[ Except that there's no answer to be found in the landscape. No hint of a castle to storm, no villain to vanquish. Allen's battles are never like that, after all. Never black and white or even that obvious, or of overcoming something with might. It'd be easy, otherwise. It'd be the tale of the knight and the dragon, some storybook tale of good overcoming evil that's pleasing to the soul but woefully out of touch with reality.
Not a tale of corruption and salvation, the tale he always told and wanted it to be, but the search for and the acceptance of identity. The good and the bad of it. The truth within.
So there's no moon in the sky. But, as if waiting on them, there is the tall figure of the priest. Floating on the air like one who can walk without consequence of gravity, he adjusts his glasses as they ascend and spreads his arms wide. As if welcoming them, and from his back spread brilliant glowing white wings. Like those of an archangel, utterly beautiful and terrible, and spanning more than twenty feet—and the same as the ones Allen's Innocence shifted into when he took his violent last stand against Dabi's beast form. He hangs in the air like the moon itself and welcomes them up, pleased.
"Good."
The living Innocence smiles, and it isn't a reassuring sight. His face is half burnt off by Shouto's flame from earlier, but the flesh is charred and peeling back like it's trying to reveal a second, true skin beneath that glows with the same light as its wings. The same light as Allen's Crown Clown.
no subject
Not a tale of corruption and salvation, the tale he always told and wanted it to be, but the search for and the acceptance of identity. The good and the bad of it. The truth within.
So there's no moon in the sky. But, as if waiting on them, there is the tall figure of the priest. Floating on the air like one who can walk without consequence of gravity, he adjusts his glasses as they ascend and spreads his arms wide. As if welcoming them, and from his back spread brilliant glowing white wings. Like those of an archangel, utterly beautiful and terrible, and spanning more than twenty feet—and the same as the ones Allen's Innocence shifted into when he took his violent last stand against Dabi's beast form. He hangs in the air like the moon itself and welcomes them up, pleased.
"Good."
The living Innocence smiles, and it isn't a reassuring sight. His face is half burnt off by Shouto's flame from earlier, but the flesh is charred and peeling back like it's trying to reveal a second, true skin beneath that glows with the same light as its wings. The same light as Allen's Crown Clown.
"Come to me." ]