"You want me, to revive Mana Walker?" The earl voiced from behind the cross of the grave in front of which sat the little reddish-haired boy, legs outstretched before him.
Clouds curled across the horizon, dark and fat, promising rain.
The graveyard was empty at this time in the morning. Not so far away, behind a row of buildings rose the tent of a traveling circus, gold-tinged from the sunrise. Closer, the graveyards single, gnarly tree spread its coal-black branches like a web work of broken fingers. It was cold and the boys breath steamed slightly from his nose, he slumped slightly in his brightly-patterned attire, and made no effort to actively keep warm.
The boy avoided looking up into the Earls distorted face, but nodded, staring at his own gloved hands. Queasiness worked up in his stomach; be it from the grief, the instinctual, inexplicable panic he felt at the sight of the Earls sky grin-or something else entirely-he couldn't guess. Only he couldn't seem to look up. Neither at the earl, not at the elegant cross of Mana's grave. Far too sturdy a cross for the grave of a mere traveling clown-he thought.
"We'll here you go, then! Boy." Interrupted the Earls simpering voice. Something all too sinister had crept into the playful tone, but Allen's attention was more taken by the thing that had suddenly appeared beside the Earl, rather than the man himself.
The promised 'new body' resembled a husk. Constructed of metal, with a star-emblem bearing skull fitted with lengthened, savage incisors, and arms that ended in sword like points, the construction looked anything but harmless. It had appeared beside the earl as if summoned, held within a matte frame. Despite its threatening vibe it gleamed to the boy like a star through clouds. Not trusting himself to speak yet, Allen slowly clambered to his feet and approached it, casting a glance at the earls bespectacled face.
"This will really bring him back?" He finally asked. His voice was strong but quiet, hopeful.
"Like a charm!" Purred the earl, patting the dome of the things skull.
"I build these to last. A soul confined in one of these is a soul kept forever, and you can spend all eternity-if you're lucky-with your precious father." The impossible grin widened as if laughing at some private joke.
"I've done all the work, as you can see. Now all you have to do, dear boy, is call his name."
The young clown paused, glancing over the figure. Could a soul confined in this cold, metal container truly ever be the Mana he once knew? It seemed unfitting, somehow... But the longing to see his adoptive father again was so fierce...
"What are you waiting for?" The earl asked, "having second thoughts, perhaps?"
"No" Allen said angrily, clenching his gloved hands, and, quickly before he could change his mind; blurted out the name.
Hours later, a soft drizzle had found its way to the graveyard, pattering down on the distant circus tent, on the tree, the blood, the mangled remains of a metal husk, and stale footprints of a little boy. A figure in scarlet walked up the hill of the graveyard, growling beneath his breath.
A jagged ivory half-mask covered the right side of his face, and a stylized cross emblem in silver shone on his shoulder. Long red hair cascaded down his back, and his expression was decidedly displeased. Marian Cross glared owlishly at all, then knelt beside the gravestone. A small golden ball untangled itself clumsily from his hair, and floated down on two long, feathery wings, landing in his red-clothed lap and pawing gently at his knee with a hand-like protrusion. Its eyeless face turned towards the blood, and it twitched its wings anxiously before it looked up at its master.
"It's the vessel, isn't it, Tim." Marian said quietly to the golem.
Timcanpy shook his wings free of droplets, then fluttered down to the nearest blood-stain and patted the ground beside it.
"Yes he's run away." Growled the exorcist. "And there's not much I can do about it now. The bastards've got me on a leash and you damn well know that."
Tim tilted sideways, then flopped on his belly, hugging the ground.
Marian ignored it, rising gracefully to his feet and brushing off his knees. Timcanpy fluttered his wings in protest
"Looks like he managed to defeat the Akuma he created." Cross muttered, ignoring it. "An exorcist, then? This'll complicate things..." He sighed, then looked up to the cloud-wreathed horizon, where the cloth dome of the circus tent was being collapsed.
The exorcist watched the mass of cloth begin to sink out of sight beyond the buildings for a moment, then snapped for Timcanpy, who eagerly landed on his palm.
"Alright, since the black order is now spying on me like an legion of hungry Akuma, you go guide the vessel." He said. Timcanpy drooped.
"Don't give me that, " Marian snapped. I'll give them the slip in New-England then come visit. For now, just gain his trust and keep him alive. The exorcist paused for a moment with a thoughtful look.
"And one more thing..." He uttered slowly, then reached into the folds of his robes and drew out a ring-bound collection if papers as wide as his palm. He held it to his golem
"Give this to him, and don't let him throw it away. If he refuses to work for it, bite him."
Timcanpy patted the thick leather cover with distaste and somehow managed to look accusatory despite not having any eyes.
"What?" Said the exorcist innocently, a sharp light glinting in his single eye. "It's therapy. I'd imagine he must be in a bit of a slump right now. Some productive motivation couldn't hurt him."
He waited until the little winged mechanism had flown off, somehow clutching the heavy booklet in all four knobby limbs. He watched it wobble away for a long moment before turning back to the grave, the scarred soil, the blood, and the footprints leading away towards where minutes ago the circus tent had been.
The thick carapace of the skeletal machine had been shorn apart with brute force. Its head lay at the trunk of the tree, star emblem marred by a crater the size of an eye socket. metal shrapnel from its split rib-cage dotted the ground around it.
It's limbs were skewed and warped, sticking from the ground like grave-markers.
At age eleven, the apprentice clown Allen Walker had singlehanded lay torn apart a weapon designed by the Earl to exterminate humans.
"I hope you knew what you did, Neah, when you took this vessel." sighed Marian Cross, before turning to leave.
hurrah! i guess. XD
it's finally out.
anywho; as i had mentioned, this is my first ever fic in any fandom. and... uh... so...
yeah.
how did I do?