Chapter Text
“Please... forgive me.”
The voice doesn't just echo—it breaks.
It trembles—ragged, fracturing—as though something already broken is desperately trying to hold itself together. Each word drags against your ears, soaked in grief so heavy it presses against your chest, makes it hard to breathe.
There's a hitch between syllables—small, uneven gasps that give him away.
He's crying.
“Please... just—”
His voice cracks completely this time, dissolving into a choked sob. You try to focus, to see him, but the world around you feels warped, like a memory that refuses to settle. His face is nothing but a blur—distorted, unreachable—but the details that matter carve themselves into you.
Blood.
It stains his skin in jagged streaks, dark and drying, tracing the curve of his cheek, dripping from his chin.
And his eyes—
Amber.
They burn through the haze, wide and trembling, locked onto you with something desperate. Something guilty.
Something that begs.
The weight of his gaze pins you in place, even as everything else begins to unravel.
Then—
Darkness swallows him whole.
“I'm sorry...”
Your eyes snap open.
The ceiling looms above you—familiar, unmoving, lined with faint cracks that spider across the surface like veins.
“Haah... haaah...”
Your breath comes out uneven, your chest rising and falling in shallow bursts.
Amber eyes—too bright, too unnatural to belong to anything human—stare blankly upward.
Concentric black rings ripple within your irises, shifting, tightening, expanding as if alive. You blink once.
Twice.
Slowly, deliberately, your eyes slide shut again—forcing the image away, burying it where it belongs.
When you open them, the distortion is gone.
Just your eyes. Normal.
A shaky breath leaves you. You push yourself upright, the sheets rustling beneath you. Your room is as it always is—bare, orderly, the stone walls of the Black Order swallowing warmth whole.
Your hands drag down your face, pressing hard against your skin.
But your body betrays you.
A chill crawls along the back of your neck. Sweat gathers, cold and clammy, clinging to your skin. Your fingers tremble—subtle at first, then worse, until you can't ignore it.
That feeling again.
It coils deep inside your chest, writhing, clawing its way up your throat.
The urge to kill.
To tear.
To destroy everything until nothing remains.
Unknown memories resurface—never whole, never kind. They come to you in fragments, like shattered glass drifting through a dream.
A corridor bathed in red.
Hands—your hands—slick and stained, gripping something that moves, that struggles—before going still.
A cheerful voice calls out your name. You don't recognize it, yet it wrenches at your chest like you should.
There's laughter too—low, warped, wrong—echoing from somewhere that feels far too close.
Then heat.
Blinding. Devouring.
It lashes around your body like a living thing, sinking into your bones, filling the hollow spaces inside you until there's nothing left but that urge—
Your breath hitches. Your teeth sink into your lower lip, hard enough to sting, to distract—anything to silence the screaming inside your head. Your eyes squeeze shut.
You hate it.
No—hate isn't enough.
“I despise it...” you whisper hoarsely, the words barely audible.
Your voice sounds foreign to your own ears.
This has been happening for a year now—since the moment you joined the Black Order. Since the moment Innocence chose you as its host.
Each night, the dreams return—nostalgic in the cruelest way, as if they belong to you, as if they are pieces of something you've lost... or something you've done. And with every passing day, the feeling to destroy, to kill, tightens its grip around your mind, consuming you little by little.
Your hands curl into fists on your lap, trembling uncontrollably as you stare down at them. They look the same. They are the same.
And yet—
“Innocence...”
The word drips with bitter irony.
A power meant to purify, to save.
So why does it feel like this?
Why does it feel like something inside you is laughing—mocking you, twisting that purity into something ugly?
Your fingers twitch.
You clench them tighter.
Kill—
A knock cuts through the silence.
“[Name]?”
It's Lenalee Lee's voice. Gentle, but laced with worry.
You don't answer.
For a moment, there's only the quiet hum of the corridor beyond your door.
“It's been two days since you left your room,” she continues, softer this time. “Are you... okay?”
You exhale slowly, dragging your hands down your face once more before forcing yourself to stand. Your legs feel heavier than they should, but you move anyway, crossing the room in steady steps.
The door creaks as you pull it open.
Lenalee stands there, just as you remember—long black hair tied into high pigtails, framing her face. Her eyes widen slightly when she sees you, relief flickering through them... quickly overshadowed by worry.
You offer her a smile.
“I'm fine, Lenalee.” you say lightly, as if the past two days never happened.
She studies you.
Not just looking—but searching.
Her brows knit together, lips pressing into a thin line. “You don't look fine to me, [Name].”
A small chuckle escapes you, easy, dismissive. “That's a bit harsh, don't you think?”
“I'm serious. You disappeared without saying anything! We were worried...”
You shrug, stepping past her into the hallway. “Just needed rest. That's all.”
It's a lie. A weak one.
But you don't give her time to question it.
Lenalee hesitates, then falls into step beside you—her presence warm, grounding.
“Kanda just got back from his mission,” she says after a moment, her tone shifting, lighter now. “You should've seen his face. He looked like he wanted to kill someone.”
You huff. “So... the usual?”
She laughs—bright, genuine.
“Exactly.”
The halls of the Black Order stretch endlessly ahead—lined with uniformed exorcists, murmuring staff, the distant clatter of equipment and paperwork bleeding into the air. Somewhere far off, an experiment detonates with a dull thud, followed by a familiar, panicked shout.
“Lenalee!”
A voice calls out from down the corridor. A support personnel rushes over, slightly out of breath. “Chief Komui's been looking for you.”
Lenalee groans, rubbing the back of her neck. “Of course he has...”
She turns to you, offering an apologetic smile. “I'll catch up with you later, okay?”
You nod. “Go.”
She lingers for half a second—just enough to look like she wants to say something more—before turning and hurrying off.
And just like that, the warmth disappears.
You're alone again.
The silence creeps back in, settling heavy on your shoulders as you continue down the hall.
Step.
Step.
Step.
Your footsteps echo faintly against the stone floors.
By the time you reach the cafeteria, the noise hits you all at once—voices, dishes, laughter—but it feels muted, muffled, like it’s being filtered through water.
You take a seat at an empty table, the chair scraping softly against the floor.
A sigh escapes you, heavier than you intended.
Your hands rest on the table.
Still trembling.
You stare at them.
And for a brief, fleeting moment—
You swear you can still see blood.