He'd been hunting in a village that habitually hunted vampires. He'd been ignorant of that fact when he'd entered the territory and started hunting, but he was soon informed.

Hunted viciously through a clearing by a large group of angry men with weapons, he'd been desperate for a place to hide. As it neared the dawn, he managed to kill some of his closest pursuers and barricaded himself in a crypt.

Outside, the group gathered and proceeded to try breaking down the opening that he had blocked off. He pressed himself against a tomb in the center of the crypt and tried not to weep. He was surrounded.

Soon enough, even if he still had hours left to live, the humans would find their way inside and drag him out into the burning light of day. He would be incinerated.

He hunched in on himself, deciding to feel the full brunt of his mourning, if only for the moment. When the humans would finally break in, he was prepared to collect himself, holding his back straight as an arrow, and face his death like a man. That was, of course, when his strong vampiric hearing honed in on the slight, very slight, sound of wings flapping.

And it came from somewhere behind him.

Another flap and he spun around, staring into the shadowy corners of the building he had ignored up until then. He could see it, now that he knew something was there. A dark figure, looked tall, with pale features and dark hair.

His eyes scanned the person making their home in the shadows, only able to see them at all thanks to his spectacular night vision. His wide, green eyes honed in on the feathery, black wings protruding from the figure's back. He stumbled back at the sight. Those wings were unmistakable.

A demon.

"What are you doing here?" Lavi asked, his voice steady despite his situation.

"Watching the show." The Voice smirked, teeth glittering.

"How long have you been here?" Lavi tried. He couldn't have been here long, he was sure he would have noticed sooner.

"Not long." The demon acknowledged, lifting a sleek arm to point towards the ceiling where lay a small skylight. Lavi had seen it, but had written it off as an escape route. He could climb up walls and on ceilings, so he could get up and through the skylight easily, but it did him little good afterwards.

He'd then be out in the field, at the mercy of the human mob. "What do you want?" Lavi demanded, irritated. Did the demon want to kill him himself or just watch him be torn apart by humans and sunlight for his entertainment?

"Well, it just so happens," The demon said, moving from the shadows into the soft light of the rising sun. "That I am in a position to help you." His canines glittered.

"And you would? Help me?" Lavi was suspicious.

"I would." The demon smirked harder. "Call it a debt."

"A debt." Lavi repeated, nonplussed. The demon swept his arms open almost as wide as his wings.

"Endenture yourself to me and I'll save you now. Willingly give the rest of your life to me and you'll have a life to live after tonight." The smirk was sharp like a blade.

It was over then, wasn't it? What else could he say, except-

Eyes blinked open lazily, the memory jarring to them even as their brain struggled to begin functioning. This memory was not theirs. They didn't know how they knew this, but they did. It was someone else's memory. In his head. Huh. What was it doing there?

What was he doing here?

The ceiling above him was dark a chipped, made of stone. He tried to lift his body off of the surface he was laid out on, but found doing so impossible. His upper and lower back ached terribly, his limbs sluggish and weak. He could barely order their movement anywhere, much less upwards against the gravity that pulled him tighter to the table.

Who was he? What was he doing here? He felt more than saw his fingers twitch sporadically and his head flopped to the side. It seemed to be the only way he could look around for the moment.

Tables. Cabinets. Glasses and jars, some holding solids and powders, others holding liquids.

He didn't know how long he laid there. It felt like a long time, hours, before he felt the strength returning to his limbs. His head righted itself first, allowing him to swivel it this way and that on his neck and take in more of the room. Then it was his arms, graduating from twitching his fingers to moving them deliberately, then forming fists, and finally lifting them experimentally into the air.

The last bit was his legs and by this point he was having fun, kicking his feet up and sliding them up to press against his body and then stretching them out again. Then he braced his legs, wrapped a hand around the edge of the table. He sat up.

The table he was laid out on was hard and had several restraints attached to the top and bottom, although they were not being used.

What were they used to restrain? Were they for him? If so, why wasn't he wearing them . . .?

Is there no one else here? He eventually wondered. There must have been someone here earlier, otherwise why would he be here? Why would he be? How could he find that person? He surely should find them . . .

A voice! He probably had a voice! Should use that.

As soon as he thought that, he worked his tongue. His tongue moved up and down, functioning uselessly for but a moment before he stopped and felt his lips tug into a frown - a pout.

That wasn't right, he realized. You use your tongue to speak, but not in that way. It was strange that, aside from the one he had just experienced, he had no memories. Yet, he knew things. He knew, after a little time, that he was male.

He knew what a voice was, even if he could not ever remember hearing one. He knew what all of his body parts were. However, it seemed the processes that go into the functioning of those features were a little lost on him. Muscle memory in regards to both his body and his brain seemed to be the only thing he could rely on at the moment . . . At least, until he found the person who brought him here.

His eyes slid closed against his will. To concentrate, his mind supplied for him. So he concentrated. He concentrated on the darkness of the inside of his eyelids. On the feeling of his chest rising and falling gently, each breath he took in was an unconscious act he didn't understand. He stayed like that for a while longer, feeling his own breathing and staring at the back of his eyelids.

Eventually, the words came to him, although he was nearly nodding off when they did. Don't think, just do. Is that what he needed to do? Not think?

Seemed counterproductive to him now, but he supposed most people spoke without consciously thinking on how that process worked, so it was worth a try. Back to his dark eyelids and his chest falling.

Should he think of what he wants to say and then try to say it? No, that was probably too close to thinking for his first attempt. Don't plan, don't think, don't move his tongue around weirdly. Got it. A deeper breath was taking and then, "Hello?" The next sound he made was just a second later in the form of a yelp.

Was that him? Must have been . . . He hadn't been able to grasp, just from that one word alone, what his voice sounded like. He did notice that his voice didn't sound raspy or unused, which vaguely surprised him. He wasn't sure why it should sound weak and unused, but he did. Instead, what little he got about his voice sounded normal.

Sure, the call wasn't as loud as it could've been, but that was really the only weakness his voice possessed and could be attributed to him not focusing on the loudness of his voice as he said it. He should try again.

"H-Hello?" There was a stutter this time . . . that hadn't been there before, but the call was louder, this time. If someone was around, an idea that became more and more doubtful the more time that passed, then maybe they would hear him this time.

Evidently not, as seconds and then minutes passed without even so much as the sound of footsteps. Should he look around? Try to leave and find who brought him here? Should he try to stand? He didn't know what to make of the first idea, though a part of it appealed to him.

The second idea appealed to him the most and brought a strong internal desire to find and seek guidance from this person to the forefront of his mind. To do either of those things, however, he would have to make good on the third idea to reach his mind - and that one scared him. He felt like a child might when confronted with standing up for the first time.

Determination welled up in him, subtle but strong. There was nothing to this, he knew. Standing would be hard to achieve and maintain if he was unwell, but he was not unwell. He'd been conscious for many hours and sitting up for quite some time, as well. Besides, it had been hours since his aches and pains had gone away and they had yet to return.

As strange and out-of-place as he felt, he was quite well and so he knew he could do this if he could just keep from being afraid. Then, he could explore and find that person. He hefted his legs over the side of the table and allowed them to hang there for a moment, the only part of his body that remained relaxed. He then allowed himself to drop the remaining foot to the ground.

His legs were strong and steady from the moment they touched the ground, but he still almost stumbled and fell due to his own reaction to it. It was an odd feeling to him, standing, even though he knew it to be a completely normal and essential part of human behavior. That is, assuming he was human.

That thought froze his foot in the air mid step. Was he human?

He felt human, as strange as that was to compare and measure. But then, why had the thought introduced itself? Surely, if he was human, he would not have to question it, right? Though, he was questioning an awful lot of things right now . . .

Was he a vampire?

Again, he had no idea where the thought came from or why he felt the need to ask that question, specifically. His fingers felt something rough and soft.

He jolted and quickly withdrew his hands from his neck while wondering when he put them there. With heavy, stumbling steps, he made his way to the sink stationed on one side of the room. Where he could see a mirror.

He was aware of the fact that his steps were unnecessarily firm, slamming his feet to the ground with each step, but he was more interested in getting to the mirror and seeing what was on his neck. Hands gripping the cool metal of the sink basin, he leaned forward towards his first good look at himself.

The edges of the oval mirror was a bit dirty with some dings and scratches, but a large portion of the middle was perfectly clear, providing him with a great view of what appeared to be him. Giant, clear blue eyes peered back at him, framed by dark eyelashes.

His neck. Tearing his eyes away from the facial features that so enraptured him, they settled on the slender column of pale flesh.

There was a rough clothy material wrapped around it. He stared at it with the same intensity as he had his own face. His hands grazed the cloth again and he was unraveling it before stopping to think about it. As the cloth around his neck began to run out, his fingers developed a nervous tremor that made the process more difficult.

Why was he nervous? He couldn't figure it out, some latent memory that refused to surface, but created an almost instinctual fear of what he was about to see. The cloth hit the ground. He stared at it for a mere moment before bringing his eyes back up to his neck. His heart felt like it stuttered, stopped, and restarted in the time it took to take in the sight that greeted him and process it.

. . .

. . .

His neck was fine.

It was a little shiny, something had been rubbed on it, but no injury or irritation that would require being wrapped up . . .

What had he been afraid of seeing so much that the sight of the healthy flesh absolutely shocked him? It wasn't because of the cloth, there was something else he was forgetting . . .

The sound of a heavy door clunking open dragged a startled cry from him and he turned around, just in time to see a tall, lanky redhead come in, carrying a tray of glass bottles. . . .Which they promptly dropped upon seeing him.

"What are you doing awake?" The man cried, his voice surprisingly high.

He recognized this man, he realized. The one from the memory . . . he'd brought him here.


-The Author WIll Now Speak-

Don't worry, I'm not going to completely skip over how Lavi brought Allen to life. I'll do a throwback in time at the beginning of the next chapter to fill you in on that. I just knew that the flow of the story and character development would be more striking if we were thrown into existence with Allen, having only a little more clue of what was going on.

Fun fact, did you know that apparently the Frankenstein movies made up that whole thing about the "monster" being brought to life with lightning, because it was never stated in the original book exactly how Victor Frankenstein created life. Well, for myself, I was thinking less lightning and more chemicals and solutions . . . Meanwhile, give me comments. I love them very much.