Old chapter 58.

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The Forty-Second Testament

– The Last Testament –

The Memories of Allen

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"The Earl's madness didn't begin with the Fourteenth."

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"It began roughly seven thousand years ago, with the memory damage sustained from battling the Heart's accommodator."

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"The deterioration was slow and gradual, but no less certain."

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"Around thirty-six years ago, Neah learnt of his plans and launched a coup d'état wherein most of you were killed because you were protecting the Earl."

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"So, no, the Earl's madness didn't begin with the Fourteenth."

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"Time gradually chipped away bits and pieces of his sanity, and over time, his sight grew clouded and remained clouded, until the point where he could no longer see even the truth that lay right in front of him."

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Allen Walker stood in their midst, surrounded but decidedly unimpressed about it.

However, with him as it was with them, there were red trails down his cheeks; the evidence of bloody tears.

"Noah's crying," Road said at last. "But it's because he's grieving and not because he's angry."

"Noah's crying because it had to be done," Allen simply offered up in response, leaning against the sword that he's stuck into the ground. "And because no one of you had the guts to see or do anything about it, I had to be the one."

The others retained their fighting stances, weapons ready at hand. Road alone was the exception, barring Wisely since the guy hadn't attempted to jump into the fray to begin with. Tyki too appeared to be standing somewhat to the side, equally ready to fight or to join the pacifists. All in all, he looked to be the only one, but little else was to be expected.

Wordlessly, Allen called upon his inherent Noah abilities, allowing them to materialise around him much like a colour-inverted version of the Crowned Clown. He still kept his sword in the ground though, even if a fair number of the clan members looked ready to launch themselves at him at any given moment.

Worthy of note was the fact that a few of them appeared a bit put off by it all, clearly sensing the power that now radiated from him. He had after all not only killed the Earl; he'd effectively taken not only the man's life but also the man's position, and that along with the powers and the privileges that came of it.

"He's the Fourteenth Disciple, the Fourteenth Apostle," Road said, speaking up in Allen's stead. "Representing the Destruction of Noah."

Road was after all the oldest of the bunch; the now sole surviving member present at the scene of the Fourteenth's attempted coup d'état. Her small statue aside, she was still the oldest and still honoured in a sense, even though Allen could tell that there were looks of definite suspicion sent her way.

Some obviously thought ‒ or at the very least suspected ‒ that she'd been in league with him and Neah all along. She had after all been the first Noah, barring the Earl and the Fourteenth, that Allen had ever encountered and at length at that. If others knew of this, then it would obviously make sense for them to be suspicious.

Then again, there was also Tyki, who'd been the one who'd spent the most time with him out of the bunch. Going by the look on the man's face, the man himself was also very much aware of this.

Road appeared to be given the brunt of it all though, for reasons that were fairly obvious to those in the know. She bore it valiantly though, because she was the eldest and even with the suspicions, the risk of anyone attacking her and getting away with it was decidedly low.

After all, whilst Sheryl's opinion of Allen and the Fourteenth wasn't very high, anyone who attempted to lay a finger upon Road wouldn't live to regret it. And, going by the looks exchanged between Road and her adoptive father, they were both highly aware of this.

"The Fourteenth wasn't born with the rest of us," Road explained, stepping forward. "There were only thirteen original apostles, including the Earl."

She stepped in-between Tyki and Sheryl, entering the circle and in effect, Allen's immediate range. It would've been easy ‒ but decidedly foolish ‒ to lash out and slash her now that she was well within range.

Had it been anyone else, then the thought might've seemed tempting, but since it was Road, Allen remained where he was and patiently waited for her to come closer. "Tell us, Allen," she said, uttering the name a tad more forcefully than necessary. "Why is there a Fourteenth?"

He let her come even closer, close enough to touch the sword that was still rammed into the ground. He didn't lower his outer defences though, and that for quite obvious reasons.

"The Earl's madness didn't begin with the Fourteenth," he said at last, lifting his head slightly. "It began roughly seven thousand years ago, with the memory damage sustained from battling the Heart's accommodator."

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Surprisingly, Allen didn't have to interrupt his explanation even once in order to defend himself. Rather, throughout it, three more people relaxed their posture somewhat and stepped back. All in all, this meant that there were now only a fourth of them still keeping up with the outright hostilities whereas the others, with the exception of Road, seemed to have adapted a more passive bearing.

"Wisely," Sheryl snapped, his intentions fairly obvious.

"He doesn't seem to be lying," Wisely sighed in return, though he looked all but certain. "But it's possible that he's using that mental mumbo-jumbo of his to mess up with my readings again."

Allen resisted the sudden urge to bare his teeth at him, settling for an amused snort that nevertheless drew the attention towards him. "If you want verification, ask Bookman."

Several looks were exchanged.

"If you've killed him, that's your own damned fault," Allen said at last, deadpan.

"We have them, both Bookman and the apprentice," Wisely quipped at long last, earning definite glares from more than a few. "We've actually had them for about a week, trying to get him to tell us about your weaknesses."

Allen cracked a smile at that. "So?"

More than a few still looked ready ‒ even more of them looked decidedly eager ‒ to put his head on a stick. Even so, none of them made a move as he turned the sword back into its umbrella form and held it out.

Road received it, stepping aside and bowing her head ever so slightly as he walked past, blackened aura still swirling around him. He wasn't completely certain, but out of the corner of his eye, he thought that he saw the glimpse of others following her example as he walked past them, pausing only once he reached Wisely, motioning for him to lead the way.

Allen was rather surprised by the fact that no one decided to play the opportunist then. However, knowing the Noah to be a quite devious lot, there were only about half of them that would favour an honest and direct approach over an ambush.

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"Say, Allen…"

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"Do you remember?"

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"Back when I first laid eyes on you in the graveyard, I rather did not know what to make of you."

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"You said no when I fully expected you to say yes, and it intrigued me greatly."

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"I saw you, and I couldn't look away."

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He was exhausted. Quite frankly, he was more exhausted now than ever before.

Beside him was a ghost; a ghost of a man who had recently died by his hand.

"But what did you really see?" he asked the spectre, because obviously, it'd be rude not to humour it.

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"I saw a child who was a child but also not a child; a child that intrigued me."

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Allen regarded him wearily, this man who had at once been his greatest foe but also his greatest protector. "Is that all?"

The Earl appeared somewhat puzzled by the question, forcing him to elaborate.

"Is that all that you saw that night?"

For a while, the spectre was silent, staring pensively towards the skyline, beneath which the sun had just retreated.

"I saw a child," the spectre decided at last. "I saw a curious child with the potential to become both a powerful asset and a dangerous enemy. In hindsight, it would appear as though I most gravely underestimated you ‒ you and your resourcefulness."

Allen snorted softly at that.

"Had I known beforehand, then I would've guarded you better," the spectre relays, along with a somewhat helpless shrug. "I ought to have realised your importance back when Cross Marian first tried to snatch you up. Instead I decided to wait; I decided to see what ultimately became of you before I decided on your fate."

Allen didn't answer; he didn't need to, after all.

"Say, Allen," the spectre asked instead, circling him. "Was it truly the Will of the Fourteenth for us to fight one another? Or was it yours?"

He remained where he stood, unfazed by the other's proximity. The spirits couldn't hurt him after all; they hadn't been able to do that for a long time now. "Who knows?" he said at last, humouring them.

"But it is strange," the Earl noted. "It is strange ‒ I have to admit as much ‒ that you managed to keep your true intentions hidden for so long."

Again, Allen decided to humour him. "There was a plan, years in the making, that I was made to forget."

The Earl stopped circling him and moved to stand in front of him, placing ghostly but still gloved hands on his shoulders. "I see now. How clever of you."

Allen smiled back at him, seeing that he couldn't really do much else. "I can hardly take much credit; I just had to play the fool."

The ghostly hands on his shoulder remaind. "It was an uneven portrayal."

It had been an uneven portrayal indeed. "Still, it got me this far," Allen decided at last, shrugging off the ghostly hands and taking a step back to broaden the distance.

"Indeed it did," the Earl agreed.

Allen had nothing to say about that.

"Still," the Earl went on to say. "You had no knowledge of or part in this deal. Why is it that you decided to go along with it?"

Why indeed?

"I had my reasons," Allen decided at last, because he did, thinking of it now. "For one thing, I agreed with Neah's assessment. You and I, we're both madmen, but we're both madmen who care about our own, and are possessive of those that we consider our own. Ultimately, it was your impatience and you jealousy that sealed the deal, because you attempted to use my comrades against me in order to trigger a full out awakening. Besides, I also knew that my safety amongst your ranks couldn't necessarily be guaranteed in the longer term, meaning that I couldn't let you do away with my other option."

"Still," the spectre objected. "You've killed me, your greatest protector."

"I did kill you," Allen affirmed, hand clutching the shoulder where his left arm was once attached. "I've killed you and in doing that, I've killed myself as well. I've killed you in order to take your place, and in taking your place, I've killed myself as I was."

"And now?" the spectre asked somehow expectantly.

He didn't hesitate. "And now, I will set out to destroy the Heart and to eradicate Innocence from this world."

"And once it is done?"

"I'll reform it."

"And what makes you think that it'll change?"

He shrugged mildly at that. "I'm the Millennium Earl. I've got time."

"But your allies do not."

He looked towards the horizon; towards the fading red. "They might be just humans, but they're a stubborn lot. You shouldn't underestimate them."

"Are you talking to ghosts again, milord?"

Allen turned his head around slightly, levelling his eyes upon the pale and bruised but nonetheless grinning Bookman apprentice.

"They keep starting off conversations. It'd be rude to ignore them," he offered up in response, directing his eyes back towards the disappearing lights. "Where's Bookman?"

"Making up for lost time," the other redhead responded without skipping a beat, rubbing his bandaged neck and shoulder a tad self-consciously. "He's been recording furiously for hours already."

Allen dipped his head once, acknowledging it as fact.

"So, when do we get to visit your new lair, oh newly-appointed Earl?"

For a recipient of at least a week's worth of Noah hospitality, the apprentice ‒ Lavi ‒ had bounced back surprisingly quickly, the light returning to his single visible eye soon after laying eyes upon Allen, standing in the doorway of the darkened room that had been their combined cell and torture chamber for far too long.

"He‒The little guy was right, you know? You're some pretty weird guy."

Allen shot him a dispassionate look in response. Then, he sighed, shrugging mildly. "I was designed to be misleading."

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Timothy greeted him with a punch to the face, followed by a hug that might've been intended to snap him in half. Allen supposed that he might even have deserved that one.

Crowley greeted him with a grim look that was all too soon destroyed by the huge tears threatening to roll down his cheeks. Also, the snot. Ugh.

Miranda's tight hug told him that she hadn't been eating lately. Going by the look on her face and her demeanour in general, said abstinence also applied to sleeping.

Bak took one good look at him, at his missing left arm in particular, and then consulted a somewhat awed Johnny Gill about creating a prosthetic.

"So, you've won then?" someone asked at last. Allen couldn't quite remember who; he doesn't remember a whole lot of things these days.

He shrugged mildly at that. "Would I be here if I lost?"

"The Earl's gone then?"

Well‒ "In a manner of speaking."

Numerous gazes turned on him then, unsettled yet strangely expectant.

He didn't elaborate.

Bak, looking like he'd just had something of an epiphany, motioned to Wong who after receiving whispered instruction returned a while later with a tray. On top of it, there were a bunch of glasses along with a bottle of wine.

Timothy stared at it; surprised, then horrified and finally exasperated.

"Romanée-Conti." He uttered the words as though they'd been a curse or even poisonous; to him, they were probably both.

"Good quality," Bak countered, by no means as oblivious as he put himself out to be, picking up the bottle and opening it.

Appropriating a glass, Allen promptly held it out for Bak to fill it. He could feel the eyes following his every move, but pretended not to notice, cracking a smile as Bak moved to fulfil his unvoiced request.

"The Earl is dead," Allen said at last, downing the contents in one sweep. "Long live the Earl."

The taste was sour, with some degree of bitterness. It was hardly unexpected though, so he held his glass out for more. Bak readily refilled it.

Somewhat hesitantly, the others followed suit, picking glasses for themselves and taking part in this makeshift communion of theirs.

Glass now refilled, Allen lifted his glass slightly, smiling wryly as the lot moved to mimic the motion.

"The Earl's dead, but what about the rest of them?" Timothy said at last, uttering what a whole lot of them ought to be thinking.

"What about them?" Allen countered, sipping at the wine and watching them all, gauging their reactions. "I've killed their boss, and they're obviously unhappy about that."

Unhappy was an understatement. Bloody furious would be more like it.

Going by the incredulous looks sent his way, the others could very much figure that much out for themselves.

"They're obviously unhappy," Allen repeated, because an understatement or not, it was still close enough to some sort of truth. "But as for now, they're in disagreement about what to do. It's a complicated situation, for us and for them."

Looks were exchanged at that. Bookman meanwhile nodded sagely. "Apocryphos is gone, but the Heart is still out there. The Noah family's split into fractions, largely depending on how they want to deal with the situation at hand."

Actually, a majority had proposed putting Allen's ‒ and by extension the Fourteenth's ‒ head on a stake. One had been against it and five had been teetering on the edge between joining the proponents and remaining neutral. In the end, Allen himself had opted to be pragmatic about it.

"If they intend to cause problems, then I'll deal with them. It comes with the territory after all."

There were frowns at the seeming ease with which he uttered this. In the end though, it was all that he had to say about the matter. It came with the territory after all.

"And the Order?"

He shrugged mildly at that. The Asian Branch was already his and he didn't particularly care for the rest of it. Besides, with his new role and goal, he'd sooner be their number one enemy than their ally.

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"Let's put an end to it."

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"Once and for all."

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"Are you sure that this is really what you want?"

Beside him was Road. Before him was the untrodden path. Behind him were the times and memories, and below him the people, both those who had left and those who had been left behind.

"Isn't it a bit late to be asking that now?"

On his other side was Tyki Mikk. Nevertheless, he had a point.

"Shouldn't I be the one asking?"

Behind him was the past. Before him was uncertainty.

To be or not to be; that had always been the question, hadn't it?

"Say… We're family, right?"

He had no family and he had thought that he needed none, but he had ended up with one anyway that gradually whittled away, some of them sooner and sudden and some of them later and so slow that it proved agonising to watch.

"Say, Allen… We're family, right?"

He had no family and he needed no family to replace the one that he had never even had in the first place. Still‒

"Family? Of course."

Death might've fascinated Red, but neither Allen nor Neah had ever felt the same about the issue. Wordlessly, he looked on as Road laid down flowers upon the gravesite, once marked by a simple weathered cross and now marked by a proper headstone, albeit nameless.

"You know…" Tyki stood with his arms folded across his chest, looking from the headstone to those standing or crouching before it. "The last time that we were here, I never would've imagined that you'd take over and that we'd be down to less than a dozen out of an original one-hundred-and-nine."

It had taken thirty-some years and numerous lives to accomplish. If it still counted as a victory, it hadn't come cheap. "I can't say that I ever expected to return here."

"Not even in a coffin?"

Road shot the man a searing look; even without looking, Allen could very much tell. He hardly minded it though. "I don't believe that I've ever thought that much about what comes afterwards."

"Depending on the Duke's mood when he reawakens, shouldn't you start making arrangements?"

Road's aura spiked dangerously again, but Allen just rolled his eyes at it all. "A dead body's a dead body. Besides, who's to say that there'll even be a body left to bury after he's done with me?"

Actually, he shouldn't be joking, considering the fact that they had actually found what had probably been his original body back when they had raided Central. If not for the fact that Apocryphos had already eradicated long before this, then Allen would've certainly done it then.

"If there is a body, burn it," Allen decided at last. "We all know what happened last time around."

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Allen. That had been his name for a long time now; not as long as he could remember, but certainly long enough. People called him Neah too on occasion. Truth to be told though, he found that he honestly didn't mind; they were ultimately one and the same nowadays, whatever remained of them.

Red was gone now, though Allen often thought about him when he looked at his own reflection in the mirror. There was little red that remained of him though, barring the self-inflicted scar. Still, though it had been intended as some type of anchor for him, each time he looked at it and found himself tracing it with his fingertips, he thought about Red.

Drained of colour as he was, he had been stained in another of a far darker variety.

His eyes were still a stormy grey with a hint of silver in them, although more often than not, they were the amber colour common to the members of the Noah family. They still calmly observed the world, but they were wearier now, because the world was full of reminders of days and people and opportunities long lost.

Now he only had one more thing to do before the circle was complete.

"Is he dead?"

The boy turned around, eyes widening then narrowing at the sight of him. Allen stared right back at him, more curious than anything. He did take some degree of pleasure however in the way that the boy then abruptly averted his gaze. "Obviously. Are you blind?"

There was definite irony in the situation, that along with an eerie sense of déjà vu. Allen found that he hardly minded it though, because this was definitely an interesting turn of events. "Your friend?"

"My only friend," the boy muttered under his breath, but Allen heard him even so. "And that bastard killed him."

"Aren't you going to avenge him?"

The boy huffed at him. "If I do that, I'll get thrown out. It's not like I've got anywhere else to go."

"I see." Allen once again pondered the irony of it all, crouching down next to the shallow pit. "Were you together for long, you and your friend?"

"Why the Hell do you care?" the boy snorted. "Who are you anyway?"

To be or not to be, such was the question. The answer though, what was that again? "I'm Allen."

The boy's eyes widened slightly and he looked from Allen to the dog and to Allen again, temporarily stunned into silence. "Allen?"

Oh, this beautiful, beautiful irony. "I was named after a dog that was named after a man."

The boy just looked at him, perplexed. Then, as the seconds went on, he found himself and resumed his glaring. "That doesn't explain what you're doing here."

"It doesn't," Allen readily admitted, remaining in his crouched position. "But you never asked that, did you? You asked who I am and I told you. As for why I care… why not?"

"Don't you have places to be, people to bother?" the boy asked, evidently frustrated.

"My friends all seem to have gone off without me," Allen noted, remaining crouched even though his legs felt like they were about to start cramping. "I've got some family left, but it's a love-hate relationship."

"Love?" the boy repeated with obvious disdain.

Allen made no further comment of it, straightening at last.

For a while, they just stood there in silence, each to their own thoughts.

"What happened to your arm?" the boy eventually asked, nodding in direction of the empty left sleeve.

"Oh this? I lost it, along with my Innocence."

The boy frowned mildly, as if reminded of something but not quite being able to grasp what it was. "Do you miss it?"

"Occasionally," Allen readily admitted, shrugging mildly. "I can't cheat as easily in poker anymore."

The boy stared at him then, clearly assessing him. Then he took his shovel and continued his work. "I'm Adam," he said at last once the hole had been filled, leaning heavily against the shovel as he wiped his face on his sleeve.

"Say, Adam…" Allen crouched back down so that they were once again on the same eye level. "Do you believe in magic?"

"Magic?" The boy eyed him sceptically. "There's no such thing as magic."

"And miracles?"

"There's no such thing as miracles."

Closing his eyes, Allen took a deep breath and then exhaled.

There was a surprised gasp and then hands on his face, so he opened his eyes and found Adam holding it, wide-eyed but far more intrigued than scared. "You just changed colour."

"It's a genetic quirk," Allen offered up in response, letting the boy keep hold of his face and continue staring as the other was obviously trying to make sense of the situation. "It runs in the family."

"Could I do it?"

Allen met the brown-eyed gaze and was eerily reminded of another. He quickly dismissed the thought though, as well as the ghost that went along with it, dismissing Timothy Hearst in favour of seeing Adam looking right back, hands still holding his face. "Could I?" the boy once again repeated, sounding a bit uncertain now as he withdrew, putting some distance between them. "Could I also‒?"

"In time, I'm sure," Allen offered up with little to no hesitation. He could very well see it after all; the stirring darkness that had drawn him to the boy's location in the first place. "Now do you believe in magic?"

The boy didn't hesitate, not much at any rate.

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"This is Adam. Consider him my successor."

The members of the family present at the scene looked perplexedly from one to the other. Allen was perfectly content with ignoring them though, greeting Timcanpy who settled in his hair and shortly thereafter he himself settled in his armchair over by the hearth.

"Adam?" Tyki mouthed to him in obvious disbelief. "You just said you were going out for a walk; you said nothing about going out to find the Earl."

"That's because I didn't," Allen quietly offered up in response, gladly accepting the steaming cup of tea that was offered him. "His grief called out to me, and when I saw him, I just knew."

"His grief?" Tyki repeated, glancing at the boy who looked immensely confused in the tight embrace of Lulubell.

"His dog died," Allen responded, blowing at the tea.

"His dog?" Tyki shot the boy another look and then looked to Allen, kicking up an eyebrow. "Was it‒?"

"Allen," Allen filled in, holding back a grimace. "The universe is laughing at me."

"The roles have been reversed," Road noted, taking a seat on one of his armrests. "Who would've thought?"

The Earl's madness hadn't begun with the Fourteenth.

The Fourteenth's madness hadn't ended with the Earl.

Allen couldn't help the feeling that his own madness would only continue to escalate with time.

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