A/N: To my old readers, welcome back for the rewrite of "A New World, Another War", now renamed "Crumbling Towers". To any new readers, welcome as well! :) I hope you guys enjoy chapter one of Crumbling Towers!
Note: POV jumps was intentional. Don't worry, I'll switch to third person POV after chapter one and so on.
Summary: It's all fine and dandy to be immortal, right? Well, it's not exactly "wrong" either, but for a tired ex-exorcist with the weight of death on his shoulders (dear friends, enemies that could've been loved and innocents that couldn't be saved) as well as being a monster… it isn't a walk in the park, that's for sure.
Chapter 1: Revival in the Ashes
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It's a little sad, really. I'm not sure why I felt apathetic seeing the same scene over and over again – like an endless monochromatic film of moving pictures at the photo developing shop – but I'm sure anyone would get used to it, no matter how horrifying and bloody it is that would make anyone freeze in that one first moment of seeing it.
The scientist – I don't try remembering names anymore, since it's pointless if I can't call them out, right? – wearing a common white lab coat that wasn't as pristine as it should be, since it was stained with the blood of guts and sweat, was sterilizing a few tools in the metallic box to be used in the "surgery" and being here for a long time, I knew he was also doing this for the sake of twisted scientific knowledge.
This time, it was the body of a dead Finder that the scientist ripped open, his stomach sliced vertically and perfectly in the middle, with strange metal tools that I couldn't identify with the ignorance I had on a tool befitting doctors – or mad scientists with questionable morals experimenting on their fellow humans – that pulled two sides of the skin away from each other and wide open, so you could see the insides without having to rummage through it messily like a stray cat would in a trash bin.
Another person came into the dimly lit room – as the only light source was in the middle of the room and focusing on the patients'-that-weren't-for-patients table – wearing a white jacket I sometimes saw Science Department members wore, but it was as dirty as the scientist's coat, who was still working his way through the stomach by removing the internal organs. He was ripping out the big intestines, collecting the small intestines into a pile, using enormous scissors to cut the stomach but careful enough not to slice it open and spill the acidic juices, all in that order, and proceeding to dump it into a small bin not so gently.
The other person, a woman with a pair of the coldest eyes I've seen that would rival a certain grumpy swords master I knew – past tense; he's dead – and dirty blonde hair spoke in a monotone voice. Talk about colorful. "Do you need any assistance?" She asked, maybe nice of her to do so, but then again, it could have been part of her job description.
The man, already working his way around the chest area, didn't shake his head but used his free hand to wipe a bead of sweat forming on his forehead. "No. But I need you to bring me the container for the innocence."
The woman didn't answer – should I even call her a nurse? Well, she didn't save lives, that's for sure – and walked away with soft clacking footsteps to retrieve some jar lookalike from the other side of the room with a bunch of wires attached to it. She gave the contraption to the man and asked again, in monotone, "Were the previous subjects able to withstand the innocence and dark matter using it as its life host?"
Funny enough, in the six months I've been cooped up here – chains and all, but the one on my chest did what, I had no clue –, this was the first time, I've seen some form of expression on the man's face. It was fleeting as it came and went like dust particles travelling through air, but it was kind of funny anyways. He looked rather disappointed at the mention of the previous experiments as he stuffed the jar with the glowing innocence into the corpse. I felt disgusted that the innocence I fought for was used for these sort of nasty purposes. Then again, being insubstantial could put a halt to your plans.
"The ones that were able to withstand it in the Finders category was infinitesimal, but there was three that lasted for a three weeks before the mix consumed their corpses and it became a nest."
I swear I could hear a small shudder in his voice at the mention of 'nest', yet I can't blame him either. The nest state was nastier than the natural decomposition of a human body, as the veins became all black and purple and visible under skin, bones overgrowing out of the skin (becoming a skeletal armor of sorts) while the rest of the body was covered in a web-like substance thingy that… hissed, whenever something went near it.
I watched with mild interest as the body convulsed – fingers twitching madly, legs shaking and arms flailing when the scientist pulled the switched when he finished connecting the wires to what looked like a bastardized and bigger version of a life monitor. This was the nineteenth body I've seen in the week and although I grew somewhat apathetic to the scene, I couldn't help but feel a tinge of guilty trying to wash over me.
Like I said, being insubstantial could put a halt to your plans, especially when you were stuck in the morgue/lab without being able to move from the same spot and having a chain attached to your chest that corroded slightly (it ate itself away and I didn't even know that was possible) whenever you felt worthless about yourself. Not sure if I should be worried about the chain part though.
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The first time I remembered opening my eyes, I felt as if the temperature of the room dropped to zero and there was nothing but mist around me. Then realization hit me that I was supposed to be dead, dead, dead. The smell of death and blood clung to me like a lifeline, mainly because I knew that it wouldn't go away no matter how many times I wash myself.
The world felt as if it was crumbling and even the tallest towers were slowly, slowly, slowly about to crumble and fall, fall, fall, powerless to time.
I could see all my comrades dead and I was unable to stop it.
Lenalee, sweet and kind girl she is, had the bloodiest death since she fought with Road. Her bones cracked and bent into inhumane angles, mouth wide open to convey a silent scream of agony, her eyes missing and tear tracks down her cheeks. Timothy's body was missing, but I could see his sloppily amputated arm along with the sleeve of his uniform on top of a pile of debris, blood soaked and dripping from it. Lavi wasn't as bad as the two, as he was neither mangled nor missing, but he was beside me, lying motionless on the ground like a broken puppet (we all were; dancing into Central's hand), bleeding from three parts of his sense (sight, hearing and smell) and his eyes were closed, with the eyepatch and headband he usually wore gone. Miranda was tied up to a mock crucifix, crucified on it and notably, her fingers and toes were cut up and her lip had a large mark, probably biting it to stop herself from screaming when she was tortured. Lastly, I could see Kanda in front of me, stabbed by his own sword (he was probably rolling in his metaphorical grave for being killed by his own weapon) and hair loose with the snapped hair band on the ground.
I was ready to accept death too (happily, even, when Neah, before he left off to wait for his rebirth, said the next reincarnation, he would change the Noah family and I would be able to rest, no longer with the burden of my old life, old memories mixed in with my fresh ones), until Central came and collected our bodies. I protested weakly, asking why Central was here instead of the Asia's Branch (the only one that had survivors), but they remained emotionless, telling me that all survivors were incapacitated and one of them slit my throat before I had the chance to do anything.
In the first few months, I was extremely furious. I felt resentment bubbling angrily like hot soup in my stomach, with a desire for some form of revenge. I saw the corpses (my friends and mine), stripped down completely with only a thin blanket covering them from knee to neck, being carted off to the patients' table, with scientists that seemed impassive at first, but I could see the greed and madness hiding in their eyes.
I watched on and on, one by one, the corpses being emptied and stuffed with two containers, one of innocence and the other its natural enemy, dark matter. It was grueling and suffering, but from this, I learned that they wanted to create their own secret weapon, a trump card and obtain more power.
The anger grew until I felt pain. I wasn't sure why I didn't notice it, but there was a chain attached to my chest and at the end of it (it was really long), it was… eating itself away. But the pain was real and excruciating.
The more resentment I felt, the more it ate itself away.
What if there was none left?
It wasn't before long, even though I should've been dead, I tried to stop myself from being controlled by my negative emotions and became detached.
The thought continued to voice itself and bred the fear that I'll die if the chain finally eats itself until there's none left.
No matter how much I said I would've accepted death, I fear it more than anything in the world.
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I finally snapped. When all the bodies of exorcists, all my comrades, the dear friends I've come to love as my dysfunctional nevertheless perfect family, were the fruits of labor of the experiments, showing the bodies proudly like they were hunting trophies to Central's top brass, the emotions I've been holding back with fear, exploded, wrapped around me and whispered for retribution.
The chain, no longer as long as the width of the room as it first used to be, was already as short as the length of my hand. It continued to corrode and I no longer tried to stop it. Seeing them being used like that was the breaking point, the limit that tore my own fears apart. I rather die again than see my friends be used and shamed like this.
So, the chain, already a few millimeters from my chest, reached closer and closer until I felt hot pain on my face. I started screaming (even if no one noticed), repeatedly trying to get the white goo off my face but to no avail and then the darkness consumed and all I could see – it was cold and terrifying and dark no lights –
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Hunger.
Souls.
Anger.
Eat.
Eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat –
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The monster, cloaked in a furry white coat and a blank mask, ate the heads of the laughing humans, who weren't laughing anymore once they realized the unknown danger, ran around like frenzied chickens and the monster, who was angry for reasons unknown (but the laughter was annoying at first), continued to eat up the delicious snacks before him.
Then the snacks become a full-course gourmet, a wonderful feast for a beast like him, when he ate all the humans who inhabited the building and also for reasons unknown, burned the entire building with a blast of light from its mouth.
When it was satisfied both belly and mind (if it even had one, but probably contained more insanity than sanity), it growled loudly and angrily, tore the air open with a slice until it transformed into a large, opened mouth with straight stitched and dived in.
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Time passes until the same monster reawakens in a similar way; eating his enemies.
It feels strange to simply be able to be himself after a long time of something like a mental hibernation. Putting it simply, it felt as if he slept and became lost in his labyrinth made of lost hopes, pieces of recollections, faces and littered remnants of what used to be himself.
He looks around, finding himself awakening from a body that was forcibly ripped opened (probably his and it seemed like a snake shedding its skin), observed his surroundings of leftover bits of lumpy milky flesh, puddles of red liquid, cracked masks, sand and large white trees and flexed his fingers and toes to test his mobility. Next was touching his own face, which, from what he still remembered (or were his memories just lies he made up to comfort himself?), he still had the same face structure, jaw, nose and eye shape – so human yet not – with the main difference from where he scar used to be now had a half bone mask with a curved horn like the devil. He walks over to the biggest puddle of blood and uses it as a mirror, to see the reflection and how he looked like. Going through the details on the pool of shiny fluid, he looks at himself with undisguised repugnance.
The boy, who used to be Allen Walker, took the cloth that was covering him when he was in his previous stage and used it as makeshift clothes, which became like a lookalike of his Crown Clown form in his previous life, he thought idly. Afterwards, with a flick of a finger, he made a small blast of light to decimate his remains before any competition came to eat it and opened another mouth-like doorway (already a part of his knowledge when he conquered the other souls trying to take over their shared over sized body and became a feral beast) and headed for the human realm.
He didn't want to be in a place full of hunger, death and endless sand.
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By the time he arrives in the human world, which is a quick second later, it is already different from what he remembers from his broken memories and he knows that time has passed by quickly, years or maybe even centuries. From the time that has flew by, it is hard for him to tell where he is. He also realized that no human can see him and he prefers it that way, since it is long since the last time he has been 'human'. He didn't know how to speak with the kin of what he used to be, feeling awkward and strange. Now that he became like this, his appetite for humans and souls in general diminished greatly without any side effects and it is a blessing rather than a curse, since he does not wish to eat while being aware.
Unexpectedly though, it is a human who talks to him. A strange but curious human with shocking white hair (a trait he does not expect another to have), frowny-like, glasses (a painful memory appears at the back of his head like a fresh wound but he does his best to ignore it) and clothes which consisted of a dark blue trench coat and a suit with black dress shoes.
"You aren't human." He says it as a matter-of-factually in German, staring at the monster with the huge white cloak with a fluffy collar and a single horn with a blank face although the half bone-like mask perturbed him slightly.
In his case, there was neither fear nor resolve, so the monster – should he start calling himself Allen again? – couldn't see what this particular individual wanted. Allen never did learn German, only listening to the language when Miranda sang rhymes in her native language, but he could pick out the bits of "aren't" and "human", adding it with the questioning lilt the man used. So, he continued listening instead of responding, trying to translate the words he knew when the human made a move to speak again.
"You're a Hollow. What's a Hollow doing in Germany?"
Allen didn't know what monsters of his brand where called, but being called as hollow (if he heard right since the word was in English but said in a thick German accent, so it was quite difficult to tell) seemed fitting. He was hollow within because his human heart was missing. "That's right." He replied with a shrug in English, which surprised the human. Wait, Germany? Well, that explained the German, but the man in front of him didn't look German at all, as he looked more Asian than western. "I'm in Germany? Hmm, this is rather different from what I'm used to." He notices the moving box-like things with wheels and the change from depressing fashion he was used to in the 1800s. Though, he couldn't help but feel a surge of nostalgia breeze through, finally knowing where he was.
This place was where Miranda was born, he thinks with a smile.
Meanwhile for the human, he was puzzled. He had never seen a Hollow with the ability to talk fluently in human language (English, even) and even the ones that spoke briefly were just simple words of 'hunger' and 'kill. The only reason that he spoke in German was due to being in the country for more than five years. To be honest, the idea of something so dangerous gaining intelligence and even the ability to remember its past was alarming. What the Hollow would do with that knowledge is what he wanted to know.
"I've never seen a Hollow look so human." Said the human, this time replying in English and frankly speaking, hiding his anxiety, while Allen didn't notice it at all. Instead, he felt slightly annoyed at being questioned continuously. "So, what are you exactly?"
Adjusting the name of monsters worse than Akumas in his mind, Allen spoke again with a tone of indifference. He has long learned how to hide his true emotions through countless of poker games. "Hollows can evolve, but rarely do because of the large numbers becoming mindless towering beasts in the forest." He vaguely recalls himself being a part of that, but had managed to escape it through sheer will while the human looks confused at the mention of a forest. Then, Allen, with an inkling to what might this human want, tilted his head and asked, "Are you going to attempt to kill me? Don't try, it's pointless." It was pointless, because killing him didn't benefit anyone.
The human knitted his brow on the why would it be pointless to kill him (already temporarily forgetting about the bit of a forest), but he doesn't ask. Instead, he responds with, "I'm not. I've been observing you for the past week and you didn't kill any humans. That's a record for a Hollow who likes eating humans… because of that, I have no reason to do so."
Allen doesn't know if he should feel offended or flattered. Strange, it has been a long time since feelings like these have arisen. So human that it was foreign. "I can think… and I don't really like eating humans, even if it's a necessity."
The human contemplates on a proper answer before settling with a "You're strange." If this Hollow wasn't going to harm anyone, he had no right to attempt causing pain to this odd evolution of a Hollow.
Monster or not, Allen snorts in a smug, human-like way. "You're the weird one for coming up to me and gave me the misunderstanding that someone wanted to kill me when I finally regained my ability to think properly."
In a way, it was the start of an unorthodox friendship between Allen Walker, monster with a name, and Ishida Ryuken, a recent graduate that became doctor.