AN: First of all, I must apologize for taking such a long time. It's being almost a year since I uploaded the first chapter. I edited the story again and totally rewrote everything. Secondly, my update schedule will still be sporadic at best. But I will try to write long chapters to make up for it. Anyways, this story is AU (no mechas) and Lelouch is female. Not that I don't like slash but figured . . . well you will see why. Enough with my rant, onwards to the story.
Title: Requiem of Gods
Author: Forsaken Moon
Chapters: 1 of ?
Rating: M
Pairings: Suzaku/FemLelouch, and others
Warnings: AU, violence, and the rest...
Summary: Death was for the old not the young, but sometimes age did not matter. Those children, who held the hand of the Death, were blessed, were damned. Nevertheless, they would walk their paths of blood.
Disclaimer: Don't own anything...if only I did.
Prologue
Life, the creator of man, the destroyer of man, was an abstract yet magnificent concept. Defined by the state of existing, thinking, and moving, life was the prize given to everyone at birth. Like a never-ending spiral, men lived, loved, and died—gone in a blink of an eye. A dull, repetitive sequence that existed since the dawn of time. Yet mortals gladly threw themselves into the endless cycle, always greedy for more. Life had given them a taste of feelings, of passion, and they would crave it like a drug. It bound men to its unpredictability, granting gifts and taking them away just as quickly. It could be compared to a butterfly, whimsical and flittering in its erratic flight.
Many lived as if life was something tangible, something that could be conquered and enslaved. They filled their lives with pointless pursuits and called it living. They talk of life as if they could put a value to it, could buy and sell it as they pleased. Perhaps it was due to the brief mortality of man that they sought to capture it. An instinctual need for time to slow in order to savor what life had to offer.
Life was beyond innocence—it gradually stripped men of purity and left them open to its horrifying truths. Behind its facade of tranquility, life hid a brutality beyond men's wildest imagination. It was full of injustice and broken dreams—a harsh mistress that brought even the greatest mortals to their knees. Life might have being the creator but it was certainly not the nurturer. Power was milk on which mortals thrived. Life was not for the weak, it was a privilege for those who had the bravery to enter this gamble of existence.
Every mortal must rely on their own merits to survive in this game of living. If life gave one the gift of existence, then one must grab onto it with all one had. The strength of will, the capacity for power, and the inane potential were what every man had to rise above others. No one had ever conquered life, but each sought to leave his or her mark in the world. If one was forgotten, then one's existence was reduced to nothing. Such was the rule of life.
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Grief.
The tears would not stop flowing. For what seemed like ages, she cried—for her dead mother, for her comatose brother, and for herself. The young girl cried until her tears turned red, weeping for all the things she had lost.
Her mother seemed so peaceful in her casket, belying the violent manner in which she died. She looked as if she was just sleeping—a slumber she would never awake from. Lilith thought of her brother, lying in a forced sleep as he slowly recovered from his wounds. It broke her heart to see Rolo's frail body covered with bandages, his life dependent on a string of magical healers. She longed for yet feared the moment he would wake. She dreaded that reality would take his smile, or memories would bring tears to his eyes. Silently, she promised Rolo that she would always protect him, shield him from the harshness of the world.
It was raining on the day of her mother's funeral. The sky was grey and rain poured without relenting. In the distance, lighting laced the dark clouds and thunder roared with fury. As the men came to take her mother to her final resting place, Lilith bent down and kissed her mother goodnight for the last time. She followed the men as they hoisted the coffin towards the open grave. There were no tears as she listened to the vicar reading the rites. No one else came to pay their respects. No one else cared. She was alone—just her and the never-ending rain.
Fury.
She could feel it now, as the raindrops stripped down her face. A cold, deceptive rage burned inside her, waiting to be unleashed upon her foes. She was furious—angry at herself, her family, and him. He was the cause of everything—all her grief, pain, and anguish. Sitting on that throne of his, he had watched her with a smirk. His words were like swords, cutting away all her illusions. Her world was a lie, her existence a mirage. She stood trembling as her world fall apart around her, shattering into a million pieces.
In that moment, she learned that she was alone in the world. She couldn't rely on anyone, not even blood. To her relatives, she was nothing, useless in their bid for power. They were like hyenas, waiting for the chance to tear each other apart. Lilith despised them—their manipulations and honeyed lies. They were poisonous not only to others but also to themselves. Even with the same blood in their veins, they fought viciously—even more so because of it. They were nothing but parasites in the guise of men—always hungry, always chasing after the promise of power.
Her helplessness angered her—the fact that she could do nothing as he condemned her brother and her mother to death. Their lives meant nothing to him. He used them until their usefulness ran out and threw them away without a second thought. She was powerless to do anything for anyone, including herself. In the end, she could do nothing but bow down to the unforgiving world. She might have lost the battle, but she hadn't lost the war. If they thought she was finished, then they were dead wrong. Now standing underneath the rain, she stared ahead with fury swirling in her veins, venomous thoughts spiraling in her mind.
Hate.
The anger eventually turned into something darker. What danced inside her heart were flames of hatred. It devoured her, searing through her being. It became her fuel, her motivation. She would exist solely for Rolo but she would forget nor forgive. Not her mother's murder, not her brother's pain, not her own anguish. She would not rest until she delivered justice to every dictated crime.
She watched the workers as they lowered her mother into the ground. She stood unmoving as each shovel of dirt slowly filled up the grave. Unblinking, she stared at the newly erected tombstone. Her eyes stung from the rain and phantom tears. It was done. The grave closed with a sense of finality. She would never see her mother's smile again, nor feel her warm embrace. She was truly alone in the world. With her mother, the young girl buried her childhood.
She laid a single white lily on the grave, silently sending a prayer for her mother's soul. The rain soaked through her clothing, chilling her. She barely noticed, for she had other things on her mind. Standing before her mother's grave, she pledged a vow of vengeance. She would destroy those who murdered her mother, who hurt her brother, who tore apart her world. It might take a lifetime, but one day she would return their gift of pestilence.
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Like all invaders, the conqueror was hated and feared. No nation would bow down without a word of protest when it was stripped of its freedom, rights, and even its name. No, a proud country like Japan would fight its oppressor with all its might. The Japanese population was not going to forgive and forget a war that ravaged their land and nation, leaving them scarred and broken. Indeed, the Holy Empire of Britannia was immensely hated by the Japanese people.
Despite the passing of years, the flames of rebellion did not weaken. If anything, the flames only grew stronger. Yet the Britannia hold on the nation remained as strong as ever. While the people harbored the shame and hate, they had not forgotten the devastating defeat or the foe that brought it about.
CRIMSON.
A name that still installed fear in the hearts of Japaneses. The mere memory of that nightmare was able to keep the rebel factions passive. No one wanted a repeat of shear destruction unleashed by the Project CRIMSON.
In the deciding battle for the mainland, Britannian forces introduced a newly formed regiment they named CRIMSON. It was an experimental regiment composed solely of Casters—a group of humans who could manipulate nature to their will. Few humans had the power and fewer lived long enough to master it. As was with human nature, Casters were often prosecuted if not killed on sight. With promises of protection and equality, Britannia coaxed its Casters out of hiding, turning the war for a nation to a war of survival.
Their abilities exceeded expectations, the Japanese force fell one after another before the might of the Project CRIMSON. In less than a month, Japan became a territory of the Empire. Area Eleven—the designation given to the defeated Japan, the once proud nation was reduced to a mere number. The Japanese people, renamed as 'Elevens', were forced to subjugate to Britannian rule.
Japan was not the first nation Britannia subjugated to its will or the last to be sacrificed on the altar of Britannian greed. For the last decades, Britannia had being fighting and pushing its border for as far as it could go. Like an insatiable gluttony, the self declared Holy Empire aimed to swallow every inch of land it came across. Only interested in preserving their own interests, the nations of the world were hesitant to help each other. By the time they did, the Holy Empire of Britannia had already established itself as the world's dominant military superpower. No country in existence could match the monstrous empire. Only the alliance between the two other empire giants, China and European Universe, stopped the rapid expansion of Britannia.
A saying that the Britannians failed to take to heart was 'nothing lasts forever'. Even as the Empire prospered, there were shadows waiting and biting their time. Emperors and empresses came and gone, unaware of the threat that was growing in their very core. They would never have thought that they gave birth to their own destruction.