*angert* Damn you school, damn you homework, damn you big-grade projects, damn you stupid history teacher, damn you maths, damn you PE and FUCK YOU, WRITERS BLOCK! (the real reason this is in M isnt actually torture... it's the A/N's language =.=# )

Sooo... DC is apparently uploading next time, 'cause no matter how I write it, it doesnt want to work, so until I can finish the really annoying flashback way of writing, it aint comin' up, and I'm just as angry as everyone else about this, btw, 'cause I have about TEN BILLION things I want to do with it and I cant get past this EARLY,EARLY,EARLY-ON chapter =.=##

….I actually had a playlist going while writing most of this... very loud, shouty music going on the whole time... (hopefully, this will vent enough angry feelings from all of us so that we'll all stop getting angry about my crappy inability to update....... )

Levirrier's Official Theme Song: Lucifer's Angel – The Ramsus (seriously, start pitying the guy D8 I have a lot of sh** in my head to do to him 8D ) (does anyone else find it odd that I censored 'sh** ' but left in all the swearing at the top...? )

translation note:
Alle ist verloren – German – All is lost

Disclaimer: you really think I'd make a person angsty and antisocial by giving them FLOWER hallucinations? Haha, NO, therefore, I aint Hoshino D8

EDIT//: Oh, shit, I accidentally wrote 'Dominic' instead of 'Damian' D8 Dominic was originally supposed to be the 14th's name, but I changed it to Damian for language&history&meaning reasons (And Dominic's my friend's brother's name, so... D8 DANGIT, DOMINIC, STOP MAKEING ME TYPE YOUR NAME! )

And all that came through his mind was the thundering of the small heart in his chest that had yet to be broken completely. However small that intact fragment was, it forced his mind into an icy haze of clarity and was almost all that gave him the strength to tear through the halls as he did.

And yet as every footstep that wasn't his own fell, and every breath he didn't drag came and went, every grunt or word he didn't utter passed over him, blood red rage washed over him like boiling water. Words couldn't describe the pain that ripped through his left shoulder and clutched around his chest and lungs as he ran faster and faster than he had ever tried to before. His teeth dug outside the edge of his tongue, sharp and brittle from lack of care, his hair didn't move with the wind as it was plastered onto his face from grime and sweat and blood.

Most of the people in the hallways didn't even realize what was running into them and making them drop whatever they were carrying until they managed to get up and look back at him, and by then it would be too late to stop him. He was a monster this time. If someone came close to catching him, if they grabbed his arm or tried to trip him, he dug his claws into their arms or wrists until they released him or bled. He kicked and pushed and fought his way down the hall with a blood lust that could only be quelled by breathing freely.

He wouldn't be caught this time. They wouldn't get him.

His entire body was throbbing with the force of the blood thundering through his veins. Pulsing with such force that it seemed like it was pushing him forward with more force than his own legs could possibly give him. Thunder, thunder, thunder, like Skin's lightening coming, raining down from the heavens to crudely burn the Earth.

How did he know Skin used lightening? He didn't care. He kept running.

His throat was burning, his legs were burning, his shoulders and arms were burning, on fire. Yes, he was ablaze, and if he didn't get out soon, he wasn't ever going to.

Never

Never

Never

He clutched at his head to make the horrid chanting stop. Or he thought he did. Or maybe he just ran faster, barreling into people. Knocking them over.

Something in the halls smashed. He didn't hear it. He ran. And he saw blood while he was running. In the endless stream, their faces were blurred together, like a tape going so slowly that the features were covered in cotton, distorted to unrecognizable states. Someone yelled at him, in his ear.

It was muted, but it still ached his mind.

"HE'S OUT! HE'S OUT! HE'S OUT!" The gross outsiders, the ugly offenders, the ones that broke the Divine's Laws. The ones that hurt a clown.

They were angry at him. His heart was hurting him at the thought. They were angry at him. People weren't supposed to get angry at him. You weren't supposed to be angry at a clown.

(I wanted to make you smile, that's all) He was in pain, all over him (God, damn you, I wanted to make you happy) He couldn't breathe and he couldn't move more than running, pushing people away (Why did you do this to me?)

Someone didn't get out of his way. Wouldn't let him through as he pushed against him, screaming, raging, maybe only in his head, but still raging, screaming, nonetheless. He hurt so painfully. And then the man moved, but he didn't know why, didn't hear the screams of pain as Crowned Clown ran the man through, or the yells and cries in the halls as people tried to restrain him, but he didn't even know it.

Inside his head, there was a smile; a twisted smile, a very, scary smile that he wanted to get out. He wanted to get rid of it. He wanted to kill it. Kill it. Red, you couldn't see through red well. He would get rid of it with red! Who's red? Who's red? Which would be thickest?

His screams in his mind— he may have been screaming as he ran, but he didn't know, HE DIDN'T KNOW!— they grew higher, louder, deafening. Painful. And then, right on a cue hidden by noise and bloody canvasses, someone grabbed him. His arm. The wrong place, he didn't care where someone grabbed him, it could have been anywhere, anywhere but his arm!

He fell, the ground coming up so quickly to his bloodied eyes. Blind eyes. But he knew it was coming. His body was so heavy, too heavy to move, but he managed it, somehow, his face aching from where he had crashed it against steel. The red was thicker, oh, God, it was so thick, he couldn't see anything.

"Mana, I can't see," He whispered as his forehead burned from the brick that had been thrown at him not so long ago gashed his forehead and bled into his eyes.

He kicked at his murders, screaming with all the sound he couldn't muster. He was so far away, he wasn't used to being this far away from the world. He wasn't used to having three voices in his head and thousands of voices screaming around him. He couldn't see or hear now, blind and deaf, he lashed out with his mouth and hands and feet, so angry, so frightened. He didn't care what he hit, he just wanted to be let out. Maybe if they saw how desperate he was...

...maybe if he begged hard enough, he could survive. Maybe he could survive.

"Are you okay?" A soft hand on his shoulder moved and began to wipe away the blood, another on his forehead, pressing the wound shut. He shook his head.

He would live, he was sure, he would make it! A soft light lit inside of him. He would survive, he just had to let them see he would. He WOULD! HE WOULD HE WOULDHEWOULDHEWOULDHEWOULDHE— he kicked out again, chest pounding, red ever clogging his vision, hiding the victim's face, the screams shattering his ears, muffling the victim's screams.

SCREAMS!

"Mana..." He sighed, reaching out an unguided hand, searching for his other. "Mana, where..."

A soft, uncalloused hand gently took his— uncalloussed? But Mana's hands were those of a working mans', not a child's— and held it tightly. "I'm here," Mana whispered, wiping away the last of the blood in his eyes, and when they opened, they didn't see Mana.

Instead, there was a boy, young with black hair and— "I'm here, Damian, stop worrying, you idiot."

His thoughts stilled, his body stiffened, and for only a moment, he was frozen in place. His blood was cold and unmoving, his vision horrifyingly clear, able to pick out the smallest details of everything around him, each tattered pair of clothes, each speck of blood, each and every small, tiny dent on the floor.

And all of it was shifting around him, so quickly, then stopping, just for an instant, so he could see ever-so-clearly, crystally, the fear and cold, cold terror he had sparked.

And then, the Crows, a gaping, bloody Link among them, wrapped his body in spells. They covered his face and his eyes, and then, Allen saw no more.

000

"What now?" Link asked Levirrier, his voice controlled, hiding all concern for the boy. "He's snapped, he's scared, he's utterly insane. He almost killed me. What now?" Levirrier was silent, ignoring Link's questions, staring only at the boy, fast asleep under heavy drugs, who was bound in chains and talismans, his chest stripped to expose the tattoo of the innocence and the wound on his shoulder, still glistening from blood, partially reopened.

Link looked away from Levirrier, staring at Allen. Nina would be angry. She would be very angry and he knew it. He didn't blame her at all, because this was a very ugly picture. Not a particularly sad one, and not a particularly stomachable one, simply a very ugly one. Link paused, waiting a little while more before repeating: "What now?"

This time, Levirrier responded. "What now? Now, now he is broken, correct, Howard?" He asked. Link frowned a little at the use of his first name. Levirrier was trying to change his rhetoric now, but Link nodded anyway. "When something is broken, is it not an opportune moment to rebuild differently?"

Link caught on, and Levirrier continued. "Allen Walker is powerful, as much as I detest to admit, his alliance with us drastically increases the chance of the war being won. Even more so, his servitude will increase the success rate by at least fifty-percent," Link didn't want to believe this, but he had seen Allen battle the level four. The boy was frightening. Link had to argue, had to make a bit of sense in this madness.

What the hell was he thinking?

"Levirrier... is it truly God's will to rewrite one of his creations? Even an evil one?" It was a mistake to ask that, it was a mistake and Link knew it. He just had to try a little.

"God's will?" Levirrier asked a moment later, his face growing darker. "God doesnt create evil creatures, everything has a purpose, and defeating the Noah's in ours, Link." It was coming, and he was asking for it, but he couldn't stop once he'd begun this conversation.

"Levirrier—"

"Nothing should come between us and our goal, Link," Link shrunk slightly. "If we fail, Alle ist verloren, nothing more will matter."

Link stood silently, contemplating everything Levirrier had said. Everything life had been pointing at them. Noahs, Akumas, Exorcists, Innocence, Dark Matter, The Earl, it was all so large, so much bigger than one small Crow soldier. Inferiority, the worst feelings beyond Hatred and Guilt.

"Levirreir, what if—"

"WE WILL NOT LOSE!" Levirreir rounded on him the moment before he could ask the question he had intended. And then, Levirrier turned, walked, almost at a speed more becoming of a dash, away and out of the dark room where Allen Walker and Howard Link remained.

There was a soft sniffling, and someone was crying, tears striking the floor rapidly. Link looked behind himself at the boy suspended inches above the ground by wrappings of chains. Was he conscious? If so barely, oh so barely conscious, then he was crying. But he couldn't be conscious yet. Link sighed, it wasn't him. It wasn't him. It was someone else, someone who knew everything. Yes, that's right...

Howard wasn't here right now... Even though Link still was. He groaned, rubbing the dots on his forehead. He couldn't think right at the moment, his mind to stuffed with regrets and pity and facts.

I'm sorry, Link thought painfully, guilt eating away at him as he looked up at the bloody, suffering child. But I can't feel sorry for you right now, Walker. He too turned quickly, walking away from the cell.

He was going to get a few bottles from the kitchens, and then, he was going to Nina to beg for a few more headache cures.

By-gones, by-gones, let us go,

Bright and red, absence of snow.