Chrono Crusade Fan Fiction ❯ Pandemonium Moment ❯ Sepia ( Chapter 6 )

The Pandemonium Moment

By Prinder

 

Rated: R for violence, Religious warping, and questionable topics.

Summary: Yashua's powers increase by leaps and bounds. What is the significance of Azmaria's treasured picture to the young devil? As the lights dim and the curtain rises, can Yashua cope with the “noise” from the orchestra?

Disclaimer: Chrono Crusade does not belong to me.

Legend: “talking”

`thinking'

reading

written

“Talk Electronically sent somehow”

 

 

 

Chapter Six: Sepia

 

 

“Yashua! Yashua, We're home!” Anna called, peeking into the Elder's workshop. They had been away at Seventh Bell Orphanage for four weeks and, in that time, Anna had decided to redouble her efforts to get to know the little devil more, if only so that Azmaria would stop worrying that she would be afraid of Yashua if she wasn't there. “Azmaria's getting something from her room to show—“ she stopped and growled, pulling her head back out of the door and looking over her shoulder, and then looking down at the old man admiring her white panties.

 

“Oh, it's good to see you again, Anna. You're all fresh from your vacation!” Edward Hamilton cackled, enjoying the view.

 

“YOU UNHOLY LETCHER!” came Anna's war-cry as she throttled him within an inch of his life; something he seemed to get sick and twisted pleasure out of, `Hell, if he didn't why in God's good name, would he KEEP DOING THIS?!'

 

Yashua, who was in the upstairs portion of the shop (which they had turned into a bedroom for him when he had first arrived at the Magdalene Order's New York branch), pulled the window open and leaned his head out to look down at them. “Ah ha—Hi, Sister Anna,” He said, his eyes wide and innocent, though he was used to the Elder being beaten up by the many of the nuns here. `I would be more worried if they didn't.' he thought with a small smile.

 

“HUMPH! That'll teach you…” Anna announced to the old man. Looking up, she gave her best smile as she greeted Yashua in return, “Didn't you hear me calling for you?”

 

“I was trying to retract my horns.” He said, his tone disappointed; he felt that he was very close to getting it right, but he still had not made any progress. Cheering himself up slightly, remembering Anna's announcement, he added, “Sister Azmaria has something to show me?”

 

Anna put her hands on her hips, laughing, she exclaimed, “You aren't going to make me shout it up to you, are you? Get down here! And hurry up, she'll be here any minute!”

 

Yashua seemed to pause, thinking before glancing around to see if anyone besides Edward and Anna were watching. Looking down at her again, he asked, “A hurry?” Seeing her nod briskly, he swallowed and looked around again. “Step away from the door a little bit!”

 

Edward, who had long since hauled himself back up from the puddle of mush that Anna had left him as, did as Yashua asked, cackling with amusement, grabbing Anna's forearm and pulling her with him. “Any time, my boy!” He called.

 

Anna leaned over and whispered to the old pervert, trying to understand the need for them to move away, “What's he—“

 

Yashua grunted as he climbed through the small porthole that was the window and jumped out, falling quickly to the ground below.

 

Anna leaned backwards, her eyes wide with shock, anticipating a harsh end for the devil child. Instantly, she tried to rush forward, hoping to catch him in time, but the Elder's grip held firm, stopping her in her tracks. “He's gonna—“

 

“No, dear girl, WATCH HIM!” Edward interjected, pointing up with his free hand as Yashua's wings flickered, their shapes unfolding from his back though they had not been there a moment before, seeming transparent for a moment before solidifying and flapping down, catching the air under them to slow his decent. Anna was silent, she reckoned that her eyes must have been the size of dinner plates, as he landed in front of them, his wings evaporating away, as though they had only been a mirage, a trick played on their eyes by a sweltering heat that was not there.

 

Yashua paused in a kneeling crouch before lifting his head and standing up, his face shining with a thin layer of sweat. Anna could not tell if he was pleased because he had flown down to them, because he had been able to make his wings appear and disappear at will, or because he had managed to stun her so completely that her mouth was stuck open. She did not close it until the Elder had let go of her arm and walked over to the small devil boy to pat his back and tell him, “Well done! Well done! Don't you agree, Sister? He's slowly been mastering his powers day by day. Sister Kate as even offered to `kill two birds with one stone' and let him train his powers in the exorcist training room, as well as train the other exorcists.”

 

“She said WHAT?!” Anna gasped, putting a hand to the side of her head. `She's going to try to kill him! They use live rounds in training for level two exorcists! And level ones have the crucifixion and principality barriers, not to mention the holy water!'

 

“Just as soon as I finish developing a stunning shot that will still be powerful enough for him to not want to be hit, but not strong enough to cause lasting damage.” Edward finished with a cheeky grin; he had been waiting for that kind of reaction.

 

“Elder! You better not be testing the prototypes on him!” Azmaria scolded warningly, a framed picture in her arms, as she walked across the field to his workshop, having overheard him.

 

“Well why not? It's a good chance to see what the resistance of a devil's body is without going overkill; it's for a worthy cause!” He snapped, thinking, `Kids these days, no respect!'

 

“Because, you perverted old man, sometimes your lulu inventions don't always work the way you want them! Or do I have to remind you, again, about the Spirit?!” Anna challenged, eyeing him with deadly intent; a lingering threat that she would carry out with her warning.

 

Yashua, meanwhile, was looking between all three of them and the picture in Azmaria's hand. Realizing that he would not get to see it until the dispute was settled, he raised his voice slightly to be heard over the bickering adults, “Hey, hey! It's Jake!” he said, grabbing Anna by the arm and pulling her back a bit from the Elder, “It's Jake! I want to help! It's good for me to learn how to fight too! If I don't, I'll be even more dangerous!”

 

“You don't understand, Yashua; if you're used for training other exorcists, they could kill you by accident. They are not supposed to show mercy to devils, part of the reason why Sister Kate keeps you isolated here is so that the others won't grow a soft spot for devils; weakness on the field means death to us, Yashua, but mercilessness means death to you in THERE.” Anna explained, punctuating her words with a penetrating stare from her Mediterranean blue eyes.

 

“I don't care. I have to help somehow. I want to help somehow, to repay for the kindness everyone has given me. I have to do SOMETHING.” Yashua replied softly, though his eyes wavered, sensing the immense feelings of regret and sadness from the redhead.

 

Azmaria smiled, `I remember being like that when Rosette and Chrono helped me.' she thought, walking over to where he and her partner stood, kneeling down and turning the picture frame around, so that he could see what it held behind it's glass. “I think I understand how you feel, Yashua. You see, I was a lot like you, when I was little; everyone was always helping me, but I only seemed to cause pain everywhere I went.” She paused, hearing a soft gasp escape his lips, “Then I met them, and I felt, for the first time in my life, I could do something more than just be protected.”

 

“I want to fight, too!”

 

Azmaria's smile was tired and worn; seeming to show how much time had actually passed since those lonely days of her youth. “I could fight, and I could protect, I could be just like them, and never give up another day of my life…”

 

Yashua felt an unnatural wind blow up behind him, fanning his hair around his face as his red eyes stared back at the brown, sepia, colored picture in Azmaria's hands. He inhaled sharply, blinking and reeling back from her, a pulsing sensation surging through his body. `That… but he—but, that guy is… he looks—I look…' his mind fumbled, unable to connect his strings of thought together as he focused on the short boy with spiky hair in the photograph; it was as though he were looking at his own reflection, frozen in time. Calming himself down again, he looked at the others in the picture.

 

A small girl with long, light colored hair with a dress that matched that stopped at her knees. Glancing up at the woman who held the still-frame, though she was dressed in her habit, he could still tell that was Azmaria, surrounded by her friends.

 

Looking back down, he saw an older woman, her hair was dark, but it's true color was lost on the image left behind, her hair was long as well; it seemed to go on forever behind her, or as far as the picture would show. She was also tall; taller than the other three in the photograph, she had hunched herself over for the photo to be taken, and still she towered over them. Her dress was form fitting, leaving little to imagination, though his innocent mind only wondered how she could breathe or move in something like that; he also noticed an odd, finger less, glove on one of her hands with an empty socket on the top of it. `Was there something that was supposed to go there?' he thought curiously.

 

Brushing the question aside, he looked at the last figure. She stood in the back, barely a head taller than Azmaria and the boy next to her, who looked so much like himself it was uncanny. Her hair was light, but still darker than Azmaira's, yet lighter than the taller woman who had bent herself over to fit into the picture. She was dressed in the female militia habit; a high white collar with a thin chain around her neck, attached to a large object with a circular window front on it. `A bottle for holy water? Or a kind of cross?' he thought, blinking again, feeling another pulse.

 

“Now if you could leave that pocket watch…”

 

“Yashua?” Anna's voice called him back from the place in his mind, her hand gripping his shoulder tightly as she shook him. He turned his head and looked at her.

 

“You scared us for a minute, my boy.” The Elder said, his expression easing away from it's worried frown to one of relief.

 

“I—Huh?” Yashua blinked again, focusing on the old man's face this time.

 

“You just sort of dazed out of it for a minute, Yashua. Are you alright?” Anna asked, shaking her head, trying to brush away her feelings of unrest. She was trying not to be a mother-hen, but she couldn't help but be at least a little concerned for the boy devil, especially when he seemed so disturbed. `A face like that doesn't belong on a little kid, devil or not; no child should look like they've gotten lost… not like that, and not from just a picture.' She thought, her hand relaxing on his upper arm slightly as Azmaria spoke up.

 

“Are you Jake, Yashua? I knew that it would be surprising, after all,” Azmaria smiled and laugh lightly, her voice tinkling like a small bell, “You did the same to me, when I first saw you.” She said, before adding, with a strange sense of urgently, “But if I knew you would have reacted like that, I would never have! I'm so sorry, Yashu—“

 

“Sister Azmaria, who are the ones in the photograph?” Yashua asked, silencing her, continuing to look at the small figures inside their frame.

 

Smiling with genuine relief, Azmaria pointed to each one in turn as she replied, “Well this one, the shortest, was me, and the one holding my shoulders, was Satella Harvenheit, the Hexen Der Juwel—Jewel Witch—and the one in the back was Rosette Christopher, and the last one was Chrono, a very good friend and devil, just like you…”

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

Mrs. Gene sat down in her brown wicker rocking chair on the front porch of Seventh Bell, glass of lemonade balanced in her hand as she made herself comfortable, her eyes drifting to the sullen expression on 14 year old Lucia, who sat on the steps, seeming to be retreating from the noon-time sun.

 

Inspecting the child, she smiled almost pityingly; Lucia wore a headband over her forehead, long sleeves with long cuffs, and knee socks to hide the scars that her mother had left her. Though Lucia's hair fell over her like a black shroud, obscuring her face, Mrs. Gene still knew that her green eyes were crying silently as the other children defiantly challenged the heat. Lucia, feeling eyes on her, turned to look at Mrs. Gene.

 

“Why are you crying, Lucia?” Mrs. Gene asked, offering her a drink from her lemonade. Moving from the steps, Lucia shifted over to her, accepting the glass, taking two swallows before passing it back, wiping her eyes and cheeks with the back of her sleeve.

 

“I'm scared, Mrs. Gene. What happens when I turn fifteen, and I have to leave?”

 

Mrs. Gene shook her head slowly, it was something she heard all too often from her charges, and time did little to help her in giving them solutions. Slowly, she recalled the people who always helped them in the past as she gave her answer, “I'm sure many people in town would love to have you come work for them, your demeanor has always been so respectful and courteous, you might do well helping other people. I could always use more help with raising the others, but I can tell that isn't what you want from life. The Sisters from the Madgalene Order always need people who are willing to fight, but I wonder if that would be too traumatic with your past… Lucia, you're still young, the thing you must keep in mind is that the whole world is open to you, you just have to be willing to go out there and face it.”

 

Nodding her head once, she turned to look back at the other children. Each one was different, in their own way, but they were still very much the same to Lucia.

 

Peter, 6 years old, was a bit of a busybody, always telling the others what his opinion was, whether they wanted it or not. Despite this, he was the undisputed leader in most of the group games. His Sunday best always dirty from never bothering to change into play clothes, though that never seemed to match the rest of him, because he always kept his dark brown hair well combed and his hands and face washed and clean.

 

Andrew, also 6, was somewhat shy. He loved to run and play with the others, but he usually had a hard time speaking up when he wanted to do something else (especially when it contradicted Peter, who was his best friend). Somehow, instead of wearing holes in the knees of his pants, which would have been more typical of kids his age, his trademark seemed to be finding new ways to rip holes in the back, next to the pockets; which meant that he made it possible for Lucia to become creative in her patching skills, not that she minded, and, if she did, she always forgot to be angry with him when he smiled his gapped smile (he was losing his baby teeth constantly) and looked at her with his large chocolate brown eyes, making it next to impossible for her to stay mad at him.

 

James and John Bishop, 8 and 5 years old (respectively), were both troublemakers and liked to play pranks on the others. It was hard to tell which one thought of the tricks first, because they both seemed to have an equal hand in everything they did. John stuck with his older brother like glue, and James didn't seem to have a problem with exercising his authority as the big brother; John was completely awestruck by him. They didn't actually look that much alike, which was fortunate for Lucia and the others, because it made it easier to spot when they were fleeing the scene. James, with blonde hair and one blue eye and one green, and John, who was a brunette with laughing blue eyes.

 

Philip, who turned 9 on April 9th, was dark skinned, had a blob of curly black hair on top of his head and dark brown eyes with a shockingly bright-white smile that seemed to lift everyone's spirits when he shared it. Mostly, he tended to tramp about in overalls and white shirt with the cuffs rolled up, a tan bowler hat placed lopsidedly on his mop of hair, and spoke with a lisp.

 

Luke, who was also black, was 7 years old and liked to keep his hair shaved off completely. Being a bit of a scrapper, especially to those who were bigger or older than him, he was actually a rather nice kid, and always stood up for himself and others, and said he wanted to be a Librarian when he grew up. He always kept a handkerchief in his back pocket and always seemed to have a runny nose. Lucia considered him to be an interesting piece of work, because of his talent for contradicting himself with actions and words.

 

Thomas, the youngest, being only 2, always seemed to be fussing and sitting in the middle of everything, crying because he couldn't join in on the fun or work. He was still not quite skilled in running yet, and always seemed to be tripping over his shoelaces, which needed to be retied constantly. His hair was sandy brown, and was as fine as goose down, and his eyes were hazel.

 

Matthew was second oldest, next to Lucia, at 11 years old and liked to be a peacemaker between the younger children. His hair was red and kept short, but he rarely brushed it, so it was spiked in every which direction with no sense of order. Though he was skinny now, Lucia was pretty sure that, with his dark blue eyes, when he got older, he would break a lot of girl's hearts; not because he was fickle, but because he wasn't very perceptive of people around him. In short, Matthew could be called somewhat dense.

 

James Young, usually called by his last name to avoid confusion, was 4 years old and had very pale white skin that was highly sensitive. Thankfully, Mrs. Gene usually had him cover up when he went outside, or made him wear zinc-cream to keep him from getting a sunburn. His hair was, in contrast, pitch, pitch, black, and seemed to absorb any and all light that came in contact with it; in short, it was dark and dull, with little life of it's own. His eyes, much like Thomas', were hazel as well. Lucia, who read horror books, if asked to describe a vampire, would always have his face in her mind when she read about them.

 

Judas, was very aloof, which was odd for someone his age (he was 10) and, instead of playing with the others, was sitting under the shade of a tree, paging through a comic book to pass the time. During the day, he was usually like that, but, after everyone else was to bed, he would sneak outside and just stand out in the yard and look up at the stars. Lucia, who rarely slept anyway, would see him climb out his window at night to do that, but she never told the others, feeling that it was all right if he came back in before she turned in for the night; which he usually did. He was a bit rounder than the other boys, not because he ate more than his share, but because he was never as active as the others were. That did not mean that he wasn't physically fit, if pushed, he could keep up with the Bishop boys; which was usually what happened, because it seemed like he was the only one who could catch them and keep them down long enough for the others to catch up. Lucia assumed that it had more to do with having “big bones” than it did with fat.

 

Simon, despite everyone else's attempts, no one could out-match him with being messy. He loved to help in the small vegetable garden, and he liked it even better when he could make the other boys eat their vegetables, because he helped grow them. He was 8 years old, but he was tall for his age, so many mistook him for being much older than that. He wore his blonde hair longer than he should, his bangs hanging down to his chin, and he usually held it pulled back with a rubber band, still, even with this effort, many of the strands found their way in front of his face, obscuring his icy blue eyes from view at times.

 

There were times when Lucia felt very out numbered by all of the boys, but thankfully, there were at least two girls who considered her their friend; Tabitha Dorcas and Pheobe Diakonos. Both had brown hair and eyes, though Tabitha's hair was significantly more curly than Pheobe's, were 9 and 10 years old (Pheobe being the older of the two) and liked Lucia to come and watch them put on plays between two oak trees, next to the old wooden fence. They also liked to listen to her tell them her own made-up stories, and it was because of them that she secretly wanted to be a writer when she left the orphanage.

 

“I just don't know where to start…” Lucia murmured, getting Mrs. Gene's attention.

 

“Hum?”

 

Lucia shook her head slowly, continuing to watch the other children. “Nothing, Mrs. Gene.”

 

These were just the children she knew and grew up with, however. Frowning, she turned her attention to the other ones who lived at the orphanage, who were sitting in a circle, playing Duck, Duck, Goose. `They aren't natural…' she thought; of course, she did not mean that they did not act like normal children their ages, or that they did not look like normal children, rather, she felt uneasy when she was around them. It wasn't that they did anything bad, they never seemed to misbehave; which might have been what struck her as something strange in and of itself, instead, things just seemed to happen around them.

 

Brothers Jacob and Hank Richardson, Lincoln Leader, twins Trisha and Tristen Bates, Sally Schneider, sisters Sandra and Blossom Schotts, Bianca Heipel, Calvin Andronicus, David O'Brian, Rebecca Rule, Mark Hunts, Isaac Malcom, Sapphire Watts, another set of twins Benjamin and Bethany Nordstrom, Adam Ananics, Victor Tate, and Gregory Graham.

 

`Who can you trust these days, anyway?'

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

“Don't throw your life away so easily…”

 

The night after seeing the picture of Sister Azmaria and her friends, Yashua rolled in his bed, unable to quiet his mind of words that seemed to drift out of space to him as he tried to sleep.

 

“Oh wow! Can I shake your hand?!”

 

“I've learned to never trust devils.”

 

“Don't make these four years a waste!”

 

Pulling his pillow over his head to try to muffle the rambling in his skull that made his horns vibrate, adding a slow buzz to the background. Growling with frustration, having already spun himself from the head of his bed to the foot of it, and wadded his sheets up onto his stomach from thrashing his limbs, Yashua resolutely, and with some satisfaction, hurled his pillow at the wall, it hitting with a dull thud before flopping to the floor, tossing his sheets aside and getting out of bed.

 

“It's just no use!” He said, climbing up onto his step stool to reach the wash basin, holding his hands onto the sides of his head as he looked at his reflection.

 

“Freedom. Its name is Sin.”

 

Around him, the air crackled and pulsed with energy, resonating from his horns and covering him completely. Slowly, sinking to his knees on the floor, he wondered, `Is this what it feels like to go insane?' He tried to hide it when he was with the others, but something about that picture acted as a trigger to him; ever since the first wave, he had been hearing things without his ears, things that were never said to him, by voices he never heard. The eyes of the devil in the picture still haunted him; they were the only things that set them apart, even without color, he could tell that Chrono's eyes were darker than his own.

 

“Only for ten minutes.”

 

“Stop it. Please, I don't know who you are… stop it.” was Yashua's whispered plea as he was continuously assaulted by things that were not there.

 

“I like to look at the city when the sun is setting…”

 

Closing his eyes tightly, he tried to concentrate; if he could reign in his power again, he was almost sure that he could stop it. The furniture and windows began to rattle he fought to pull the energy back into himself.

 

“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?! YOUR DARE STRIKE MY IMPORTANT CONTRACTOR?!”

 

Letting out a yelp, Yashua curled up on himself, the power slipping out of his grasp again, hitting him full force. From the stairs, he could barely hear the noise of Edward Hamilton climbing the steps, calling, “Yashua! What's going on up there?”

 

“No. No, please… stop it…” He whimpered, “don't make me hurt him. No Please!”

 

“You want this, don't you? Follow me!”

 

“You've forgotten about me, haven't you?”

 

Suddenly, the energy died down and Yashua opened his eyes in wonder, looking down at his hands as he slowly sat up again, he was shocked to see that, somewhere, in the course of trying to control the power, his body had fluctuated in shape and size, shredding his shirt and nearly destroying his pants.

 

“My boy?” Edward asked, knocking on the door at the top of the steps.

 

“I'm—I'm Jake, Elder, now. But I need to—“

 

“I'm Okay! I'm Okay! Change back!”

 

Yashua shook his head again to clear it; the voice was more distant, tolerable, but it still left him confused.

 

“Yashua?” the Elder asked, opening the door slowly and leaning in to check on his charge.

 

Looking back at him, Yashua remembered was he saying, and paused to form his question carefully. Wetting his lips he asked, “How did Chrono control his powers?” In truth, he had several questions about the other devil who lived in this place before him. `Why did he help the people who were trying to kill his own kind? I know why I do; these are the people who have shown me kindness, and I have-- want to thank them for that somehow. How old was he? What exactly did he do to help? I know we look similar, but was he really that different from other devils? How, and why?'

 

Edward walked into the room slowly, striding over to the small cot to sit down; the springs squeaked in complaint as he lowered himself onto them. Sighing, he looked down at his night shirt and slippers and thought, `It looks like I won't be turning in early like I hoped.' Reaching up to stroke his bearded chin with his hand, the Elder recalled the history of Yashua's predecessor.

 

“I'm an old man, Yashua. To answer your question, you will have to accept that I'm a lot older than most,” He paused to chuckle, “Many can credit that life to my inventions and own gall to not kick the bucket! It's hard to believe, I know, but I'm 84 this year.” He reported.

 

Yashua attempted to keep his face neutral, despite his traitorous thoughts, `Yah.. it's super hard to believe, I figured that he was older than that.' knowing, inside himself, that if he was going to have the old man's help, he would need to be respectful and listen to what he had to say.

 

“Once upon a time, there was a Holy Woman, and her name was Magdalene. I was only 18 when I met her, and as Reverend, I was asked to accompany her to every place she traveled within the Order. Had I known what I know now, I would have done many things differently, but, then again… knowing what I know now, I may not have, because Chrono's story actually starts with Magdalene and me in a carriage, moving across country… Ah, now those were the days…”

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

I guess I was the worst kind of man to ever become a minister, a reverend, or a father to the church (you see, my boy, there are many ways to say that a man is a steward to God); but I believed in his cause, enough that, yes, I have lived in complete - albeit, not without trying to avoid it—chastity from the day that I first put on my black robes to the day that I stepped down from my title… I gave it to Sister Kate—And did you know that she is actually a cousin to Anna? Her biological brother was Anna's father anyway--, who holds the position now.

 

When I first started, I was a shrewd man, who could easily calm others, but was not moved by their feelings or thoughts. In short, I was 18 and thought I knew everything—I had always acted much older than I was, back then, but I doubt that you could have guessed that now!

 

Back to the carriage ride. On the day that we left for… well it was this same convent, actually… our destination, Magdalene, who I thought of as a daughter asked me if she would see Chrono. I, not knowing who he was, asked her about him.

 

“He's very dark and scary, but he's always crying. Father, if I go do New York, will I see him and be able to ask him why he's so sad?”

 

I was always charmed by her innocent way of speaking; you could say that, because of that, I did not stop and think hard enough when I answered her, saying, “If you see it, Magdalene, then it surly will come true.” I never gave it another thought, and it didn't seem to be anything to worry about at the time. My boy, they say that hind-sight is 20/20, living as long as I have now, I know how right they were.

 

Not long after leaving her in the care of the other ministers—one of them was actually an Angel, Ewen Remington, but that isn't important right now—and I thought that everything would be fine.

 

Then Chrono, one of the highest level devils there ever was in Pandemonium, came and kidnapped her right out from underneath our noses. It was a gutsy move, even for a devil of his power, to break into the place where the ones who hunted his kind lived; When Remington gave me his recount of the situation on that night in Magdalene's room, I was surprised.

 

“She didn't even try to fight him. She even moved into the way of our guns when we came to rescue her. She didn't struggle when he took off with her; she didn't even call out for help, Father Hamilton.”

 

It was perfectly clear; she left of her own volition. Even today, I do not know if it was because she was curious about the devil or because she had grown tired of her sheltered existence with us and would have left with anyone, even into danger, to be free.

 

That was the first time I had had my brushed encounter with Chrono, in his full demonic form—or so I was informed by Remington. The next time would be when he returned with her dead body in his arms.

 

He had come to my office, Sister Kate's office now, his form changed to one that looked more human. He came alone with her, I had forgotten my own gun in my other set of robes that night—otherwise, it would have been tragic, because I would have killed him then, if I had the chance—he placed her on the floor in front of my desk.

 

“Just what do you—“ I attempted to question his actions.

 

“Just… just give her a proper grave… I never meant for this to happen!” He said as he fled, changing forms, which is when I realized something vitally important:

 

His horns were missing from their place on top of his head. All devil's have horns, my boy, they need them to retain astral, energy that keeps them alive. Without his horns, he would die, essentially, he would starve to death. I thought that was what had happened to him, because we never heard anything more from or about him. Of course, I did arrange for Magdalene's tomb to be made out in the New York countryside—Yes, there is a, or there was back in the day, countryside of New York.

 

Fifty years came and went; there were always the usual disturbances, but life was relatively easy to handle. I stepped down from my position when I turned 50 and Sister Kate Valentine took my place, while I stayed with the convent as a voice of experience, plus I wanted to realize new tools to help future exorcists—a dream I could know focus on, now that I had the time and resources at my disposal. Remington never aged, because of his angel wings, he was exempt from time; to hide this from others, I arranged for him to leave every five years and come back and serve five more, in short, he always seemed to be experienced, but still young enough to do field work, and no one wondered if he was the same person who was there before.

 

It was on one of his trips away that he found the Apostle boy, Joshua Christopher and his older sister, Rosette, at Seventh Bell Orphanage, located in New York's countryside—Now listen, my boy, because this part is vital.

 

It was built not far from where we had made Magdalene's grave. It was sealed with holy writing, a strong barrier that could not just be opened by normal humans—made by Remington himself. If I had only known that this could have happened, I might have had her buried here instead of letting her rest outside of the walls; the thought at the time had been that she should have freedom in death, instead of suffering as she had in life…

 

What I had not realized is that the devil Chono, overcome with grief and guilt for her death, had allowed himself to be imprisoned inside the tomb with her.

 

Devils, in Pandemonium, receive training to control their power, and with that training, the stronger the devil, the easier it is for them to suppress their Astral usage; Chrono was the only case I had seen who could suppress it to the extent that he would be no bigger or stronger physically than a human child.

 

To make this story short, Rosette and her brother opened the tomb. What caused him to not reject them, to become their friend, I do not know, that was never explained to me, though I suspect that Remington knew. Another devil, one who Chrono had sided with when he kidnapped Magdalene, found them and, because he wanted the Apostle Joshua, he had given the boy Chrono's horns. With those horns, Joshua lost his mind and was unable to control their power, Chrono's power, and the result was exactly what happened when you froze the holy water in mid air, only on a scale much grater.

 

Rosette made a contract with Chrono who, because he had no horns to gain Astral, needed a new source to draw his power to help her get her brother back. That new source was her soul.

 

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“So you see, my boy, they came with Remington to the Order to train Rosette and the photograph was taken of them four years after they came to us.”

 

“So he didn't hide his horns after all…” Yashua mumbled, curious about if, in the end, did they succeed in their life's mission, but too concerned about what this information would relate to him. `Will I never be able to hide my horns?'

 

“Is that what you wanted to know? Many devils, ones much weaker than Chrono was, could hide their horns and many who were stronger could as well. I suspect that, when he had them, he could hide them just as well. It would be your ears I would be worried about. With how large they are, people would stare at them more than your horns.” Edward commented with a chuckle.

 

Yashua touched his ears with his hands. They were rather large, and had tufts of tan colored hair on their tips. They also stuck out of his head at a strange angle, compared to the ears of most humans; whose ears were close to their heads and rounded at the top and dramatically smaller than his own. “I guess so.” He said, lowering his hands again he looked at his clothes and winced; there was no fixing them after this, “Elder, do you have any other extra clothes I could wear?”

 

Edward chuckled and pat the devil boy on the back. “I wondered when you would be asking. You've been growing much faster than I expected. Sister Azmaria had been trying to keep things in your dresser that you would be able to fit, but you usually grow out of an outfit every three days or so.” He commented, groaning in time with the springs on the bed as he stood up and walked slowly over to the dresser.

 

Yashua smiled lightly; he hadn't realized that he wasn't growing at a normal rate. Thinking about it, he could see how odd it must have been to have a two year old who could walk around and talk as well as he could, let alone be able to reach up onto the counter in the workshop, though he still needed a step stool to do so. Azmaria, when she was there, would have him stand with his back against the door jam and she would mark his height with a piece of chalk. Looking at those markings now, he realized that he had grown at least a foot since he first came to New York.

 

“Here,” Edward said, placing a red coat with matching shorts into Yashua's lap, a white shirt with a black string-tie, suspenders, black sash with matching leggings paired with white knee-high socks completed the ensemble. “They might be a touch big still, but you'll grow into them… Hum… That gives me an idea…” And with that, Edward, in a contemplative daze, wandered back down the stairs, closing the door behind him.

 

Yashua looked back down at the outfit, noting that the coat had only one large button on the top, near the neck, the rest was supposed to lay open; it also had split tails, two in the back and one on each side, which brushed the floor when he put it on. He already had a fair idea who it belonged to before be looked at his reflection in the mirror, but his figure staring back at him only confirmed it. Wrinkling his nose, unsure if he should be flattered or annoyed that everyone continued to treat him like they were one and the same, he sighed. `Chrono's clothes.' Looking back at his reflection he nodded his head once, firmly, coming to a steadfast conclusion.

 

“We're never going to be friends, are we, Chrono?”

 

Downstairs, in the workshop, Edward was making a phone call. “Do devil's sleep? Maybe I should have waited until—“ he stopped, hearing a click on the other end of the line.

 

“This is Duffau.” A voice on the other end stated. Edward smirked.

 

`Bingo.' He thought before speaking into the mouthpiece, “Duke Duffau, this is the Magdalene Order. I know it's late, but I needed your expertise involving another devil.”

 

“What sort of expertise?”

 

“It seems that we have attained a child devil and he seems to be having problems with mastering his powers. Would it be possible for you to come and help him?”

 

For a moment, Edward wondered if they had become disconnected and was about to check when Duffau's reply came through, spoken slowly, as though it's speaker was tense or deep in contemplation.

 

“Give me a place for us to meet with you.”

 

 

Chapter Six End

 

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I'm sorry, so sorry, I know it's mostly dribble; but it needed to be done, and it's not quite finished yet. Yes, Duffau does play a role in this; I thought it would be good to give him a part, since he is so understated in the series.

 

Until next time!

 

~Prinder