Chapter Text
Cross leaned back in his chair, eyes trained on him. “Who are you?”
Allen still hadn’t let go of him, clung to what he thought was a remnant of Mana. It might not be the same kind of fragment, but the boy needn't be bothered with the truth yet.
“Nea,” he replied.
“Bullshit.”
Nea only shrugged and ran his human hand through Allen’s soft brown hair. He’d almost forgotten that his hair used to be that dark. The white was more familiar to him, which was not all that strange given he’s spent years seeing white in the mirror and only ever really seen the auburn in the windows of stores or water.
“Does it really matter?” Nea asked in turn. “He’s used my name in the past and now I’m using his.”
And if everything went according to plan, he’d also soon host Nea again. His friend had crashed and burned with Mana, forgiven him and thanked him with a sword in their gut, dark matter corroding their minds.
All this for one more try.
“It matters plenty,” Cross said. “I promised to look after the brat—”
Nea laughed so hard, he feared he’d wake Allen again. “You promised shit, Master. We already did this song and dance once and it sucked. This child here is Allen Walker and thus my identity is erased once more as it always should have been.”
Transferring Nea’s memories into him would be difficult on his own, but not impossible, and he’d always done his best work while under pressure.
Cross studied him, then he knocked back the rest of his wine bottle. “Master, huh? Fine then, idiot apprentice. How are we doing this? If the Earl catches wind of ‘Nea’, you’re done for.”
Nea smiled. “You’re assuming we don’t want the Earl to know. At this point, ‘Mana’ resides at the surface of the Earl. Separate enough to be made into an Akuma, to become dominant.”
“… Anyone ever told you, you’re mad?”
“Yes,” Nea said, “he called me a puppet too, so I think it’s fit I’m finally pulling at the strings.”
This time, there’d be no patricide, no screaming his throat hoarse at his father’s grave.