A guttural cry escaped her throat as the barrage of bullets rained down upon them. She heard them among the explosions in the area coupled with the shuffling of feet and bodies attempting to get out of harm's way, cries of their comrades as they fell to their demise. This was the future; this was the choice she had made which would cost her very life.

Diving behind fallen debris, she felt a body press against her back, warm breath tickling her neck and the scent of blood and his sweat filling her nose, eliminating the sulfuric stench in the air. It was comforting to know that someone literally had her back. A bloodied hand reached for hers, attempting to pry her fingers off her longsword's grip.

"R-run. You have a chance." He was begging her. And he never begged; the stubborn one was never one to do so. He clasped his hand over hers, his fingers fitting over the grooves between her knuckles. "Please."

So this moment was all they would get. And so, she was forced to savor the bittersweet nature of it. Perhaps in another life, things would be different; or that's what she wanted to tell herself, but that would be a lie. He had a black and white sense of justice. No matter what, the road would lead him here; this would be the path he would choose.

He would always fight.

For her, the time was now. It was time to decide: to listen or to stay. To listen was to survive, to live. To stay was to die, but to die with him – to tell him what he meant to her.

Unfortunately, he would give her no say in the matter.

"Live." He said as he pushed her forward, away from him. She glanced back to see the disheveled blond's back as he called for his lance. And he departed from her sight. Clenching her sword, she turned away and moved into the open once more; she refused to look back. He would be fine.

Fight.

He was a tank. He had strength, stamina and a great jumping ability; he was a dragoon. His chances of surviving were better than hers, a swordswoman. He also had faith, the belief that he would indeed live through this ordeal. He was a dreamer unlike her, a realist.

Leaping over the bodies of fallen enemy soldiers, she heard him take flight, his cape catching the wind and drawing attention away from her and the rest of their fleeing classmates. A stray bullet zoomed by her, grazing her arm, calling her back to reality. Snapping her head up, she spotted a stray. Charging to meet her foe, she conjured a lightning bolt to dispose of the soldier. With her speed and magical abilities, it was quick death. She was the queen of the chessboard after all.

Live.

That was when she heard him and other voices shouting for his death. A familiar sensation crept over her body. Everything turned cold. No, not again. She would not lose another to Lethe, to oblivion. Without hesitation, she spun her heel, turning her gaze to where they hid for a brief moment. She saw him fall from the sky and his tattered body covered in blood and being fired upon.

She held her breath and her screams. He does not fall lance first like he usually does when he flies. In fact, he was falling on his back as the wind picked up, tossing him away from her sight. That was when she realized life no longer flowed through his veins.

"OVER THERE. THERE'S A GIRL."

They were shooting at her feet. She did not move. How can she move? They were coming after her. The others were either dead or far from her now.

Holding her sword tight, she lifted her gaze to see the guns. There were about three soldiers standing before her. They are no older than she as they fought for their conquering nation. They took him from her.

R-run. You have a chance. She heard his voice in her head. He was not lost to oblivion yet. The crystal gave her one last reprieve for his downfall. She bit her tongue when the first wave struck her, causing her to fall to her knees. She opened her mouth and let out a bloodcurdling shriek, dropping her sword. Though it hurt, they did not strike her in vital areas; she could still move.

Amateurs, she silently remarked. They grazed her arms, her thighs. They weren't even trying to really kill her.

She should have been ready for this pain. If Etro be willing, she would die with the next wave of bullets, but now, she needed to avenge him. She heard the reloading and then, the open fire. Her weakened arm was struck; at least, it wasn't her sword arm. Her right thigh was hit next, followed by left foot. Crying, she fell to her knees; the pain sent out spasms through her entire body. She knew of pain, but it was something she read about for her lessons, but feeling it was something else.

Fight. Live.

It awoke something in her. Anger. Yes, she was angry that Milites killed him. Hatred. Yes, she hated them for invading her country. Tasting blood in her mouth, she spat it out, red staining the ground before her. They had drawn her blood. She now wanted theirs. She needed to avenge him before she could forget him. And suddenly, the pain was all gone, replaced by something else, something quite dark.

Kill them.

Something was different in the air around her. The soldiers noticed it about her. Something shifted. The dynamic moved into her favor. Wiping the blood from her lip, she reached for her sword. Curiously, they watched her, making the mistake of not shooting her again.

Staggering to her feet, She lifted her gaze to them, but what they saw was not a fearful female cadet. Behind her frames, hidden under her dark violet-red irises, they saw their worst fears imaginable. Before them stood the instrument of their fall, dark magic called upon by a single girl's desperation and her thirst for retribution.

"You'll regret what you've done….Fufufu."

Disclaimer: I do not own anything other than the plot, or lack thereof.

Author's note: I originally uploaded this onto my roleplay tumblr. It's my headcanon on how Queen's Janus personality came to being. And yes, this was inspired by the chant heard in "Gotham's Reckoning" by Hans Zimmer from the movie The Dark Knight Rises. Some translators say Deshi Barasa means "Rise Up" or "He Rises". I took it to mean "Rise Up". I felt like sharing this to the Type-0 readers. This can be considered an apology to those waiting for my other 9Q works.