5Disclaimer: I do not own D. Grey Man, nor to I get any money from writing this. Do not copy this story to another site. The only places that I am going to post this are Fanfiction and MAYBE Archive of Our Own, but that second one is still up in the air, since a lot of Fics are being stolen from there.
If you are a Fanfiction author, you should be aware that there are sites that are taking free content from both Fanfiction, Ao3, and other sites like it and selling it. Even though we authors do not approve of this, nor give permission, we are still the ones that get in trouble if it is found on sites like that. I have not found my stories on any of those sites (thankfully), but it is still a problem that is persistent.
Once again, do not repost this to any other site. Do not copy and post this anywhere else. The only places that you should find it are and maybe Archive of Our Own.
Okay, now that is over with, I hope that you enjoy the story! I have been wanting to do a D. Grey Man fanfiction for a while. There are a lot of fics there, but I have a hard time finding any that are really long with high quality, so I decided to take a shot at my own. I hope that you like it! Let me know what you think in the comments!
Chapter 1
The Shadow of Death
Sometimes, in the dead of night, a spector will come a tempting . . .
"Call your friends name, child. And he shall return to you!"
A familiar scene. A small figure hunched in front of a grave, sobbing their heart out for the one that they had lost. It was the taste of such pure sorrow that had drawn the Earl here tonight, a sweet, taunting texture mixing in his palate.
Yes, this boy would do nicely as one of his soldiers.
The boy, no older than nine at most, startled slightly as he noticed the oddly dressed man perching on an umbrella, standing over him on the gravestone. Tears pooled at the edges of his eyes.
"W-what did you say?" The boy's voice was raspy, unused, but the hope shimmering through his eyes couldn't be concealed, even if doubt also lingered.
The Earl smiled, "You wish to see him again, yes? Well, I have come to grant your wish."
The boy's eyes narrowed, and he dashed his hand across his face to pull the tears away so that he could see the figure hovering in front of him clearer. He scowled, a pained, haunted grimace, and the wet mud squelched beneath the trembling fingers of his other hand.
"How? What is the price?" The boy was sceptical, but that's alright. They always were.
The Earl's smile lengthened.
"The only price I ask, is that you call his name. Only those close to their loved ones can reach beyond the grave and call back their friends and family."
The boy shuddered. "All . . . all I have to do is call? But . . . why has that never worked before?"
A simple wave of his hand caused the earth in front of the grave to shift, shudder, split, as a skeletal structure lifted from the ground.
"That's because you needed a body to contain the soul, of course. Now, call your friend!"
The boy was staring at the structure in surprise, but he wasn't seeing the gleaming metal and sharp, barbed fingers. No, it was the form of his loved one, eyes closed as if sleeping, as if they could wake up at any moment. An illusion over an illusion.
"M-mana . . ." the boy whispered, tears combining with the rain as he forced himself to his feet and stumbled forward, "Mana!"
He fell against the figure as the metal bones gave a sudden shudder. At the top of the hill, lightning flashed.
"Allen?" the voice had an odd echoing quality, "Allen, what . . . ?"
The boy sobbed, his head thunking heavily against the metal rib cage and hands fisting on illusionary clothing. "It worked. I . . . I called you back. You're back, Mana," the boy turned his face upward, and gave a shaky, watery smile. His red hair swayed, brushing against his face and obscuring his vision for a moment, but it didn't disguise the look of absolute horror that spread across his mentor's face.
"Allen, how - how could you do this to me?!"
With a sharp shove the boy went stumbling back and tripped over a root. Dark mud splattered on his cheek as he turned back in surprise. "M-Mana?"
Mana was staring down at his own hands, his very sharp hands. Right before Allen's eyes his friend's form flickered once, twice, three times before the illusion faded away to reveal the horrible truth underneath.
Rain dripped from empty sockets like tears as what passed as a head tilted up, looking back at the boy hollowly.
A second flash of light disguised the mechanical skeletons steps as it stumbled forward, raising one hand. A low, furious hiss echoed around the graveyard.
"I hate you, Allen! I curse you! How could you?!"
Allen screamed as the claw came down and the Earl laughed as his new Akuma displayed its fury.
"That's right, my Akuma," the Earl's laugh echoed around the graveyard as he leaped from the gravestone and opened his umbrella, "Kill the boy and wear his skin as your own. And when you become powerful enough," his glasses glinted, "you may come join my army."
The boy held one hand against his eye as he scrambled backward, but failed to move fast enough as a second swipe scored across his back, ripping through cloth, skin, bone, stopped . . .
Allen flew through the air and hit the ground several feet away. His body skipped over the ground until it had rolled to a stop. He shuddered once, and then fell still, escaping into unconsciousness. The Earl nodded and turned to leave. The Akuma could do the rest.
If he had stayed for a moment longer, he would have seen the soft glow that shimmered through the rips in the boys back. He would have seen how, as the tear stained Akuma loomed over the boy and lightning flashed, an eruption of brilliant white ripped through clothing, metal, and earth in a brilliant show of defiance.
The Akuma was ripped into shreds, but the Earl didn't notice, didn't look back.
Maybe things would have been different if he had. Maybe they wouldn't.
As the light faded, white feathers stained with red drifted around the limp figure on the ground. Where the Akuma had once stood, an older man looked on sadly.
"I am sorry Allen," he whispered as he began to fade, but his words went unheard in that empty graveyard.
0~o~0
"A-a-achooo!" Pastor Eric sneezed and scowled, pulling the hood of his traveling cloak further over his head. It was late, it was cold, and he really didn't want to be out here, but work never waits for the weary.
Their small community didn't have much, which made this recent winter so devastating. They had already lost several people to the cold and lack of food, which brought its own problem . . .
Some in their profession liked to call it The Shadow of Death.
Like any good priest, he'd done his research into the monsters that infested this world, but this specific monster was an elusive and deadly opponent. Sometimes, a family would lose a member to death. Sometimes it was an accident, sometimes it wasn't, but the pastors had all been instructed to keep a careful watch on the families like that because sometimes . . . sometimes their members came out of the ordeal different.
The Shadow of Death. In essence, when one member of a household went to the otherside, the others would usually follow. And it was never peaceful. It wasn't just family members, either. It was friends, acquaintances, relatives . . . sometimes, the whole town fell under its shadow. He'd seen some of those towns. They creeped him out. Like an empty ghost town filled with the spirits of the forgone.
It started with one death, and then expanded. Like a curse. People died, disappeared, turned to dust . . . That's why he was out here tonight. The Hansons had lost little Timmy just a week ago, and the Bishop was making sure that they were visiting the family to check for some of the early warning signs.
No one was really sure why, but they knew that they had to make sure that each member of the family wasn't acting out of character. It was tedious, but important. He was also tasked with comforting the small family, and helping them overcome the loss. Sometimes it helped, sometimes it didn't. Facts were, they were the first line of defence if the Shadow made an appearance.
And if they fell . . . then the exorcists would be called.
Eric shuddered again and pulled his cloak tighter. Right. The exorcists.
There was just something about them that rubbed Eric the wrong way. Maybe it was the way that they looked at people, like they could cut you down at any moment without remorse. Maybe it was the way that after they were done there were always more casualties than they started with.
Or maybe it was that dead look that so many of them had, as if they could care less what happened to everyone else.
Eric had only seen a few exorcists in his life, but he'd made an effort to stay as far away from them as possible. So far, that policy had kept him alive, where so many of his companions weren't.
Lightning flashed up on the hill and Eric flinched, holding an arm up to block the sudden flash. Through the wind and rain, a distant scream echoed.
Pastor Eric froze, eyes wide. A scream could mean anything. It might not have even been a scream. Maybe it was the wind? He glanced up and felt dread pool in his stomach.
The Cemetery.
Eric battled with himself for a moment. On one hand, if this was what he thought it was, then this could be very bad for the town. If they had someone who had Turned . . .
Even as his brain told him he was being stupid, Eric broke into a run. Rain pelted his face as he took off for the gate. The scream had been distant, probably from the other side of the cemetery. It was too dark to see anything clearly, but he had to make sure. He had to know.
Thunder rumbled, rain lashed his face, and in the distance, a towering figure of creaking metal loomed.
Like the nightmares in my dreams.
Eric skidded to a stop and crouched behind a gravestone. Gripping his chest. What in the world was that thing?
He'd been expecting something vaguely humanoid, but not that. It looked like some monstrosity had risen from the grave and taken life, in some twisted way. But if that thing was there . . . then where did the scream come from?
Shuddering, Eric buried his head in his arms. The monster didn't seem to have seen him, thankfully, but he couldn't be sure how long that would last, if it would last.
Something hit the ground next to him and skidded until it was stopped by a gravestone. Eric glanced up with blurry eyes, and was just barely able to make out the small form of a child just a few feet away from him. He stared as the child coughed violently and struggled to sit up, only to give up and slump back down, unconscious.
He didn't recognize the child. Long red hair was streaked with white sections, and the clothing was ripped, but he was sure he would have recognized any of the children from their town. For a second he could only stare, and then he saw it.
With a second lightning flash, the shadow of the creature splashed over both of them, one clawed arm raising for the finishing blow -
Eric shut his eyes and hunkered down. He couldn't do anything. He couldn't. Not his his legs frozen stiff and his heart racing as fast as it was. Even if he wanted to move, he couldn't.
And then we'd both be dead.
Thunder crashed, and Eric flinched as he was suddenly blinded even with his eyes closed. An explosion of light all around them rushed past him, though him. Warmth brushed against him, like soft feathery down, and then past, farther and farther, seeking out that which had awoken it. For a moment, Eric wondered if he was dead. He couldn't feel the rain, or the wind, and he couldn't open his eyes because of the brightness. But the warmth encircled him, welcoming, protective, safe, like a mother's hug.
That moment passed, the light retreated, the rain returned. Eric blinked away the spots in his eyes, vision still blurry from the flash. He rubbed his eyes for a moment to focus them and then gasped, scrambling back.
The monster was gone, eliminated. All that remained were slowly disintegrating fragments of dark metal scattered all around. But that wasn't what caught his attention.
Directly in front of him, where the boy had once been -
"It's an Angel."
0~o~0
Sometimes, in the dead of night, a spector will come a tempting . . .
He doesn't whisper, doesn't wail, just comes with a haunting tale,
"You've lost your loved one, I feel your sorrow, so let me grant you a blessing."
"On this night of nights, I have come to you with a deal!"
"Call for your friend, only you can do so, and I will bring them back to you."
But if this spector comes to a tempting, just remember,
no blessing from a demon ever comes free,
Oh spector, spector of the night, will you come to me tonight?
0~o~0
Let me know what you think! This was written on a whim, and while I have a general plan, I don't really know where this is going or how far it will get. I have a really hard time ending stories that I start. Also, updates will be sporadic and inconsistent because I have several other stories that I am also trying to keep up with.
Let me know if you want me to continue this story!
(Posted: 2/7/2020)
