A/N: This chapter is what I consider a transition to the second part of the story. Thanks for reading.

Codename-SN: I love your interpretation of the story's flow. Thank you for paying attention to such details.

Also, thanks to everyone who left a comment.

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Synthetic Soldiers

20 - Intermission

Pain. A word that had grown to become subjective.

Animals cried at it, humans moaned and screamed, and he saw it ever so frequently, displayed in front of him – either when walking by one such scene or when he, himself, inflicted it upon others. Because of that, he had thought he understood it profoundly, as if being its constant witness and source was enough to comprehend and grasp the whole of it.

When had he forgotten?

It was a fact that Noah didn't get sick, and rarely got hurt. Chances of experimenting what were generally human limitations usually appeared only in a confront against another member of the Clan, or in a fight against a remarkably powerful exorcist. With both situations being rare, his body and soul had grown complacent, more even than those of his family: he, as the Noah of Pleasure, was the very embodiment of notions such as self serving, selfishness and utterly rejection to any sort of suffering. Whatever displeased him passed right through his flesh without effect, or was promptly expelled from his vicinity.

And that must explain, he pondered as he tried to keep a hold on his mind, why this hurt ever so much, intolerably, intolerably –

"A member of our clan," snarled Sheryl for what could be the hundredth time. "How could this be? Who would dare, WHO?"

The deep punctures and gashes covered his whole body, some having hit past flesh and breaking bone. Whole pieces of him had been obliterated in the conflict, and he feared seeing his own state, avoiding any reflective surface. Any attempt to move a centimeter was met with a deep protest from his body, that screamed with the sudden possibility of actual death. The wounds weren't natural – no one such as him should be suffering for so long. His flesh should have mended itself hours ago, and all he could do was pray that it eventually would.

"-unbelievable, we can't stay put, not through this," continued his older brother, who wouldn't stop his angry pacing and gesturing, as if that would help him control his hatred. The shock Sheryl had felt at seeing his younger sibling's state quickly became fury when an explanation about the one responsible for it finally came out of Tyki's lips, together with a handful of blood.

'Noah.'

Who in the world was that person? Why did he look like Tyki, why did he feel like the Earl and more importantly, what had prompted that attack? The utterly joy with which the man had attacked Tyki was disturbing, and the power he wielded with ridiculous ease was even more alarming. Tyki wasn't the strongest in the family, but he was far from the weakest. What would they do with a creature that was able to kill a member of the Clan on an one to one fight?

Because if he had wanted to, admitted Tyki with a bout of nausea, the stranger could have easily killed him. And with that, he realized his life wasn't so boring, after all; that he didn't want it to be held in other person's hands, that he didn't want it to end without his permission.

With great effort, he managed to turn his head to the left, slowly. Ignoring the furious Sheryl, who was dangerous but predictable, Tyki's golden eyes searched for someone else.

And there she was, indeed, but he wouldn't have known it if he hadn't looked for her. She had been so silent.

Road. Dreams, the one who held the key to the Doors, the eldest of them all. Truly ancient, but eternally mocking her old age with her childish appearance. From the day he first met her to now, nothing had changed – not a strand of hair, not a trace on her face.

Today, she looked worried.

And more than anything, that made him worried, too.

It wasn't normal for her, the closest to the Earl and, arguably, the most powerful after him, to be bothered. Not the girl who told them to stay calm when their patriarch himself disappeared, the one who was a pseudo leader whenever their Clan Head lost his mind.

If Road suffered, Tyki felt with certainty, then soon the entire Clan would, too.

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"This is absolutely incredible. You are incredible. I pledge my eternal allegiance to you, my lord," said Allen from his position in one of the short tree's sturdier branches. Nea rolled his eyes at his dramatics, but didn't complain as the boy ceremoniously picked an apple and bit into it as if it was the sweetest fruit available on Earth.

After the fifth apple, however, and seeing as the boy refused to be done with his theatrics, Nea had enough. "However pleasant it may be to see that you finally appreciate my grandness," said he drily, "I do think the way you eat these fruits is quite indecent. Do they taste so terribly good?"

"Oh, you want one?" asked Allen, quickly throwing the fruit towards his teacher. The dark haired man grabbed it, but made no move to eat. "I'm sorry I forgot to offer. As for the taste, well, what can I say? I get to eat it without any undercover operation, without having to fight dangerous battles and hiding from guards, or asking my comrades to do so. So it tastes incredible."

Nea made sense of that declaration and then nodded; he also did have a period on his life where he had to worry about such things, though he had been rich, and thus his every human need had been supplied. He could still remember it, after such a long time: wheat fields, golden and stretching so far that, as a young child, he had thought the mansion he lived in was the only building that existed, and that the rest of the world was composed of that vibrant hue. His life had been filled with beauty and comfort, with warmth, wealth, Katerina and Mana…

Ah.

That's why he couldn't have good memories.

So in the end, he had never dealt with the hardships his apprentice lived with daily, and would allow him these pleasant days, and he indulged the boy with many instant travels to somewhat pleasant places and let him act like the child Nea had always seen him as. Those days of peace would be over soon, anyway.

He looked at the boy – no, the young man, who lounged in the tree happily, waiting for him to open the door to their next destination. They had just met, and Nea would be soon throwing Allen in one of the most dangerous places on Earth, behind only the Millennium Earl's Ark itself. It felt like something treacherous and inconsequential to do, but Allen had already proved his strength.

His performance against Nea had been the best he had seen so far, specially considering Nea was as strong as the Earl himself – a mirror copy of the ridiculous psychopath, if only saner and with ideas that were the exactly opposite of the Clan's Head. He had also watched the great influence Allen had managed to rebuild as he investigated him during the time he thought the boy was an impostor.

So Nea decided to acknowledge his strength once more. It had been something he had grown to associate with him in the past, and the only time his exorcist apprentice had truly disappointed him was in that fight against Mana, whom the boy had stupidly refused to hurt, who had been too strong for Allen to have a chance to win against, anyway.

If the boy had finally let go of that lethal irrationality of his, however, Nea had every reason to believe he would be a force to be reckoned with.

Allen was strong. He would have to be, in order to survive what lay ahead.

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Allen had stressed the need to return to his allies as soon as possible, specially considering the many days they took to understand each other's situation and have a somewhat even footing once again. Still, he had accepted to sleep in the quarters once more. They had been stable enough for him to stop having nervous ticks about sleeping in the place that, four days ago, almost became their tomb.

Still, despite having a bed, Allen always ended sleeping in a couch he placed near the piano. At first, Nea thought it was so he could be near the instrument that controlled this fraction of the Ark, and didn't berate him for it. But as the boy relaxed more and more and started waxing poetic about how utterly comfortable the couch was, he noticed it was indeed a sleeping preference, even though the young exorcist hadn't given the bed a try.

Allen had never taken things for granted, not before and not now. But ever since Nea met him, he noticed the boy appreciated things even more than fifty years ago. Actually, he revered small comforts to an obscene level. At first, he had suspected the white haired exorcist had only been trying to mock him, but there was an undeniable sincerity in his eyes whenever he praised a roof over his head, simple but decent food and basic comforts such as a clean and comfortable place to sleep.

It must have been hard, decided Nea, staring down at the sleeping boy, whose white hair almost disappeared against the white bedclothes he'd dragged to the piano room.

It had always been hard. But as a child, Allen had always had a place to return to. It couldn't ever be called home; it was more of a prison, where he was tormented and enslaved. But it did supply his basic needs. As an exorcist, Allen would always have a good bedroom, furnished with everything he could need, waiting for him. Food was plenty inside the walls and never denied, and any of his wounds would be treated with the utmost care and speed, as his status as a rare accommodator demanded. Of course, outside the walls, he lived in a war; but he knew that, as long as he survived whatever mission he was working in and managed to return to a city, he would be well fed and cared for and his supplies would be restocked.

A lone exorcist couldn't have such luxuries. Nea was hardly aware of what their lives were like, as he had been focusing much more in the Earl and the Order than the rebels who sided with none of the aforementioned forces. But it wasn't hard to imagine what it was like. Cities that would hastily open their gates for Allen now would not only deny him entrance, but actually attack him if he came too close. Not even the exiles who were once counted as his allies could be relied upon; they were hungry, sick, desperate people, and would easily attack their supposed savior in exchange for basic supplies that became worth more than gold.

And for all these years, Allen hadn't had Nea with him, either.

Nea liked to think he had always been there for Allen. He never overindulged the boy – actually, he would admit he was sometimes excessively strict with him – but whenever the child had asked him for instructions and for help in how to solve a situation, he would be there. More than once, in the start of their acquaintance, Nea would destroy some of his enemies from the shadows, when he thought they were too much for the boy to handle. The Order had been insane to send such a young person to fight many times by himself. Allen had never known of Nea's interference, though, and had grown strong enough that slowly but surely the Noah had needed to interfere less and less, but he knew the then redhead would have been killed as a child if not for the constant vigilance he kept over him. That wasn't Nea being arrogant; it was just a fact.

And there was something inevitable that would grow inside a person when they took care of someone, making sure they survived, instructing them and watching them grow. He placed a hand in Allen's hair, and it looked almost brown against the colorless strands. As he looked at that face where the only thing he was familiar with was the scar, he tried very hard to reconcile it with the Allen he had always known, and it was difficult. Right now, it was as if he was looking at a stranger who had painted a tattoo over his eye. The eyes, nose, mouth, cheekbones, they were all wrong and difficult to accept, and he felt a bout of nausea take over him, as something in his chest clenched. Then so did his hands, closing into tight fists. Was this a stranger? Had he been fooled? Had he –

"Oww!" exclaimed the boy, and Nea noticed that the strength he was exerting on his right fist must have been ripping some hairs off the exorcist's head. "What are you doing?" exclaimed Allen, massaging his abused scalp.

And there, in front of Nea, the stranger became Allen. The alien features became familiar once again, alight with the voice and mannerisms of his student. The nausea receded, and he forced the suspicion that had grown on his heart to disappear.

"Teacher?"

"Get out of my couch," grumbled he, for a lack of anything better to say. I was wondering whether you actually are an impostor wouldn't go well, he supposed, specially after what they had gone through to ascertain Allen's identity. "I've provided you with a fine bedroom and won't have you lounging in my main chamber like a vagabond."

Allen looked temporarily speechless, and his left eye seemed to have fallen under a nervous tick. "You… you just ripped my hair off, only because of this?"

"Out with you," grumbled Nea, kicking the couch. It reverberated with the strong hit. Allen jumped from it, before grouchily picking the bedclothes and dragging them with him to the bed.

These past days, thought Nea as he watched the boy's retreating back, were doing no good for his heart.

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As soon as the bedroom's door closed behind Allen, his annoyed expression turned into a pensive and worried one. He thoughtlessly walked to the bed but, for once, he didn't spare a thought for the luxuriousness of the settings. Instead, he sat in the bed, cross legged and absentmindedly hugging the messy bedclothes.

It had been quite a scare, to wake up with Nea looking at him like that, eyes fierce and filled with menace, a hand holding his hair in such a painful grip Allen had to exercise a great amount of self control in order to not attack.

Nea didn't waste time in turning back into his usual testy, pompous self, saying nonsense about Allen's sleeping habits and whatnot. For his part, Allen had dutifully played his role in the little play, hardly wishing to breach the subject of Nea's temporary hostility.

Allen guessed he was lucky that the Noah had decided to attack his hair, and not his neck, while he was unconscious.

It was a painful reminder that all was not well.

Allen didn't blame Nea; he couldn't, even if the man's behavior occasionally threatened him. This whole situation couldn't have been easy on the man's part; actually, it must have been harder for Nea than it had been for Allen, who had always imagined his teacher would be alive. Nea… Nea had had to deal with Allen's death for fifty years. Whether he had done it with ease or it had caused him any emotional distress, it was a fact that after such a long time, Allen's demise would have become a fact set in stone. Surely he would have found it easier to believe in Allen's existence some days after his death, or even some weeks or months… but it had been half a century. The mere fact that Nea accepted, even if partially, Allen's story, was a miracle on itself.

He was bound to question the truth sometimes, though, and it was up to Allen to prove to him who he was. He was sure that, with time, they would be once more in tune, and his teacher would trust him more. As of now, however, he had to be very, very careful.

Like, for example, with the only relevant part of his story that he had kept hidden.

They had spent the past days getting to know each other once again, and understanding what had happened in the past years. Nea had mostly explained of his mission to find and destroy his brother, and the limitations to his plan that had put a stalemate on his attempts. Allen, meanwhile, told everything from the moment he woke up in the laboratory, but it had been… difficult.

He had been there, watching everything, but the actions hadn't been his own; it had been the other Allen, whom he had grown to recognize as a second personality. Speaking of what happened as if he hadn't been merely watching had been complicated and, more than once, he wondered whether he shouldn't tell his teacher of his personality split. It was mostly solved, after all; for a long time, he hadn't been taken over by the boy – not even once.

Today he got his answer, though: it wouldn't do for him to reveal such a thing to Nea. The man was already paranoid and partially doubtful, even as Allen presented an apparently intact mind. Telling the Noah he had had an split personality problem and only recently got to control his own body would do absolutely no good to their reborn relationship.

He closed his eyes, trying to look for that second presence that was weak but constant in the back of his mind, and found nothing. Perhaps it was finally over, he thought. The boy was put to rest, and would suffer no more.

The conclusion didn't bring him any relief.

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The weather had thankfully calmed after some days of scorching heat. Kanda sat over one of the highest branches of a tree, feeling the wind and the cold. It wasn't comfortable to be up there when the temperature was down but, when by himself, he always preferred finding places where he could watch what was happening around him.

Seven hundred meters to the southeast was the exorcist encampment, but he hadn't stopped there for more than to grab some food in the last days. He also didn't appear to offer any sort of help, and the others didn't bother him about it. They didn't even care, and Kanda was grateful for it.

He had never felt truly a part of the team.

It had been strange, initially, to be part of such a group. No, scratch that – it never stopped being strange. Never had he thought that by finding Allen he would also get attached to so many other fighters and travel in such a large group from then onwards. To this day he felt the situation was surreal, for though being with Allen had always seemed natural and right, their other companions were… extras, that he had never quite gotten used to.

They were mostly loud, yes, and two particularly clashed with his temper in a very bad way. He also didn't feel comfortable in group talks and outings that didn't involve work and he'd remain comfortably closed off, unless Allen actually dragged him by the arm towards unwanted interaction.

All in all, however, it hadn't been a bad change. His need for privacy and his selectiveness when it came to company were irrelevant in the larger scheme of things, and being able to sleep at night because someone else was watching for him actually took a lot out of his shoulders; it also meant freely travelling through the open lands, without fear of being attacked by a number of Akuma large enough to destroy him.

Right now, however, and for the first time, he felt he was truly, fundamentally alone; indeed, he was quite sure of it. Because many days had passed since… Allen's disappearance, in a private mission of his that should have taken a single day but he had yet to come back from. Kanda had allowed him to go, wanting to stop looking at the familiar face with wrong eyes, and also not having a choice in the matter to start with. Now, however, he regretted his decision. It was as if everything he did to Allen lately was wrong, and though he didn't truly have the means to stop the boy and lock him up as he had fantasized so many times about, he still felt he should have done something.

The urge to go after him was strong: The insane psychopath who wouldn't stay dead and took control over Allen could hardly be trusted, but it wasn't like he could explain the matters to the others without being labelled as crazy. But even if they didn't know of Allen's situation, it frustrated Kanda to no end that the idiots who had lived with the boy for so long weren't worried about the obvious personality change and allowed him to do as he wished.

He had done the mistake of trying to talk to them about Allen's absence, only to have them say they trusted Allen and that the white haired exorcist would be fine. Watching their expressions, clearly full of confidence in their statement, he finally understood how ignorant they were.

There was only one good thing about it: By having Allen far away, Kanda was also out of reach of the enemy. He could operate only when distanced from him, and if Lavi would just come back already with good news, he'd actually be able to do something instead of staying perched in a branch like a damned owl and doing nothing with his life but contemplating uselessly.

Inactive and alone in his worries, for even the redhead seemed quite at ease with the whole situation, his thoughts started taking a darker direction. For if even someone as intelligent as the redhead wasn't expressing any trouble with Allen's change, the perhaps it wasn't that they didn't know; maybe, and just maybe, they simply didn't care about the boy as long as they won the war.

Without a doubt, Allen's previous refusal to call any of them family made much more sense.

His stomach growled and, with it, came a new bout of nausea. Knowing he couldn't postpone this any longer, he opened the box in which he carried what was left of his share of the rations. Inside was what was left of his part of the food they had gathered the last time. He placed some dried fruit in his mouth and started eating but, as soon as it hit his stomach, it was like the already unbearable hunger grew tenfold. He had to restrain himself from finishing every last scrap of food he had in his hands, instead trying to limit his intake to the very basic he needed to stay up and functional.

He had been growing quite thin as of late. That was hardly a rare situation but if even he, with his enhanced body, was suffering from a lack of food, then the others had to be in more of a critical situation. Eventually they would have to move, whether Allen came back or not.

Movement below made him stare down. At the very roots of the tree stood a child of about seven years of age. With brown hair that was dark either from a natural color or from dirt and a pale and thin frame, she looked at him – or rather, his food box – with undeniable interest.

This was just one of the many times he dealt with such a situation but, as of late, he had grown used to having Allen alert him of any Akuma nearby whenever they were together. Now, however, he was by himself, far away from any other exorcist, and would have to exercise judgment on his own.

The first signs of an Akuma pretending to be a human would be a healthy pallor or intact, crispy clean clothes. Such amateurish mistakes were usually committed by the weakest of their kind, who had yet to kill enough humans in order to evolve and have intelligent thoughts other than wanting to kill. The child below didn't fit any of these descriptions, however.

"What do you want?" he asked her, without moving from his place. The child, or machine, either wanted food or his life. Another test was to check their speech pattern. Akuma frequently spoke like well mannered, educated adults, even while inhabiting the bodies of starving exiled children. The supposed child didn't open her mouth, however, her gaze unwavering but rather hopeless.

Kanda sighed, hating the whole situation. He had no means to confirm the truth and, though he would never bring her to the encampment or give her many supplies – they would hardly last long if they started practicing charity – he couldn't stand to just leave her here. Still on guard, he jumped down, and his knees hurt with the strain of the fall. He really would have to get some true food soon. Perhaps he'd leave this deserted part of the forest and hunt for a damn animal or something, and to hell with the Order's caravans – what would be the use of avoiding them to the point of starving to death?

"Here," said he, extending the box to her and decided to turn his back and leave. There wasn't much he could do to help, and he better go as she ate, so she wouldn't have time to trail after him. He watched as she placed the first dried fruit in her mouth with dirt stained fingers.

And then, she was on fire.

Kanda jumped away almost instantly, Mugen drawn and ready before he even had his feet in the ground once again. Any instinct to help was subdued as soon as the child's screaming morphed into the horrible, deafening sound of the wringing of a metallic contraption as she – it turned back into a large machine that contorted in the flames, slowly melting inside a fiery circle with the kanji for fire.

"Phew. I've been after that one for a while," said a voice, and Kanda turned towards Lavi, who walked towards the Japanese exorcist and the dying Akuma leisurely, his hammer reducing its size as he approached. "It was very weak, but also very fast. I bet it didn't think it would run into another exorcist, though."

"I… didn't know it was an Akuma," admitted Kanda, before shaking himself out of the surprise at the sudden events happening before him. "Rabbit," he said, voice full of demand, "have you contacted the General?"

"Contacted? Heh, I've done far better than that. You owe me soo bad, Yuu," said he with a chuckle. Then, the boy appraised Kanda with his single green eye. "Perhaps you should have a bite of something before we speak, though," said he, reaching for his large backpack.

"You can speak while I eat," said Kanda, accepting a lunch box, but his anxiety didn't allow him to eat. Lavi was his only hope, and that was not a good feeling to have. "On with it, rabbit! Did you manage to talk to him? What did he say?" The hammer wielding exorcist just had to have done it. Kanda didn't know what he would do otherwise.

Just as Lavi was going to open his mouth, too, the sound of steps from deep in the forest stopped him. Alarmed, Kanda quickly activated his sword once again, feeling his weakened body protest at the painful strain. He blinked twice, however, when he noticed that Lavi was still at ease, Innocence inactive and hidden inside his clothes.

"You came quite fast, sir. Gave Yuu a scare, you did," said the boy in good humor, and it took a while for Kanda to understand these words.

"...What?" asked he, staring at the space where the noise was coming from. He felt Mugen turn inactive in his grasp once more, without his permission.

"He was held by quite a few Akuma in our way, you see. Still – he's amazing. We could travel in a straight line towards here, because he would destroy even those enormous hordes we usually avoid unless we are in a group-"

By then, Kanda had already tuned out Lavi's incessant yammering. His gaze didn't move from the trees until a man finally appeared there, dressed in a long, beaten down brown coat and seeming far older than the last time Kanda had seen him. Still, he was impossible to mistake for someone else. Kanda's knees felt weak, and if that was because of the surprise, the confusion or the utter relief he felt, he didn't know.

"Gensui," whispered Kanda, as both Mugen and the food fell to the ground, forgotten.

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