As you can see, I got a strike of inspiration again... Introducing your favourite DGM character in a more angstic light. Onwards you go!


Black'n white

People see different things when they close their eyes. Inner world is the place we can shape as we like. But for Allen Walker it's different.

Even with his eyes open, the world holds little sense to him. There's a reason why the ribbon he wears is blood red. It's the only colour he sees with clarity.

His left eye sees the world in black, not in shades of grey, but in black.

But he's not blind. He sometimes wishes he was.

The souls of the akuma aren't the only things he sees with his eye.

He sees the lies and evil of human beings. Humans look strange in his eye. They have a strange glow in them. Guess it could be called a colour. With every lie that glow chances colour momentarily. But Allen has seen people with permanently changed glow.

Allen can see the lies they say. Everyone around him. They lie daily. Lavi's colour shifts constantly. As if he wasn't sure himself.

It's probable true. Allen appears ignorant about the Bookman agenda but he knows that Lavi was there for a mission.

The whole Black Order was an entity that changed colours all the time.

Even though he knows that they lie, straight to his face, he doesn't say anything. He can't blame them for being human. Besides it's not like every word they say is a lieā€¦

Like his.


He knew that the curse was spreading. His right eye saw colours only when he concentrated. But he could always see blood red.

That's why he secretly hated the colour. It was the cursed colour of blood but it was the only solace he found in a colourless world.

He always avoided mirrors. He knew what he looked like. If he looked with his right eye, he could see himself like the others did. A human with a red ribbon tied around his neck. But of course, the others saw his smile.

Allen didn't smile when he looked to the mirror alone. The shape hovering over his shoulder was perhaps the only creature that knew how he truly looked.

Sometimes Allen felt that he should remind himself why he kept walking forward. On those times he looked to the mirror only with his left eye.

For a moment he would see only a black flat surface that held no reflection. But slowly he would see another form. That form held no glow. That's why it was hard to distinguish.

But it had a form. One that didn't even vaguely resemble a human. It was a monster.

Allen can't bear to look it long. He closes his eye. Sees the endless darkness of his inner world.

Then he wonders why he calls it that.

"It."

It was himself, undeniably.

He was truly a remarkable self-deceiver. He could lie that he was reminding himself why he walked forward.

He was a true masochist. It was self inflicted torture.

He'd once thought of sharing his worries with someone. But he didn't want to burden anyone with his visions.

He was a walker. The others would be left behind, one way or another. There were a thousand ways they could be left behind.

It was sure that eventually they would.


When Allen closes his eyes, darkness falls.

In the black landscape, there is a young boy. He's dirty and ragged looking. He has a white hair. His name is Allen.

Sometimes there's a man behind him. He talks, calms, comforts the boy. Mostly he tells the boy to walk forward.

The controlling emotions are loneliness and the feeling of being betrayed.

But this place doesn't end there. There's another person in this world.

He's even younger. More ragged. He has a light brown hair but it's hard to see what shade.

He doesn't have a name.

He is completely alone. There isn't the same kind of loneliness as the previous, older boy. The older one knows what warmth is.

The young one doesn't. In fact he doesn't even know what loneliness is.

He only knows hate.

He hates everyone in this world. He hates the world itself.

Those people with a home to return to, they called him a monster. The other street kids feared and hated him.

They were dead now.

They had attacked the nameless boy. It was the first moment he tasted fear.

It didn't last long. He had involuntary cultivated his hate for a long time. It overcame his fear. It made the nameless boy strong.

He killed the other kids. Bare handed.

They were dead.

He fled the scene. The town.


Allen sometimes dreams how the nameless boy committed those killings.

As he wakes in the middle of the night, he stares the ceiling.

Then he spares a glance to his left hand.

Nights like this, it always seems more red.


I'm really starting to repeat myself... and I made Allen a killer... I'm gonna get flamed for this.

Well then, on your way out, tell me what you think. :)