- Thirteenth Petal -
Memory
With each falling petal, Kanda—
Kanda—
Kanda—
Kanda—!
Who is that? Calling my name? He can barely discern the litany of anxious voices, so slurred together as though they are lost and entangled in an ever shifting sea, a flurry of uttered sounds yet incoherent syllables. Where am I? Am I alive? He sees in the back of his mind, immersed in darkness, the shimmering image of an hourglass, glittering glass and solid wooden bases, propped up with three gilded gold handles that are intricately carved with ancient symbols as though the relic is something to be cherished. But it is in actuality the flower inside, that silky rosy pink lotus with unfurling and falling petals (now the last one is almost gone), that he both cherishes and… despises. You are what makes me suffer for nearly my entire lifetime, you are this hated curse that snatches a bit of my life away from me without my permission, you scorn me, you laugh at me, you taunt me with each falling petal, I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate
yourself. Didn't you bring this on yourself, Yuu? A caressing fragrance of green tea, mingled with a sprinkle of plum blossoms on twisting branches. Beneath his wooden geta, the grass is soft (and perhaps dewy from a recent rain, but he cannot tell due to the sandal's elevated height). He is wearing a midnight black yukata of light fabric, laced with gentle silvery swirls. The speckled shade is soft to his eyes under the streaming sunlight, and he realizes his hair, still tied up, only reaches his neck. Under the shade of the plum tree, a woman dressed in a sea green kimono, patterned with golden ginkgo leaves and circles, sits calmly with closed eyes and a cup of green tea in her dainty hands, seemingly oblivious to Kanda's presence. He frowns.
What do you mean?
Shock. His voice is not deep but high and lilting. A child's voice? A child's hands? A child's body??
Where am I? he continues in growing aggravation. Why am I a kid? Who are you? And what do you mean, I brought this on myself? Answer me!
The woman opens her eyes (such glittering, beautiful black eyes! so strangely similar to his own) and plants her calm steady gaze directly upon Kanda. A face of ivory skin and handsome features. Her dark blue hair is tied back with a simple white cloth, leaving a few wisps to trail down her front. She shifts a bit, and Kanda sees that her left hand holds some rosary beads.
So you really have forgotten, she says softly. The curse has done more damage than I imagined. This, Yuu, was home.
Home?
Yes, our home.
OUR home?
Stiffly and slightly trembling, with an endless stream of questions reverberating across his mind, he staggers away from the woman and turns his head towards the quaint village that he just noticed a short distance away. Patches of rice fields beyond the rows of humble houses. The merest scent of fresh red bean dango. Villagers ambling across the dusty paths carrying sacks or pulling carts. His frown deepens. It all seems familiar, somehow. Something stirs in his mind.
This is… he whispers faintly.
Then it snaps open like a dam releasing an inundation of roaring waters. I remember, I remember, I used to live here long ago as a child… and then came that day… I remember. Flames. Glaring, ferocious flames. Screams and screams of terror. Shrill as cicadas but imbued with raw fear. The acrid stench of blood. Spilled everywhere like crimson paint. Slaughter's canvas. There were Akuma. Yes, a terrifying army of merciless Akuma. But only Level 1! They fired their bullets at every living human in the village. Their ugly gray faces staring blankly into the depths of hell, wholly unaware of all the human despair and suffering they themselves have wrought. Why us? Why our village? How we ran. Monsters! Demons! We must flee. But even those who ran were shot down. Turned into dust. Forever washed away from this world like sea foam. The waves of destruction turned our way. We were helpless, powerless, pitiful. Oh so pitiful. I hated them. We didn't do anything. I wanted something to do. Leave us alone. I want to kill. I want to exact revenge. Let those monster bastards taste their own demise. I want power. Am I just going to bleed to death here, splayed on the cruel ground like a useless rag doll, swept away by the current into the vast ocean of nonexistence? No, no,
I don't want to die yet.
Give me power. Give me the strength to protect all the innocent and the ignorant so that no more needless blood should be shed. I remember, a figure, a face masked by long black hair and the night shadows, turned away from all the unforgiving flames. A dainty hand emerges from the long sleeves of the green kimono. I remember… rosary beads.
Power, the figure murmurs. The hand trembles ever so slightly. I grant you your wish, Yuu. Grow strong and fight on. There will be repercussions, though, for everything comes with a price.
Forgive me… my son.
I remember, I remember a gentle white light (is that a single teardrop?), then nothing else but loneliness and a blank memory (though I still remember the priest—no, priestess) upon regaining consciousness, welcomed only by a devastated burnt village, my body devoid of any disfiguring except a tattoo, a damp gloomy sky, and a glimmering lotus bud nested in a glass hourglass adorned with intricate carvings. Nothing else. No re-memory of the past until now.
It was you… mother? the little boy, clad in the black yukata, stammers in disbelief. You… implanted this curse on me and made me suffer?
It was the only way to save you at that time, the woman replies steadily, and it was your wish to gain power, was it not?
It's not enough… he mutters, his anger wilting at her words. I'm dying, maybe dead already, and I still can't help them out…
Them?
My… he stops abruptly. Swallows. Tries again: Yes, them. The ones calling for my name.
Your friends, Yuu.
He winces at the last two words. The last of which has always had connotations of some unknown pain. Pain that he finally understands now, having remembered it all. Says nothing.
One more chance, Yuu, his mother continues, her eyes misting over. I will use all my power as a miko to delay the lotus and give you one more chance. It's the most I can do as a mother now.
…Thank you.
Feeling overwhelmed with such swelling sentiments as he has never felt before (or maybe he did, as a young child in the village so many years ago?), he tries to reach out and touch his mother's hands with his own, tries to say something more than a pathetic word of gratitude, but she and everything else disappears, smoke dispersing in intangible silvery strands as she calls out his name once again, filled with such heart-aching wistfulness, such encouragement, such hope.
Kanda—
Good luck—
Kanda—
my son—
Kanda—!
The bright world surges upon him like a sharp wave, plunging him back into consciousness with wide black eyes staring into the worried faces of the very people (his friends) he was thinking about in the fiery village where he collapsed. A strange tingling sensation takes root in his throat and in his eyes and refuses to go away. They are now situated in a tent, most likely set up by Finders accompanying them. Accommodations are simple: lanterns, a few trays carrying cups and bowls, and several bundles of blankets for makeshift beds. It is dusk, as the light is faint and the air is crisp, even in the summer evenings of Rome.
"Oh, Yuu-chan!" Lavi suddenly cries out. "You're alive!"
The redhead is actually sobbing and cuddling Kanda, his tears splattering onto the ragged blanket that covers the latter.
"Baka usagi," the swordsman snaps in immediate annoyance, all former warm relief gone as he attempts to push Lavi away. "I wouldn't die that easily."
"But Kanda," Lenalee interjects, "your wounds were so serious. You were bleeding so much when we found you. Everyone thought you were…"
She bites her lower lip but cannot prevent more tears from running down her cheeks.
"Kanda!" Allen says crossly. Only his right eye flashes; his left one, obviously injured again, is covered by gauze and strips of cloth. Partially exposed through his battle-torn clothes, his left arm shows the black markings on his upper arm.
"You made Lenalee cry again!"
"…che."
Kanda desists from responding when his eyes move away from Allen and finally sees the extent of the wounds of the other Exorcists (friends). The still-babbling Lavi (finally pushed away from Kanda's damp blanket) sports several cuts on his face and even a right arm in a cast. Lenalee, having collapsed to the ground in relief, is mechanically rubbing her bandaged legs, and Kanda sees that the blood-red rings around her ankles are trembling, as though the crystal-type weapon is hurting too.
Just then, he remembers the dream (illusion? vision?) he had of his mother and his home village and his regaining his memories. But are those memories even real, he argues with himself. Are they not a mere construction of dream fragments claiming to be his past? Even through the flimsy veil of denial, Kanda knows, through the connection he has gradually fostered with the hourglass, that the lotus back at headquarters has frozen. The last lone petal, ghostly pink with splotches of wilting brown, hanging on the wrinkled stem. Stopped in time for now by his mother's miko powers. He is alive. He will have one more chance.
"Say, Kanda," Allen breaks into Kanda's musings, "your tattoo has gotten even bigger now. And you're not healing as quickly anymore."
He looks pointedly at the scraggly black markings on Kanda's bandaged chest, abdomen, and even both arms.
"Your point, moyashi?" Kanda growls.
"It's Allen," the white-haired Exorcist snaps. "Don't be so mad when we're just worried about you, Bakanda."
"That's right, Yuu!" Froi Tiedoll puts in cheerfully, suddenly stepping inside the tent. "Everyone cares about you, so stop being such a sensitive humbug."
The general is accompanied by Noise Marie. Both are seemingly in better condition than are the other Exorcists but are still minimally injured.
"Oh no, not you too…" Kanda mutters under his breath.
"What was that, Yuu-kun?" Tiedoll says brightly, theatrically cupping a hand to his ear.
"Nothing."
"Aw, take that grouchy look off your face," the art-loving general resumes. "This is a very important mission to protect the Vatican and the Pope from the Akuma and the Noah, after all! We must remain optimistic so that we the pawns can defend the king."
"Shishou," Marie says quietly, "I don't think it's very wise to refer to us as chess pieces…"
"Ah, but you're right, Ma-kun. It just sounded so poetic for a brief instant.
"Now," Tiedoll says authoritatively, turning to everyone in the tent, "you had all better get a good meal and a good night's sleep. You need all the rest you can get. Tomorrow's battle will be another tough one."
The Exorcists nod in acknowledgment. As everyone but Kanda leaves the tent, Lenalee turns around.
"I'll bring you some dinner, okay, Kanda?"
The blue-haired invalid sighs and nods, watching the girl (no, she's a young woman now, we're all grown up, grown up long ago actually, and fighting and risking our own lives to protect humanity from darkness and destruction, from the Akuma and the Earl, yes even me) rush off to the kitchen tent, limping as she goes.
Dull, aching pain. A network stretching to every nerve in the fleshy gaps. Throb, ache. The heart is working, working. He cannot get rid of this bodily wasp. But what is this pain? It's nothing to what humanity has suffered. Pelted by deadly Akuma bullets. Scream, run, flee. Washed away by destruction's wave. A prosperous settlement turned into a ghost town. Fodder for rumors and fears. Monsters! Run, run. Help us! Apostle of God, savior of humanity, bringer of hope. Go, go. Save them! Protect them! Too late, too slow. The tiny hand of a child slips out of his grasp. Cold and still. A fall into darkness, to the flames. No, no, no. Don't go, don't die. What can one Exorcist do? He couldn't save them. You've let them down. So powerless. His recent wounds have not healed yet, but it's nothing compared to the one in his heart. Deep, scarred, and scabbed. Still frothing scarlet. Hidden behind a façade of resolve and pride. Bolstered by evasion and seclusion yet marred by frustration, blindness, and bitter regret. The final epiphany. Is there ever any hope for laughter and serenity?
Kanda has been in many battles, both individually and those that are wide-scale. The sword fight with Vittorio. The siege of Barcelona. The battle aboard the Ark. But this one, a mission requested by the Vatican itself, for protection against the Earl's imminent attack after drawing all the enemy's to a single location, is incomparable.
The Black Order is losing. He can see the rigid yet fading determination in Komui's eyes, the jaded exhaustion of his fellow Exorcists through endless bombarding of high-level Akuma and occasional scuffles with Noah all across the evacuated city of Rome. Probably now a giant heap of broken wood and rocks. Moral is crumbling. No one speaks, but Kanda, even without Marie's Innocence, can hear almost everyone whispering in their heads, we can't win, we're going to lose, we're going to die, we're going to die, we're going to die.
The underground chamber in which they currently reside trembles from time to time with more explosions from above. Lanterns flicker and cast eerie shadows on the stone walls. An amorphous shape dances on the wall facing Kanda, and he turns to see the head nurse rush to a nearby bed. Her eyebrows are furrowed and her forehead is lightly beaded with perspiration as she tends to the invalid, murmuring words to him. Watching the nurse reapply ointment and bandages, Kanda touches where his own bandages are, wrapped around the healing wounds on his chest. Two days since he last regains consciousness and his past memories. Two days of short recovery before entering the battlefield against the Earl again. Is it worth it, he wonders vaguely. Involuntarily, he tightens his grip on Mugen.
"It has to be me," a voice suddenly rings out in the hushed silence.
"Allen-kun, listen to me—"
"No, Komui-san," Allen states firmly. "I'm the fated Destroyer of Time, right? I have to be the one to fight the Earl. To save the Akuma and help the humans."
"Allen-kun," Komui says in a would-be calm voice, "you can't do this alone. This is a team effort."
"We can't afford to lose any more Exorcists or Finders, and I have to be the one to do it."
"Allen-kun…"
Out of the corner of his eye, Kanda sees Bookman and Lavi standing silently in the shadows of a corner. The redhead shifts uncomfortably at listening to Allen and Komui's argument. A few beds away, herself recovering from a recent Level 3 Akuma encounter, Lenalee is anxiously peering from Allen to her brother.
"I'll go," Kanda says shortly.
"Ehhhhhhh??" Lavi blurts out, causing him to receive a jab from a reproving Bookman.
Allen stares at the swordsman in great surprise.
"You… you will?" he stammers.
"Kanda," Komui says sharply, "don't do this. It's essentially suicide—"
"Don't worry, Komui," Kanda responds coldly, briskly walking towards the Chinese man. "There's only one more petal left anyway," he adds in an undertone once he is closely within earshot.
Komui's face instantly darkens, but before he can do anything else, Kanda grabs Allen and leads his still-shocked companion towards the stairs and the exit to the open.
"Let's go, moyashi."
"My name is Allen, Bakanda," the silver-haired Exorcist retorts, immediately twitching out of his trance.
"Just like old times, eh," Kanda grins wryly, ignoring Allen's comment.
Allen looks at the Japanese man, remembering how Kanda had almost sliced him in half the first time they met, how they had managed to get through their first mission in Matel, how they always bickered whenever they encountered one another. He smiles sadly.
"Yeah."
It seems like the world is ending. Flames. Flames and collapsed buildings. Whisking, whispering cinders and black ash and scarlet dust. A roaring sky, drained of all starlight and instead punctuated with bellowing smoke and clanking Akuma.
Ba-thump.
It feels like he is the only one left alive, standing in the midst of thousands of Akuma. Hovering, stampeding, growling, firing. All staring at the lone Exorcist in the middle of a dying Rome.
Ba-thump.
"How troublesome," Kanda mutters, glaring at the army of Akuma surrounding him.
He holds Mugen in front of him and focuses on further synchronizing with his Innocence. That cooling sensation like liquid ice. It always signifies the exhilaration of battle for him, and that will never change.
"Shouka," he murmurs. "Kinki: Sangenshiki!"
Ba--thump.
Mugen's third illusion fills his entire being with its power, covering him in a bright light and drastically increasing his strength and speed. Enough to simultaneously take down multiple Akuma. At the cost of part of his life, of course. Once again.
Ba--thump.
He crouches a little and then pounces forward, slashing through the ranks of the demons with the skill of a master swordsman, hearing their echoing cries with sweet satisfaction, and then repeating his attack. Allen, he hopes, has already gone ahead, evading the Akuma and the Noah to head towards St. Peter's Basilica. The place where the Earl is located, no doubt chuckling about his assumed victory as he celebrates prematurely in the Vatican City's most celebrated church.
Ba-thu-thump.
He stumbles towards the ground, wincing as the gravel scrapes his cheek and he makes contact with the unforgiving earth. His heart quivers.
"Shit, not again…" he curses.
Ba-thu-thump.
They draw closer, sensing weakness in the swordsman. Cackling madly, shouting incoherent words of elation at seeing the fallen Exorcist. Charging towards the lone defender of the Black Order out in the battlefield of destroyed Rome.
Ba-thu-thump.
He sees all of them excitedly rushing towards him, their blank eyes nearly rolling in a frenzy. Stands up, takes his battle stance. Fixes a scorching glower at them. Then he sees everyone, his friends, appear in a blur of black and white. They came. For help and support, for the cause of saving their companions and humanity. He grits his teeth.
"No! Don't come!" he shouts.
Ba-thu-thum-
His friends stop, puzzled. The Akuma continue their descent. Now is a good time as any.
"Thank you for everything," he whispers out loud into the Akuma's bellowing, looking straight at his friends. I have no regrets now.
Marie, standing tensely a distance away, hears the words, and perhaps even the unspoken ones, and manages to incline his head in acknowledgment.
Ba-thu-thum-
Kanda focuses, focuses, focuses, synchronizes, taps into the Innocence and the curse, now, more, more, more, here we go, the sixth and final illusion, one he has never used before, his final chance. Shuddering earth. Flashing sky. Slashing wind. Infuse with my blade, use my life source, release all the energy, and bring salvation to the pitiful Akuma.
Then he remembers nothing else.
GLOSSARY:
geta – wooden Japanese sandals with the small stilts so that you're raised above the ground a little
yukata – traditional Japanese clothing, usually for summer or festivals
miko – priestess
shishou – master
Shouka / Kinki / Sangenshiki – Sublimate / Taboo / Three Illusions (the long-winded name of Mugen's third mode)
A/N: Well, that's that. A big long juicy thirteenth chapter for you to enjoy, with a mix of humor, angst, and bittersweet hope. And allusions. Oh yes, this is chock full of them. There will be an epilogue, so stay tuned!
Thank you a gazillion times over to nellchan0013, ms.swirlyglasses, whiteninjaachemist, Kawaiichibi2345, Shinigami's Voice, pika318, Moon-Dash, RebelFlame, Velvet Blindfold, azab, Belladonna-Isabella, skele-gro, Damatris, Orohippus, namikun masaki, chibi.hazel-chan, Maedhros, Ishikawa Yui, Kuro666, se-tar, leriko, and all those silent but existent readers. You make me feel warm and fuzzy.
D.Gray-Man (c) Hoshino Katsura