Title: And in blood
Summary: Suzaku Kururugi and Lelouch Lamperouge are on paths leading to destruction while C.C. discovers the meaning of their crossroads. In the mind of the Consciousness, there is only the world's end, or the world's beginning. Multi-chap. AU based off R1 canon.
AN: Because R1 canon is the only canon I actually appreciate. (Seriously, it had so much potential at the start, but then things sort of . . . fell through about ten or so episodes into R2. I mean, c'mon, Lelouch spouting "love is the world's momentum!" garbage? D: He's simply . . . not that kind of person. In fact, many characters had this issue in the second half. /: ) This begins at the very end of Lelouch of the Rebellion, and I suppose it's worth saying that I intend to keep the personalities of R1 rather than frustrate myself with anything related to R2.
Anyway, let's get this ball rolling, shall we? All disclaimers are acknowledged. Also: CRACKISH beginning warning. It gets better, really!
EDIT: Man, I really wanted to milk that whole Kallen-has-an-alias thing . . . fine, fine I was wrong. XD;
It was said that the world begun as something like a slow twirl of fire in the atmosphere—as a heat that blistered in its containment and then eclipsed, barreling through time to become a galaxy that grew from its own center. They called this birth the Big Bang, and the beginning of reality, of all existence, and they studied its timeless workings, claiming themselves as the first 'complex organism.' They mocked God and called him a sadomasochist, a liar, or simply not there at all; said that creation was a loosely defined system of particles and theorems that were altogether fruitless for millenniums. There was nothing prior because nothing could be.
Yet something was alive and breathing even before there was a universe, aware of itself enough to float idly and stare as red was burned into it. The Consciousness would forget the days it spent with its two children, although it did remember that it called them Perception and Selfishness, for it was they that made the world into "The World." He gave them the Codes, and they went unnamed for eternity, simply observing as evolution took root and went dutifully to work. Things came and things went; were made whole and then were made broken.
Animals were a strange, impractical happening to the Codes, and humanity even more so. The world had been very certain, very egalitarian, and it did whatever was necessary to survive without so much as a complaint. These new creatures were indulgent—prone to do what they wanted, and with an appalling inconsistency to their nature—as well as absorbed in their own view of things, and Perception argued that God was losing its touch. Selfishness laughed that Perception just couldn't take a good joke every now and again, until the beasts tore themselves in halves with blood pouring from their mangled organs and skin—trickling deep into the earth and thus into the Consciousness—and knew that it had never seen anything quite as bright since God made it.
Perception christened it a fascinating feat, completely novel, and Selfishness was careful to wait until it weaved its way back and talked of its experiences. After all, leave it to Perception to be impulsive; Selfishness knew the benefit of caution.
"And so?"
"Very impressive."
"But what does it mean." They would find out when the creature stopped its spasms and came to rest, lying there limp with empty eyes rolled behind its skull.
There was Death in the new world and they grew heavy with the knowledge. Humans came to them and loved and hated and were unstable until they were drowning in feeling, but had never known any; never had emotions of their own. They cried when their contracted no longer walked alongside them, and they considered. Dared to wonder what they themselves were in the realm of the Consciousness.
- - -
2017 a.t.b.
He thought of the battalions spreading into Britannia's heart—the screeches ripping through hot, stormy air as the ground gave way and rows of soldiers swarmed the mainland to birth Zero's empire. He remembered the blood dripping from Lady Cornelia's mouth, crimson against pearly skin, as she shook at death's door amid the torn limbs of Gloucester and Darlton. He'd begged that she let him return her to the capital, felt the fear bubbling inside him, but she'd forced a weak laugh before insisting that she was in a cemetery fitting for Britannia's champions.
He was a knight loyal to the princess and he listened as temporary commander Guilford spoke, his voice drowned out by the sound of war, "Knight Suzaku Kururugi, your transmission is acknowledged. We shall go to Her Highness. All hail glorious Britannia; all hail Her Glorious Lady Cornelia!"
"All hail glorious Britannia," Suzaku echoed, hands stiff on the lever as he tore holes in the night sky, its wisps of cloud shattered by Lancelot's speed.
"And . . ." It was faint, the face on the monitor fading into blurs of color, "For telling me this, I thank you from the bottom of my heart." His eyes flickered back to the screen, but the white noise shuddered and dissipated into silence before he strung together a reply. Suzaku let his attention fall on the radar's web of green lines, watching as his target fled the field and swept past the eastern coastline.
"Lelouch" continued to blink, written in stark, mechanical scrawl, across the cellphone's face and he hoped he was wrong; that all his suspicions would not be justified, and that there were no curses between the two of them. His throat hitched as bullets shivered before exploding into maelstroms of red, orange, and yellow. Fingers tense and adrenaline rushing to the forefront of his mind, he let instinct grip him and danced past them in a surge of brilliant white.
He sent power buzzing through the Lancelot's circuitry, and thought of Euphemia as the color drained from her face; as her interweaved fingers went slack against his own; as blood spilled across bed sheets with throbbing tubes and needles connected at her wrists. The tentative, trembling cadence of her slow heartbeat was a sick elegy playing wildly in his skull. He tried to smother it, but Lelouch's name was smoldering—colored far too bright, and his eyes ached when they saw it gleaming on the dashboard—and he threw it against the floor, wincing as a dull, metallic echo clawed at his ears.
He did not want it to be true. To think that the man who had chased him down like a hunter, threatened him with his own secrets and damned him to living against his own will, who killed Euphemia—left her without her own memories, and made her want to end her life just as much as his own!—and then used her sacrifice to excuse the bloody massacre of thousands was the friend who swore to save the three of them in childhood.
Suzaku did not want the knowledge that Lelouch made free will and human existence into a convenience. Even as bodies rotted in the summer sun and Japan became a graveyard with its citizens buried in rubble and bullet shells, he was a pillar of strength striving tirelessly towards the future. The fall from grace was too extreme—it had to be false, yet all the evidence! He gritted his teeth and tightened his grip on the controls, lost in the familiar feeling of Lancelot's limbs meshing seamlessly with his own as he let it slip into free fall and dived for the island.
Kamine was a strange, forlorn spin of fresh green that rested far away from the Japanese archipelago, and had been virtually wiped from the state's records. It had no populace, no purpose, and no legal name—to the common man, it was nonexistent. He explored its history after the Shikine incident, and found that it was originally a base to enact capital punishment on dangerous criminals; many that went there held the death sentence for 'crimes against the people.' Based on the numbers it boasted, they were pretty words made to mask that it was an interment camp for the Japanese prior to the creation of Area 11.
Water parted as his Lancelot brushed the surface, sea foam rippling up its steel body before fizzing away into slow waves. He settled in a clearing next to the crumbling corpse of a shine: the end of Zero's intended course. Gray crags jutted into the horizon as a lazy sun hung behind a shield of cloud, and morning seeped between the gaps of leaves while he detached himself from seat belts and wires. He felt sleep tug at his eyes as they stung beneath sudden sunlight—the world was always ethereal outside of the Lancelot with its cramped steel hold and only the artificial glow of computer screens to guide him. Adjusting to the change in altitude, he stood as tension shot through his legs and nearly stumbled before shaking off his numbness.
Gripping the gun, he filled its barrel with six bullets and clicked it shut.
- - -
The Kamine was a forgotten place with little strategic merit, hence the ease Britannia had in completely hiding its existence. Its sole intriguing aspect was the late Prime Minister's refusal to turn over the island until the bitter end; that he would fight to preserve its 'holiness' from the corrupt regime threatening the Japanese nation.
'Very interesting,' Lelouch mused, observing its decay—rock was torn from the foundation, weathered by centuries worth of time and acid rain. Dust coated its stone floors and banisters, suffocating hieroglyphs drawn across the walls in strange patterns of sevens and sixes. There was an ancient, heavy air that left him unnerved; one that gripped at his heartstrings and crushed his lungs when he inhaled.
He cursed that he had no access to its blueprints, and was careful not to disturb the delicate, haunting caricature of peace sleeping there. A Knightmare would only force the structure to collapse—they were bulky and limiting, useful only for a frontal assault that could not happen if he was unfamiliar with the terrain. No comrades or weaponry could save him, and the suspect environment forced him into playing on level ground. There was no choice but to show himself, lest he risk Nunally's safety. Teeth pressed together behind the protection of his mask, he knew was being baited, and that there were no promises of her eventual return regardless of whether or not he met their terms.
Someone was operating in the shadows, and had assumed he would rush to her side. 'Damn them!' Worse yet, he had met their expectations and came to their second location without a guard to accompany him—yes, he thought gravely, the culprit knew him well. Too well. He would have to take careful measures when he killed the poor fool, partially for revenge, and partially because such a man would be a well of information regarding the inner circle of the Geass cultists.
Enemy suicide was inexcusable, but the scenarios were coming to him slowly as he pressed his palms against the towering doors lining the northernmost wall. His was a pathetically weak position, with all the power lying in the hands of an opponent he could not see. Smoking them out was impossible with Nunally trapped in that damned wheel chair, and offering truces was merely a pretense and a formality that gave no guarantees. 'No matter. I must ensure Nunally's—' Gunfire breezed his left ear and sent panic spreading through his body, the bullet leaving a deep gash as it bit into the worn ghost of the shrine wall.
He tensed as footfalls echoed in the gloom, bounding deep into the crevices and then slipping into the outside world, " . . . Turn and face this way, slowly." It was too goddamn nostalgic, nestling deep inside him as Suzaku broke free from a veil of shadow.
'Damn it!' He was above bartering for an answer from most, and Suzaku least of all. Silence fell upon them, a heavy cloak suffocating him beneath its indifference as his old friend reached out a hand with his gun held at arm's length. His legs were tremulous—barely managing steps as he forced himself ahead—and a weak stream of sunlight streaked the dark like spider webs of cracked glass.
"Didn't you hear me, Zero?" The sound was a low growl, staccato and cruel, "I said turn and face me."
"Euphemia," he began, adopting Zero's confidence, "mercilessly murdered thousands of innocent Japanese, yet, towards a woman like her, you—"
"It must be convenient," Suzaku cut the air, his voice a knife sharp as steel and colder yet— deathly cold, "The Geass. You hide within the shadows, and the responsibility is thrown mercilessly at others. How arrogant . . . and despicable." It haunted him for a moment as his fingers trembled at his side, tucked below the folds of his cape, and his retorts and manipulations died deep in his throat.
He felt an angry heat numb his body, "How do you know of it." Lelouch kept a careful, steady control over the shame spilling into his words.
"Kallen!" There was a brief rustle of cloth and his eyes sped to meet her, lithe figure crouched near a blotch of moss clutching to old gravel, "Don't you want to know Zero's true identity?"
'Kallen—?!' He paused, watching her gun gleam treacherous silver as she aimed at Suzaku's back, the red spotter writhing madly up his spine.
She hissed an acerbic, "What are you saying all the sudden!?"
"You have the right to witness the truth as well," the shot cracked, severing their false peace when it rushed forward in a hazy streak and grazed his forehead. A sick scream rang out from its plastic innards as a crooked line made its downward, twisting and jerking until it shattered into two identical halves. The mask clattered there on the cold ground, a black spin twirling on its axis before coming to a halt and lying dead still, now empty, and they looked on at the boy they both knew.
"I don't believe it . . ." Suzaku's face fell victim to shock, and he tore his eyes away.
He felt slick blood ease against his cheeks, and heard Kallen's broken, "What?! Why! Le—Lelouch is . . ."
"That's right," Lelouch murmured, callous and cynical, "I am Zero. I lead the Order of the Black Knights against the Holy Britannian Empire. And I'll eventually lay claim to the entire world."
Suzaku sprang back upright, tense with fear, "Have you lost your mind?! All those people at the SAZ . . . and . . . and Euphie! They died for something like that—something so worthless?!"
Kallen collapsed, knees bucking as she toppled over in a pile of limbs, "You . . . Zero . . . made use of us Japanese? . . . Even me . . ."
"If you see it from a results standpoint," he finished easily, fastening together a second guise of apathy; Suzaku was hysterical and exhausted, and thus of little use in Nunally's rescue, "Japan will be liberated. You should have no qualms—that was our. . . your resolve, Kallen."
Gaze darting to her, Suzaku sneered a disgusted, "Kallen, a free Japan is pointless if everyone who believes in it dies! Don't trust him! What good is a country who doesn't know if its leader will kill his own people in cold blood?!"
"How can a knight of sanguinary Britannia possibly make such a two-faced claim?!"
Suzaku's yells charged on in an arrogant tirade, "He doesn't care about how his actions affect others!"
"Kallen!" Her head jolted Lelouch's way, and she quivered, "Can you respect his weak-minded philosophies? He has merely sold himself to the Britannians—became a slave of the Empire!"
"A revolution that needs so much blood is worthless! He's betrayed his own already—don't trust him!"
"Kallen, shoot, for the sake of Japan's pride!" Suzaku spun to meet him, arm still extended as his finger itched for the trigger, and a shot howled in the gray.
AN: Eh, I liked it thus far, but it's not my best work. That aside, reviews make me a happy author. :3 (But, and I will admit this, not any less lazy. As a matter of fact, I don't believe anything could make me less lazy. 8l )