A/N: I have recently read an extremely amazing Code Geass fic called Dauntless (you should really check it out if you haven't), which inspired me to re-dive into the world of Code Geass, which is one of my all-time-favourite animes. Some of you might have read King of the World. It is with a heavy heart that I must confess that I am hereby dropping it, and this story will take its place. By no means am I going to drop Fallen Messiah however. Chapter 13 is well on its way to being published within a week.
The problem with King of the World was that I was holding back ideas from Fallen Messiah to put in King of the World and vice versa, which isn't really fair to both of them. As such, I have decided to be unfair only to King of the World, and put all my Dxd/Persona focus into Fallen Messiah instead. I will be diverting my passion to the world of K into this story, along with my love for Code Geass. This story will most likely not be abandoned unless I run out of ideas, but I am afraid that I will more or less follow canon's timeline and event for this, because Code Geass was quite the masterpiece that does not need further tampering. So that probably won't happen. Fret not however, by the way for, for Shiro will retain all seven King's powers (or maybe not. But he'll definitely have powers. Maybe just the Colourless King's powers? We'll see how it goes, but he'll definitely retain his sharp mind and charismatic personality.)
Anyway, enjoy.
Prologue:
It was not a secret that Emperor Charles zi Britannia was not very fond of his offspring. To the general public, such a thing seemed nearly blasphemous – their Emperor was perfect. But the royal family and those closest to them were well aware of the fact that the Emperor of Britannia saw and treated them as subordinates rather than children.
That was how he liked it. Children were a waste of his time. He did not have time to dote on them or raise them – he had a country to run and a world to conquer. And besides, he was an advocate of tough love. The children needed to be aware from the very start that they were nothing more than tools.
He would not hide them from the grim realities of politics and society. They were royalty, and they would behave and be treated like royalty from the very start. That was what it meant to be one of his children. If they could not handle it, then they did not deserve his name and the power that was accorded to them with it.
As for the nurturing part, he supposed that was why he had his wives. All hundred and eight of them, in fact. One of whom was just across the door he was waiting outside of.
He did not like childbirth. It was messy, bloody, and loud. And when he was present during the birth of his first son Odysseus, Anticlea had insisted on holding his hand the whole time. It had all been very irritating, and the crying lump of flesh dumped onto his hands at the end of it all was hardly a satisfying reward.
He allowed himself a small smirk at that memory. He had named his first child after the Greek King for a reason. In legend, King Odysseus had won a battle against the Giant Polyphemus under the alias of 'Nobody'. And in that moment he had held his first son, he realised something very important. His children were nobody to him. And so, he had given the child that name to subtly remind himself everyday of that fact. Anticlea, on the other hand, had been elated with the choice of name.
"He'll grow up to be a fine King then."
He scoffed. The little brat had grown up into anything but. Despite his efforts (or lack of any in raising the child), Odysseus was pampered and spoilt as the first prince of Britannia. He waited for things to fall on his lap when he asked for it and they always seemed to do so, either by sheer dumb luck or the efforts of the countless nobles pandering to him. Odysseus would never become Emperor, not that he would ever tell Anticlea that.
Many of his other children were similar. Entitled and conceited urchins who knew little of how the world worked. Of course, there were exceptions to every rule. Schneizel was the most promising to become his heir apparent. As the Second Prince, he had a (relatively) harder time to win the affection and backing of others. But when he had made it very clear that the order of birth had nothing to do with the selection of the next Emperor, many nobles had abandoned Odysseus and flocked to Schneizel. He trusted his second son as Prime Minister to run Britannia when he was off doing his little side projects with V.V., an act of favouritism many had noticed.
There were, of course, some others he kept tabs on. Cornelia had potential, as did Clovis, though both had flaws that made them unsuitable to rule Britannia until they were rectified.
He did not have any intention of giving up the throne any time soon. But he did not get to where he was by being complacent. It was always good to have a Plan B, though Schneizel was nowhere near the top of his backup plans. Off the top of his head, Schneizel would be Plan… H.
That was something subject to change very soon. For across a single wooden door, he would soon have a new candidate to succeed him. He had high hopes for this one, just like how he always did with Marianne. He had not heard any sounds of screaming or shouting throughout the whole process. The woman was strong and independent, and had not even asked for his presence as she was wheeled in.
"You can wait outside, dear. I'll see you later."
He knew she was his favourite for a reason.
Right on time, the door opened. The Imperial Doctor sunk to his knee. "It's done, my Emperor." Then there was short pause, "but there is a complication."
It was only then he realised the many specks of blood that dotted the man's gloves and scrubs.
He did not let his temper overrule him. Despite what many of the nobility thought, throwing tantrums was not a display of strength. Instead, he very calmly asked the kneeling man before him what had happened. But he made it very clear in his tone that heads would roll if the doctor had fucked up.
"I think," the man gulped, "it is better for you to see for yourself, your majesty."
If the man before him was not the one that tended to every single member of the imperial family, Charles would have had him executed on the spot for thinking that he could give even such a subtle and indirect order to the Emperor of Britannia.
Nevertheless, his curiosity got the better of him, and the doctor leapt out of his path as he stomped his way in, cape billowing behind him.
The first thing that hit him was the silence. There was no crying or even panting of breath. Only the sound of the heart rate monitor that meant that at least of one patient here was alive. He quelled down any fear he thought might have arisen up his throat. He was overthinking things.
Marianne was lying on her bed with her eyes closed, face strained with fatigue. Her long black hair, normally combed straight, was frayed and slick with sweat. Her skin was pale, and she looked in far worse shape than he had ever seen before. And he had seen her in war countless times. The only soothing fact was that her chest was rising up and down steadily and deeply, indicating that she was in a stable albeit unconscious state.
Charles gave her one last look before turning to the nervous doctor. "And the child?" he demanded.
The doctor pointed to one side, where two nurses carried wrapped bundles in their hands. "Both are there, your majesty. Healthy and awake."
He raised an eyebrow. "Both?"
"Empress Marianne gave birth to twins, your majesty. Both boys, though they are of the non-identical sort."
Twins? That was very rare, even in the very long and branched out royal family tree.
"Give them to me," he commanded.
The nurses complied, nestling both infants in the crooks of each of his elbows. He found himself smiling in amusement. How very like Marianne to give him two when he only expected one. No wonder she looked so exhausted. Childbirth was taxing to any woman, and giving birth to two of them at a time must have drained Marianne's already impressive stamina to the limit.
Then he realised something was wrong.
The doctor must have noticed the change in his expression because he said uneasily, "I see you've noticed the… complication, your majesty. The elder son… he is an albino."
Charles zi Britannia was not blind. He could see that. The pale skin. The red eyes. The white hair. This was unacceptable, and unfortunately something he could not execute the doctor for. And executing Marianne was even more off-limits. He had lost count of how many times he had declared to the public that Britannians were the strongest – the superior country and race. And he had made his family into the shining example of it. They were beautiful, he would admit unashamedly. His bloodline was supposed to be the embodiment of strength to the people and yet… he had given birth to a defective human.
Unacceptable.
The doctor must have knew exactly what he was thinking. "If you would like, your majesty, I could alter the records so that the healthier one was born first. Or I could alter it such that the healthier one was… the only one born at all."
The doctor sounded very apprehensive. He had good reason to. Even intending to hurt a member of the royal family was tantamount to treason, a crime punishable by death, and the albino child in his arms was definitely his son. Charles did not call the man out on it, and he could see the visible relief on the man's face as he silently and seriously considered the proposal.
Then he realised something. The child had not cried. Both of them had not. He took the time to look at the both of them, knowing full well that depending on his decision, this might be his last chance to see the complete set again. The normal one's hair was the same shade of black as Marianne's and looked almost as though he was pouting. His face was scrunched up, his eyes squinted into thin lines. He was probably still getting used to the light. But it was the albino one that unsettled him. The infant was staring at him with rapt attention, following every movement with crimson eyes that looked too sharp to be on a new-born. But the smile. It looked almost as if the child was taunting him with that wide grin on his face.
Go on, kill me. Let us see what my mother does to you afterwards. That was what it looked like to him.
Oh God. Marianne. His fifth wife would never forgive him if he did such a thing. Then he shook himself out of his stupor. He was feeling threatened by a baby. Preposterous. Then he realised something. He was threatened by a baby. For the first time in his life, he had actually felt some emotion looking into the eyes of one of children. It almost made him drop both babies on the floor in shock. An act, if he had followed through with it, would have turned the previous internal debate pointless, and he'd be left with two dead babies instead of one.
That little revelation cemented his decision. This would be too interesting an opportunity to pass up. "No. I will keep the child," he told the doctor. "And," he warned, "if I ever hear you threaten the life of another one of my children, you will wish that you were the one never to be born." He dropped the stern face when he man nodded his head fearfully. It wasn't that he cared particularly for them, but it would be troublesome if the doctor thought he could say such things and get away with it.
"Marianne said she wanted to name them." He turned his attention back to the newest additions to the vi Britannia line.
The doctor nodded and pointed to the normal one. "Your majesty, may I present to you Lelouch vi Britannia," and then gesturing towards the sick one, "and Weismann vi Britannia."
Charles almost barked out in laughter. He was rusty in the European languages, but he knew enough French and German to deduce the meanings. Marianne had colour-coded their children. It was just like her to do so.
"Your majesty," the doctor interrupted hesitantly, "what of the order of birth? Will you keep the albino one as the elder?"
He seriously pondered it. The elder child would become the future head of the vi Britannias. He would need to be strong and, more importantly, appear strong. But Marianne was all about breaking traditions and formalities. She was the first common-born Empress in generations, and he was certain that she would be displeased if he denied her first-born of his rightful position.
"Doctor Hauser, do you play chess?"
"Yes… your majesty." The doctor replied uncertainly, nearly forgetting to add the last part. It was nice to see that his subjects were so well-trained.
"Then you should know that white always goes first."
A/N: Well, this is a taster. I'm really looking forwards to the rest of it. Anyway, leave your thoughts in the forms of review, favs and follows, and PMs. Let's try to get this to become at least as popular as Fallen Messiah, eh?
~Paulzies 3