Chapter Three:
Armour
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"I walk slowly into myself, through a forest of empty suits of armour."
-Tomas Transtromer
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The raptors weren't long in appearing. He didn't know their names, he just knew they were the same raptors like the one waiting for them back at the shelter. Just before they had left, the woman had released the pack, minus Clover herself. They had gone silently into the early morning light, disappearing on fleet and quiet feet. Now they returned, like wraiths in the oncoming dusk to flank the woman. A few times, they would crane their heads and necks to peer at Allen, trudging along at a distance. They'd snort and growl and cough-bark at him, showing off their sharp teeth and puffing up their feathered bodies. So far, they didn't attempt to derail his path or outright kill him, so he assumed for the moment he was safe.
The woman herself ignored him entirely. He slowly came to find that he didn't blame her for doing so, either. He had made a mistake in assuming she was too…well, delicate wasn't the right word for it, but it was close in his appropriation of the situation that had occurred on the beach. She had been shot in the head. She should rightly be dead, and she had even admitted that she could die, that it was possible. Apparently, a bullet to the brainpan wasn't one of the ways she could be killed, however. She had taken offense to his miscalculated judgement of her ability to press on. He was beginning to worry she wouldn't let him back into the little safe haven in the mountains now.
The woman and her strange pack crossed little rivers and through mountain gullies, the high paths and into small yet flourishing forest canals. Sometimes the raptors had to find their own way around, while she took to ropes strung across canyons to get from one platform to another. They came upon ruin after ruin of bygone eras—and some he suspected, times that were well ahead of his. Just how far flung, how removed was he from his home, his friends, the Black Order? Were Exorcists and Innocence even needed in this world? Were the Akuma gone, the Millennium Earl and the Noah gone as well? He continued to ask himself these questions, yet no answer came forth, no heavenly or earthly voice telling him as such.
Was he truly in the future? It certainly almost began to feel like he was. He wanted to reject the notion entirely. The very idea would have felt absurd, if not for the damning evidence that kept smacking him in the face with every new scenery he was faced with. Giant metal tubes with long, outstretched wings that were so obviously meant for the skies (the planes from wars past); horseless carriages that were nothing but huge metal rusting shells left to rot and be forgotten (the militant vehicles used to transport troops); weaponry of all ages and eras (bows and arrows, rifles, shotguns, pistols, grenades).
He almost spoke up several times, but the sight of the woman's hunched shoulders, rigid step, and the way the tendons stood out on her neck and back, he thought better of it. She was already pissed at him. Nattering at her about the history of the island beyond the basics was probably the last thing she wanted to discuss with him at the moment.
At least she wasn't clubbing him over the head whilst drunk or angry.
When the thundering of the earth beneath his feet started up, he was almost expecting Carmilla to make her ethereal appearance. Instead, a darkened shape emerged from the shade of the night forest, eyes glittering in what little light there was available to them. Another behemoth of a creature made its appearance, and although this one was not as large as Carmilla, it still cut an imposing silhouette.
The woman and her troupe of raptors paused in the path of the giant, radiating calm in the presence of the monster. She didn't speak, and the raptors had gone all but silent except for the occasional quiet warble as they bobbed their heads like birds. Some spiked up their crests, for those who had them, while the rest merely puffed up their feathers. The giant lowered its head and huffed air through its slits for nostrils, leaning its dagger-like fangs all too close to the woman, but she grabbed hold of that huge mug in a familiar fashion, breathing deep with the monster in her arms. The giant rumbled low and soft, almost akin to a contented purr.
There were no words exchanged. No soft, nonsensical murmurs one would do to a pet; no quiet whispers; nothing. There was just the state of being—a strange not-human woman who had been dead-and-then-not and a creature that should have been dead by millions of years. It was an ironic match, he thought, a slow sense of bemused wonder filling him at the sight. There were no words needed, he realized, as he watched the raptors press closer to add their own presence to the cluster, their own piece to the quiet exchange.
When the giant lifted its head away, the woman released her hold, the raptors backed away, and they parted ways.
The giant passed him and eyed him beadily and with a low-timbered rumble in its chest as it passed. The very earth shuddered beneath its massive weight and he could absolutely feel the pressure of that thing above him. It was like the earth was going to come tumbling down on him in the form of that creature, with nothing but fangs and muscle and hot, musty breath that smelled of decay and rot. It would only take one wrong move to set that massive monster on him and he wasn't keen to give it an excuse to try.
He shuddered at the thought of being crushed by those grinning massive jaws and hurried along. The woman and her raptors were already disappearing into the brush and were nearly out of sight.
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A few days passed. Allen had been, to his surprise and relief, permitted back into the safe little sanctuary the woman had made for herself and he had wisely chosen to keep to his assigned quarters. He didn't want to intrude, not after making an ass of himself down on the beach. She was apparently perfectly capable of getting back up from a wound that would have otherwise left her stiff and putrefying on the ground. He had to wonder just how resilient werewolves really were, but once again, he swallowed his curiosity, keeping to his better judgement. There were times to ask questions, and then there were times to simply not.
Every day, the woman would go back down to the beach, most likely in an attempt to repair the damaged boat engine. Some days, she returned unscathed. Others, she'd return with bloodstains and torn clothes, and she'd smell of gunpowder and soot. It was a heady aroma he was beginning to grow used to all over again. All of those days, she said nothing to him.
Not a word.
It was as though he didn't exist.
She fed and watered him, of course. She also gave him time to clean himself when he wanted to bathe in the washroom chamber of the cave network.
Other than those fleetingly bare minimum necessities that came with being a living being, she ignored him entirely. He wondered if it was still connected with his ill attempt at rousing her to stay on the beach so she could recover, or if she truly and well had forgotten he existed when he didn't need anything. He missed Timcanpy sorely. Even the golem was better company than Clover was.
The woman returned once more that night, a week after the incident. She was whole and unbloodied this time, although she was covered in engine grease. When she returned, she did the same as she always did: opened the door with as little fanfare as possible and secured it for the night, carrying two deer carcasses on a makeshift sled behind her as she trudged further inside. The campfire was ongoing full-time, now that he was there to maintain it. He found little else to do during the day, other than to wander the immediate set of caves, and perhaps the immediate area outside. There wasn't much else to do, and he wasn't ready to set out and begin roaming the island. He'd get hopelessly lost in a heartbeat and then he'd be well and truly on his own.
It wasn't that he couldn't survive, but he wasn't keen on learning all the rules the hard way if he could help it.
He started forward out of habit to help the woman, but his flicker of movement was enough to attract her attention. Her head whipped in his direction and she pinned him with a stare that sent an unpleasant chill down his spine. It was as though she was consciously trying to remind him, 'Make no mistake, I'm not human, don't even think I am'.
She turned away when he remained rooted to his spot, satisfied by his inaction. He skirted around her as she moved toward the campfire. Clover appeared with a shriek from her chambers, darting forward to claim one of the deer carcasses for her own. She promptly latched onto the antlers of the poor thing and dragged its limp body across the cave floor without ceremony, disappearing from sight. Allen resulted to pretending he hadn't seen and sat himself at one of the logs surrounding the campfire. The woman set to her work, methodical in her movements.
He found he could bear watching for a time before it grew too gruesome for his tastes. He turned to watching the fire and occasionally feeding it when it began burning to low. The next time he looked up, she was nearing completion and had fetched the spit, skewing meat on the metal rod. He quietly helped position it over the flames. She paused when it was in place to look at him. The fire's glow had her face alighted with a strangely flattering expression of bemusement. Even the scar across her face softened until he could barely tell it was there.
"I'm sorry for what I said. I hadn't realized I was offending you. I'll admit, I don't know much about werewolves, and that they can apparently walk off from being shot in the head. It was a bit of a shock to see you…" He swallowed past the hard, painful lump in his throat. He remembered how limp she had turned as soon as she bullet hit her brain, how suddenly she dropped. How she was gone. "It was hard seeing you lying there, not—not moving. And then you were up again, but you weren't quite right just yet. I thought staying put until you recovered was best, although it was almost pointless, looking back on it. You recovered almost immediately."
She stared at him for a spell longer, her mismatched eyes betraying nothing. Then, she moved away and toward her chambers without a word. He opened his mouth, a protest on his lips and maybe another apology, but she was back again before he knew it, carrying a leather bound book in hand.
She pushed it into his hands and he fumbled, but latched on quickly with a sudden death grip. She poked it a few times, keeping her eyes trained on him.
"Here there be monsters," she said sotto voce. She gave the book a final, resounding tap. She turned away, returning to finish cleaning the deer carcass. Allen stared, boggled for quite some time before the idea to look down popped into his head.
He turned the book over in his heads, running a hand over the worn cover. He opened it and fell upon a random page. He was startled by the one he fell upon, a slightly messy but nonetheless detail sketch of a roaring wolf, its maw gaping and eyes filled with rage. The details began sinking in and he could see an almost humanness in its design—upright on hind legs, large pawed hands, barrel-chested. It wasn't a wolf rearing up, it was a wolf with corresponding humanoid anatomy. Werewolf. Is this what they looked like? When he thought of what they would look like, he thought of actual wolves, but bigger.
Slowly, he flipped to the next pages, finding text. He skimmed the words, turned a page. Another monster sketch, this one pale and gaunt and stretched so thin and its limbs so long, it looked worse than starved. Bulging, milky white eyes glowered at the viewer, a mouth hinged open to reveal sharpened fangs like needles lining the gums, looking ready to rip into an unsuspecting victim. At the top, in hastily done scrawl, the word 'Wendigo' was written. The next page detailed its information such as appearance, abilities, the dangers of facing it alone or without weapons and what kind of weapons were effective against it.
He turned the page, and continued like this for quite some time.
Heartless; creatures that manifested in the darkness of a being's heart, drowning the light within and extrapolating on the evils of the world.
Nobodies; the empty shells left behind when a Heartless was born, but that didn't make them any less dangerous to face.
Yautja; humanoid alien being that prided itself on being the ultimate predator, the ultimate hunter that stalked and killed unsuspecting victims with its advanced alien technology and impressive hunting skill set. They could render themselves virtually invisible to the naked eye, and were highly intuitive, intelligent and hostile aliens when engaged in combat. Will not attack if opponent is unarmed…most of the time.
Xenomorph; incredibly hostile parasitic alien lifeforms that went through a gruesome life cycle that killed their host. They infested planets at incredible turnover rates. They had highly pressurized bodies and incredibly acidic blood. Yautja apparently liked to hunt Xenomorph at times. Their larval stage could infect any available host, and their adult stages would differ if it inhabited differing species.
Titans; non-sentient humanoid giants that could regenerate lost limbs or heads if not struck in the correct place (the nape of the neck), and they preyed upon humans exclusively. They were not kind to those they ate, who were sometimes alive, other times crushed between teeth or torn apart.
Cordyceps Brain Infection; originally an infection exclusive to insects and arthropods, a new strain emerged that could infect humans. Individuals infected with this fungal affliction would turn within a matter of hours, exhibiting aggressive behaviors that would lead to spreading the infection via biting or fluid transfer, although inhaling spores were also a worrying factor. Currently there are four stages of CBI hosts in the forms of Runners, Clickers, Stalkers, and Bloaters. "I CANNOT BE INFECTED! IMMUNE!" was written in heavy, bolded letters at the bottom of the page, and heavy lines were scratched beneath the words.
Allen read on, staring at the detailed sketches as he went. Some were of supernatural origins (such as the werewolf and vampire entries) and he recognized them, if only by common namesake. Most, he didn't know what to make of, nor did he recognize. The one thing he was quite certain of was that the woman hadn't encountered any Akuma, the Millennium Earl, the Noah, or Innocence before. He truly was the first. He didn't know whether to be relieved or worried. But how had he gotten here, and why was he here? So many questions, yet he couldn't breathe a single one out because he already knew the answer.
He didn't know. And neither did the woman.
Allen closed the book when he had exhausted all the material within, his head swimming. There were plenty of empty pages in the book in the back, but he was safely assuming that they were left for the new horrors that would come to this place. Himiko, the Solarii, and the Oni each had received their own pages in it, near the front. It seemed only fitting.
"Did all those things come to this place, before me?"
The woman was pulling slabs of meat off the spit and onto a large platter. The fire crackled as grease fell onto it. In return, the flames rose higher to lick at the meat, making it sizzle. She nodded at his inquiry.
"And…the dinosaurs. They're not natives."
Another nod.
"Then…how? How is this place…existing?"
"I don't know. I know the Solarii were here before I was. The Oni and Himiko, as well, by default. But everything else…it's…" She looked away, her eyes distant in her thoughts. A slow light began to creep up in them, as though a revelation was dawning upon her. "They show up one day, without warning. There are always others as well. People I rescue, but not always from the Solarii or the Oni. Sometimes those monsters arrive in the same way that my charges do. They don't crash land or become shipwrecked when they arrive, they're just…here. I'm not sure how. But whatever allows them to leave this island, is the same force that keeps me trapped."
A forlorn, reproachful look adorned her features and she scowled. "The engine is completely fucked, by the way. They shot it all to hell. I tried salvaging and repairing what I could, but nothing I've done is working. And the parts I'd need to replace don't exist on this island. Even on the ships that are all around this place, they wouldn't have it." A beat skipped past them, her brows drawing up close to pinch together. "I can build you a raft. It'd take you longer to get out of range, but it'd be better than nothing at all. Or, I could reset the place."
"Reset," he repeated, perturbed. She glanced at him, her hands beginning to work on autopilot once more, cutting up portions of food and doling them out accordingly.
"Reset," she agreed. "I can either swim out or use the raft myself to bring Himiko back. I told you before, I can't leave. I've tried numerous times. Every time I've done that, the storms return. Himiko's corpse is back, the Oni and Solarii I've killed are revived, and I'm tossed back onto the beaches. The boat's engine will be back to its inept self, but at least it wouldn't be complete shit with bullet holes decorating it."
It was a small pocket of hope to look forward to, he reasoned, but the longer he let it mull over in his head, the more troubling it sounded. "That would mean you'd have to kill the Solarii all over again." He saw her nod, and he allowed a beat to pass between them before adding, "And you're sure there isn't a way to negotiate for a temporary peace or truce of any sort?"
She shook her head, then offered a plate of deer meat to him. He took it without thinking and sunk into it. A few bites in, he was still mulling over everything. He wiped a dribble of grease from the corner of his mouth and frowned at her.
"Then don't reset the island."
He said it louder than he intended, but at least it was clear in the chamber. His voice echoed ever so slightly, bouncing off the cavernous walls around them. The woman stopped chewing altogether, staring at him with her cheeks slightly puffed up with the food in her mouth. It mitigated her intimidating nature by a small fraction, at the very least, and he had her attention.
"As much as I'd like to get back to my friends…"
(I really do, they must be so worried, all of them—)
"You've done more than enough for me to deserve at least a small chance of getting off yourself, and I want to help."
(The others would have done the same, I know they would have—)
He stopped altogether, unsure of where to continue. She hadn't said a word, not even to interrupt. Those mismatched eyes of hers remained glued to him and they were absolutely unnerving because she wouldn't blink. He began to chafe under her gaze and almost sighed in relief when she looked away, contemplating his words, he hoped.
"You're an idiot," she said at last. He felt his face and ears redden, flushing from anger and embarrassment, but his second wind died as she continued when he opened his mouth to argue. "You have no idea how long you'll be here, and I'm assuming you don't want me to reset because you'd rather I don't kill those bastards all over again. You could end up being here for a decade, and you're going to throw those years away just to see what we can try out and simply just redo things I've already done to get out of here? You're mad."
"Maybe," he agreed with a small smile. Then a thought occurred to him. "How many have you rescued?"
She blinked, taken aback. He cleared his throat and clarified, "How many people have you rescued from this island? How many survivors that either become shipwrecked or simply appear? I doubt you've forgotten that, even if you've chosen not to remember anything else."
The woman fell silent, contemplating his inquiry. When she answered, she ducked her gaze, finding more interest in her hands. "Dozens."
"How many promise to help you? Or elect to stay behind until you all can be rescued?"
Her silence stretched on longer this time. She may have claimed to be older than she looked—perhaps a few hundred years, if that's what she was insinuating—but now she almost appeared vulnerable, like a lost child. Younger than he's noticed before.
"Almost all of them. The…words blend together after a while. So do the faces. But, ah…they all promise the same thing. They'll come back. They'll send someone to get me. They'll stay, but in the end they chose to go."
"Have any fought you to stay behind?"
She snorted. "They don't stay long enough to argue. They don't stay long, period. Three days, max, if I can help it. I want them off. I don't like them lingering around like you are. Troublemaker."
He beamed at that, and judging from the very brief quirk of her lips, she was poking fun at him in earnest without the barbs attached to her words. The humour died from her in an instant.
"I don't like the idea of keeping you here. Don't you have others waiting for you? Family or friends, that sort of thing?"
Allen's face fell at the reminder and he nodded. "My family—they're dead. And my friends…" He hesitated. They had been given a much needed reprieve after the events on Japan's mainland, when the Ark had nearly disappeared in lieu of the Millennium Earl's creation of the new one. So much had happened, but even in the midst of his impromptu breather, he hadn't taken the time to really sort through it all. He didn't want to admit what he was beginning to suspect to be the truth. That they were long dead, just like his father. That he couldn't go to be with them, even if he wanted. Everything had changed. He didn't quite know if she would understand. He focused on the idea of what they would think if they were still alive. "They'll understand if I'm trying to help someone else."
Her eyes never left him. They studied his face and he couldn't tell what she was thinking. Was she considering his words, his offer to stay?
She lapsed into silence after that, and nothing he could say further coaxed another word out of her. When he finally felt like he had effectively been cut off from whatever world was going on in her head, he excused himself and retreated into the makeshift bedroom he's occupied for the last week. It took him a while to fall asleep and during his tossing and turning, he could barely hear the woman scuffling about, although he once or twice heard Clover take his place in the main chamber. The soft purrs of the raptor were the last thing he remembered hearing before drifting to sleep.
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