[Dream | Week 10 Day 7] Hark how the bells, sweet silver bells...
[Ohyes, massive spoilers warning? *murdered* He's a walking spoiler...]
Everything was black. A faint melody tingling the back of his consciousness, like some forgotten ghoul playing the piano of the dead on some corner stage in the sweetest of gut-wrenching memories he never wanted to hear.
As he blinked against surprisingly heavy eyelids, he glanced up, vision a bit blurry from how his white hair draped in front of his eyes but he was used to that much.
That was...
Allen glanced down at the equally black floor, caught in the void as he was. Ah, this place... he was... well, he didn't know, but somehow it made sense. He'd deserved this.
Something glinted back at him.
Blinking for a moment, he hesitated before brushing with first his right hand, then more firmly with his disfigured left one at the floor. Like soot, something was covering it all up. Black snow smothering something important, something he had to see, something he had to scrabble and scrape and get-
"It's no use."
A faceless face grinning at him through the suddenly visible reflective surface unnerved him more than the clotted and blood-soaked black snow. No use...
"Shut up!" Allen lashed out, scratched at the mirror surface even if his left eye wept blood, right hand bled from breaking nails against the hard floor. Why was it bleeding, hurting even if pain didn't matter, didn't register...
"You should stop," the voice said flatly, almost sympathetically, and the faceless grin in the floor-mirror become his own face, hair curled differently but close enough. "There's no point anymore."
Yes there was, there always was, and that was the cleanest answer he could ever give except something choked at his throat and kept him from answering. No, don't you dare-
A blink. What-
Suddenly the dark was no longer that and he was surrounded by mirrors in the darkness, each with his own face grinning back toothily, eyelessly at him even as the golden-eyed specter in the floor smiled on. His own hair slowly tinted gray, the black ask falling tinting the white strands that. "I'm not-" Allen begun, staring in horror. This was closing in. It was never supposed to close in ...
...
"I'M NOT DONE YET!"
It was screaming and punching at the mirror specter then because he knew it wasn't a dream more than it was, this wasn't him and it couldn't have him and not now, not now it couldn't-
There was a laugh echoing in his head before Allen's hand punched through the floor, glasslike now, and he stared for a moment in presumed victory before his world whirled in color suddenly and he couldn't breath. Chest too tight, being strangled from the inside, lungs heavy and wet.
Wet-
He coughed, the pain radiating like tightly gripping tendrils through his chest. He couldn't move, just stared at the pink-haired figure that seemed to lunge from the mirror world at him, let the blood flow so freely. "Raikou..." The blind rage on that face, the blade in his gut twisting slightly in some cruel mockery of any preexisting alliance-
... wait, gut.
Allen brought up a hand, gripped the other's man's shoulder in wide-eyed disbelief. No way. ... No, if anything this was more real.
This, amazingly, made more sense. Yet-
He laughed and choked on blood as he did so. The pink-haired samurai was no longer such; long hair tied back now in ponytail, light purple and whirling like the fury of a thousand nations. "I don't understand." Gripping the swordsman's shoulder tighter, both of them bloodied, stripped of humanity in this horrible state as his skin, his skin he felt changing and turning gray from a stab through his got from the katana. Not Raikou, this was- "Kanda, I-"
... No, he did understand, and that's what hurt. How could you, after all this time think him like that... that...
... Well.
He might have cried, sagging down against the blade, but shoved himself off the other Exorcist. Screw you. All of this. Kanda, you utter idiot. You couldn't see or understand any of it. Not this, not Alma, none of it. And this was all just-
Just-
Falling to nothingness.
And he grabbed at it anyway and reached -
a hand.
Blinking, Allen stared and settled in the darkness again on his knees, surprised at the lit shadow in the black guiding him to land on whatever nothingness they perched on, the knowledge of the pain in his stomach yet no feeling beyond that knowledge. "What was..."
Shit.
"WHAT WAS THAT?" There were tears then, furious and wanting to hurt that, that thing turning him not-him and hurting his friends, so a left fist thrown in a punch towards the grinning specter, the mirrored him.
While Allen wasn't exactly surprised it was caught, he quickly punched with his right hand just as deftly and rose in furious, gritted-teeth determination, braced as he was against his not-self.
"That was the past, silly boy," the gray-skinned, golden-eyed him with the wavy hair replied, smiling disturbingly. It caught and held his hands with such alarming ease, always smiling, and he tried to pull back.
"It can't, that's-"
...But it was. It hurt his head, swirled together with so many memories. An ancient world, stuck in the wilderness and running into a strange girl called shinigami, scrounging out an existance in some place called Raisato, Tyki and cows, Lenalee and aprons, that older version of him and his dog demon, Cross not dead... ... Dre, Yoite, Lenalee, Gau, Heine, Lavi, Kanda, Raikou, Yun, gods, Cross-
It hurt, they all hurt. Every beat of his heart, like something gripping it and shaking his entire body. Gasping on the ground again and feeling like everything was being rattling out of him beat by beat.
Beat by beat, tempo of the melody drumming out his fate and damnit it was his fate, not anyone's else's, even if-
"Hark," the not-him said, smiling, leaning forward. Allen was soundlessly screaming before he realized it was leaning inside of him as the world was nothing but the saddest symphony. "Hark because I know you hear it."
Maybe it was how he was actually screaming or maybe it was the caroling, but he heard.
Caroling like every heart in the world was knelling and the chorus was the damned and he heard it all as it ripped apart his own cobbled-together heart even as the not-him laughed and it vibrated through every cell in his body.
The more he saw and the more he felt, the more it all hurt.
"Welcome to the carnival," the ever-present voice whispered, smiling in his ear, even if he realized he hadn't exactly fully heard it yet.
It sounded like him.
[With a gasp, he blinked his eyes open against the relative harsh sunlight of Himorogi, then coughed, blood on his lips as he was already bloodied, shirtless, and what the hell had just happened.
Dizzy, he just grasped his stomach, newly scarred from a gut wound that oozed but would seem to be healing faster than a normal human wound, before falling back with some relief at the assessment. That was...
... Ugh, fighting for coherency now. A moment ago, Kanda stabbing him, but he remembered this place vaguely, remembered... oh god, of all that... But... somewhere. Somewhere. Was this... this was...?
His hand was in front of his face now and for the longest moment he could remember he just stared at it. ... ... White, his right hand was supposed to be white...
...And it was gray.
Shit.
His eyes shut again against his will, consciousness fading with his blood and skintone.]
[OOC: Slightly different looking, gray-skinned Allen, yes. Before the dream anyone able to sense spiritual presences would probably notice a DEAR GOD, THE ANTICHRIST JUST ARRIVED, RUN NOW presence, but it would dim during the dream. He's mostly... gray, atm.]
Everything was black. A faint melody tingling the back of his consciousness, like some forgotten ghoul playing the piano of the dead on some corner stage in the sweetest of gut-wrenching memories he never wanted to hear.
As he blinked against surprisingly heavy eyelids, he glanced up, vision a bit blurry from how his white hair draped in front of his eyes but he was used to that much.
That was...
Allen glanced down at the equally black floor, caught in the void as he was. Ah, this place... he was... well, he didn't know, but somehow it made sense. He'd deserved this.
Something glinted back at him.
Blinking for a moment, he hesitated before brushing with first his right hand, then more firmly with his disfigured left one at the floor. Like soot, something was covering it all up. Black snow smothering something important, something he had to see, something he had to scrabble and scrape and get-
"It's no use."
A faceless face grinning at him through the suddenly visible reflective surface unnerved him more than the clotted and blood-soaked black snow. No use...
"Shut up!" Allen lashed out, scratched at the mirror surface even if his left eye wept blood, right hand bled from breaking nails against the hard floor. Why was it bleeding, hurting even if pain didn't matter, didn't register...
"You should stop," the voice said flatly, almost sympathetically, and the faceless grin in the floor-mirror become his own face, hair curled differently but close enough. "There's no point anymore."
Yes there was, there always was, and that was the cleanest answer he could ever give except something choked at his throat and kept him from answering. No, don't you dare-
A blink. What-
Suddenly the dark was no longer that and he was surrounded by mirrors in the darkness, each with his own face grinning back toothily, eyelessly at him even as the golden-eyed specter in the floor smiled on. His own hair slowly tinted gray, the black ask falling tinting the white strands that. "I'm not-" Allen begun, staring in horror. This was closing in. It was never supposed to close in ...
...
"I'M NOT DONE YET!"
It was screaming and punching at the mirror specter then because he knew it wasn't a dream more than it was, this wasn't him and it couldn't have him and not now, not now it couldn't-
There was a laugh echoing in his head before Allen's hand punched through the floor, glasslike now, and he stared for a moment in presumed victory before his world whirled in color suddenly and he couldn't breath. Chest too tight, being strangled from the inside, lungs heavy and wet.
Wet-
He coughed, the pain radiating like tightly gripping tendrils through his chest. He couldn't move, just stared at the pink-haired figure that seemed to lunge from the mirror world at him, let the blood flow so freely. "Raikou..." The blind rage on that face, the blade in his gut twisting slightly in some cruel mockery of any preexisting alliance-
... wait, gut.
Allen brought up a hand, gripped the other's man's shoulder in wide-eyed disbelief. No way. ... No, if anything this was more real.
This, amazingly, made more sense. Yet-
He laughed and choked on blood as he did so. The pink-haired samurai was no longer such; long hair tied back now in ponytail, light purple and whirling like the fury of a thousand nations. "I don't understand." Gripping the swordsman's shoulder tighter, both of them bloodied, stripped of humanity in this horrible state as his skin, his skin he felt changing and turning gray from a stab through his got from the katana. Not Raikou, this was- "Kanda, I-"
... No, he did understand, and that's what hurt. How could you, after all this time think him like that... that...
... Well.
He might have cried, sagging down against the blade, but shoved himself off the other Exorcist. Screw you. All of this. Kanda, you utter idiot. You couldn't see or understand any of it. Not this, not Alma, none of it. And this was all just-
Just-
Falling to nothingness.
And he grabbed at it anyway and reached -
a hand.
Blinking, Allen stared and settled in the darkness again on his knees, surprised at the lit shadow in the black guiding him to land on whatever nothingness they perched on, the knowledge of the pain in his stomach yet no feeling beyond that knowledge. "What was..."
Shit.
"WHAT WAS THAT?" There were tears then, furious and wanting to hurt that, that thing turning him not-him and hurting his friends, so a left fist thrown in a punch towards the grinning specter, the mirrored him.
While Allen wasn't exactly surprised it was caught, he quickly punched with his right hand just as deftly and rose in furious, gritted-teeth determination, braced as he was against his not-self.
"That was the past, silly boy," the gray-skinned, golden-eyed him with the wavy hair replied, smiling disturbingly. It caught and held his hands with such alarming ease, always smiling, and he tried to pull back.
"It can't, that's-"
...But it was. It hurt his head, swirled together with so many memories. An ancient world, stuck in the wilderness and running into a strange girl called shinigami, scrounging out an existance in some place called Raisato, Tyki and cows, Lenalee and aprons, that older version of him and his dog demon, Cross not dead... ... Dre, Yoite, Lenalee, Gau, Heine, Lavi, Kanda, Raikou, Yun, gods, Cross-
It hurt, they all hurt. Every beat of his heart, like something gripping it and shaking his entire body. Gasping on the ground again and feeling like everything was being rattling out of him beat by beat.
Beat by beat, tempo of the melody drumming out his fate and damnit it was his fate, not anyone's else's, even if-
"Hark," the not-him said, smiling, leaning forward. Allen was soundlessly screaming before he realized it was leaning inside of him as the world was nothing but the saddest symphony. "Hark because I know you hear it."
Maybe it was how he was actually screaming or maybe it was the caroling, but he heard.
Caroling like every heart in the world was knelling and the chorus was the damned and he heard it all as it ripped apart his own cobbled-together heart even as the not-him laughed and it vibrated through every cell in his body.
The more he saw and the more he felt, the more it all hurt.
"Welcome to the carnival," the ever-present voice whispered, smiling in his ear, even if he realized he hadn't exactly fully heard it yet.
It sounded like him.
[With a gasp, he blinked his eyes open against the relative harsh sunlight of Himorogi, then coughed, blood on his lips as he was already bloodied, shirtless, and what the hell had just happened.
Dizzy, he just grasped his stomach, newly scarred from a gut wound that oozed but would seem to be healing faster than a normal human wound, before falling back with some relief at the assessment. That was...
... Ugh, fighting for coherency now. A moment ago, Kanda stabbing him, but he remembered this place vaguely, remembered... oh god, of all that... But... somewhere. Somewhere. Was this... this was...?
His hand was in front of his face now and for the longest moment he could remember he just stared at it. ... ... White, his right hand was supposed to be white...
...And it was gray.
Shit.
His eyes shut again against his will, consciousness fading with his blood and skintone.]
[OOC: Slightly different looking, gray-skinned Allen, yes. Before the dream anyone able to sense spiritual presences would probably notice a DEAR GOD, THE ANTICHRIST JUST ARRIVED, RUN NOW presence, but it would dim during the dream. He's mostly... gray, atm.]
