It is not the first time he is afraid of his innocence. Allen should not be surprised anymore, but he is. From the first activation, the second death of Mana, Allen has always harbored a secret fear of his own arm.
Parasitic type, they call it.
Allen hates the name. Parasites are outsiders; they feed on a host body. If Allen is not careful, the innocence will consume him completely. But he does not like to think of himself as only a host. First the host body for the 14th's memories, and then the host for the innocence. Allen wonders if there was ever a time when he was just himself.
But in a war, this kind of thinking is a luxury. So Allen tucks these thoughts away; he keeps them locked up for the long hours after nightmares or for the rare moments of quiet when all he can hear is the steady sound of Link poring over his endless reports. He supposes it doesn't matter anyways.
His left arm for the akuma, his right arm for humans. From the beginning, Allen has been resigned to offering up his arm to the innocence; a holy sacrifice, the Order would call it. But it is not the Order's arm. It is Allen's; only it is not.
It is not the first time he is afraid of his innocence, but in the presence of the level four, Allen cannot help but shake. Komui may diagnose his shaking limbs as fatigue and battle wounds only half-healed, but Allen knows himself. He is afraid. He can feel it taking, even as his consciousness fades dangerously. His arm is not his arm. His legs are not his legs. Allen can feel it, as the innocence takes control of his rebellious body; his heretical body which failed to fight when it was most crucial. In spite of himself, Allen closes his eyes.
At the heart of the Black Order's Headquarters, Allen Walker loses himself, wholly, completely.
But the innocence will not let him sleep. Even if he cannot move, cannot fight, the innocence keeps him awake. It is easier when he is awake. So Allen grimaces and bites his lip as the Crowned Clown armor forces his broken limbs to move. Bones grinding, chest spewing blood, Allen feels it all but keeps his mouth shut so he can focus on giving the innocence whatever power he has left.
He wants to scream. He wants to scream, because it is excruciating, the feeling of his broken bones brushing against torn muscles; and he wants to scream because above him, a fire is slow consuming what is left of his friends' bodies; and he wants to scream because he is the only one left with innocence, yet alone, he cannot even stand. Allen wants to scream. He wants to close his eyes to the imminent defeat. He does not want to see the Level 4 playing with Lenalee's body or see it break Komui's spine, as it surely will.
But innocence will not let him. Innocence is cruel. It will keep him fighting far past his limits, it will consume him completely. Allen is terrified, but at this moment, Allen has never been so grateful to innocence. Because it can do what he cannot; it will keep him fighting, far past his cowardice. And if only innocence will save his remaining friends, Allen will gladly sacrifice his entire body, his life, his identity.
It is not the first time Allen is afraid of his innocence, but this time, Allen revels in the fear.