getting enough air, but he couldn't stop. He couldn't even entertain the idea of slowing down. Not until he was sure that they wouldn't come after him.
He realized he should be ashamed of himself, running away like this. He couldn't even glorify it and call it a retreat. No, he was fleeing. He tried to block out images of Nagato, speared on the end of the Millennium Earl's sword like a piece of meat. It hadn't been his first glimpse of death—not even close. But it was his first encounter with the Noah Clansmen, and he knew now that all the stories were true. Ruthless, sadistic, and terrifyingly strong. He ran faster.
It was getting harder to move his legs, the muscles cramping. It felt like they were filling up with lead. A slight burning sensation ran down his back, and he knew without having to look that the wound across his shoulder was festering and oozing. He counted himself lucky. He knew that the black-haired Noah's intention had been to shoot off his arm, and only shoving his Innocenced dagger through the Noah's forearm at the last moment saved him.
Jason collapsed somewhere behind him, the frantic pants slowing and deepening. He didn't want to stop, not until he got to the Finder's base in the East. But Jason was still a new exorcist, just recruited five months ago. He eased his pace and turned, secretly glad for an excuse to rest. The Beginner exorcist lay in the grass, and he flinched when he saw the gash on Jason's forehead. If he didn't staunch the flow and put pressure on the wound, this kid would bleed out within minutes.
He ripped his coat off, folded it, and pressed it to the exorcist's forehead. A quick 360 degree lookaround and he knew that no one was following them. He realized Markus wasn't with them, and felt sick dread in his stomach. The man was probably dead. He returned his attention back to Jason.
Had to focus on the living now. Death was just an occupational hazard, one an exorcist learned to deal with early on.
Static crackled through the air, making him jump. He remembered, belatedly, that Nagato's golem was still with them, blaring white noise.
"—your position. I repeat...port your position. Come in...Naga...report your..." He seized the transmitter golem, twisting the dials and setting coordinates.
"This is Lucas, I repeat, this is Lucas. I'm in Dahlem, in Lower Saxony. Fifty-three point two degrees North, Ten point seven-five degrees East. We're four men down, I repeat, four men down. Two Finders, two exorcists. Jason and I, me, Lucas, we're injured bad. Please direct us to the nearest base." He waited, wishing, pleading the transmit got through. The golem crackled again.
"We're sending you the coordinates. What happened? Who has died?" He breathed a sigh of relief.
"Markus and Nagato, sir. And two Finders, sir, I don't recall their names. We were ambushed by Noah Clansman. Three of them." He could almost hear the surprise over the static, evident in the pause that ensued.
"...Three Noah Clansman? Hold on...Captain Reever! There's an exorcist in Dahlem. Ran into three Noah." More static. Then Reever's voice came through the golem, clear and authoritative.
"Exorcist—Lucas is it? Please, describe the Noah you ran into."
"They were all dark-skinned," he said. "With crosses across their foreheads and—" Reever cut him off.
"Yes, yes, but did you recognize them? Did they say anything?" He searched his mind, trying to muster up some description other than how utterly petrifying they were.
"There were three of them, Captain. Sorry, you knew that. The one I fought was dark-haired. Lots of makeup. He had a gun that could shoot without being reloaded. The other one was like him too, had the same gun. But he was blond. His mouth was closed up with stitches. Really gross, actually."
"That would be Jasdebi, the twins," Reever murmured. "And what about the third? Was it a woman or a man?"
"A man, Captain. Though more like a kid. White hair. Scary voice. Had the Millennium Earl's sword. It was really weird. It started out with just his arm, but he like, pulled it out."
A long pause. "Captain Reever?"
"There's no information on a Noah with white hair. Could you be mistaken? And you're sure it was a man?"
"Yes. A boy, Captain. White hair and a scary scream. I still hear the ringing in my ears."
"Very well. We'll do some research here. Thank you, Lucas...Supervisor! Look in the archives about all the Noah. See if any of them have white hair...Thanks again, Lucas. The nearest Finder base is at fifty-three point two degrees North, twelve degrees East. Check in with us when you get there."
"Yes, Captain." The golem fell silent, flapping its wings mechanically. Jason was unconscious, but the bleeding had stopped. He gathered the exorcist in his arms, hoisting himself and the kid off the ground and ignoring the searing pain that shot up his shoulder.
He glanced around quickly, sweeping his gaze across the field around him, and ran. As fast as his legs would take him. He didn't stop until he saw Finders streaming out from the base in Ahrmühle, and collapsed, darkness rushing up to greet him.
—Six weeks later—
Allen whirled around, a blur of soft white and harsh metallic, to lock swords—or in his case, his arm—with the exorcist across from him. Another senior exorcist, Allen noted. They spun, retreated, and clashed again. The exorcist gripped the sword with two hands, pinpointing his full strength into the razorsharp blade. It grated along the interlocking plates of his Innocence arm, and he considered telling the man who he was, just to see what kind of reaction it would get.
The hilt of the sword glowed green and Allen's eyes flashed. The man was about to fully activate it. He wasn't feeling up to wasting time or energy, so he let his tainted Innocence run wild, black claws tearing through the fabric of his glove. He grabbed the Innocenced sword with his other hand to divert the attack, indifferent when the blade sliced through his charcoal flesh, and plunged his black claws into the exorcist.
He retracted them immediately; he wasn't about to get another of his shirts stained with blood. With a strangled gasp, the man clad in black and red dropped, now a bit more red than black.
An itch ran along the back of his hairline, and recognizing the sudden danger he was in, he spun around to meet an exorcist's surprise attack. There wasn't enough time to block, the man was nearly on top of him, and he activated the inverted Crown Clown and swung it in an arc around him.
The Earl's Sword sliced through the nameless exorcist easily. Two halves of a body dropped on either side of him. Almost too easy, he thought grimly, re-sheathing his inverted Innocence. It was unnecessary, like using a scalpel to cut through butter.
He shifted his arm back to its deactivated state, now thoroughly coated in blood. He tried shaking the blood from the hard contours of his left arm, but it was too hot, too sticky. The dichotomized corpse abandoned its Equiment-type Innocence, and the fragment, small and glittering, rolled to his feet.
The other exorcist was incapacitated, slowly bleeding out from the deep punctures in his stomach.
"Are you going to kill him?" A luscious voice at his ear almost made him shiver. But Allen wasn't entranced by the Noah of Lust.
"No," he replied curtly. Lulubell pursed her lips.
"He's suffering more if he's alive," she said.
Allen turned sharply on his heel, pulling the glove over his bloody hand. He wasn't going to budge. With a shrug, Lulubell knelt next to the dying exorcist and, without reluctance or delay, broke his neck.
A part of Allen's shattered heart stirred, mourning the loss of two lives, but quickly turned detached once more. It was the only way he knew how to cope with the constant death toll. He tried not to kill if he didn't have to, but his Noah will was impulsive and unpredictable. If Allen was in danger, his body took over and he killed. Apathy was his only refuge. He killed with indifference and disregard, and harvested with loathing.
"Good job," Lulubell praised, surveying the damage around them. "You got two fragments today." Allen remained impassive as he re-opened the door to the Arc, leaving the fragments in the grass. He wanted to take a bath. It had become routine, these past weeks. Reconnaissance, harvesting, and exterminating in the mornings. Bathe, eat, sleep at night.
Lulubell gathered the fragments with a sigh, adding them to her own harvested fragment. It disgusted him, being a bystander in the destruction of Innocence, but at least Lulubell was professional about it. Jasdebi usually taunted and ridiculed him. He joined them almost every day for the morning harvest, the Earl not trusting him on his own (for good reason). Last time he was sent on a solo-mission, he left all the exorcists half-alive, Innocence intact. Since then, he was always accompanied by the Noah of Bonds, or occasionally Lulubell.
The Noah Clan assembled as usual in the dining room, seated according to Memory order. The odd-man out, Allen sat at the head of the table, opposite the Earl and also the farthest from. The Fourteenth's seat was rebellious in itself, seemingly a challenge of the Earl's authority.
"I assume your morning went well?" The Earl asked. The question was directed at Lulubell, but his gaze was set on Allen. He returned the glare, defiance thick in the air between them.
"Yes, he acquired two fragments this morning," Lulubell recited, like a teacher's pet.
"Is he still using his Innocence?" Lulubell nodded, pushing her sunglasses up the perfect bridge of her nose.
"His Innocence still appears inverted, but only in his Noah form. It seems to work against exorcists just fine. In fact he killed two today. He hesitates to use his Memory powers, and I suspect he buries them deep in his mind, only allowing them to rise when he gets particularly emotional." Lulubell remained enviously dispassionate. "But I can only assume. I don't fight with him often." Allen pushed back his chair abruptly. He'd had enough of this.
"I'll take my leave." Road shot him a warning look, but the Earl nodded his assent. He curled his lip. As if he had asked permission.
He bowed acquiescingly, adjusted his shirt-tie, and strode out of the room. Silence hung in the room. The Noah Clan had long since gotten used to Allen's heartless, slightly numb attitude, figuring he had been broken and tamed. But his show of audacity surprised and infuriated them all.
"Well, this is a problem," Tyki muttered. The Earl only laughed, a sort of hysteria that rumbled through his chest.
"Sometimes, I really, really wish I killed Allen Walker all those years ago."
Weeks passed and Allen still refused to destroy the Innocence he captured. Even under the crushing influence and will of the First Noah, he wouldn't do it. The Millennium Earl said it didn't matter, after all, the Innocence was still getting destroyed, who cared who did it? But as the weeks bled into months, the Earl gradually became more impatient, until finally, he was completely incensed.
Allen had stolen Innocence from three exorcists the previous day, but conveniently 'misplaced' them, all of them knowing he had left them near the exorcists. He only brought back one fragment, stolen off an exorcist killed by Skinn. When the Earl demanded he destroy it, Allen shook his head silently, two quick jerks to the side, like a stubborn child. It was the norm these days, and Tyki walked towards him per usual, preparing to destroy the fragments instead, when the Earl snapped.
It was the first time Allen saw the Earl stop smiling, gnashing his enormous teeth in a disconcerting snarl. It was gone in a second, twisting upward into a wild grin, but it was enough to distress Allen. He feared he really had gone too far and he remembered Road twisting his wrist, saying, I have no qualms destroying your Innocence.
"You've become quite the snobbish one, Fourteenth Noah." There was a dangerous lilt to the Earl's voice, like he already had a punishment in mind.
Road hopped off her chair suddenly, and without warning, rammed the end of Lero into his skull.
"Let's go, Allen," she said cheerily. "I've gotten kinda sick of your high-and-mighty attitude, and Millennie wants you punished." His vision swam. He couldn't tell if she was sending him illusions or if he was still disoriented from her unexpected skull-bash. Cold steel was braceleted around his wrists, and he realized that he was being handcuffed. His power waned as Road force-transformed him and he shed his Noah skin for his vulnerable white form. Was she taking him back to his cell? He'd rather face eternal imprisonment than be forced to kill any more.
Only when he was flying through the air did he realize that Road had been carrying him someplace, now throwing him to the ground with surprising severity. His head cracked against the floor.
And then there were hands everywhere. Strapping him down and tangling him up in chains. Ripping his clothes off and leaving him bare. They were demons, he realized, his left eye activating. Wretched souls carrying out dirty work for Road. But what were they going to do to him?
He was sitting up now, on his knees with chains fastened around him, tethering him to the ground. His pale torso was bare, tattoos standing stark against the milk-white skin of his left shoulder. Road licked her lips.
Oh no...
He eyed the lash in her hands, an honest-to-god whip. He really had crossed the line. The Earl wanted only obedient dogs in his army. And now Road was going to torture him.
A quick snap of her wrist and lashes appeared on his chest, dark red lines welling blood. So he could bleed in his white form.
She whipped his back, his chest, and his arms, sometimes solemnly, other times with sadistic glee. Occasionally she rammed the head of the whip into his spine and bruises were quick to form. Through all of it, though, Allen didn't make a sound, didn't even move other than tightening his lips or furrowing his brows. Road just hit harder, faster, only on flesh unprotected by fat or muscle.
An hour passed, then another. It was a wonder he hadn't passed out by now. But emotion had long since left Allen Walker's body, gone with his faith and his morals. He could deal with physical pain.
"Are you gonna destroy the Innocence now?" Road scowled, cracking the whip viciously against his chest, right over his heart. He only twitched. He only realized later how stupid that had been, his noncompliance igniting an almost inhuman fury in her.
She switched to fire.
She brought the blazing end of her candles to the skin of his legs and held it there until it started to smoke. She didn't stop until his flesh was completely charred, even when he dropped his callous guise and screamed, and when the skin finally became numb and dead, she moved to a different area. The pain was excruciating, dancing along his nerves.
The agony never dulled, each time it was fresh and exquisite and Allen screamed in delirious pain. His pupils shrunk to pinpoints. Even his senses were set on fire; everything was too bright, too loud, too potent, it hurts. The air filled with the pungent and acrid smell of flesh burning. He was aware of the Millennium Earl watching, like some sick voyeur, waiting for him to break.
"You're almost there, Allen," Road's voice just barely cut through the haze in his mind. Almost there? Was he dying?
Another flame on his leg. Needling poison.
It felt like all his vessels and cells had befallen some maddening disease that left them writhing and shrieking. Burning was like those now-shrieking vessels tearing themselves apart, trying to be rid of the agony. And she wasn't stopping.
It might have gone on like that for another hour. Another day, another week. Maybe she had stopped right then, he had no idea. It didn't really matter—no one was coming for him, no one was going to save him. It occurred to him only then how much he wished someone out there was looking for him. But he was trapped, hopelessly and inescapably lost in the House of the Earl.
When he opened his eyes the next morning, his chains had been wrenched from the floor, freeing him. And in the palm of his had, and scattered along the floor, was the unmistakable dust of an Innocence fragment.
Instead of Jasdebi waiting by the Arc door, Tyki was there, smoking a cigarette with all the finesse of a drug addict, long drag after long drag after long drag. His head jerked up when he saw Allen walking towards him and he flicked the butt to the floor and ground it out with the heel of his boot. He raised a brow, scrutinizing him from head to toe, then said in a voice that belied his frantic chain smoking:
"Well! You look a lot better than I would've thought after five hours of torture from Road." He lit up another smoke. "Damn," he mumbled, cigarette dangling from his lips. "I'll have to tell her she's getting rusty. You ready to go?"
Outwardly, Allen didn't look much different than he did before. But Road's torture had been harsher than he realized. He had changed into his black form as soon as he woke, expecting the wounds to regenerate. Instead, they healed just as any human's would—the wounds were already starting to scar.
Since his clothes covered everything, he guessed Tyki had deduced the extent of his injuries from his bloodshot eyes and mangled lips bitten in pain. In truth, he looked awful underneath his new shirt and Victorian breeches.
Straight, ridged lines covered his back and chest, the largest and deepest over his ribs, above his heart, and across his spine. They were the pale kind, not red and puffy like his curse mark. The same, unfortunately, could not be said for his legs.
Angry, dark splotches riddled his calves and thighs, bright red in his white form, and a deep mauve in his black form. Road informed him they would scar and laughed at him, saying he looked like he was in camouflage.
"Ready to go where?" Something was off about Tyki. His eyes were too wide and he was still chain smoking.
"Exorcists are on the move," Tyki said. "We don't know where or why, but the Earl put us on Reconnaissance duty 'cause of it. There may be a battle coming up." A battle? He scrunched his brows together. They were going to fight exorcists—enough of them to call it a battle?
"How big is this battle?" Tyki's eyes darted to his, and now he realized what had made him seem so antsy. His pupils were fully dilated and his mouth twisted into a cynic grin.
Bloodlust. Tyki was in the mood to kill.
"Depending on where they are and how many there are..." He took a long drag of his cigarette, casting Allen a wolfish grin. "There may be a war."
...