"What is going on?" Gwen was the first to break the silence. Her voice trembled slightly, though she tried to cover it with her usual sharp tone.
Horace said nothing, his lips pressed into a thin line. His silence wasn't because he didn't care it was because he had no words. No explanation. No thought that could fit what he had just seen, nor explanation.
Elaine, however, was silent for a different reason. Her whole body seemed locked in place, frozen by shock and fear. Her eyes refused to move away from Allan. More specifically, from Allan's hand. That inhuman hand skeletal, darkened, its nails stretched into something unearthly still buried in Kyle's chest.
"I'm taking out trash," Allan finally responded, his tone casual, almost mocking, as if this was nothing more than a chore. Yet even as he spoke, his eyes were locked on Elaine, watching her every breath, every flicker of her expression. What would she do? Would she scream? Would she run? Would she look at him with disgust?
Kyle, beneath him, took advantage of the momentary distraction. He thought of shoving Allan off, of breaking free, but the sharp pressure in his chest warned him what would happen if Allan's hand sank any deeper. So he endured, teeth clenched against the pain, his eyes burning with rage.
"Allan! Are you crazy? Let him go first!" Gwen's voice was harsh, commanding, but Allan didn't even flinch. He didn't spare her a glance. His attention was still fixed entirely on Elaine.
He noticed her blink. Once. Twice. Then a third time, as if trying to wake herself up from this nightmare. Slowly, her eyes traveled upward until they met his.
"W-what… happened?" Elaine's voice cracked, soft and shaky, barely more than a whisper. But it was enough for him to hear.
The moment she spoke, Allan slowly pulled his hand free from Kyle's chest. Blood coated his wrist, dripping down to his fingertips. Elaine's eyes caught every detail, the trail of blood on his unnatural hand, the way his wrist flexed as if it wasn't fully human. She couldn't look away.
Kyle gave a low grunt of pain, clutching at the wound as he forced himself into a sitting position.
"Allan," Gwen called again, her eyes narrowing, demanding an explanation.
Allan finally gave one, though his tone was irritatingly casual, almost careless. "He knows I'm the Phantom Lord."
"So you wanted to kill him?" Horace cut in sharply, unable to keep his mouth shut any longer.
"I wasn't," Allan said calmly, pointing at Kyle. "He attacked me first."
Kyle's wound was closing slower than it should have a detail Gwen didn't miss but Allan's own head was still bleeding profusely, the skin torn and ugly, messed and disfigured, his face painted with blood. The sight was grotesque, unsettling.
"Why would he do that?" Gwen asked.
"Ask him, not me," Allan retorted, his voice sharp. "Why are you blaming me? Can't you see the state of my head? Do you think I tore it open myself?" His voice rose, frustration lacing every word. Then his gaze shifted sharply, pinning Elaine in place. "Elaine, won't you say something? He's your friend, isn't he?"
The way he dragged her into the conversation felt almost cruel. Elaine's lips trembled, but no words came out. She was too overwhelmed, too horrified to process any tangible words.
"I… I have to go," she stammered finally. Then, without waiting for anyone to stop her, she turned and sprinted away from there.
Her footsteps echoed down the hall, frantic and uneven, until she burst into the girls' bathroom. Her heart pounded against her ribs, wild and uncontrollable, and the images refused to leave her mind Allan's inhuman hand, Kyle's chest torn open, the cracked skull, the blood. So much blood.
She leaned over the sink and began throwing up violently, the sound harsh in the empty tiled room. Her throat burned, her stomach twisted, but even after nothing came out, she kept gagging, her body trembling violently. She splashed cold water on her face over and over, hoping to wash away the memories, but it didn't work.
When her breathing finally calmed, she gripped the sink tightly, her knuckles white. She hadn't meant to run away, but what else could she do? She was confused, afraid and displaced. The last thing she'd expected when she offered to help look for Allan was to see that.
Her mind spun, Kyle's wound. The way it had closed slowly before her eyes. That wasn't human. Which meant Kyle wasn't human. She recalled when Allan said he could literally finger count all the humans in this school and if that was true, the chances of everyone she knew, or came across being non human was high.
Her knees wobbled, threatening to give way beneath her.
Minutes slipped by before she finally stepped out of the bathroom, her face pale and her thoughts tangled. She hadn't even noticed someone leaning casually against the wall outside until a voice spoke.
"You're finally out," a male voice said smoothly.
Elaine gasped loudly, her heart leaping into her throat. She turned, to see it was the same moment her already pale face became paler.
"Allan."
He straightened from the wall, his grey eyes glinting under the hallway light.
"W-what are you doing here?" Elaine's voice was thin, breaking apart as her breaths came shallow and uneven.
"Came to speak with you." His voice was calm, soothing, almost too calm for the situation. "You left abruptly. I wanted to know what you thought about what happened there."
Her gaze darted to his hand first. The one that had been drenched in blood moments ago. He followed her gaze, then flexed his fingers with a faint smile. "It's back to normal now."
That smile sent shivers down her spine.
"I… I…" Elaine stuttered, her eyes caught on his face. His freckles, his lips, those sharp grey eyes that seemed to pin her in place. She also noticed that his disfigured forehead was now back to normal, though he was still wearig the same shirt. He was so striking, so human-looking, that her mind rebelled against the memory of what she'd seen him do. How could someone who looked like that be filled with so much gore?
"Allan…" her voice was barely audible, "you did that because… because he knew what you were?" she said it almost as a statement, but it could also pass as a question as doubt was evident in her tone.
"That's not why." His answer came calmly, almost too calmly, as he slipped his hands into his trouser pockets.
"Then why?" she pressed, her voice trembling again.
"He hit me first," Allan repeated. His tone was blunt, matter-of-fact, but Elaine bit her lip. She knew Kyle, or she thought she did. He wasn't violent, not like that.
"Why would he hit you? Kyle isn't like that," she whispered, defending.
"And neither am I," Allan shot back, his voice still calm. Then, after a beat, he smirked faintly. "He just got too curious about why my mark is on you."
Elaine's eyes flicked instantly to her wrist. The mark. She remembered Kyle questioning her about it at the dining hall.
"So, what happened, was your fault " he said.
"So… this is my fault?" she asked in disbelief.
"Yes." His tone was almost playful, teasing even. "If you'd hidden it, Kyle wouldn't have found out."
"You didn't tell me to hide it!" she snapped, her voice rising for the first time as she subconsciously calmed down.
"And that's your fault for not asking."
She gaped at him, but deep down, doubt crept in. Was it really her fault? Had she caused this?
"Is it… is it bad that Kyle knows what you are?" she asked hesitantly, her voice softening again.
Allan didn't answer immediately. He turned his back to her, his shoulders broad and stiff. For a moment, she thought he would walk away like he always did. But instead, he spoke.
"Let's go. You wouldn't want someone getting the wrong idea, would you?"
Elaine blinked, startled. Heat crept up her neck as his words sank in. The implication made her cheeks flush faintly, and before she could stop herself, she found her legs moving, trailing beside him.