It was all so red.
Out of all the days, all the locked away memories, it is one that he remembers best.
The day the first comrade dies in his arms. The day he sees only fire and smells nothing but burning flesh.
Phantom.
A day he can relive clearer than any other.
It starts with running. Running and sprinting through low hanging branches and lots of green leaves that get stuck in his hair. There's laughing, he recalls, as a little boy Alviss quickly ducks under a well-hidden bough and hears a painful-sounding thump behind him.
A grin.
The child turns around, his eyes filled with mirth as he stares upon his bulky, fallen companion. "I win this time, Alan!" he announces proudly, and shakes the leaves out his hair.
The bigger man groans, and sits up, eyeing the branch before him with a dark look. "Good job, kid. That really hurt, though." He lifts a hand up, and grimaces as he feels the newly formed bruise on his abdomen. "A lot."
Alviss laughs, pumping a fist in triumph. "See, even a kid can outsmart an adult! Now you can't tell me that I can't hold my own!"
His comrade gives him a crooked grin, and ruffles his hair. "Nah, you were just lucky," he laughs, shaking his head. "You gotta be a man before I let you out against the Chess."
He pouts, giving Alan a pointed look from under blue-black bangs. "I am a man! See?" He wriggles out from under the older man's grip, and puffs out his chest. "I'm brave! I can do it! And look -" He holds his arm out, and bends it at the elbow, a muscle quivering on his upper arm. "I'm strong!"
He blinks as his companion holds his tanned, muscled arm next to his smaller, thinner one. "You got a long ways to go, kid," he says, laughing as he claps a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Besides, you need to get taller before you become a real man!"
His lips form into a scowl, and he pulls out of Alan's hold again. "I'll get taller, just you watch!" he exclaims, blue fire burning in his eyes. "I'll become strong, and I'll protect MAR Heaven!"
So he said.
It only makes it more ironic when not more than ten minutes after those words, the little boy Alviss and his companion stumble into hell.
It is vivid and burning. On reflex he recoils at the stench of roasting meat - that of humans and pets - and the unbearable sensation of heat hitting his senses; tries not to retch his guts as he staggers back against the trees. Alan runs past him, urgency and fear evident in every movement, and he realizes what he's been doing.
This is no time to be a coward.
Alviss musters his courage, his strength, his determination, setting his jaw and schooling his face into the same calmness he's seen so many times on the faces of his older, experienced companions.
He remembers the familiar faces. His fists clench, his breath steadies. Today he will become their equal - because there are no requirements to be a hero.
His legs move him across the red-orange village, and he dodges stray flames and steps carefully over and around bodies already half-reduced to ash. His eyes, a smearing mess of blue and reflected crimson - blood and flame alike - dart around looking for any signs of life, and movement from hidden enemies. He looks for the broad back and muscled shoulders of Alan, only to feel his heart twist uncomfortably when he doesn't see it.
A thousand what-ifs are flooding his mind. His vision starts to spin.
Alan dead. Everyone dead. No survivors. Him trapped in the inferno. Him dead.
He is just a child, and he feels like he is going insane.
Thump.
The scenary stops swirling. Alviss turns, and he almost forgets to hide his desperation and delusion when he sees a worn, crawling man from the Cross Guard. A survivor.
The man struggles, his breathing uneven as Alviss helps him sit up with a tight grip that betrays his own fear. A ragged voice speaks to him slowly, "Pha... Phan... tom..."
His insides frost over, and his hold on the man grows even tighter. "Phantom... Phantom is here?"
The survivor struggles to keep his eyes open, and he only murmurs a silent answer before blood comes bubbling out and he coughs - hard.
Alviss bites his lip, trying to keep his emotions level as the man recovers and stills his shaking body. He suddenly feels heavier as he fixes a weak, pained, almost empty expression to the smaller boy's face.
"Al... Alviss..."
He takes a shuddering gasp, and Alviss can tell that he's trying not to relax his muscles for even a second.
"R-run... this... place... Phantom... you can't... defeat him... Alan... will take care... of it... get a... way... while you... c-can..."
He stiffens as his comrade coughs again and again, the bright red a stark contrast to pale skin. He looks for any open wound, anything he can do to help the man, but all he sees are bruises and tattered clothes. Internal bleeding. There is nothing he can do.
The hot tears prick at his eyes and his face distorts into a grimace of despair as the body shudders and goes limp in his arms.
Dead.
Alviss gets no time to mourn, however, as the next second a harsh crash is heard from his right - he tears his gaze away from the corpse only to find a bulky mass covered in splinters and a collapsed, burning house. He recognizes Alan.
"Hmph, is this all the Cross Guard has to offer, Alan?" The silky, menacing voice sends shivers down his spine.
There is no denying that voice. He can clearly picture the bandaged arm and white hair.
PHANTOM.
His heart painfully thump thumps in his chest, his eyes staring emptily at Alan's injured body as he struggles to get up. Time seems to stop as he imagines the twisted grin spreading across a paper white face, and the scent of death emanating from his dead comrade and all the innocent people who've been lost.
Ba-bump. Ba-bump.
Phantom laughs at the muscled man's feeble attempts - steps on his head and forces it down into dirt mixed with soot and blood.
Ba-bump-ba-bump.
"Is this the really the best of Cross Guard, Alan?"
Babumpbabump.
Before he knows it, he's gritted his teeth and he's up and throwing a messy clump of hot dirt at the leader of Chess's head. At the moment, Alviss knows nothing but adrenaline-powered rage.
Phantom seems stunned before he swivels his head seamlessly towards the little boy, an insane smirk decorating his face in the split-second it takes. "Well, look who it is."
Alviss doesn't back down. He yells angry words that don't even make sense, biting phrases and pours out all his despair and fear into three words.
"I hate you."
His opponent's grin grows only wider. Alan looks on in dread.
"Fufu, you've got quite the nerve." Long, thin fingers flex around Babbo's handle. "Quite impressive, that's good."
For an instant Alviss falters as Phantom starts to move towards him. His legs do not move as his fear and courage conflict with each other. His expression stays intent. The zombie man stands in front of him, piercing him with bright, violet eyes that know everything.
"This is too good to pass up," he says, amusement evident in his voice. Vaguely the boy can hear Alan's voice full of desperation, but understands none of the words.
"I want to make you the same as me."
The little Cross Guard doesn't understand the meaning behind those words, and he only glares on, daring the taller man to make his move.
Alviss remembers the burning inferno surrounding him, the seared flesh and bones, the pain of not being able to protect, the foolish rage and the zombie tattoo.
But he remembers the smearing, triumphant grin the most.
A/N: This is where I should attempt to make excuses about the lack of updates. I won't though - I just fell out of interest in MAR, and hit a writing roadblock. That is all. In any case, this is No. 4, written overall in a span of three days; one day sometime a year ago, and two days this week. Like stated previously, I have not reread MAR in a long time, so forgive me if the characterizations are a bit off; hopefully I managed to do okay on portraying the young Alviss's naivety about "being a hero". I also did not attempt to emulate my old style, sorry about that. Because I hate unfinished stories myself, I have decided that until further notice (read: inspiration) SiBS will be "completed" at No. 5.