Author's Note: In here, Allen will be the King of Spirits, though I know he is not the actual King - I'm just changing the official character to be him.

Yeah, go yell at me. I made another story yep. I could be continuing the others but nope. Note: I'm going to be deleting the stories that I think aren't good enough. I'm sorry. I might redo them for a better story, but I might not.

Disclaimer: What site do you think I'm uploading this shit on?

"I don't understand."

There, in the middle of a battlefield. A dead field - a field that is nothing but snow, corpses and blood...There he laid. Tired - exhausted - was Allen Walker.

His snow white hair - which would've blended on the ground - was splotched with blood. Dying the tips a salmon colour. A gash diagonally on his chest had crossed over in an 'X' shape with his other scar.

It was bleeding heavily. The crimson liquid flowing onto the snow.

The so called 'Holy' War had just ended. There was no victor. Even if he - the representative of the third side - had still lived, he was doomed to die. There was no possibility of him surviving. He had lost so much blood. And if he were not to die from anaemia, then frostbite would get to him, if not already.

He was too tired, too numb to feel anything. The falling snow from above was already starting to bury him - as if it were crying for him.

But who would?

There was no one left. Everyone had gone - they'd already passed an hour ago. There was no one out there who knew their existence - no one who knew them and actually lived.

It was only but a sad truth.

A harsh reality that cannot be reckoned with - and never shall.

.

.

.

And how he hated it. He hated it so much; it was too unfair. After all the battles, the hardships - the sacrifices...Had God not seen this? Had he no mercy? Or were they too far below him to see their suffering?

Somehow, just somehow, the tears had managed to flow down his scratched and bleeding cheek. He was pale - paler than usual.

His silver eyes widen - the gold had switched places when he fell to the ground. Allen could no longer bare the pain. His incomplete heart clenched in anguish. The cry he had let escape.

It was filled with such unbearable pain. He was thinking, he was recalling everyone's happy faces. Even the Noah.

He was alone, he was not dying. Though he was not moving either. There was no way of moving forward - he was alone and stuck on a broken path.

There was no Mana, no family - not even Cross. There was no one there who would comfort him. To even lighten the burden and the suffering on his shoulders.

He forced himself up. Ignoring the pain that pounded in his entire being.

"I need to move forward. Forward!" He kept crying. His voice hoarse from yelling, from crying his heart out.

No matter where he moved, he didn't feel as though he was moving. He stumbled as his head was run over by dizziness. His form tripping on a corpse on the ground.

From the blood covering his eyes, he could barely make out the body to be Road. Just in front of him had been Lenalee.

The vivid image of the two he had been close friends with - the vivid image of the two fighting. It was horrible. It was horrendous and sickening.

And he crouched on the ground, his back arched as he screamed - clutching at his head. As though he were to rip the white strands. His screaming never seemed to end, it was so full of sorrow and hate for the world. For the God who'd only watched.

Grabbing a hold of his a left wrist, he summoned his innocence. The once pure white, had become a twisted black. The sword was as the colours of the Millennium's, and he stabbed himself repeatedly in the heart.

He was a Noah, yes. Yes he could feel the wrenching pain. He was coughing up enormous amounts of blood, where it started to become that of an Akuma's.

He wasn't dying. The wound would only heal again and again. There was no end for this hell, and he stopped. He threw the sword to God knows where. He had enough. He only clenched at the ground, his numb fingers digging into the snow.

"Why?"

His voice quiet and in a sob. The sound so melancholic - it only seemed to build a chain around him. What was he to do?

There was nothing left.

And in the silence, footsteps crunched on the white surface. They were heading towards him. Someone - who could it have been? - had crouched in front of his broken form.

"WoUlD yOu LiKe To CoMe WiTh Me AnD bEcOmE mY KiNg Of SpIrItS?"