D.Gray-man // Leftover Angels // 05. Deicide
Characters/Pairings: Ensemble cast. Focus: Kanda/Alma, Allen, 14th/Hevlaska.
Rating: T
Warnings: Character death, violence, a dozen kinds of blasphemy.
Word Count: 26,239 (this chapter: 5544)
Summary: Allen's "death" during the fight with Alma sets off a chain of unexpected and deeply strange consequences which bring up questions about the nature of God himself. Hevlaska goes missing, Crown Clown returns without its owner, and angels and demons work together against a common enemy. While grieving for Alma, Kanda must figure out what's going on and which side he should be fighting for... if any.
Notes: Previous: 04. Congregation
04. Congregation
Over the hours between then and dawn, Cross and Neah shared the remaining details of their mad, precarious plan to kill God.
Then they went around to each Exorcist currently available at Headquarters and asked for their help, and Allen began to understand what Cross had meant by telling him he would have to hurt people he cared about if he became the Fourteenth Noah.
"No," said the Bookman flatly, then looked down at Lavi's sleeping face. "Not him, either. The Bookmen cannot be involved in this. Will not. Whether you succeed or fail, you will tip the balances of the war, and that is something we must avoid at all costs."
Lavi, apparently not asleep after all, sat up and glared with his one burning green eye. "I should be allowed to choose for myself. I want to help them."
"No," said the Bookman. "You are young. You are passionate when you should be calm. Think: if they fail, what then? If every Exorcist fails alongside them, the war is lost. The Earl will win without contest."
That was something Allen hadn't thought of. Neah had, but he had hoped to avoid the point. His chances of success rose with every Exorcist he could convince, after all. To have all of them would afford him the best chance of all, but as the Bookman said, it would leave the world entirely defenseless in the event of their failure.
"Allen is already lost. Kanda Yuu should stay, but I realize that there exists no one here capable of stopping him, so it cannot be helped. But Lavi, you must stay. Now get out of here, Noah, before I raise the alarm."
They left without argument, leaving Lavi to fight his own battle.
That was two of twelve already out of the picture. Neah did not plan to ask Timothy, as his weapon was as of yet unrefined, and he was still untutored. The same for Chaoji Han. In a battle, he would be more of a hindrance than an aid. Noise Marie was still injured. That left the three remaining generals, Lenalee, Miranda, and Krory. Only six potential allies. The number seemed terribly small.
"Fuck, no," Winters replied instantly.
"What? Why not?" Both Neah and Allen were taken aback. Allen had, from what little experience of Winters he had, expected him to be at least intrigued by the idea of fighting an actual god.
Winters glowered, clearly considering killing them where they stood. It wouldn't be all that difficult, considering how Allen had only one arm and no weapon to fight back with. Neah had power, of course, but it was ill-suited to outright combat. Allen began counting escape routes. "Not gonna lie, going up against the big guy himself would be interesting, but... it's what you say'll happen after that. World peace and whatnot. All the Akuma gone, no more wars. Sounds like a total fucking bore."
They stared. Allen had underestimated his bloodthirst severely. They left without another word.
Klaud Nyne and Froi Tiedoll were nowhere to be found, so they moved on to Krory.
"Without question, I would like to help," he said after listening with a grave and attentive ear, "but I am not sure what assistance I could offer. My weapon is very specialized. Even if you could alter it, as you say, does God -- excuse me, Azazel -- even have blood for me to drink?"
"Even if you could not inflict as much direct damage on him as Kanda Yuu could, there remains the fact that you are effectively invincible so long as we can keep your Innocence aligned with your soul and unsubjected to Azazel's command, which Cross and I are fairly confident we can do. If members of our force are wounded beyond being able to fight, we may need someone invulnerable to carry them away to safety," Neah pointed out.
Krory frowned and sank his chin into his hands. He looked a bit silly, a great hulking vampire sitting on the edge of his tiny white bed in his underpants, staring pensively through his long fingers. Allen, having seen him in combat, knew that no matter how amusing he was when outside of it, he was nothing to be laughed at.
"Lavi is not coming?" he repeated after a while. He had already asked that two or three times, but it seemed to be a sticking point for him. His loyalties within the Order seemed to lie primarily with Lavi and Allen, who had rescued him from his lonely castle life and his twisted, mutually destructive love. Therefore, he was torn between following one and staying with the other. "I... am afraid that if this does not work, I will be leaving him to fight the rest of the war alone."
"You are invulnerable," Neah reminded him impatiently. "Even if we fail, you will live."
Krory, who was really much cleverer than he seemed, frowned and lifted his head out of his hands. "I am invulnerable so long as my Innocence is shielded," he corrected. "If you fail and General Cross perishes, I will no longer be safe from my own Innocence. Azazel will be able to tear me apart from the inside."
Allen could feel the angel running out of patience. Inside the clearing, the sky was beginning to roil with blacker clouds, drifting across the blazing star and sinking the inner world into a deep, restless gloom. It was uncomfortable to exist in. He could take back control, but it was the angel who had the majority of the information. It only made sense to let him do the talking. Instead, he took to pacing the perimeter of the clearing, counting his steps.
"No," Krory said at last. "I would like to help Allen. I owe him very much, and the idea of winning the war is very tempting. But I'm afraid I do not think you will succeed, and as I said, I cannot leave Lavi to fight alone."
"You are a fool," Neah hissed, but there was nothing he could do. The spells would not work on an unwilling target. The magic, the soul, and the Innocence must all align and remain aligned.
Four refusals. Only Miranda and Lenalee remained. If they refused, Allen, Neah, Cross and Kanda would have to go it alone. The already suicidal mission would become essentially impossible. The gloom within the inner world deepened and began to thicken like sludge, suffocating Allen.
Miranda next.
"I'll ruin it," she said, drawing her knees up to her chest and staring at them with a plaintive expression. "I have no offensive power, and everything seems to go wrong when I'm around. I'm bad luck. You shouldn't want me with you."
Allen seized control before Neah could open his mouth, despite the angel's furious protests. He seemed to think it would be more advantageous for Allen's survival to remain a secret, an ace in the sleeve, but Allen knew this was worth the risk. "Miranda," he said gently, taking her hand.
"Allen?" she whispered, amazed, tears welling up in her sunken eyes. "You're all right! The angel said so, but I wasn't sure if I could believe him or not. I was so worried. So very worried. Very, very worried. I'm so glad you're safe."
He smiled helplessly. She really was very endearing, he thought, despite how painful it was to be with her and watch her tear herself apart over every minor failure. "I'm fine, Miranda, I promise. Please don't worry any more. I came out because I think you might listen a little better if I say it instead of Neah, who's a stranger to you: we want you on this mission. I want you on this mission. You've saved me and all the others so many times, and... things go bad because you're on the battlefield, Miranda, not because you're on the battlefield. It's not your fault that you can't protect us from everything. It's enough -- more than enough -- that you protect us from what you can. Please. Please come with us. We need you."
She wavered, then broke down in blubbery tears. "I'm scared," she sobbed, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Will it really be all right?"
Allen shrugged. "To be honest, I don't know. It's a battle. Things always go wrong. But we'll have a better chance of coming out of it alive if you're with us."
Miranda groped around her night table blindly for a moment, then came up with a wrinkled red handkerchief. She wiped her tears and blew her nose noisily. "All right," she said. "All right. I'll try."
At last!
"Thank you," said Allen with real relief. "Thank you, Miranda. We'll come get you when it's time. Go back to sleep. Try not to worry."
She laughed at that, a bitter, sarcastic sound. Though she was young, the hollows her eyes stared out from and her harsh frown lines meant that the sound didn't sound strange coming from her as it would from anyone else her age. Her life had aged her, body and soul, faster than was kind. Allen tried not to think about the average life expectancy of an Exorcist.
"Lenalee will come," she called after them just as the door closed behind them.
Allen hoped she was right.
Lenalee sat in stony silence while they explained, not a trace of sleep-stupor on her face. She had not slept. That didn't surprise him. Of all of them, she was the one who thought the most about the war's effects on her comrades, and the most realistically about their future. Miranda came a close second, but her terror drove her imaginings off the tracks quite often, into the territory of unlikely tragedy. There were plenty of likely tragedies, which Lenalee thought about instead. In the daylight, in the company of her friends, she was happy and generous with her smiles, but Allen had long suspected she was a different person in the dark. This confirmation did not bring him any joy.
"I'll do it," she said, before Neah could even finish.
That did not surprise him either.
"You agree so readily," Neah said, surprised and wary. "Why?"
She shrugged. "I hate God," she said simply. "I hate Him just as much as I hate the Earl. He's the reason my brother threw his life away, the reason he's had to make all these hard decisions and cry so much. I've seen how awful ordinary human beings can be to each other, without even one good reason. I've seen how terrible the Innocence can be when it's angry. When He's angry. He's cruel and I hate him. If you're going to kill him and end this war, I'm with you no matter what. For the sake of a world where I can live with my brother in peace."
Allen could feel the angel's admiration, and shared it. In many ways, she was the strongest of all of them. "What will this brother of yours think of you doing this?"
"It's not his decision," she said flatly. "I'm going."
"Thank you," Neah said quietly. "Your power will be of great assistance to us. We will come and find you when it's time."
"Wait."
Neah paused and turned back, hand on the cold iron doorknob.
Lenalee's eyes were dark as the undersea, full of heavy, oppressive shadows. "When this is over, I'm taking Allen back," she told the angel. "I won't let you stay in there. You have no right."
"I'd say that's up to him, wouldn't you?" replied Neah with a devilish smirk.
Allen felt uneasy. He hadn't thought that far ahead. What would he do when -- if -- when -- they won their victory? In the new and improved post-God world, what would Samael do? Allen knew he wanted to live with Lilith-Hevlaska, but how did he plan to accomplish that without a body of his own? The uneasiness grew, but there was no time to pay more attention to it.
The Ark needed programming. It was going somewhere new today.
x.x.x
An hour after the angel left, Kanda got up, got dressed, and left.
As he passed each of his comrades' rooms, he considered pausing to say goodbye, but decided against it every time. If the angel was persuasive, he would see them again in the final battle. If they were not convinced, visiting them would only give them a chance to delay him, tie him down.
He couldn't hate them. They were victims, just as Alma had been. It was the Order itself which deserved his hate, and the God behind it. His mouthpieces resided below, calm and arrogant in their power, sitting tall and proud in their high-backed chairs like kings.
It surprised him to learn that besides hearing the voice of God, they had little else in the way of power. They died with hardly a protest. He left Mugen sheathed at his hip, half-shattered as it was and loyal to God besides, and used his hands. It was easy. So easy.
The alarm went up moments before he stepped into the Ark. They would follow him, but they would never find him. The white city had become familiar to him. He knew the layout of its streets and many of its hidden places. Losing the pursuit was even easier than killing the Grand Generals had been. This was what he had been loyal to all these years? They were useless. Useless and ineffective and sick. He was done with them. Completely done.
The sense of freedom made his limbs -- fully repaired now -- feel light as ghosts. He glided through the Ark, noticing as he went that the door to the North America branch was splintered and crooked on its hinges. Had Allen tried to close the way behind him? It didn't matter now. There hadn't been any point to his last gift, except to let Kanda hear Alma's last words in peace and quiet and privacy. What Alma was now needed no hiding place.
Kanda, however, did need somewhere to hide, somewhere no one would think to look except Allen and his Noah. So perhaps it did have a point after all.
Daylight sifted through the clogged windows near the roof, casting a dim grey light over the ruined hall and its rolling dunes of dust and broken stone. Alma was where Kanda had left him, sightless glass eyes staring down through the rows of crumbling columns at the far wall.
If Alma could have moved, even to look at something more interesting or arrange what was left of himself into a more comfortable position, he would have; but here he was, exactly as Kanda had left him. Dead.
Kanda carefully sat down, perhaps ten feet away, and let the understanding tear through him as it would. Alma was dead, and the most Kanda could do for him now was avenge him and save his soul from Hell. He could not show him any gardens or build any houses with him. He could not drag him into the sunlight and feel it warm his living skin. Even if he saved his soul, Alma would go elsewhere, and he would still be here, alone and grieving. There was nothing left here to further break his heart, and nothing here to mend it.
Alone in the abandoned city of ghosts, hidden from the sun and all human eyes, Kanda sank his head onto his knees and cried.
And then, some long while later, like a mirage of joy, he saw the door to joy open again. Just a crack, but the light streaming from it blinded him. An idea. There was a way. He would have to speak to the angel about it to confirm, and that would be difficult without revealing himself, but it could be done.
There was still hope.
x.x.x
The frigid wind gusting in from the sea tugged fretfully at the cavern entrance, but inside it was warm enough and well-constructed for human comfort. The Akuma army had had little else to do, but it still seemed to him to be a frivolous thing to waste their enormous power on while preparing for such a great battle. He did have to admit that it was necessary, however, after spending all of five minutes outside of it surveying the landscape and losing all feeling in his fingers.
It was a mountain, rearing its frozen dragon's head high out of the Antarctic sea. Heavy blankets of ice covered most of it, but where the sea crashed around its ankles it was jagged and black. At its summit, a lake of ice sat motionless and silent within a wide caldera, beneath which a second lake of fire slumbered fitfully.
The angel had chosen it at Allen's behest. If they were to summon God down from his heavens and strike at him, it would likely be very chaotic and destructive. The death toll under Azazel's name was already high enough. Neah had originally planned to stage his final battle in some continental desert, but none of them were entirely uninhabited, and Allen had put his foot down. So here they were -- lost at sea, a thousand miles from any kind of land, perched on a bit of ice and rock like ants clinging to bits of leaves in the maelstrom of the river.
And thanks to the various magics of Neah and the Earl's kindred, completely hidden from the eyes of God until they chose to reveal themselves.
From the relative safety of his own mind, Allen watched with unsettled awe as the angel set about constructing his apocalyptic army.
Once their volcanic palace was complete and comfortably housing the entirety of the living Noah clan, Neah and Cross set their plan in motion. First, they contacted both of the consenting warriors still with the Order using enchanted pendants Cross had given them, which heated and hummed against their skin to signal them.
Miranda came through the gate first, perhaps two hours later. An enormous long object wrapped in cloth was slung over her thin shoulders.
"Did they give you any trouble?" Cross asked, lounging with his back against the warm stone wall of what had apparently become the war room.
She shook her head, visibly amazed that she had come through unscathed. "No. Everything is such a mess right now with Headquarters shifting operations to the new base. The Ark is full of people going back and forth between all the bases, evacuating people and gathering supplies. No one even noticed. The guard in the room stopped us, but I told her it was on Rouvelier's orders."
Cross grinned approvingly at her. "Wasn't sure you had it in you. Good job. Where's Lenalee?"
"She'll be a little while longer," Miranda said apologetically. "Kanda... she had to go find him."
The hesitation interested both Allen and Neah, but it was Tyki who asked, drifting into the room with a predatory smile on his face. "Oh dear, was he a bad boy? I wondered if he would be able to keep a handle on himself. Seems not."
Miranda blushed with pain and secondhand shame. "The Grand Generals are dead," she whispered.
Tyki cackled, and the surge of vindictive glee in Neah was almost overpowering to Allen.
The Grand Generals, dead? Kanda had killed humans? Having seen what he had, Allen found it hard to blame or judge him, but it still hurt him to think of. The Order had made Kanda an Exorcist to protect humanity. The Order had betrayed him, but Allen had hoped he would still want to protect humanity even despite that. Perhaps he had not thought of the Grand Generals as human. Come to think of it, he had no proof that they were human. They looked human, but so did Lilith, who was very far from it. Would Azazel trust human mouthpieces, or would he create puppets without free will to be absolutely sure? Either way, they couldn't know, and Kanda couldn't have known either.
Allen sat on the stone throne and drew his knees up to his chest, sorrowing for his friend. He had no time to think further about it, however, because Miranda had slung the huge package off her shoulder.
Neah took a delicate step back as she unpacked the contents of her burden on the stone floor of the cavern: Crown Clown, ferociously reflecting the red light of the dozen hanging lanterns. Seeing it now, knowing what was behind it, Allen couldn't help but feel a little revulsion to look at it. Had it helped him all those times because it was good, or had it helped him because he had been acting in line with Azazel's wishes? Would it still feel like a friend in his hand now, or would it turn on him and tear his throat out with his own claws?
The angel's mixed reaction of hatred and fear told him clearly enough: as long as it was only Innocence, it was Azazel's soldier, and its feelings -- if it had them -- did not matter. Though Allen's hand ached to reach out for it, he let Neah clench them behind his back and hold them there.
Tyki came forward and placed seven long crystals on the floor beside it. They were black and glossy, like obsidian, but they seem to have their own internal light, a soft blueish heat. Crown Clown suddenly shuddered and glowed a deeper, sullen red, writhing away from it like it was poisonous. Dark Matter.
"We had best get this over with as soon as possible," Neah said neutrally, though his mind was roiling against Allen's.
Tyki loudly cleared his throat. "Attention, everyone! It's time. Get in here."
The Noah and the Earl filed in in a messy line, arranging themselves in a wobbly standing circle around Cross and Neah. Cross held his left hand up. Without hesitation, Neah reached out and grasped it with his right, then had Miranda touch his armless left shoulder, and so on until the the last person in the circle -- the Earl -- put his gloved hand on Cross Marian's shoulder and closed the circle.
A toothy, half-feral grin raked across his face. "Hold on to your hats, ladies and gentlemen."
He reached out for the furiously rattling hilt of Crown Clown. Its form glowed and warped, the tip of the blade forking into twisted claws which scrabbled desperately against the floor. Too late. His fingers closed firmly around it, and the room imploded.
The Earl and Neah seemed to be taking in a vast influx of energy from the other members of the circle, then corralling it and feeding it to Cross in even threads like spinning wool.
For the first time, Allen saw his mentor work at the height of his strength, and began to understand how little of Cross Marian he or anyone else at the Order had known. He had known that Cross was a magician. He had not really understood what that meant. He'd seen Cross disguise himself, reanimate and control the dead like puppets, and come back from the dead. He hadn't met Chomesuke, but he suddenly remembered now how the others had described her, how Cross had reprogrammed her Dark Matter to serve himself.
That was what he was doing now, in a way, but on a much greater and more complex scale. Crown Clown was one of the most powerful Innocence weapons in existence, a thousand times more powerful than any Level Two Akuma, and could not be entirely repurposed. The will of its Maker was much of what gave it its power, and stripping that away would only weaken it.
The Dark Matter crystals abruptly dissolved into black puddles and ran into each other, forming a pool which crept first slowly, then with gathering speed towards Crown Clown's panicked mangled claws. "Be a good boy," Cross muttered under his breath as he narrowed his eyes and shifted his grip on the hilt. The Dark Matter twisted into a long, flattish ribbon and rose from the floor like a flaring cobra, paused for a moment, then struck all at once. Crown Clown let out a piercing metallic shriek of rage as the ribbon twisted around it, binding its claws together and forcing it back down into its blade form. It kept going, pinching tighter and tighter, winding around until it looked like a deadly barber's pole, thinning and refining the blade down until it was only two inches wide.
Allen tried to shut his ears to the awful, tortured sound of its wailing, but it pierced through his mind like a storm of sharp-edged hail. He cowered on the throne and wished desperately there was something he could do to reassure it. It's all right, he thought at it, as if thoughts could travel like words: I'm so sorry. I have to do this for my friends. You've been my partner and friend for so long... just help me this once more, and you'll be free.
It may have been his imagination, but it seemed to him that the wailing abated a little, and its thrashing calmed. He could see feel Miranda sobbing quietly beside him, clutching his shoulder as if it was all that was holding her up.
Cross gritted his teeth, sweat beading on his brow. Where the light and dark stripes met, lines of red light flashed for a moment, then dimmed and vanished. The room fell abruptly silent. Crown Clown lay still and quiescent on the stone floor, unrecognizable and strangely beautiful. It was perhaps five feet long, but very thin, and ribbed all down its length with black, white, and very thin dark red stripes. Only its hilt still resembled its old self, with its straight golden crossguard and broad grip.
"Um," said Miranda timidly after a few moments. "What... what did you just do, General Cross? What is this?"
The rakish grin flared back, though he looked somewhat tired. "Isn't it obvious? I've made us a bona-fide abomination. Here." He picked up the strange new sword and handed it to Neah, who gingerly accepted it and braced. The sword hummed gently, but otherwise did nothing. "See?" Cross said smugly.
Miranda's eyes widened. "I don't understand," she whispered.
Cross rolled his eyes. "Innocence alone couldn't affect Azazel, its maker. Dark Matter alone couldn't do it either, because he has the ability to destroy it. Same for human magic -- wouldn't work on him directly, though thankfully it's not sourced in his power. But if we mix all three of them together using human magic as the buffer to keep the Dark Matter and Innocence from annihilating each other, the Innocence becomes contaminated with Dark Matter and the Dark Matter becomes contaminated with Innocence. Azazel can't prevent Innocence from entering his body since it's... well, made of him. As a weapon, it's technically not that much more powerful than it was before, but..."
"But what?" she prompted, round-eyed.
"Hang on," he said, "we've got company."
The Ark's doorway, set againt the far wall of the cavern, flickered. Lenalee stepped out, dressed in full battle gear and wearing a triumphant smile. A small black satchel hung from her left hand.
"Lenalee!" Miranda cried, letting go of the hand holding her left hand and throwing her arms around her friend's neck. "You're early!"
Lenalee returned the embrace but said nothing, turning around to look back at the gate. Someone else was stepping out of it, haggard but straight-backed and tense with energy: Kanda. He looked even thinner, somehow, like the rage burning inside him had hollowed him out and used his body as fuel. Mugen hung battered and bent at his hip. His eyes scanned the room with an expression of distaste, then fixed on Allen's.
Allen pushed Neah down and took control. "Thanks for coming," he said quietly.
The old Kanda would have sneered and said something about how it wasn't for Allen's sake, he was just doing what needed to be done. This Kanda only held his gaze and nodded grimly. He didn't need to say anything -- Allen could guess at, if not truly understand, the poisonous depths of his need for vengeance against the being who had torn his life apart over and invented the Hell Alma's soul now suffered in.
Cross made an unhappy noise. "What did you do to your sword, you idiot?"
Self-hatred flashed across Kanda's face for a moment, then vanished in favour of a stony mask. "It broke," he said shortly.
"I'm not sure we'll have time to fix something that messed up," Cross said flatly.
Neah surged back into control and frowned. "Well, he can't go without a weapon. That would defeat the entire purpose."
Cross shrugged.
Crown Clown -- it really needed a new name -- hummed quietly in Allen's hand. He concentrated on it, curious as to whether it had really accepted its new self, was simply lobotomized and no longer aware of its own feelings, or was hiding its rage and waiting for an opportunity to strike back. It was easier to do without the distractions of having to listen or see or keep his balance; there was nothing to do down in the roofless halls of his heart but think and observe. So it was that he noticed what Neah didn't, and perhaps couldn't.
He pushed to the surface and waved his hand with wild excitement. "I know what to do!" he said, hoisting the dark holy sword to chest height and beaming at it with gentle affection. "I know what to do. Thank you, Crown Clown."
"Mind sharing?" Cross cut in dryly.
Allen turned to face him. "That thing you did, the conversion process -- I think it unbound Crown Clown from my soul. Whatever this sword is, it's not Crown Clown anymore. It's still in there, and still aware, but I can't feel its ties to my soul any more. It's more than it was, now. Capable of working even without being bound to its wielder." He strode across the room to Kanda. "Here. Don't worry, I'm pretty sure it won't bite."
Raising an eyebrow, Kanda accepted the blade and gave it an experimental swing. It sang a little in the still air. "It's not as good as Mugen," he declared flatly, but he didn't give it back.
"Be good to it," Allen said, feeling the sudden urge to cry. Crown Clown had been part of him for so long. Giving it to someone else after getting back for only a few minutes seemed to make the empty space where it had been feel that much larger and darker. "Don't break it."
"What will you fight with, then?" Lenalee asked curiously.
Allen put his hand to the tender spot under his sternum. The wound Kanda had given him was nowhere near healed yet. After taking over, Neah had sealed it shut and helped accelerate the healing process, he was nowhere near fighting fit yet. The angel had, as a precaution against interference from Azazel, eliminated the traces of Innocence in his bloodstream, which left the newly healed spot on his heart vulnerable as well. If Allen changed his mind and ousted the angel now, he would likely die. If he stuck with Neah and fought, he would still possibly die. He was asking far too much of his body.
"I'll think of something," he said with a sunny smile.
"But--" Lenalee began to protest.
"Lenalee," he interrupted. "I'll be fine."
There was a long history of lies between them. What was one more?
She sighed and let it go, then brought her satchel to the front and dumped it out on the floor without ceremony. Two dozen cubes of Innocence tumbled out, glowing resentfully pale green, in sickly contrast to the ruddy glow of the lanterns.
Cross cracked his knuckles. "Everybody gather round! This is not a fun camping trip, we're here to work, so sit down and brace yourselves. I'm going to need everything you can give me if this is going to work. Don't worry if you pass out, you'll have a little time to recover before we head out for the big showdown."
Miraculously, everyone obeyed, Exorcists and Noah sitting down together in a messy, resentful knot of people on the warm stone floor.
Allen tried to picture the future beyond this moment, the world beyond their tiny vanishing island in the heart of the sea, and found that he couldn't. When they were ready, they would drop the enchantments hiding the island from God's eyes and call him down to earth... and then what? What would that look like? What would He look like? It seemed absurd that they were even contemplating going after him with their silly sharpened sticks and stones, let alone believing for a moment it could work. And what would a world without Him look like? Left to its own devices, free to choose its own path without interference at last -- what would humanity do?
Wait and see, Allen Walker, Neah murmured within their shared mind. Patience.
X.x.x.x.X
A/N: Next: 06. Suffering
Rating: T
Warnings: Character death, violence, a dozen kinds of blasphemy.
Word Count: 26,239 (this chapter: 5544)
Summary: Allen's "death" during the fight with Alma sets off a chain of unexpected and deeply strange consequences which bring up questions about the nature of God himself. Hevlaska goes missing, Crown Clown returns without its owner, and angels and demons work together against a common enemy. While grieving for Alma, Kanda must figure out what's going on and which side he should be fighting for... if any.
Notes: Previous: 04. Congregation
04. Congregation
Over the hours between then and dawn, Cross and Neah shared the remaining details of their mad, precarious plan to kill God.
Then they went around to each Exorcist currently available at Headquarters and asked for their help, and Allen began to understand what Cross had meant by telling him he would have to hurt people he cared about if he became the Fourteenth Noah.
"No," said the Bookman flatly, then looked down at Lavi's sleeping face. "Not him, either. The Bookmen cannot be involved in this. Will not. Whether you succeed or fail, you will tip the balances of the war, and that is something we must avoid at all costs."
Lavi, apparently not asleep after all, sat up and glared with his one burning green eye. "I should be allowed to choose for myself. I want to help them."
"No," said the Bookman. "You are young. You are passionate when you should be calm. Think: if they fail, what then? If every Exorcist fails alongside them, the war is lost. The Earl will win without contest."
That was something Allen hadn't thought of. Neah had, but he had hoped to avoid the point. His chances of success rose with every Exorcist he could convince, after all. To have all of them would afford him the best chance of all, but as the Bookman said, it would leave the world entirely defenseless in the event of their failure.
"Allen is already lost. Kanda Yuu should stay, but I realize that there exists no one here capable of stopping him, so it cannot be helped. But Lavi, you must stay. Now get out of here, Noah, before I raise the alarm."
They left without argument, leaving Lavi to fight his own battle.
That was two of twelve already out of the picture. Neah did not plan to ask Timothy, as his weapon was as of yet unrefined, and he was still untutored. The same for Chaoji Han. In a battle, he would be more of a hindrance than an aid. Noise Marie was still injured. That left the three remaining generals, Lenalee, Miranda, and Krory. Only six potential allies. The number seemed terribly small.
"Fuck, no," Winters replied instantly.
"What? Why not?" Both Neah and Allen were taken aback. Allen had, from what little experience of Winters he had, expected him to be at least intrigued by the idea of fighting an actual god.
Winters glowered, clearly considering killing them where they stood. It wouldn't be all that difficult, considering how Allen had only one arm and no weapon to fight back with. Neah had power, of course, but it was ill-suited to outright combat. Allen began counting escape routes. "Not gonna lie, going up against the big guy himself would be interesting, but... it's what you say'll happen after that. World peace and whatnot. All the Akuma gone, no more wars. Sounds like a total fucking bore."
They stared. Allen had underestimated his bloodthirst severely. They left without another word.
Klaud Nyne and Froi Tiedoll were nowhere to be found, so they moved on to Krory.
"Without question, I would like to help," he said after listening with a grave and attentive ear, "but I am not sure what assistance I could offer. My weapon is very specialized. Even if you could alter it, as you say, does God -- excuse me, Azazel -- even have blood for me to drink?"
"Even if you could not inflict as much direct damage on him as Kanda Yuu could, there remains the fact that you are effectively invincible so long as we can keep your Innocence aligned with your soul and unsubjected to Azazel's command, which Cross and I are fairly confident we can do. If members of our force are wounded beyond being able to fight, we may need someone invulnerable to carry them away to safety," Neah pointed out.
Krory frowned and sank his chin into his hands. He looked a bit silly, a great hulking vampire sitting on the edge of his tiny white bed in his underpants, staring pensively through his long fingers. Allen, having seen him in combat, knew that no matter how amusing he was when outside of it, he was nothing to be laughed at.
"Lavi is not coming?" he repeated after a while. He had already asked that two or three times, but it seemed to be a sticking point for him. His loyalties within the Order seemed to lie primarily with Lavi and Allen, who had rescued him from his lonely castle life and his twisted, mutually destructive love. Therefore, he was torn between following one and staying with the other. "I... am afraid that if this does not work, I will be leaving him to fight the rest of the war alone."
"You are invulnerable," Neah reminded him impatiently. "Even if we fail, you will live."
Krory, who was really much cleverer than he seemed, frowned and lifted his head out of his hands. "I am invulnerable so long as my Innocence is shielded," he corrected. "If you fail and General Cross perishes, I will no longer be safe from my own Innocence. Azazel will be able to tear me apart from the inside."
Allen could feel the angel running out of patience. Inside the clearing, the sky was beginning to roil with blacker clouds, drifting across the blazing star and sinking the inner world into a deep, restless gloom. It was uncomfortable to exist in. He could take back control, but it was the angel who had the majority of the information. It only made sense to let him do the talking. Instead, he took to pacing the perimeter of the clearing, counting his steps.
"No," Krory said at last. "I would like to help Allen. I owe him very much, and the idea of winning the war is very tempting. But I'm afraid I do not think you will succeed, and as I said, I cannot leave Lavi to fight alone."
"You are a fool," Neah hissed, but there was nothing he could do. The spells would not work on an unwilling target. The magic, the soul, and the Innocence must all align and remain aligned.
Four refusals. Only Miranda and Lenalee remained. If they refused, Allen, Neah, Cross and Kanda would have to go it alone. The already suicidal mission would become essentially impossible. The gloom within the inner world deepened and began to thicken like sludge, suffocating Allen.
Miranda next.
"I'll ruin it," she said, drawing her knees up to her chest and staring at them with a plaintive expression. "I have no offensive power, and everything seems to go wrong when I'm around. I'm bad luck. You shouldn't want me with you."
Allen seized control before Neah could open his mouth, despite the angel's furious protests. He seemed to think it would be more advantageous for Allen's survival to remain a secret, an ace in the sleeve, but Allen knew this was worth the risk. "Miranda," he said gently, taking her hand.
"Allen?" she whispered, amazed, tears welling up in her sunken eyes. "You're all right! The angel said so, but I wasn't sure if I could believe him or not. I was so worried. So very worried. Very, very worried. I'm so glad you're safe."
He smiled helplessly. She really was very endearing, he thought, despite how painful it was to be with her and watch her tear herself apart over every minor failure. "I'm fine, Miranda, I promise. Please don't worry any more. I came out because I think you might listen a little better if I say it instead of Neah, who's a stranger to you: we want you on this mission. I want you on this mission. You've saved me and all the others so many times, and... things go bad because you're on the battlefield, Miranda, not because you're on the battlefield. It's not your fault that you can't protect us from everything. It's enough -- more than enough -- that you protect us from what you can. Please. Please come with us. We need you."
She wavered, then broke down in blubbery tears. "I'm scared," she sobbed, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Will it really be all right?"
Allen shrugged. "To be honest, I don't know. It's a battle. Things always go wrong. But we'll have a better chance of coming out of it alive if you're with us."
Miranda groped around her night table blindly for a moment, then came up with a wrinkled red handkerchief. She wiped her tears and blew her nose noisily. "All right," she said. "All right. I'll try."
At last!
"Thank you," said Allen with real relief. "Thank you, Miranda. We'll come get you when it's time. Go back to sleep. Try not to worry."
She laughed at that, a bitter, sarcastic sound. Though she was young, the hollows her eyes stared out from and her harsh frown lines meant that the sound didn't sound strange coming from her as it would from anyone else her age. Her life had aged her, body and soul, faster than was kind. Allen tried not to think about the average life expectancy of an Exorcist.
"Lenalee will come," she called after them just as the door closed behind them.
Allen hoped she was right.
Lenalee sat in stony silence while they explained, not a trace of sleep-stupor on her face. She had not slept. That didn't surprise him. Of all of them, she was the one who thought the most about the war's effects on her comrades, and the most realistically about their future. Miranda came a close second, but her terror drove her imaginings off the tracks quite often, into the territory of unlikely tragedy. There were plenty of likely tragedies, which Lenalee thought about instead. In the daylight, in the company of her friends, she was happy and generous with her smiles, but Allen had long suspected she was a different person in the dark. This confirmation did not bring him any joy.
"I'll do it," she said, before Neah could even finish.
That did not surprise him either.
"You agree so readily," Neah said, surprised and wary. "Why?"
She shrugged. "I hate God," she said simply. "I hate Him just as much as I hate the Earl. He's the reason my brother threw his life away, the reason he's had to make all these hard decisions and cry so much. I've seen how awful ordinary human beings can be to each other, without even one good reason. I've seen how terrible the Innocence can be when it's angry. When He's angry. He's cruel and I hate him. If you're going to kill him and end this war, I'm with you no matter what. For the sake of a world where I can live with my brother in peace."
Allen could feel the angel's admiration, and shared it. In many ways, she was the strongest of all of them. "What will this brother of yours think of you doing this?"
"It's not his decision," she said flatly. "I'm going."
"Thank you," Neah said quietly. "Your power will be of great assistance to us. We will come and find you when it's time."
"Wait."
Neah paused and turned back, hand on the cold iron doorknob.
Lenalee's eyes were dark as the undersea, full of heavy, oppressive shadows. "When this is over, I'm taking Allen back," she told the angel. "I won't let you stay in there. You have no right."
"I'd say that's up to him, wouldn't you?" replied Neah with a devilish smirk.
Allen felt uneasy. He hadn't thought that far ahead. What would he do when -- if -- when -- they won their victory? In the new and improved post-God world, what would Samael do? Allen knew he wanted to live with Lilith-Hevlaska, but how did he plan to accomplish that without a body of his own? The uneasiness grew, but there was no time to pay more attention to it.
The Ark needed programming. It was going somewhere new today.
x.x.x
An hour after the angel left, Kanda got up, got dressed, and left.
As he passed each of his comrades' rooms, he considered pausing to say goodbye, but decided against it every time. If the angel was persuasive, he would see them again in the final battle. If they were not convinced, visiting them would only give them a chance to delay him, tie him down.
He couldn't hate them. They were victims, just as Alma had been. It was the Order itself which deserved his hate, and the God behind it. His mouthpieces resided below, calm and arrogant in their power, sitting tall and proud in their high-backed chairs like kings.
It surprised him to learn that besides hearing the voice of God, they had little else in the way of power. They died with hardly a protest. He left Mugen sheathed at his hip, half-shattered as it was and loyal to God besides, and used his hands. It was easy. So easy.
The alarm went up moments before he stepped into the Ark. They would follow him, but they would never find him. The white city had become familiar to him. He knew the layout of its streets and many of its hidden places. Losing the pursuit was even easier than killing the Grand Generals had been. This was what he had been loyal to all these years? They were useless. Useless and ineffective and sick. He was done with them. Completely done.
The sense of freedom made his limbs -- fully repaired now -- feel light as ghosts. He glided through the Ark, noticing as he went that the door to the North America branch was splintered and crooked on its hinges. Had Allen tried to close the way behind him? It didn't matter now. There hadn't been any point to his last gift, except to let Kanda hear Alma's last words in peace and quiet and privacy. What Alma was now needed no hiding place.
Kanda, however, did need somewhere to hide, somewhere no one would think to look except Allen and his Noah. So perhaps it did have a point after all.
Daylight sifted through the clogged windows near the roof, casting a dim grey light over the ruined hall and its rolling dunes of dust and broken stone. Alma was where Kanda had left him, sightless glass eyes staring down through the rows of crumbling columns at the far wall.
If Alma could have moved, even to look at something more interesting or arrange what was left of himself into a more comfortable position, he would have; but here he was, exactly as Kanda had left him. Dead.
Kanda carefully sat down, perhaps ten feet away, and let the understanding tear through him as it would. Alma was dead, and the most Kanda could do for him now was avenge him and save his soul from Hell. He could not show him any gardens or build any houses with him. He could not drag him into the sunlight and feel it warm his living skin. Even if he saved his soul, Alma would go elsewhere, and he would still be here, alone and grieving. There was nothing left here to further break his heart, and nothing here to mend it.
Alone in the abandoned city of ghosts, hidden from the sun and all human eyes, Kanda sank his head onto his knees and cried.
And then, some long while later, like a mirage of joy, he saw the door to joy open again. Just a crack, but the light streaming from it blinded him. An idea. There was a way. He would have to speak to the angel about it to confirm, and that would be difficult without revealing himself, but it could be done.
There was still hope.
x.x.x
The frigid wind gusting in from the sea tugged fretfully at the cavern entrance, but inside it was warm enough and well-constructed for human comfort. The Akuma army had had little else to do, but it still seemed to him to be a frivolous thing to waste their enormous power on while preparing for such a great battle. He did have to admit that it was necessary, however, after spending all of five minutes outside of it surveying the landscape and losing all feeling in his fingers.
It was a mountain, rearing its frozen dragon's head high out of the Antarctic sea. Heavy blankets of ice covered most of it, but where the sea crashed around its ankles it was jagged and black. At its summit, a lake of ice sat motionless and silent within a wide caldera, beneath which a second lake of fire slumbered fitfully.
The angel had chosen it at Allen's behest. If they were to summon God down from his heavens and strike at him, it would likely be very chaotic and destructive. The death toll under Azazel's name was already high enough. Neah had originally planned to stage his final battle in some continental desert, but none of them were entirely uninhabited, and Allen had put his foot down. So here they were -- lost at sea, a thousand miles from any kind of land, perched on a bit of ice and rock like ants clinging to bits of leaves in the maelstrom of the river.
And thanks to the various magics of Neah and the Earl's kindred, completely hidden from the eyes of God until they chose to reveal themselves.
From the relative safety of his own mind, Allen watched with unsettled awe as the angel set about constructing his apocalyptic army.
Once their volcanic palace was complete and comfortably housing the entirety of the living Noah clan, Neah and Cross set their plan in motion. First, they contacted both of the consenting warriors still with the Order using enchanted pendants Cross had given them, which heated and hummed against their skin to signal them.
Miranda came through the gate first, perhaps two hours later. An enormous long object wrapped in cloth was slung over her thin shoulders.
"Did they give you any trouble?" Cross asked, lounging with his back against the warm stone wall of what had apparently become the war room.
She shook her head, visibly amazed that she had come through unscathed. "No. Everything is such a mess right now with Headquarters shifting operations to the new base. The Ark is full of people going back and forth between all the bases, evacuating people and gathering supplies. No one even noticed. The guard in the room stopped us, but I told her it was on Rouvelier's orders."
Cross grinned approvingly at her. "Wasn't sure you had it in you. Good job. Where's Lenalee?"
"She'll be a little while longer," Miranda said apologetically. "Kanda... she had to go find him."
The hesitation interested both Allen and Neah, but it was Tyki who asked, drifting into the room with a predatory smile on his face. "Oh dear, was he a bad boy? I wondered if he would be able to keep a handle on himself. Seems not."
Miranda blushed with pain and secondhand shame. "The Grand Generals are dead," she whispered.
Tyki cackled, and the surge of vindictive glee in Neah was almost overpowering to Allen.
The Grand Generals, dead? Kanda had killed humans? Having seen what he had, Allen found it hard to blame or judge him, but it still hurt him to think of. The Order had made Kanda an Exorcist to protect humanity. The Order had betrayed him, but Allen had hoped he would still want to protect humanity even despite that. Perhaps he had not thought of the Grand Generals as human. Come to think of it, he had no proof that they were human. They looked human, but so did Lilith, who was very far from it. Would Azazel trust human mouthpieces, or would he create puppets without free will to be absolutely sure? Either way, they couldn't know, and Kanda couldn't have known either.
Allen sat on the stone throne and drew his knees up to his chest, sorrowing for his friend. He had no time to think further about it, however, because Miranda had slung the huge package off her shoulder.
Neah took a delicate step back as she unpacked the contents of her burden on the stone floor of the cavern: Crown Clown, ferociously reflecting the red light of the dozen hanging lanterns. Seeing it now, knowing what was behind it, Allen couldn't help but feel a little revulsion to look at it. Had it helped him all those times because it was good, or had it helped him because he had been acting in line with Azazel's wishes? Would it still feel like a friend in his hand now, or would it turn on him and tear his throat out with his own claws?
The angel's mixed reaction of hatred and fear told him clearly enough: as long as it was only Innocence, it was Azazel's soldier, and its feelings -- if it had them -- did not matter. Though Allen's hand ached to reach out for it, he let Neah clench them behind his back and hold them there.
Tyki came forward and placed seven long crystals on the floor beside it. They were black and glossy, like obsidian, but they seem to have their own internal light, a soft blueish heat. Crown Clown suddenly shuddered and glowed a deeper, sullen red, writhing away from it like it was poisonous. Dark Matter.
"We had best get this over with as soon as possible," Neah said neutrally, though his mind was roiling against Allen's.
Tyki loudly cleared his throat. "Attention, everyone! It's time. Get in here."
The Noah and the Earl filed in in a messy line, arranging themselves in a wobbly standing circle around Cross and Neah. Cross held his left hand up. Without hesitation, Neah reached out and grasped it with his right, then had Miranda touch his armless left shoulder, and so on until the the last person in the circle -- the Earl -- put his gloved hand on Cross Marian's shoulder and closed the circle.
A toothy, half-feral grin raked across his face. "Hold on to your hats, ladies and gentlemen."
He reached out for the furiously rattling hilt of Crown Clown. Its form glowed and warped, the tip of the blade forking into twisted claws which scrabbled desperately against the floor. Too late. His fingers closed firmly around it, and the room imploded.
The Earl and Neah seemed to be taking in a vast influx of energy from the other members of the circle, then corralling it and feeding it to Cross in even threads like spinning wool.
For the first time, Allen saw his mentor work at the height of his strength, and began to understand how little of Cross Marian he or anyone else at the Order had known. He had known that Cross was a magician. He had not really understood what that meant. He'd seen Cross disguise himself, reanimate and control the dead like puppets, and come back from the dead. He hadn't met Chomesuke, but he suddenly remembered now how the others had described her, how Cross had reprogrammed her Dark Matter to serve himself.
That was what he was doing now, in a way, but on a much greater and more complex scale. Crown Clown was one of the most powerful Innocence weapons in existence, a thousand times more powerful than any Level Two Akuma, and could not be entirely repurposed. The will of its Maker was much of what gave it its power, and stripping that away would only weaken it.
The Dark Matter crystals abruptly dissolved into black puddles and ran into each other, forming a pool which crept first slowly, then with gathering speed towards Crown Clown's panicked mangled claws. "Be a good boy," Cross muttered under his breath as he narrowed his eyes and shifted his grip on the hilt. The Dark Matter twisted into a long, flattish ribbon and rose from the floor like a flaring cobra, paused for a moment, then struck all at once. Crown Clown let out a piercing metallic shriek of rage as the ribbon twisted around it, binding its claws together and forcing it back down into its blade form. It kept going, pinching tighter and tighter, winding around until it looked like a deadly barber's pole, thinning and refining the blade down until it was only two inches wide.
Allen tried to shut his ears to the awful, tortured sound of its wailing, but it pierced through his mind like a storm of sharp-edged hail. He cowered on the throne and wished desperately there was something he could do to reassure it. It's all right, he thought at it, as if thoughts could travel like words: I'm so sorry. I have to do this for my friends. You've been my partner and friend for so long... just help me this once more, and you'll be free.
It may have been his imagination, but it seemed to him that the wailing abated a little, and its thrashing calmed. He could see feel Miranda sobbing quietly beside him, clutching his shoulder as if it was all that was holding her up.
Cross gritted his teeth, sweat beading on his brow. Where the light and dark stripes met, lines of red light flashed for a moment, then dimmed and vanished. The room fell abruptly silent. Crown Clown lay still and quiescent on the stone floor, unrecognizable and strangely beautiful. It was perhaps five feet long, but very thin, and ribbed all down its length with black, white, and very thin dark red stripes. Only its hilt still resembled its old self, with its straight golden crossguard and broad grip.
"Um," said Miranda timidly after a few moments. "What... what did you just do, General Cross? What is this?"
The rakish grin flared back, though he looked somewhat tired. "Isn't it obvious? I've made us a bona-fide abomination. Here." He picked up the strange new sword and handed it to Neah, who gingerly accepted it and braced. The sword hummed gently, but otherwise did nothing. "See?" Cross said smugly.
Miranda's eyes widened. "I don't understand," she whispered.
Cross rolled his eyes. "Innocence alone couldn't affect Azazel, its maker. Dark Matter alone couldn't do it either, because he has the ability to destroy it. Same for human magic -- wouldn't work on him directly, though thankfully it's not sourced in his power. But if we mix all three of them together using human magic as the buffer to keep the Dark Matter and Innocence from annihilating each other, the Innocence becomes contaminated with Dark Matter and the Dark Matter becomes contaminated with Innocence. Azazel can't prevent Innocence from entering his body since it's... well, made of him. As a weapon, it's technically not that much more powerful than it was before, but..."
"But what?" she prompted, round-eyed.
"Hang on," he said, "we've got company."
The Ark's doorway, set againt the far wall of the cavern, flickered. Lenalee stepped out, dressed in full battle gear and wearing a triumphant smile. A small black satchel hung from her left hand.
"Lenalee!" Miranda cried, letting go of the hand holding her left hand and throwing her arms around her friend's neck. "You're early!"
Lenalee returned the embrace but said nothing, turning around to look back at the gate. Someone else was stepping out of it, haggard but straight-backed and tense with energy: Kanda. He looked even thinner, somehow, like the rage burning inside him had hollowed him out and used his body as fuel. Mugen hung battered and bent at his hip. His eyes scanned the room with an expression of distaste, then fixed on Allen's.
Allen pushed Neah down and took control. "Thanks for coming," he said quietly.
The old Kanda would have sneered and said something about how it wasn't for Allen's sake, he was just doing what needed to be done. This Kanda only held his gaze and nodded grimly. He didn't need to say anything -- Allen could guess at, if not truly understand, the poisonous depths of his need for vengeance against the being who had torn his life apart over and invented the Hell Alma's soul now suffered in.
Cross made an unhappy noise. "What did you do to your sword, you idiot?"
Self-hatred flashed across Kanda's face for a moment, then vanished in favour of a stony mask. "It broke," he said shortly.
"I'm not sure we'll have time to fix something that messed up," Cross said flatly.
Neah surged back into control and frowned. "Well, he can't go without a weapon. That would defeat the entire purpose."
Cross shrugged.
Crown Clown -- it really needed a new name -- hummed quietly in Allen's hand. He concentrated on it, curious as to whether it had really accepted its new self, was simply lobotomized and no longer aware of its own feelings, or was hiding its rage and waiting for an opportunity to strike back. It was easier to do without the distractions of having to listen or see or keep his balance; there was nothing to do down in the roofless halls of his heart but think and observe. So it was that he noticed what Neah didn't, and perhaps couldn't.
He pushed to the surface and waved his hand with wild excitement. "I know what to do!" he said, hoisting the dark holy sword to chest height and beaming at it with gentle affection. "I know what to do. Thank you, Crown Clown."
"Mind sharing?" Cross cut in dryly.
Allen turned to face him. "That thing you did, the conversion process -- I think it unbound Crown Clown from my soul. Whatever this sword is, it's not Crown Clown anymore. It's still in there, and still aware, but I can't feel its ties to my soul any more. It's more than it was, now. Capable of working even without being bound to its wielder." He strode across the room to Kanda. "Here. Don't worry, I'm pretty sure it won't bite."
Raising an eyebrow, Kanda accepted the blade and gave it an experimental swing. It sang a little in the still air. "It's not as good as Mugen," he declared flatly, but he didn't give it back.
"Be good to it," Allen said, feeling the sudden urge to cry. Crown Clown had been part of him for so long. Giving it to someone else after getting back for only a few minutes seemed to make the empty space where it had been feel that much larger and darker. "Don't break it."
"What will you fight with, then?" Lenalee asked curiously.
Allen put his hand to the tender spot under his sternum. The wound Kanda had given him was nowhere near healed yet. After taking over, Neah had sealed it shut and helped accelerate the healing process, he was nowhere near fighting fit yet. The angel had, as a precaution against interference from Azazel, eliminated the traces of Innocence in his bloodstream, which left the newly healed spot on his heart vulnerable as well. If Allen changed his mind and ousted the angel now, he would likely die. If he stuck with Neah and fought, he would still possibly die. He was asking far too much of his body.
"I'll think of something," he said with a sunny smile.
"But--" Lenalee began to protest.
"Lenalee," he interrupted. "I'll be fine."
There was a long history of lies between them. What was one more?
She sighed and let it go, then brought her satchel to the front and dumped it out on the floor without ceremony. Two dozen cubes of Innocence tumbled out, glowing resentfully pale green, in sickly contrast to the ruddy glow of the lanterns.
Cross cracked his knuckles. "Everybody gather round! This is not a fun camping trip, we're here to work, so sit down and brace yourselves. I'm going to need everything you can give me if this is going to work. Don't worry if you pass out, you'll have a little time to recover before we head out for the big showdown."
Miraculously, everyone obeyed, Exorcists and Noah sitting down together in a messy, resentful knot of people on the warm stone floor.
Allen tried to picture the future beyond this moment, the world beyond their tiny vanishing island in the heart of the sea, and found that he couldn't. When they were ready, they would drop the enchantments hiding the island from God's eyes and call him down to earth... and then what? What would that look like? What would He look like? It seemed absurd that they were even contemplating going after him with their silly sharpened sticks and stones, let alone believing for a moment it could work. And what would a world without Him look like? Left to its own devices, free to choose its own path without interference at last -- what would humanity do?
Wait and see, Allen Walker, Neah murmured within their shared mind. Patience.
X.x.x.x.X
A/N: Next: 06. Suffering