Code Geass: Enduring Retribution

Key:

"_" - Regular Speech

'_' - Unheard Thoughts

"_" - Radio Communication

"_" - Amplified Speech / External Speakers / Public Address System (PA System)

Chapter I: Birth of a Demon

Death. It is the universal truth of life, that which is feared by all men. Men have always feared the unknown, and no question has plagued generations of philosophers and theists more so than what lies beyond life's end. Are there such places such as heaven and hell, or is death followed by nothing more than a murky blackness, a realm where the soul is doomed to reside for the remainder of eternity, driven mad by an endless extent of isolation, with the mind acting as its sole company? Better yet, could it be that, on the contrary, there is but void following one's demise, and that the notions on what lies beyond being all but ideas concocted by the human psyche as it attempts to find comfort in what can never truly be known? Whatever the reality may be, it remains an undeniable certainty that some measure of fear, no matter how minute, makes itself be known to those standing upon the verge of death. Lelouch was human. He was no different.

Lelouch knew what followed death. He had seen with his own eyes, etched with the sigils of Geass they were, the World of C, the Collective Unconscious. He knew that, once his time within realm of mortals had come to an end, he would become, not in body but in spirit, part of said greater collective, reduce to not but another voice, an accumulation of memories, within the vast and immense array of past men and women, persons whom had once played a role upon the Earth alongside the living. And yet, despite such knowledge, his fear would not, could not be dissuaded. He did not wish to die, it had never been part of his original plan. He knew sacrifices would have to be made, the creation of a new world being unachievable without the destruction of the old. He had expected to lose things he held dear along the way, his own humanity sacrificed at various key points of his journey, with some made by necessity and others by circumstance. In had been, in any case, a harsh and, overall, unforgiving road. To bear the sins of the world was no easy task, no matter the strength or determination of the individual. Even Atlas had struggled, a God he may have been, when he held the Earth within the sky, his back bent under the strain.

But despite the pains, despite the suffering, he knew it was worth it. A world, where peace reigned over war, where the strong aided the weak, not subjugate them, a place where Nunnally, one where Euphie, could, or could have been, happy. He had regrets, as every condemned man would, but he could not deny his own creation. Too many lives had been lost, too much blood had been spilt. There was no turning back.

As 'Zero' plunged his sword through his abdomen, Lelouch vi Britania, 99th Emperor of the Holy Britannian Empire, felt nothing but a brief moment of pain. Yet despite lasting not but a few precious seconds, the pain was excruciating. His body felt aflame as the blade cut its way through skin, flesh and bone, severing his innards and fracturing his spinal column, at which point the pain subsided into nothing more but dull ache. As blood began to poor from his body and pool at its feet, Lelouch began to feel a chill. He grew increasingly cold, as if the air around him had suddenly fallen to temperatures below freezing, his eyesight beginning to lose focus, a haze growing around the peripherals of his vision.

As his body feel and slid down along his float, what little strength he had left his weakened body, his heart slowing its rhythmic beating, his lungs faltering as he gasped for air. In but a few moments, he had gone from being a healthy individual to one moments away from certain death.

He didn't hear his sisters cries, the wailing emerging from Nunnally's throat as she pleaded him to remain, his hearing had already faded. His eyesight had left him, his mind registering nothing but darkness. His body was limp, with no energy left to even twitch. His life flashed before him, a film, one filed with tragedy, comedy, danger and loss, short yet grand. His mind lingered, who knows how long, on visions of Nunnally and C.C., the former his motivation, the latter his witch. A brief smile made itself appear upon his blue tinted lips. He would cry if he could, but his time had come. After all, eternity is a long time to review his actions, not to mention the input of countless billions of individuals' opinions on his actions.

As death came ever closer, a measly few words made themselves known from his mouth, "I destroy…the world…and create it…anew."

And so, Lelouch vi Britania, CEO of the Order of the Black Knights, Emperor of the Holy Britannian Empire and Ruler of Earth, the Demon Emperor, died.

Light. It was the first thing he saw once the darkness had enveloped him. It was not blinding, however it was far from pleasant. To put things simply, it was bright.

"Where am I?" Lelouch thought.

He felt light, as if his body weighed nothing. As he tried to move, he realized he was unable too, his arms and legs enveloped in an apparently white cloth, one that wrapped itself around his body, keeping him warm and in place. And then, as if woken from a drunken stupor, he heard, "It's a boy!"

And his mind went reeling.

Marianne was ecstatic. Nine months of torturous patience, nine months of anticipation, had finally come to an end. In her arms, the young woman held a small, pale figure, her son. His eyes were colored a deep violet, originating from his father, while his hair was a raven black, one identical to her own.

Her infant son, newly born, rested in her arms. He was rather thin, even for a newborn, and seemed fragile in comparison in comparison to the other imperial children who'd been born recently.

'I'll have to get some meet on those bones.' She thought to herself, smiling contently as she cradled the child, basking in the warm sunlight which shone into her second floor bedroom within the Aires Villa.

To her right stood a both an urge and doctor, both requested specifically from the imperial hospital at her request, essentially an order considering her status as empress, whom she had trusted with her monthly, and more recently weekly, checkups since the beginnings of her pregnancy.

To her left stood a man, tall and brooding, large in stature and indifferent in appearance, the 98th Emperor of the Holy Britannian Empire, Charles zi Britania. His eyes were cold, displaying no emotion but a faint glint of hope, a he stared at yet another child of his.

His presence diffused an aura of impatience an uncaring, his hoping that the visit would end soon. Most of his ministers and children were rather incompetent, so it was necessary that he get back to his work before long, lest said aforementioned persons bring the empire to ruin through who knows what paltry decisions or schemes. The only reason he had come to visit in the first place was that this birth was one of Marianne's. She was a special case, one which demanded his attention, one which he actually cared about. It had made quite a sensation when he announced to court he would be visiting her when he had been informed she had gone into labor. The emperor had never visited any of his wives, not even his first, when they had gone into labor, instead choosing to carry on with his courtly duties as he always did on the day to day business. It therefore came as a shock when he simply walked out of public court as he informed them of the nature of his leave, the majority of the nobles an royal family members staring open mouthed as he left, their minds full of hatred for the commoner become empress, as if she were better than them. But Charles paid no mind, they were too weak or too scared to move against him, so matter what they believed, and so he kept moving, with Bismarck at his heel, casting worried glances around him as he mentally warned off any sings of ill will towards his majesty.

He would have gone in any case, as knowing Marianne, she would have never let him live it down. She had already broken into court on horseback over nothing but a denied audience, so what if he were to miss the birth of her first child? He inwardly shuddered at the possible implications and choose the more rationale course of action: To visit her and not find out.

And so there he stood, towering above the three, now four other people in the room, staring down upon the small figure handle against his beloved's chest. He honestly hoped this one would be different, his other offspring being such disappointments but a few, such a Schneizel or Cornelia. After all, this one came from his Marianne, the most lively and actually capable of his wives, so it would make sense for this child to be different. But he squashed that hope soon after it had entered his mind, ensuring he would not come to feel only more disappointment in the future should he be proven wrong.

'Only time will tell.' He thought.

And so, with nothing but a quick word of congratulations, Charles zi Britannia left his favorite wife and newest child alone in their room and walked out the door.

All the while such thoughts had gone though the emperor's head, Marianne had been paying attention to the figure in her arms, examining it as if she were a scientist and it a slide under a microscope, when she noticed something strange. The child had been silent the entire time. It did not wail as it left her womb, it did not cry as the doctor had spanked it. In fact, it had not made a single utterance of sound since the ordeal of her labor had ended. Instead, and rather unnerving to here, it starred, it observed. Those eyes of his looked around the room, shock registering within them for nothing but a second, then turning into a sort of wondering interest. Their was a glint of happiness within them, almost nostalgic in appearance, a he observed his surroundings. To make matters even more interesting, those violet orbs of his expressed considerable knowledge and understanding, as if they had seen another life.

Such observations gave Marianne both a quick feeling of pride but also unease, wondering about the implications of what she was seeing.

'What kind of child have i given birth to?' She thought.

It would be something to think about another day, her current state being one of weakness and fatigue, despite it being no latter than noon. And so, without further ado, Marianne close her eyes and slumbered, her newborn son, Lelouch, cuddle in her arms, the doctor and nurse leaving discreetly and closing the doors behind them as they left.

Lelouch was confused. Lelouch was incensed. One moment he lay dying, the next he was in his mother's arms, a freshly born babe. To say he was shocked was, by far, an understatement.

'What happened?' He thought.

There he lay, cuddle against a slumbering Marianne's bosom, the mind of a 17 year old imprisoned within the body of an infant.

Observing his surroundings, Lelouch realized he was within his mother's chambers at the Aires Villa, something he realized as he called upon memories of his, now seemingly 'past' childhood.

Unable to move, the young prince resigned himself to his position and choose to follow his mother's example, allowing slumber to overtake him until a time where he would be able to do otherwise.

And so, as the bliss of sleep crept upon his vision, Lelouch thought, an invisible smirk upon his face, "Well then…this should prove interesting."

Hidden within the shadows of the room, a lone figure remained, contently staring with interested eyes at the two humans whom played in bed, sleeping in peace. Clad in a blue business suit, her long, green hair flowing freely behind her back, C.C. sat in one of the rooms many Victorian styled chairs, observing, listening. Her contractor had finally given birth after several hours of labor, a process that had annoyed her to no end as the screams of pain echoed around the room. Marianne may be both strong in body and will, labor is still a more than difficult process. At least Marianne had the luxury of bearing children, something she herself did not believe she was able to do, nor had she found such an individual with whom she would wish to have children with in the first place. Such are the problems of immortals. More importantly though, is that the constant sounds echoing through the villa had distracted her from her pizza, made specifically by the royal chef, one whom had grown so accustomed to the witch's demands that he made several a day in advance and freezes them should they be required at a late time, often sooner than later.

And while this was far from the first time she had seen the so called 'miracle of life', this child in particular, Marianne's son, intrigued her to no end. She would keep a close eye on him, he may be privy to becoming her next contractor should her current one fail to uphold her side of the bargain.

So C.C. sat there, watching the two figures rest upon the bed, as she ate what could be her fourth or fifth pizza of the day.