Prologue

Game Set

A/N: Man, when I wrote this I was like 'NO OCs' because I thought Vocaloid had so many characters so why not use them all. But they were not kidding about the male/female ratio. I thought it would be fun to keep to the original idea of no OCs, but in order to avoid getting this story run over by females, I had to extend the search for males from VOCALOID to UTAUloids to Utaite. Who knew it would be so hard to find guys?

But I think the effort paid off, so have fun guessing who's who!

Rated T for violence, swearing and mild sexual implications.

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part I : To Black

In a large, cavernous chamber, bricked with dark stones of a multitude of mysterious colours, only a handful of small candles shone. The rest was devoured in inky shadow, black and grey melting into purple and a touch of orange. Where the candles burned in their iron brackets, their light that touched the stones turned iridescent— a strange glimmer.

"They're getting stronger."

Figures sat around a large round table; naught but their silhouettes showed, silky penumbras blending with the shimmering violets and cobalts of the chamber. There was a smell of dampness and mustiness, a hint that they were underground. Somewhere in a corner, water dripped a steady tempo that echoed around the walls.

"They will not overpower us." A woman replied calmly. Her voice had a very womanly, oceanic timbre, as fine as matured wine and it echoed magisterially around the dark chamber.

Immediately, as if bursting to reveal it, a young, shrill voice cut in. "Such confidence! But if the Church receives the endorsement of Cryptonia's royalty, we are all doomed!" The statement was punctuated with two palms hitting the table surface heavily, the small speaker's zeal palpable in the thick air. A blood-red corkscrew curl flashed in the glow of candlelight before vanishing back into umbra. Her impatience and anxiety were tangible, but another speaker spoke.

"Calm down, child," a male voice hissed in, as lacerating as venom. The air mutated and contused as magic wove in, both hostile and angry, like violent fireworks perceived behind tightly shut eyes, both dived towards each other into a scalding strife—

"Enough, children."

The speaker who opened spoke, his voice deep and mesmeric, as luxurious as black velvet and as smooth as mirror and onyx. His voice carried authority and magnetism, and immediately, all movement stilled. The hot magic dissipated, reverting back to its original, dark cool wetness. All the figures around the table were on edge, ready to listen to him.

"The King knows it is important to remain neutral in this invisible war, but it is the King's utmost duty to support his people, and his people—" the figure lounged against his seat lazily, his silhouette portraying power and ease. "— support the Church."

With those words, the small speaker with the shrill voice snarled in displeasure, and the mood of the room rose accordingly in response to the dark speaker's words. Anger and vexation coloured the atmosphere as panic touched it.

A soft voice spoke out against the discontent, as gentle and feminine as fresh lilies in water. "There is nothing we can do to change that. If the people support the Church, than there is no more room for us in Cryptonia." She tilted her exceedingly fair head, and a flash of white hair caught the candlelight before disappearing back delicately into shadow.

"The sorcerers must move."

"Move?!" The small, irascible speaker exclaimed shrilly. "Do not be ridiculous, we have been here longer than the Church. This is our place!"

"Quiet, and show your older more respect," the dark speaker spoke smoothly, his voice richer than blackcurrant. Threat and warning danced like poison at the edges of his tone, and the small speaker retreated back immediately, soundly rebuked.

"She is right," a new, silvery voice spoke. This one sounded as light as the wind and as melodious as a silver bell. "We sorcerers have been here for centuries, even before the dawn of Cryptonia, and have we not supported its rise even through the darkest times? We will stay."

Her conclusion, though airily stated, was firm with finality. It resounded throughout the chamber and sparked a new, zealous flame. All the figures straightened, and the collective emotion shifted to one of iron-clad consensus.

They would stay.

"Very well," the dark speaker drawled, although amusement sifted in between like sand. "We will not retreat from the advances of the Church. But even if it comes to war…?"

"Then war."

The woman with the oceanic timbre spoke, but this time in a low whisper. It transitioned however, to a barely suppressed black fury. "We are being burned like common firewood by the Church, courtesy of the Duchess Saint. If you say we are doomed if royalty supports the Church, than we are doomed already if King Leon has chosen to stand idly by."

"Leverage then," the voice as light as air responded crisply. Grimness hung off her tone like stalactites and she shifted forwards to lay two fair hands on the table. "To keep the King… ideally neutral."

The male voice who quarrelled earlier spoke, his voice as dry and sharp as searing acid. "The Green Queen." All heads turned to him, piqued with slight interest. "Ever since the lady Queen Sonika has passed, they have taken to calling the Princess the Green Queen. Princess Miku can be our leverage—"

"Kidnap?" The second speaker interrupted, echoing the young man's implication. The ocean breeze was in her lush timbre. "There will be outrage in the streets."

"Which will be exactly why there will be no outrage," the male replied back tartly, severely displeased at being interrupted. Malice poured like shards of knives and venom from his words. "The royalty will keep it silent—"

"Fool," the red-haired small speaker cut in brashly, her temper ignited. "They will tell the Church if the Green Queen is missing. The Lord Pope will unleash his lady Duchess Saint," she spat the name out like sewage filth, "and they will conduct more burnings than ever!"

All chance of escalation was cut short when a new, stern woman's voice interrupted. "Demons take the both of you." Briskness and terseness coloured her silhouette where she sat, and her back was ramrod straight. "We cannot afford to fall apart with our enemy at the door."

The two silhouettes paused and looked at her, their youth shown in the lack of the same grace displayed by their more experienced elders. At their hesitation, magic flared from several of the sitting silhouettes— a warning, or a chide. In the millennia old practice of sorcery, age and power has always been the utmost marker of wisdom.

And all children must respect their elders.

The two impetuous speakers finally drew back, settling against the backs of their chairs. The woman's head shifted and she turned to face the dark speaker.

"I think it is clear what we need to do now."

~*-0-*~

part II : To White

A man sat on a white throne gilded with elaborate gold. Light poured out from him, each ray harsh and rumoured to be gentler than a mother's chaste kiss to the believer— or more scorching than the violent sun to the dissenter. This man sat beneath the feet of God.

As he stood up, he walked slowly towards the full wall glass window behind his bright throne. The room he was in was voluminous, the ceiling rising high into the depths of shadow, and adorned with the murals of masters. As high as the ceiling was, the size of the room was huge as well, and the glass spanned the entire length of it. Everything was painted in white and cream, embellished with reliefs that wove intricately on the walls. It was airy, but splendidly grandiose.

Outside, the sun was sinking, throwing lilac and vermillion across the greying skies like a final reach and spreading clouds across like thin webs. He stood, alone, with the dying rays on his face and his hands behind his back. Behind him, his white robes trailed and caught the light.

"It's a disaster, unmitigated disaster!"

"No, wrong, wrong, wrong! It is not! Win, we will definitely win!

Those two had been bickering ever since the start.

"But come out on top? Ridiculous! Their darkness has been ingrained like a scar ever since the start!"

The two twin sisters, each young in their late teens with dark yellow hair. They were slender and svelte, like gymnasts. Arguing back and forth, their voices were quick and high, like violin screeches, but they had elvish, pretty, child-like faces. One had short, spiky hair, kept in place with a magenta hairband. Likewise, her twin wore a hairband, her long hair curling around her in a long ponytail and reaching her thighs where the ends were dulled with a pale pink. The short-haired one wore a white waistcoat while her longer-haired sister wore black.

The younger one with the short hair had a curious tendency to repeat words three times. The older, one may say, was pessimistic about situations.

"That is why we must cleanse them with fire, burn deep, deep, deep!"

"Power, more power! We must get King Leon on our side, but how?"

"Silence," the man's voice was quiet, but it carried far like a justice's hammer. He continued to watch the scenery unfold outside, while the two twin sisters flinched and drew back in fear, silence catching them as they watched him warily

Before plunging into their argument again, unfettered.

"We have the support of the people! All that is left is to flush them out, flush out the devil practitioners! Flush, flush, flush!"

"No, no, it's more complicated than that! They have been here too long. Impossible, impossible!"

At the window, the man simply waved, and like well-trained dogs, or perhaps compelled by some strange power, the two moved with perfect synchronicity, and although they still bickered, their heads turned at the same angle, the same time, took the same step at the same tempo, and left the large room, their voices dissolving away.

From the corner, through a largely hidden doorway, a man walked in, cloaked in bright pink and silver, colourful yellow edging his coat and scarf. His flaxen hair was pale, but his face was youthful and innocent in a pure, untouched way. He stood before the man at the window and kneeled, aware of the man's divinity and his intense, purifying light pouring into every pore of his own being, cleansing and blessing. Blinding.

"My Lord Pope," he said, his voice soft and almost emasculate. "Do you have need of my services?"

The man clothed in dazzling bright white spoke. "I understand your two… brothers are still in contact with you, even though they have deigned to refuse your offer of redemption. I believe they have sided with the sorcerers."

The young man— boy, really, paused. "Yes," he replied hesitantly after a moment. It was a dangerous question that required a cautious answer, but for some reason, the Lord Pope's voice was devoid of that usual, ringing judgement. Instead, it was muted and soft, ungentle but merciful.

The boy would keep honest. "We continue to speak because the Lord Pope has said that familial traditions are to be treasured above the rarest rubies, although one of my brothers is still…" the boy trailed off, not knowing how to continue. The proper words missed his tongue and his eyes dared not peer to closely into that blinding light.

The man however, dismissed the topic quickly. Outside, the sun had drowned deep within the blue pits of the night, although a few of its rays still remained, beaming out as its light was slowly snuffed out. The stars took centre stage, watched by and outshined by the white, luminescent moon. "And where is my lady Duchess Saint?"

Ah, the Church's yellow, blazing sun. If the Lord Pope was the holy Judge who sat at God's feet and wielded His gavel and block then the Duchess Saint was the Lord Pope's Sword and Shield.

"At the Monarch Palace, my lord," the boy said respectfully. Monarch Palace was the house of the King, and its many windows crafted out of fine crystal threw a spectrum of colours when the light shone through. "She seeks to persuade the King to gift us his Seal."

At that, something akin to dry amusement appeared in the man's tone. "I expect she's on the verge of nothing short of violence."

At that, the boy said nothing, unsure how to respond. The Duchess Saint's temper was legendary.

A petite figure appeared behind the boy, her gown rustling as she moved. Like a delicate dancer through a field of grass, her features were as delicate as her soft, timid, piano-key voice. "My Lord Pope," she curtsied before kneeling next to the boy. She looked to be about the same age as him, but her thick hair was a very pale, almost platinum, diluted with watercolours of the various stages of the sky: bright blue, indigo, vibrant orange, pale green and egg yolk yellow. Two dainty earrings dangled next to her porcelain face, which was inset with eyes of equal, dark yellow.

"My Lord Pope, your loyal servant is here." Her dress was all dark, bows and lace, and a small black cap adorned with a red bow sat on her little head.

"Ah, my sweet girl." The man still look past the window, acknowledging his subjects only through his voice. He never moved once, with his hand still behind his back. Now that night had settled, the giant throne room turned into chamber of shadow and moonlight patches. The man's loyal servants were still colourful and bright, even without the light to aid in their glow. With the advent of nightfall, the torches should have been set alight and put to burning merrily in their brackets, but permission had not been given to the servants to enter.

The blackness of the night made the glass a mirror, and the Lord Pope's face was finally reflected back to his followers.

"Tell me, the both of you. What limits would hold you back from accomplishing our Great Mission?"

"None, my lord." The both of them answered together, without any hesitation.

"We would do anything for you. Your believers will do whatever it takes."

~*-0-*~

part III : To Knight

A couple walked alone in the night, accompanied only by the easy bustle of the night-time vendors. The moon was a bright, silver coin in the sky, a picturesque circle of white light against a clear, blue ink sky, rivalled only by the earthbound flames dancing in their melded cages of iron and glass.

Lampposts lined the broad, cobblestone street, occupied by late-night stragglers and cart pushers. It reflected a world with two faces: in daytime, a bustling, merry street bursting with a myriad of wondrous colours, sounds and smells; but come nighttime, blackness and a hushed silence stole through every crevice and bled every secret that night had to bear.

The gentleman, smiled and twirled his darling lady around, watching her ebony locks splay like autumns leaves in the chilly air. She laughed, clearly drunk, and latched onto his chest while her pretty, dark-skinned face titled upwards, her eyes dreamy.

"Tell me you love me," she demanded, her voice slightly slurred and heady. She was a very pretty, common thing, with dark hair like a rippling sheet of silk and skin like mocha chocolate. What stood out were her lovely, large pair of grey eyes that were as soft as a fog. Her companion smiled down at her and brought his thumb and index finger to her chin.

"I love you," he said easily, his voice lower than his age suggested, and smoother than a storm. He was a tall, lean man, with slender but sculpted muscles and a built like a predatory panther, but his hair was the color of sunbeams and kept at his nape in a short ponytail. The man had bright eyes of watery blue, each like a shimmering pale marble. He tucked a loose ebony lock behind the lady's ear.

The lady smiled.

Around them, night dwindled past midnight, and into the lonely, dark hours of the morning.

"Lola," she said softly. The young man looked into her eyes again. No, he decided, they were not as soft as a grey fog, they shone like the stars. "My name is Lola."

"Lola," he nodded, his eyes gentle and kind. She stumbled and clutched onto him for support, the strength seeping out of her limbs and drained out. Cold bled in, coldness and weariness that made her sigh deeply. It dug into her bones like a cancer, and wove freezing tendrils around her heart— but with it came of sort of comfort borne only out of resignation. She smiled serenely, her eyes glazed and staring dreamily at the stars.

The poison was taking effect. She was dying.

The young man stopped and slowly lowered her head gently to the floor. Her ebony locks spilled like black water to the cobblestone floor, and her dress tangled around her legs like a gossamer web. A lovely sight marred by the sickness that stole over her dark skin and grey eyes.

But she still smiled.

"Tell me your name," her voice was barely a whisper, weak, a thin cobweb strand about to break. The young man kneeled down and gently moved her hair away from her face. She looked from the sky to him, and a single tear streaked down her face.

"I want to know the name of the man that killed me."

The young man's face was muted and solemn, but he held her hands and said nothing. Lola stared at him for a moment, the chill reaching her lips and turning them white and feeble. Her grey eyes finally shifted upwards to the inky sky, where her gaze melted with the moon.

"No one has ever told me they loved me before," she whispered, so so tired. "Thank you."

Her eyes finally closed, just as a chilly breeze blew past. It ruffled the young man's sunbeam hair as he rose slowly, slightly apologetic. In the morning, the street vendors will find the lovely scene of a sad, sad girl dead on the street, her ebony hair like ripples of water on the dirty cobblestones. They will bring her body to the gravediggers, not to the police, because she will be recognised as Lola, a common whore who rumours say was bearing the bastard child of a rich merchant's married son, and so she means nothing.

Len walked down the dark street, each booted foot as silent as a shadow, but his bright hair caught the moon's borrowed light and shone like molten gold. He shrugged his hood on and never looked back.

All in a day's work.

A/N: I really hoped you enjoyed it. I'm really new to the fandom and this is my first Vocaloid story. I haven't decided the pairings so I'm putting it up to a vote! Please review! It really makes my day :)

Len X Miku

Len X Rin

Miku X Kaito