Okay, this was kind of hard, because there were a lot of things I wanted to incorporate and some things just didn't fit together, and then I lost the document, so. Yeah, here's this trainwreck.

A special thanks to KillerAkuma and Guest for reviewing!

Title: Forever Walking

Author: thebizarrehairtrio

Summary: Immortality wasn't what he expected. The aging and de-aging randomly wasn't either, but he managed. It was how the world bloomed into being, descended from those wretched Noah, that surprised him. Humans really were foolish creatures. (An insight on who Past!Allen may have been.) (Some canon divergence.)

Rating: T

Category: Dark/Adventure

Pairings: None

Warnings: Scheming!Past!Allen, Feigning-Ignorance!Current!Allen, Immortal!Allen, Semi-AU.

Disclaimer: Unfortunately, D. Gray-Man belongs to Hoshino Katsura. (But I am working on it.

The Crystal kept finding wielders over the centuries. He observed them, particularly the wielders of the Heart (of Lev, his subconscious reminded him absently) and kept an eye on Apocryphos (Shamira, who hated him most). He kept track of the wielders, their names and the forms the Crystal took for them. He had time.

There were cults, organizations, that formed around the Crystal, but they never lasted. They were destroyed, trampled on, forgotten. His own rattled against its restraints, calling out to its fellows. (It was troublesome, since he still couldn't figure out how to shut it up, and had to move several times because of it.)

The Black Order formed.

He watched it, curious. This one actually lasted for more than a few years.

(Then again, it had the Vatican backing it up, didn't it?)

He wanted to laugh. A message from an ancient civilization that defeated the Earl? They wished! 'The Cube,' as they called it, was just the soul of Nissa, whose mother was mad and believed in fortune telling. Nissa, too, was mad as well, and an expert liar. He supposes that the Heart, that Lev, was ashamed at the fact that they did not defeat the Earl, and asked Nissa to concoct a proper fake message that stressed their strength.

How foolish.

He should be thankful, perhaps, that they only described one-hundred and nine Crystals. Or maybe they were aghast at the very thought of speaking of a traitor.

(Really, he didn't think of himself as a traitor. Shouldn't your own survival always come first? Were you obligated to help others after they brushed off your warnings? Perhaps those very acts were considered traitorous.)

And they called the Crystal 'Innocence.' Why Innocence? Why that name? He didn't understand why they gave the Crystal that name. Did they mean innocence, as in naïveté? Innocence, as in chastity? Or, God forbid, Innocence as in purity or virtue? If it is the last, then he had no words. The Crystal, the Innocence, was far from virtuous, from pure. What type of honorable substance devoured one's soul?

Even more laughable, they referred to it as the 'Crystal of God.' They called the wielders 'Apostles of God.' They were in no ways holy, the wielders or the souls in the Crystal. They were human, dirty, wretched humans full of greed and selfish desires. (He did not refer to himself as nonhuman; he acknowledged his humanity but simply did not care. Then again, he and his tribe were much more than these humans descended from the Noah.)

The Black Order was interesting. He did not like it, though, but he did not hate it either. It was simply a perfect example of evil human desires, expressions. The using of other humans. The disregard for human life. For an organization that was considered 'holy,' they were the perfect manifestation of human nature.

But of course, God wasn't the holy being he was made out to be. No, he knew, and his tribe knew, that God was simply bored. He wanted a performance, a play and a dance. Something to entertain him. So he created the Crystals, 'blessed' the Noah. Then, he sat back and watched it play out, cheering at the gruesome details and booing at the lax in activity.

(He could not accuse God of evil, however, because he was just the same.)

He laughed at the attempts to unravel the Crystals' secrets. They were sentient, but much more than they believed. They were not simply focused on one thing, and only capable of choice of wielders and punishment of the 'wicked.' They had souls. They were people, had been people. And most were vindictive.

Take Shir, for instance. She was eternally envious, envious of those who had happy lives. She ruined families by bonding with young men and women who had perfect, loving families, and waiting, calling to the 'Akuma.' Then, she only ever activated when everyone was dead, only barely enough to save her wielder.

Really, though, he loved his tribe. Their anger, their rage, their envy, and all their ugly feelings. Most wanted to ruin as much as they can, ruin the lives of perfectly happy people. He loved it. Some simply bonded with those they took pity on, those who had terrible lives. Few just bonded with people on a whim, whoever was the closest or whoever had the best personality.

They had mixed feelings about him, too. Most hated him, wanted to kill him or basically get his soul devoured so he'd end up like them. Others were only despairing at the fact that he did not save them, even all these years later. And only a few were forgiving, understanding. He didn't care what they thought of them, though. They couldn't do anything to him, not without a wielder and the strength to take them over. (Of course, there's Lev and Shamira, but they can't find him.)

He was almost elated to find out that the Crystals, when 'synchronized' with their wielder to a certain degree, could speak to the 'exorcists.' Those souls inside the Crystals would probably have been going half insane from not being able to talk to another person outside the tribe. He didn't worry that they'd might reveal his existence. He didn't care. If they did, then he'd be able to come onstage early, and that's always good to him. Though he knew that they'd never speak of him, because he himself was practically taboo amongst them. And if they did, they'd have to explain what really had happened, which would reveal that the 'message' had been a lie. No, if they were still stubborn on fantasies of strength and victory, they would hold their tongues.

Cross joined the Order as a scientist, after a four year long apprenticeship with him. There were no real incidents after the failed resurrection, and he was almost bored. He was hoping that it'd be more exciting, but teaching really was just a bore, and keeping up the nice-guy act was tiresome. (He did enjoy racking up debts while acting drunk and throwing the boy to the collectors; it was sadistic pleasure for him and training for the boy for persuasion and escape.)

He made sure to monitor the Order through Cross, excited that he'd gotten a person on the inside. He smirked when Cross found an older exorcist named Maria who immediately began acting all motherly, despite a stream of constant high pitched protests. (He really had become a sadist after so long.)

He did know that Cross was smart, borderline genius, even. He'd only realized this truly when the boy came up with communication devices called "golems." (Even though it was a strange name; why golems?) He commandeered one, snatching it from a passing exorcist and disabling the tracking and communication with the Order, then took it apart and examined each part. It was impressive, with advanced mechanisms and a very delicate system. He decided to keep it, making sure to modify it to make it nigh unrecognizable.

Cross's intelligence would not be a problem, although he would need to cover his tracks with more layers and be more subtle while he manipulated events. He needed to be discreet, especially as he carved out the boy's path, taking care to keep him ignorantly believing that he was going where he wanted to go.

Poor Chłopcze, thinking he was forging his own way while in reality he was just another marionette in the puppet show.

Now, he actually did care, contrary to what most people would think if they knew everything about him. (Which absolutely none do, save for his trio of silent occupied coffins shrouded from view and the Crystal rattling in his cabinet, though they hardly even count.)

He cared about his survival, for instance. Then again, everyone cares for their survival. Except suicidal people and those with martyr-complexes. But it did count as something.

However, he did allow himself to care exactly three times.

He had cared about a boy called Kurush, who grew into a man and was the first companion he'd had, fifty years after the Darkness, when he called himself Narseh. He, on a whim, told the boy of his origins. Kurush didn't mind. He was glad for that. But on his twentieth birthday, he died from a sickness that ate his heart.

Kurush had also been his first true attempt at necromancy. He turned the man into a puppet, with skin the color of death and bandages over his eyes, and locked away in a silver coffin with black iron chains. (The eyes of the dead, no matter how many times you've seen them, will always send shivers up your spine.) He knew the man would be furious, at him using his corpse like this. No respect for the dead, he would say. That was okay. It wasn't like he'd had any respect in the first place.

Decima was his second failure. He didn't tell her of his origins, but he came close several times. He kissed her once, but he didn't do it a second time. It was weird, like kissing a sister. She was four years younger than his current role, Aetius, at twelve years old. She died after a construction mishap, when they were walking beside a temple in the middle of assembly, and a rope snapped and the block of marble fell, crushing her head. He reversed the damage, but she was already dead.

He took a second shot at necromancy. He failed. He dressed her up like an empress, a mask hiding her eyes, in a gold coffin with bronze chains. He knew she wouldn't care, because she didn't care about the body. She cared only for the soul. That, at least, was a comfort. She wouldn't be mad. (A pity, though; the afterlife wouldn't be quite what she expected.)

The final slack was Lykos. He was called Nikias. He was prepared, he was guarded, everything was perfect. But his defenses suddenly went lax, and he failed again. Lykos was beautiful, more than a man should be. He wanted to sculpt him and keep the statue forever. He didn't kiss him, and he didn't even try to touch him. It wasn't like that. He was like a painting; only for looking, not for touching. He died when... He didn't even know how he died. But his corpse was real, tucked into the extravagant bed with no visible markings anywhere. He didn't know how he died.

Necromancy, again. Even with death on his skin, he was beautiful. He needed to immortalize him, for his own selfish wants. His body did not deserve to be burned at the funeral pyre. He was too beautiful for such a fate. So he made him a king, with a wreath of gold and a white blindfold, in a bronze coffin with silver chains. Lykos was vain; he would want to be immortalized and worshipped. (But Lykos would only be for his eyes only, unfortunately.)

He didn't care after that. There were too many humans he'd encountered, but those three haunted him the most. Perhaps it was his fault, for not letting them go like he should've. But he was human, so he was foolish and selfish.

This was why he hated and loved humans. They were far too easy to get attached to. They took everything for granted. They had such short life spans. They always were causing pain.

He does care. Or at least, he did. He doesn't care anymore, but can you blame him? Those who live forever will see people be born then die, their lives only mere seconds to them. Getting attached would help no one, because he would always be left in the end.

Now he only cares for inanimate objects.

A black piano. A bronze lyre. A copper laurel wreath. A crystal goblet. A silver knife. An iron sword. As long as they're cared for properly, they will not 'die.' (Especially if he casts a spell on them to be unaffected by time.) These objects are his, and he cares for them, because they will not leave him. They all have stories of their own, they all hold a certain significance.

Moreover, they are proof that he does care.

Okay, now, I really need help on this. I can't decide what to do. For the next chapter, do you want more of Past!Allen's musings and jumbled thoughts, or do you want me to start on 'Allen' and Neah and Mana and Katerina?