Disclaimer: D. Gray-man is Katsura Hoshino's.

Rate: T for now (rating may or may not go up in the future).

Characters: Allen Walker, Yu Kanda, all the exorcists and the Black Order members, the Noahs and other canon characters.

Pairing: for now, it depends on how you see the relationship of the two main characters. Call it 'Gen', 'Friendshippy', 'Shounen Ai (or Boys Love)', whichever way you see it. Subtlety is my forte; if you've read Vermilion Kaleidoscope or Shattered fractions, then you might be familiar with my style. :)

Genre: unfortunately there's no Psychological genre on FFnet, so I'll stick with Adventure and Angst. Other genres such as Mystery, Friendship, also maybe Humour and Romance will make their appearances as well in this fic.

Special thanks to: Annalisemarie99 and a1y-puff for beta-ing this chapter. Also thanks a lot to ThinE for her help, she's always there when I need her~ x3

Warning: major spoilers up to chapter 203. This is my version of Chapter 203's continuation, therefore please note that once Chapter 204 comes out, this fic will automatically be AU. I highly recommend you to read the manga up to Chapter 203 to understand this story better. :)

A/N: I spent almost a week immersing myself in the D. Gray-man world to find my own interpretation of D. Gray-man. Thanks to that, the fic that was originally a one-shot dedicated to Isumi 'kivic', evolved into something that wouldn't fit in a single one-shot. However, this fic was born from my intention of giving Isumi 'kivic' a birthday present, so here it is. Happy belated birthday, sista!^

And for your information, I love using the concept of 'some things are better left unsaid'. I often don't explain about why the characters do 'that' or say 'this' very clearly (in other words, there are things you need to read between the lines) , because I'd love to let the readers have their own interpretations)

Well then, now please enjoy this fic. :)


The Burnt Rose Cross

Chapter 1

Harsh and heavy—Allen could hear his own breathing whistling like an anthem, created by a horrid, broken orgel. One step. Then another. All his muscles seemed to be creaking in every shift they made; damaged and smashed, as though they would shatter into dust anytime.

He clawed the brick wall, blood being printed along, leaving a trail of red as he moved forward—pushing the legs despite his eyes seeing nothing but the blurred vision of ruins and buildings. Blank was his mind; the only thing he knew was that he somehow had managed to escape from the prison he was locked in, after driving away those people.

The people, namely Tyki and Rhode. And…

"The Millennium Earl calls it Apocryphos."

The image of the creepy creature flashed in his mind, jumbled with the Noahs' disgusting voices played in his mind over and over again. Then, another train of flashbacks hit him.

Red. A hole on the forehead. And his master's grin as he was—

Eyes widening instantly, a shot of pain struck his head. Everything crashed into fractions of images that made him howl from being afraid of losing his mind. His arms tangled against each other in response, his limbs felt as if they were being ripped; something was pushing from behind his ribs as if the heart wanted to explode and leave him empty.

He cried—incoherent words ranging from 'why', 'again', and 'no' were repeated like a chant, until he subconsciously stumbled away from the wall and towards the ruins—half-walking, half-swaying, for the terrible ache almost ate up his entire being.

Then silence followed; bringing him to drop to the ground, as the pain had dulled away gradually.

Maybe it was really gone—or that his body had been too accustomed to it by now.

Cheek pressed against the rough ground, his breathing was broken. Even lying on his ripped stomach did not give him anymore feelings to savour. Through half-lidded eyes which were focusing on nothing, he swallowed something familiar in this place. Though, his brain died. Only things that were distortedly red were in it. Resembling blood, and perhaps…

His eyes closed from the fatigue, letting his whole consciousness be indulged into deep sleep, without the awareness of someone walking towards him. A tall body stood observantly then, the shadow shielding him from the dimmed light of the moon. And with the last energy he had, only one of the red things that were lingering in his head the whole time managed to slip out of his bleeding lips.

"Master…"


It was bright; Allen was standing alone in the middle of debris—something that was once perhaps buildings, towers, bridges… Allen couldn't tell clearly. He hadn't been in this place before, as long as he remembered. It might be a dream again, one of those weird dreams he had had every time he slept or collapsed; he had gotten so used to them that he could say that he was indeed dreaming. He narrowed his eyes to focus his sight under the blinding sun, and held his breath upon seeing the man before him.

It wasn't his first time seeing the person in his dream, still… He would never be completely unsurprised on seeing him.

Mana.

There, near the remains of a bridge, was Mana smiling in his clown outfit with hands hidden behind the balloon jumper. He stared into Allen's widened eyes—soft and knowing—and opened his mouth to say something. But Allen couldn't hear. His heart seemed to hammer beyond his chest as the desire to jump and wrap his arms around Mana, and ask him so many things, was so profound that he could hardly bear it. Yet, he found himself rooted to the ground, motionless.

Mana mouthed again—the same thing, same movement as before. But nothing. Not even a single word Allen was able to catch. Therefore he narrowed his eyes once more, squinting to win over the bright light, and read Mana's lips.

N…

Ne…

Allen's breath hitched, and he dug the lower of his lips—trembling.

Neah.

Jerking his body to break free from the freeze, Allen couldn't even produce a whimper. His blood dripped down his chin, though he didn't feel anything regarding the open wound on his lip.

Neah.

Neah.

Neah.

The Mana in front of him was smiling so brightly, calling him with that name over and over again, and—

So heartbreakingly happy in Allen's eyes. So merry that Allen had lost the will to struggle, eyes softened to see how the person he cared about was swimming in happiness.

Despite he wasn't Neah. He wasn't, but...

A flash of black ran past him, towards where it was Mana was standing at, catching Allen's attention. Now, however, his eyes grew wide again, as he knew—he had met that guy in a black suit before. That was the real Neah.

Mana spread his arms open to welcome Neah, laughing widely while in an instant, darkness bottled them up—leaving only faint light shimmering the two figures. The clown outfit was gone, the makeup was gone; Allen couldn't see clearly, but Mana suddenly looked very young with long hair—just as young as Neah. The brothers sent their backs at Allen, chattering lively as they walked away. As though nobody in this world could come between them.

Not even Allen. Maybe.

Suddenly, however, Mana turned around, wearing a hat which Allen knew so well. It was the Mana Allen was familiar with. The Mana who had raised him. The Mana who was his father. As Mana mouthed something again.

Neah was smiling behind, still looking very young compared to Mana, whilst Allen strived to catch whatever Mana said. He blinked, and blinked, then squinted his eyes, but the darkness was too thick for him to see. Mana shook his head slowly, lips forming various shapes as he spoke—Allen was desperate by now. What would Mana say?

"When we first met he wasn't called 'Allen'."

A voice from behind jolted him at once, resulting him to turn around and spot the person he had vaguely guessed of. It was his master—and the Apocryphos.

He knew it. He had heard it, had seen it—this conversation. How his Master was faced with a gun, on the forehead.

A grin ensued, one wild eye peeking through the glasses, a droplet of sweat trickling down the pale skin of his Master. A challenging yell—half-pleased and half-depressed—was resonated throughout the place.

"Should have realized that mistake sooner!"

Allen's pupils dilated—just as a bang followed soon.

Master!

Blindly reaching the air with a hand, Allen snapped his eyes open, his breath hitching in his throat. Now it sounded more like a broken kettle, his perspiration was, as the rolling sweats declared their vigour over his entire body, making his hair sticky damp on the forehead.

At first, he couldn't really register a thing—his vision couldn't really catch a thing. But he did vaguely notice something familiar like pillars all over the place.

Oh, he was dreaming. Wherever he was, the important thing was that it was just a dream. But again...

It wasn't a dream that his master was shot.

Out of a sudden, though, something loud echoed in the empty place—forcing Allen to try to get up from his lying position, leaning his weight on his elbow. As though all the shock he had received wasn't enough, the man who was walking towards him didn't fail to stupefy him.

"Kanda!" he yelled, voice hoarse.

The man being addressed didn't react, merely continuing his walk with that 'default' expression of his—an expression Allen had been so familiar with. He glanced down as he stopped right beside Allen, then sitting after bringing him bandages.

"Lie down," he directed whilst preparing the—maybe some medicine that came along with the bandages. But Allen was still baffled. He blinked twice, thrice, and found that Kanda was not a dream. But, if Kanda was really here, then—

Sitting up slowly and, ignoring how his muscles screamed from the movement, he tentatively repeated. "Kanda? Are you really—"

He was not given a chance to finish his line though, for his head was slammed down to the side with a loud—really loud—thud. Doubling the headache he had had, obviously.

"What are yo—"

"I told you to lie down, moron!" Kanda pressed Allen's head harder with his hand, cutting into whatever Allen had planned to say with the murderous look he gave. "A wounded man should be sleeping!"

Allen peered at Kanda through the corners of his eyes, accusingly. "And this is not how you should treat a wounded person. Really."

Kanda pulled his hand off of Allen's head, and muttered an inaudible 'tch' as he continued to work on the bandages. Allen slowly positioned himself onto a lying position again, despite his eyes not leaving Kanda, all the while.

Kanda was, as he had expected, alive. And moreover, still a violent guy with an angry-scowling face all the time. His hair was still black—not purple—and tied into a ponytail as usual. Wrapped in a simple long-sleeved white shirt and black pants, he looked just as fine as Allen imagined him to be, after he sent him off to the land of Matell.

To think about it again, Allen gazed around the place and noticed—he was indeed in Matell. The forgotten place, the isolated stage where he had completed his first mission as an exorcist. A place where he first decided to be a destroyer that saved people.

But the thing was... How could he be there when he himself had destroyed the gate to this land so that no one could get there? And why would he be there? Had he really escaped from that prison and repelled the Noahs and the Apocryphos?

Glancing down after a while, he found Kanda had started opening his bandages on his torso, noticing the redness on them. But there was no fresh blood, it was as if he had slept for a long, long time. And now that he thought about it, he wasn't really in pain. He should have been suffering from fractures and maybe worse, but the dull ache he was sensing now was too faint and light for them to be fatal wounds. How—

Kanda shoved away the used bandages then started applying something like a cream on Allen's belly. He narrowed his eyes as he did, recognizing some scars on the pale body. The long scar from the stomach to the shoulder area was that one made by Allen's own innocence sword. He did remember how Allen stabbed himself with it. And the other scar on the other side of Allen's stomach was much smaller—yet from the position and the shape, he knew it so well.

"Kanda, how many days did I fall asleep?"

Kanda looked up, catching Allen leaning against his arm again, seemingly worried and lost.

"Did I sleep for months?"

"...What the hell are you talking about?" tweaking his brows, Kanda grunted as he put the cream's bottle and took a fresh bandage. "I found you just yesterday, sleeping like a pig outside."

"Not a pi—uh?" Allen opened his jaw in response, flabbergasted. "That can't be! How can I be this well in only a day?"

Kanda tutted upon the reaction, and slammed Allen's head down the floor once more. "I told you to lie down, didn't I?"

"Jerk, are you trying to break my head?" Allen shouted irritably, rubbing the back of his head. Kanda ignored him, nonetheless, continuing to wrap Allen's body with the bandages as fast as possible. It was a short silence that ensued afterwards, as Allen went on rubbing his much-abused head. It was then that a realization dawned upon him. His head and his left hand—which should be badly wounded, were free from bandages—only some scratches that were left.

This couldn't be. He didn't have the ability to regenerate like Kanda, so it couldn't be happening in only a day, unless...

He widened his eyes, and not quite wary, leaning against his elbow again. "Did you use your blood?"

Darkly turning to face Allen, Kanda put out his murderous glare, with a hand that showed he was going to slam Allen's head again—but the latter managed to dodge it quite painstakingly, raising a hand up before his head.

"Fine, I won't ask again," he assured the angry-looking Kanda. Said man stared with a scowl, then sighed and turned on his feet with the used bandages in his hands.

Allen wasn't ready to let Kanda go, however, so he sat up to voice out the thought that had been inside his head all day since he saw Kanda.

"What about Alma?"

It made Kanda pause in his tracks, glancing over his shoulder a bit just so that he could gesture Allen a direction with his chin, after a short moment. Allen's eyes shifted to where Kanda showed him, and found that in the far wall of the stage, was a small clay vase sitting with nothing around it. His eyes softened upon seeing it, mouthing a tender 'oh' as the images of Alma's soul dancing sprung in his head.

Has the soul been saved?

He wanted to ask—yet he chose not to. Kanda observed Allen from the corner of his eyes, and spoke.

"Why are you here?"

"Huh?" Allen glanced up, then blinked.

Why am I here?

"What about that fat bastard?"

Allen scrunched together his brows for a moment, before he registered about whom Kanda was talking about.

"The Earl and the Noahs retreated, everyone is safe and is back to the Headquarter."

—though they came back again only for him, but Allen didn't need to voice it out.

"Then you're supposed to be in the wounded ward, not wandering around with those injuries, idiot!" Kanda spat out; Allen's smile vanished.

"...Well, I wonder why myself," he shrugged that one off, turning his gaze to anywhere but Kanda's eyes. But Kanda wasn't really a fool—even with his average brain, he could clearly see there was something wrong with Allen. Though—being him, Kanda did not really want to ask further.

"Whatever," Kanda replied, before traversing the place and heading straight for the exit. Allen could only glance at Kanda's retreating back, and sighed once Kanda had disappeared from his line of sight. He scrutinized the place, pressing his lips into a thin line.

Why was he here? And why Matell? How could he be there? Moreover, although he was somehow sure of it, but— how did he manage to repel Tyki, Rhode and that Apocryphos?

There were too many questions.

Closing his eyes, he massaged his temples as the headache crept back to him. He didn't remember a thing. What he knew was, it all started while he was in his prison, attacked by the guardian of the Heart when the Noahs suddenly came for him. And Link—

Link was...

Jerking his eyes wide out of the blue, he noticed how his hands were now covered in red—in blood. Cold sweat began to form on his forehead, his breathing was clogged as though something was pressing his lungs beyond his chest. Flashes of shattered images randomly flew inside his head—from his Master, the guardian, the thing that Tyki said, and the blood that was all over the place...

The blood that was all over him.

His whole body trembled just so hard, the pupils in his eyes narrowed into tiny dots as he started to hug his own arms while biting his lip hard enough to avoid any sound from coming out.

'W…'

'Walker…'

Clenching his eyes tightly, he buried his head between his knees; tongue sensed something salty inside the bitter mouth. Yet the dark, red, shiny, lumpy liquid kept on streaming inside his mind, showering him with disgusting and gruesome blurry pictures with nothing he could really recognize. But...

What had he done?

To Link? To the Noahs and the guardian?

What had he—

"Beansprout!"

A stack of something soft was rained over him, causing him to yank his face up from between his knees, and stare blankly at the things before him.

Lots—and lots of bread was scattered on his lap, although he needed more than thirty seconds to completely regain his consciousness back and drove the horrid thoughts away.

"...Kanda?" he at last mustered his voice.

"Eat," said Kanda in a commanding voice—which undoubtedly would make one feel offended if they hadn't known who he was. "You look like crap, so eat."

Allen stared in silence for a short while, seemingly lost at words, before finally he managed to form a perfectly bright smile, murmuring his thanks lightly. He scrutinized the bread, and took a rounded one with one hand.

"Reminds me that I haven't eaten anything since that day I sent you here," he laughed.

Kanda was silent—yet observant; Allen continued. "Oh. I ate a bit yesterday. But just—I think I'm still hungry."

Narrowing his eyes, Kanda did not miss how Allen's hands were still trembling faintly, despite the brat trying so hard to hide it. Fake smile, fake laughter, fake. Kanda wasn't one to fool—for he had known the beansprout and his silly attitude.

"No wonder you looked so dead. A beansprout without food is the same as a dog with wings. Impossible."

"What do you mean by that?" he exclaimed, throwing a skeptical look at Kanda. "And the name is Allen, in case you forget it again."

"Not my fault, you didn't answer me when I called you, stupid head," crossing his arms over his chest, Kanda produced a tired sigh when Allen retorted with the word 'when' or that Kanda had lied to him for he didn't hear Kanda ever say his name again. But Kanda let it be anyway, turning around to walk away from the place and give Allen the time to devour the bread.

"Whatever, just be grateful because you're practically inhaling my week's worth of food stock, beansprout," he stated as he disappeared behind the ruins. Allen paused his chewing at that, blinked, then glancing at the bread doubtfully.

Matell was a forgotten city, so if it was indeed his food stock, then Kanda must go to the neighbouring town to shop again, but—

Allen licked his lips to taste the remaining chocolate on it. Next, he bit into another piece of bread and savoured the strawberry flavour, whilst his other hand taking another one with a cream on the upside that looked really sweet.

He sighed soon after.

Fixing his eyes on the clay vase on the far wall intensely, he muttered amusedly.

"You already knew that he is terrible at lying, didn't you?"


The sounds of someone's feet clomping against the cold floor resounded throughout the dark, long hallway of the new Black Order's Headquarter. Her shoulder-length hair was wind-blown as she walked as fast as her feet could afford, in spite of which she was almost hyperventilated. Horror was painted clearly on her features.

She broke into the infirmary, a loud bang resounding from the door she slammed open, finding all the people she knew so well gathered in it.

"It can't be..."

A gasp of dread stuck in her throat; her amethyst eyes grew bigger whilst her hands were trying to find their way to cover her lips in shock.

There, in front of Komui and Levelier who had wary expressions, was Link lying on the bed—numerous medical cables were stuck on his body, each of them connected to an intravenous line as well as to the various machines, which seemed to give off a solemn aura themselves. Half of his face was covered with something she guessed as an oxygen mask, and none of his limbs were bandage-free.

He was looking so horrible that she barely could stand seeing him.

"Lenalee," Marie grabbed her shoulders from behind as said girl swayed backwards in shock.

"You know what you must do now, don't you, chief?"

Komui's jaw firmed up instantly at Levelier's sharp question; the pallid skin of his face showed nothing more than the mere despair, or fear. He didn't face Levelier, however, only clenching his fists and hiding his eyes behind the gleaming glasses.

"The people from Central and the Pope would not take this lightly," Levelier continued on, his piercing eyes looking straight at Komui. "It was a mistake to let him live that long in the first place."

Yanking herself away from Marie, Lenalee cried—hardly managing to clump up her emotions anymore. "It's not Allen's fault! He didn't—"

"The prison's and Officer Link's conditions are the proof we have got that he is at fault!"

Clamming up, Lenalee's breath caught in her throat.

The prison...

When she heard the news, the first thing she checked was the prison cell where Allen should be in. Amongst the officers, finders, and even crows who were all assembling there, Lenalee managed to sneak in and witnessed everything clearly. Everything, including the blood that was pooling and covering the floor—and the walls.

But Allen wasn't there.

The next thing she did, with all the worry and fear inside her, Lenalee rushed to the infirmary as she heard that someone was badly injured. Within her journey, though, she spotted a crowd of people surrounding something on the floor. Which after she observed further, were the prison's guards' remains covered with white cloth.

And now, she had seen with her own eyes, the fact that Link was the one who had been put into comatose stage. As well as that Allen Walker was the one and only suspect.

"Prepare everything in this instant, Chief!" Levelier barked; Lenalee was jolted back to Earth. "His power is convenient for us, nonetheless he is still a Noah, and a dissident! Now he is also a murderer!"

Komui clenched his teeth, the tip of his fingers digging deeply into his palms. Against Lenalee's silent plea, Komui lowered his head, devastated, and walked away through the door with a clear 'Very well, I will arrange a meeting tomorrow'.

"No!"

"Lenalee, listen," Komui called out as he paused just outside the door, fixing the glasses on the bridge of his nose. He gazed at Lenalee's eyes; they were both holding so many emotions—fear, and disbelief, mostly—as soon he remarked the thing that wouldn't get out of Lenalee's head for her entire life, probably.

"Allen Walker may be officially the Black Order's enemy from now on."


Standing alone inside the hidden stage of Matell, Kanda stayed in deep silence as he let himself be engulfed by nothingness. His eyes lingered over the thing that was laid before him, a tiny clay pot with Alma Karma's remains in it.

Several moments passed without a difference—it was as if Kanda was nothing but a statue, judging from his stillness. Even though the vacant expression was changing just a little bit, while his gaze was softening gradually.

"Poor thing, Yuu..."

He lowered his eyelids down until they were perfectly shut.

"That child is a Noah..."

Opening his lashes up again, Kanda fixed his stare on the vase even more firmly, yet there was something more lurking behind those eyes.

"...I'm doing the right thing, aren't I?"

Silence emerged once more in perfect placidity for good sixty-seconds, before Kanda Yu raised his head up, seemingly determined and convinced. He turned around afterwards, walking steadily towards the exit as a person popped out from behind a pillar just suddenly. Allen Walker, of course, wearing his ripped clothes with some dry blood stains on them.

"Umm, look, I'm hungry and I think maybe we should get going to the headquarters now that most of my wounds have been healed, strangely enough," Allen cautiously suggested while Kanda took him in observantly.

"...I'm going to get my Mugen," Kanda stated, then silent—Allen beamed at that.

"Oh good, so we can go now or—" he paused, noticing something that was irregular in the way Kanda talked. "You sounded like you just want to get Mugen and leave again..."

Sighing mockingly at Allen's remark, Kanda crossed his arms over his chest. "Of course, you idiot. But you stay here."

"...Pardon?"

Now Allen thought he might have been hearing things as he curled his brows down in confusion. Kanda clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and snarled—he couldn't bear Allen's stupidity any longer.

"You want to die or what? You think they would accept you just like nothing happened?"

Taken aback, Allen opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again to retort just as hard. "But what does that have to do with you? Why would you leave—" he paused, taking a brief moment to think as his eyes widened, "so you know the reason I'm here?"

Shaking his head with a neutral expression, Kanda cut their distance while the lines of frown on his face looking even more concrete as he did.

"I don't fucking need to know why you're here to get the idea that your head is wanted now," he punctuated each word and cornered the flabbergasted Allen towards the pillar. "I broke the command. You helped me with it. We share the same position."

Biting his inner mouth, Allen couldn't accept just that easily what Kanda had said.

The same position? Easy for him to say, but—

Shaking his head, Allen pushed forward even nearer to Kanda and retaliated. "They are waiting for you to come back. We don't share the same position. You're making no sense!"

Kanda snorted—his nose wrinkled up as he did.

"Why do you insist on going back, anyway?"

Falling into silence, Allen only stared at Kanda with slightly—just, slightly—wavering eyes.

Why, he asked? Why did Allen insist to go back in spite of the situation he was in?

That was because he wanted to know about what he had done, of course. And...

"Is everyone really alright?" he muttered lowly in a shaky breath, finding the floor as a perfect spot to stare at. "Did I really..."

... not do anything to them?

—Because his vision showed him otherwise.

Noting Allen's change in attitude, Kanda narrowed his eyes disdainfully in response.

"Now you're scared of yourself."

There was a gap. Then Allen pulled his face up in bewilderment. "What...?"

"You're scared of yourself! What are you, beansprout?"

Locking his eyes on Kanda's observing ones, Allen opened his mouth without letting out any words from it. Kanda as always—had that dark and depressing air around him. The annoyance was there, the irritation was there, the mutual affection that was called—maybe hate, was also there on his feature, yet...

"What are you? Exorcist? Noah? Or simply an idio—" Kanda cut nearer, attempting to push further—yet a second later his forehead was smashed with something hard and—solid, resulting him to back away and cover the pain with his hand.

"The hell are you doing!"

Allen glared, his chin down, the damp hair stickily framing his face although there was a visible redness on his forehead as he was—actually—standing on his toes.

"Why are you even asking me that?" Allen began with a deep, low voice, before gradually increasing the tone as his glare hardened. "I'm going back to the Order because I'm an exorcist, am I not? Or are you really that stupid?" he continued blasting on, silently feeling a little bit too devastated to hear that from Kanda, of all people.

Kanda, though, growled in response; there was something that snapped inside him, because in the next second, it was his turn to smash his forehead to Allen's—resulting the latter to stumble backward and hit the pillar with his head.

"Wha—you—jerk—you!"

Stomping outrageously towards Allen, Kanda raised his hand to smack—or punch the little beansprout out of his foolish idealism, but Allen had readied himself to welcome Kanda's violent fist with his palm. Soon, both of their hands were engaged in a stupid battle of who had the more power to push the other down, wrestling with eyes beaming in anger and spirit to beat each other.

"Listen up, jerk!"Allen chided finally, panting as he was still trying to push Kanda down; beads of sweat trickling down the pale flesh. "I don't care anymore about who made me to, but I'd better die than not being an exorcist!"

Because, otherwise, what else was he living for?

To let Neah take him over?

He had thought of maybe, he should try to understand the Fourteenth's reason, still—

Neah.

Neah.

Neah.

Neah.

Subconsciously clenching his eyes shut in depress, he could see the lips of Mana in his dream mouthing Neah's name over and over again; digging something in his chest that made his breathing shallow and hurt and—

"Fuck! You damned idiot!"

His forehead was knocked once more; his fingers torn apart from Kanda's as he was blown off several inches backward and ended up hitting his back onto the pillar.

"As long as you have the innocence and kill the Akuma, you are an exorcist, moron!" Kanda exploded, panting—the red colour on his forehead visibly clearer, while Allen slid down onto the floor, muttering a soundless 'ouch'.

Then, it occurred to Allen in another thirty seconds gap, what the meaning behind Kanda's statement was. Kanda glared down on him, looking arrogant yet determined and—Allen saw something different in Kanda's dark eyes.

"Listen, brat," Kanda started with a raging breath—Allen couldn't bring himself to not listening.

"We are dropping the Black Order's Rose Cross brooch."


To be continued.


A/N:

Thank you for reading! I hope this fic does make sense, lol.

Anyway, If you saw my profile, then you'd notice that I have more than one on-going fic. So I need to know which of them should be prioritized. Meaning, if you want me to prioritize this fic, please say so. If you want me to concentrate on my other fics instead, please say so as well. :)