In the Name of Sin (APH France x Joan d'Arc)

Extra: Phantom Mirage

Year 1648...

The clash of swords dissipated from the battlefield. The sound of guns and canons raging here and on forth came to a halt as cries of victory reached his ears. He himself was proud as well and joined his men, dropping his weaponry and took off his feathered tricorn.

However, just as he was to reach his comrades, France felt a pang of pain on his head. His eyes darting around, he noticed the meadow of blood, whether enemies or allies, expand it's area ominously. Just then, a series of memories came to his mind.

   Memories he never knew he had.

Grabbing and clenching his blonde locks with his own bloodied hand, he gasped. His eyes were wide open as he felt tears- or what he felt as tears- drop onto the scorched and bloodied earth. Falling into his knees, he writhed in pain.

'Liar...you promised...' a woman's voice cried.

His jaws clenching harder, he pondered on how his men didn't see his suffering disposition currently. Falling onto his knees, he felt another unbearable pain on his hands.

'Liar!…why…why?!'

The pain reached on his eyes as another memory of him carrying a woman onto a bedded coffin came into his view. When he was about to cover his face with both of his hands, a presence appeared from his back and covered his eyes with a gloved hand. The intruder's face touching his shoulder, he roughly whispered, "Disparaître!"

The stranger's actions ended the anomaly that haunted him. Feeling his strength going back to his knees, he stood and turned around to see who, or what, had saved him.

   He almost looked like him.

"Who are you?" France spat cautiously. He can't help but feel wary for it was still the time of war.

The intruder's cryptic wine-colored eyes switched to him from looking at their surroundings. The depths of emptiness it held didn't startle him for he, himself, had it.

Lighting a cigarette he took from the pockets of his trousers, he deadpanned, "I would like it if you would stop staring at me like that, Monsieur France."

The last words that came out of his mouth was more of a mockery than anything. As wary as he was, he felt too open for any attack the man before him could do despite not holding any weaponry. Picking up the tricorn from the ground and placing it on his head, he crossed his arms- his emotions unreadable from his expression.

"Since a man as great as yourself saved me, what kind of honor do you want me to do as a payment for such deed?" He sarcastically sang as he imitated the servants and soldiers giving respect to him.

Laughing enigmatically, he scoffed, "Don't make me laugh. I'll just have to tell you that I came here to merely stop such disgraceful memory from coming to the mind of an embodiment. With my precedent statement, you should understand that a mistake such as that cannot tarnish the bodice of a nation like yourself."

"Mistake?" He repeated. Then a jolt of pain materialized again, a fragment of a memory reappearing again.

"Don't," the man before him poked his forehead to stop the series of memories unfolding before him. Eyes wide, France remained relentless.

"Just who are you?" He agigatedly implied.

"You seem to have forgotten our meeting centuries ago but I'll have to introduce myself again- call me Francois. If ever, I'm more of a grim reaper, but for personifications who have committed such debauchery, I am the one who erases their memories for if that action continues, it would affect the people of that nation as well," he sighed uninterestedly.

"Why are you-"

"No, don't finish that question. Tch, I'll have to say this again- damn you and your memory," he cursed at him enragingly.

"We aren't the same person, if ever I'm your reflection. We share one soul, but we're still different people. Hold your questions because I will not entertain your inquiries anymore," he shutted him off before abruptly disappearing.

"Monsieur France!" His comrades called.

Fixing his appearance, he ran off to where his comrades are. Meetings like those ensued over and over till one fateful day, the voice that haunted him, had ended.

   Likewise the guilt from the forsaken memories never left him, despite not knowing what had occurred.