Hello all; it's been a while.
I'm sorry, but I am currently indisposed to present my review responses for the last chapter, but I shall update this chapter with them as soon as I can.
On with the update:
UPDATE (June 28, 2010) {it should be noted that I am not yet dead}:
I promised that I would repost this chapter with the responses and credits, and here I am to present:
Review Responses:
ofdarknesschaos: Well, I'm glad that you took it that way, as I was hoping for such a reaction.
Merines Shinku: Yes, CG: NaF was rewritten to occupy several new twists and a slightly more refined plot than the original version; I'm glad that you enjoyed it.
Skippy Sigmatic and KiKi Hayashi (Kiki's response would be for her review to this chapter) : I am grateful for the input with regards to my writing. I too have noticed that I have the tendency of using many commas, and that would leave my work in a cut up hunk of words. Yes, I do sometimes try hard to make my work sound sophisticated but I do that to live to a style I might have started when I was letting things out (which would usually be at the start of each story). There are still many improvements that can be made to myself and my work in general. Thank you. Also, it's a typo, Kiki. ^_^
Sierra-de-Lafayette : It is human nature to change as time goes on, be it slow or sudden. As for Lelouch… Well, you'll just have to wait on that one.
Fangirl12: Thank you very much.
hellangelsakura, Tem, Senyor Fier Mensheir : I'm glad you enjoyed the read, and I hope that you enjoy this one as well.
Now, with that over, I would very much like to thank the two people that helped me greatly with this chapter's development, Fangirl12and Merines Shinku. You have my gratitude for beta-reading this, and having the patience to deal with me.
Sincerely,
Toph the Trickster
Chapter Two:
From the Darkness, Arise Once More
"Do not give me that look, Catherine.
"You are aware of what we have to do, and why we are doing it.
"We all have our roles, and it is crucial that you fulfill yours when the time comes, just as I am to play my own.
"There is no room for despair, no room for hesitation;
"Not from you."
-Lelouch vi Britannia
~TtT~
Fire can be described in many ways:
It is anger, courage, passion and might.
But remember that as we see our homes burn, and see that bodies of the charred, we are reminded of fire's other trait:
It is destruction, and thus:
Fire is loss.
~TtT~
Demons…
Yes, that was the word CC desired to use to describe the images she saw before her, the mocking laughter of the flames that continued to burn through illuminated chapel.
Her imagination continued to work, projecting demons as the fire that taunted her, reminded her of every loss she experienced throughout her horrendously long life.
Yet, through all of these metaphorical distractions, the woman found herself both ignoring and focusing on fires that spread through the carpets, tapestries, pews, and ornaments and subsequently tinting the chamber in scarlet. She could feel her long, pale hands breaking her body from Jeremiah's hold, and her feet rushing forward to the oxidizing corpse.
Despite the flames, the witch still felt the frigid chill about her, growing ever colder as she reached her hand out through the onyx gasses, and touched the heated palm of the emperor.
The laughter continued; the disturbing sound making it to her, unobstructed, and growing ever louder as the other people rushed out of the room – for whatever reason, she did not care to guess - leaving her in the presence of Jeremiah Gottwald.
At this point in time, however, the witch could no longer pay any of these details any mind, as she was suddenly preoccupied with what was happening to herself.
Her vision blurred to blotches of red, orange, gray, silver, and purple as pain radiated from the crimson crane upon her forehead; her knees, which had been supporting her kneeling position, grew weak as her Code began to sap her of all her strength.
CC knew she hit the blackened carpet despite the dull and distant thud she heard as she felt the ash fly at the impact; she heard the faded cry of Jeremiah behind her.
She was too far gone to respond to his cry now, though.
The witch embraced the whiteness that began to come with the pain, the whiteness that overtook the blur of colors from the world around her.
The whiteness that, Catherine knew without a shadow of a doubt, would take her to the World of C.
-A memory is coming to surface.
~TtT~
Location:Study, Northern Tower, Palace Aries, Area Twelve, Holy Britannia
Estimated Date / Timeline:October 13th, 2008, eleven years preceding the rise of Lelouch vi Britannia
Estimated Time:9:38am, a quarter hour after a morning horse ride with the ninety-eighth emperor and empress
Lelouch vi Britannia was never fond of his father, that was a fact that he was sure of, but another thing the prince was aware of was that his mother was rather fond of the man's presence, going to such lengths as to invite him to visit her on a quarterly basis.
It came to such a point that Charles zi Britannia, with the work that he had to deal with, decided to have his own study in the northern tower of Palace Aries, so as to be able to do his work despite being away from the capital.
Marianne, of course, complied without much argument, immediately having the room cleaned, and picking out the furnishings with the accompaniment of the emperor.
It was in this room, after an exhausting ride through the grounds with his mother and father – Nunnally having requested to remain in bed after using up all her energy playing with her elder half-sister, Euphemia, the previous night. – That Lelouch found himself, taking in every detail of an enclosure that he rarely, if at all, entered:
To the left of the oaken double doors, that Lelouch had just entered through, was a wooden dresser, on top of which was a volume of black, hard-bound books, their spines labeled with years; the leftmost one starting with the year Zero a.t.b. and the farthest book on the right ending with the present year; each one decorated with the image of a crimson crane in flight.
Sweeping his glance further, Lelouch's eyes met a large mahogany bookshelf, towering above the polished floor, and touching the edge where the ceiling met the ten-foot wall. Opposite the dresser, which was the detail mentioned first, was the room's only window; it functioned as the third wall, occupying a whole side and partly covered by red, velvet curtains.
The remaining side was occupied by a long red couch, accompanied by a set of four single chairs, and a wood-framed, glass coffee table.
But, returning to the first border, Lelouch felt himself drawn to a detail he had neglected on his initial observations:
-A portrait of his mother and father together, which was dressed in a frame of wood, using a design of gold-cast vines and serpents that crept up and down the wooden laterals.
The little prince found himself blinking repeatedly, seemingly trying to get a grasp of the painting situated behind the glass:
His father, newly ascended to the throne, wearing an ensemble he was unaccustomed to seeing. Not that he was used to seeing his father when the latter's hair was still gold, of course.
The ninety-eighth emperor of the Holy Britannia Empire was adorned in a black coat, its tails reaching further then the picture would allow, metallic buttons and lace decorated the piece of clothing, with a gold chain hanging from his right shoulder and crossing over to his left hip, a purple sword hung from it; the sleeves ended with red cuffs, that gave way to silver gauntlets that encased his hands. Most of his shoulders and neck were covered by a white, puffy collection of fur that functioned as the beginnings of a red cape that fell behind him.
Beside him, was Marianne when she was nineteen, dressed in, what Lelouch considered to be, a bastardized version of her Knights of the Round uniform: The outer coat was black, as opposed to the white that was mainly used; her corset a shade of bloody red, and the same image of the red bird, bordered with golden lace, adorned upon her chest; her black hair was tied and clipped into a long ponytail.
Lelouch looked on, then taking into detail the expressions his parent wore:
The eleventh prince knew, for a fact, that his father never smiled; he had never sent he king smile since he had gained the capability of reasoning; no, Charles zi Britannia always had his lips pulled downward at a sharp angle.
I had even been convicted to believing that father hadn't even smiled at any of his weddings.
But, in this portrayal of the emperor and empress, the male half had his lips twisted up; this detail alone, despite the fact that the difference of the smirk from a straight line was almost unnoticeable, caused the boy to raise his eyebrows in surprise.
His mother was no better.
Lelouch was accustomed to seeing his mother smile; she did so very often, even threatening several nobles with the same gentle smile that she gave her children when she greeted the latter in the morning.
But what he saw in the portrait was something else entirely.
The very air Marianne vi Britannia exuded screamed warning; warning of the fact that she was a knight of the round, warning for the fact that she could kill you with her bare hands, as well as in a knightmare.
She was a woman to be feared and respected, beyond all else.
Her smirk, as she had her arm wrapped around the emperor's own, told the viewer of the painting exactly that; this portrayal of his mother wasn't telling him of her kindness and compassion, as many other depictions of her had; no, this one told of her power, as a knight and as a queen, along with her willingness to pay the price required for her to get what she coveted.
The image of the two together said one thing:
"Behold our might: the blood and the flash."
Lelouch, now broken of his concentration, turned to face the man situated behind the wooden desk, which was placed right in front of the revealed segment of window.
Purple met purple when Charles stated the title of the painting on the wall.
"That was taken shortly after your mother and I ended the Emblem of Blood, a good eleven years ago." The emperor was seated on a tall-backed leather chair that was placed behind his desk, multiple documents littering the wooden surface. "I married her three days later."
Lelouch turned back to the painting in though, trying to recall any stories that he had heard from that time: The Emblem of Blood was the darkest era of the Royal side of Holy Britannia, nightly killings, and hundreds upon thousands of betrayals, all for the sake of taking the throne. Lady Beatrice, Odysseus's mother, told of the death and suffering that plagued most of the nobles during that time, where even the killing of unborn children was practiced if the child possessed the potential to seize the throne when he, or she, came of age.
"Father," the prince called, turning to face the man. "What do you think of the monarchy system our nation is using right now?"
The comment caused Charles to raise an eyebrow towards his eleventh son: "And what, pray tell, brought this question about?" the man leaned back into the leather backrest, placing his elbows on the armrests and lacing his fingers together. "Taking an interest in politics early, Lelouch?"
The boy shook his head.
"No, it's just that I had heard of other forms of government where the people are able to have a hand in the way things are run." The boy placed his hand to his chin in thought. "A democracy, I believe it was called."
The ninety-eighth emperor stared at the prince for a moment, the former scrutinizing the latter and looking for any clues that boy's body language could suggest.
The older male nodded: "That is true; there is a government that allows the people a hand in choosing those that lead them." He explained, crossing one leg over the other as he continued; "It was meant to center on equality among citizens."
"Then isn't that better?" Lelouch queried, his eyebrows knitting together. "That way, there will be no fighting over the throne among the other nobles, and the people would be more content since the leaders are chosen by them. Why not-"
"No." was Charles's simple reply, stopping the prince's tirade with a closed, iron door. "Democracy is a mob rule." The king stated with a scowl. "There shall be no progress in that form of government for our country." The man drew a long breath, looking to the ceiling as he did so.
This ought to be an informative lecture.
"Inequality is a part of humanity; you must always remember that." The emperor returned his gaze to his young son's. "Democracy creates the illusion of equality through certain rights that seem preposterous.
"-A man who knows not how the world moves has no right in speaking of how a country must be run." He then said: "You must also take note of such a government's own flaws: such as the choosing of candidates; people can be fooled, remember that, and thus, all it takes to win the hearts of the people are a few well-placed actions and several honey-tongued words.
"The population, like any single person, can be lied to; it is only a matter of skill and application."
There was a moment of silence after the emperor was done voicing his opinion; Lelouch stared at his father, getting a general gist of what the man meant. Unfortunately for the boy, he was interrupted of his contemplations by his father's sigh:
"Perhaps it will be better if I showed you how things work in the world around us." The man placed his palms against his knees, and pushed himself to his feet, eliciting a creek from the chair's wooden frame. After taking a large huff to make himself more alert, Charles made his way to dresser, and pulled one of the compartments open, sticking a large left hand and moving it about, as though searching for something.
It was after several seconds of feeling through the polished wood of the drawer did the emperor's eyebrow rise, signifying that he had found what he searched for:
"A scale?" Lelouch said, staring at the apparatus with a raised eyebrow.
The King nodded: "A scale."
It was an elegant thing, sunlight bouncing off the bends and curves of the golden plating of the contraption as it was set atop the glass coffee table; Britannia's coat of arms emblazoned gold against the black tint between its two arms.
Charles sat down on one of the large chairs, and gesturing his son to do the same. And Lelouch, without thinking, followed as his father said, feeling his rear sinking into the silken cushion of the chair across Charles; the table with the scale stood between them.
The ninety-eighth emperor spoke: "Think of this scale's position as the manifestation of harmony; the horizontal-most level representing the perfection that is balance." Charles reached a gloved hand into his pocket and pulled out a little pouch. Giving the piece of sewn leather a shake, and eliciting a jingle from within its confines, the man pulled away the golden string that kept the pouch's contents form spilling, and spread the objects over the glass surface:
Gems: rubies, sapphires, diamonds, emeralds, topazes, and amethysts, ranging from the size of nail on Lelouch's little finger to the size of Charles's whole thumb.
"These," the emperor motioned to the precious stones that littered the table. "Are the people of the world." A silken hand moved to pick up one of the larger gems: an emerald about the size of Lelouch's middle finger, one that was bordered by a silver frame. "The larger gems are those that are of power and high political standing." Charles then used his free hand to point to a set of eight rubies that were the smallest of the collection. "And the smallest stones are the common people.
"Those in power bear more weight, exerting more pressure to influence the state of the world around them." The speaker took the emerald and placed in on one of the scale's platforms, subsequently causing the scale to tip in the stone's favor. "But they do not exist in numbers; they are single people working to achieve something in personal, or familial, interest."
These words caused the child's eyebrows to furrow:
"But what about those people in power that try to help the masses?"
Charles found himself smiling at his son's insight. "True, there are the leaders that side with the masses." He took four of the eight rubies and placed them upon the platform opposite the emerald, causing the position of the lateral to shift into a diagonal line shy of horizontal.
The king took another stone, a topaz this time, half the size of the emerald that had been placed on the other side, and placed it among the rubies, creating equilibrium among the gems.
"The many and the few are in constant conflict." Charles gestured to each of the scale's respective sides. "One trying to exert more influence than the other; this is the endless struggle for power.
"-And in the endless struggle, people learn of the world around them, they are able to progress, working through time with the knowledge that was gained from the conflict." Charles told his son, taking note of the confused way the boy was eyeing him. The emperor took in a deep breath: "Remember that a human being learns more from failure then he does from success.
"Disagreement, in itself, is a failure in the eyes of many. As it is human nature to desire perfection, and, people are able to learn from that disagreement." The king leaned back into his chair as he spoke again:
"There is progress in a mixture of unity and conflict; progress that is born from the harmony of inequality"
Charles's lips pulled down and his eyebrows curled together into a slight frown.
"Understand this, child:" the man reached out with his right hand and flicked the emerald away with his index finger, the sound of the ricocheting gem echoing through the now-silent room, the pressure of the vocal void only being uplifted by the sudden creak of the scale's joints and the clatter of stone as the expensive minerals collided with the glass.
"Equality breeds familiarity; familiarity breeds contempt; contempt breeds dissent, and dissent breeds destruction." Lelouch looked up from the fallen stones on the table to meet the intense glare of his father. "The day the world stands under absolute unity, when there are no longer those to go against the desires of the many. There will be those that will rise to try to fill the void that is left."
Charles stood up and took swift strides to the window.
"The lady Discord shall have her feast; Cocytus shall host it."
The father and son exchanged a glance once more, the young prince aware of the fact that the man before him no longer spoke as his father, but as the ninety-eighth emperor of Holy Britannia, the man who ended the emblem of blood. Lelouch found himself listening in awe as he awaited his father's next words, somehow knowing –in the very depths of his soul- that the king's next words would weigh in his heart forever.
"And the world shall burn."
~TtT~
Location: West wing hallway of the Britannia building: Palace Mortem, Edogawa ghetto, Tokyo, Japan
Estimated Date / Timeline: October 12th, 2018, day of the execution of the Instigators of the Damocles Rebellion
Estimated Time: 6:08pm, a third of an hour passing the burning of the palace chapel
Thoughts congregated as CC was pulled back into her own consciousness, the gods seemingly content with what they had decides to show her, and her mind coming to contact with the connections of her senses once more.
The balance of the world… She felt the thought pass her mind. Many assume it as good and evil, She recalled the images she had just seen. But perhaps it is not the case. The weak will come together, using the strength of numbers to battle few powerful.
Catherine contracted her lungs, pulling the burning air to be drained of heat by the chill within her; she looked back to the parts of history she had been forced to bare witness to: The rise of nations, the unopposed growth of Britannia, the rise of kings, tyrants, and men, all of which were testament to the power of the many against the might of the few.
Few ever notice it, but I believe it has been that way since the dawn of time.
She could hear the patter of heels against the marble of the palace hall, the bounce of her green tresses with the rhythmical rise and fall of the hard back and iron shoulders she leaned against, the information leading her to only one conclusion:
The witch let out a moan as she spoke to the half-human that carried her, her hands clutching at the fabric of his coat and pulling her closer so she could keep her position secure:
"Jeremiah," her voice was hollow, void of as much emotion as the barren hallway before them. "Where-?"
"We are almost at the hangar entrance, milady." The knight swiftly anticipated, not stopping to either look at her or put her down. "All the others are on board, and I just need to foresee the final preparations of the shuttle, and we should be off."
He was answered with a silent nod, and the pair continued without another bother.
It was during this period of silence that a pair of golden eyes took the opportunity to look at the surrounding sights and absorb every detail of the building that the owner knew would not be able to see another dawn:
From the tapestries that lined the walls - each one depicting a coat of arms from a notable order within the country, that of a dynasty's, or even a personal symbol of a singular person; if it was an emblem that originated from Britannia, you would be sure to find a copy of it hung on the hall – to the columns located between each piece of hung cloth, to the observation that none of the lightings were working, and the fact that the air within the building was rising due to the influence of the growing fires, hidden as they were.
It was through there many details, the contrast of the heated air against her chilled flesh, and the similarity of the darkness around her to the way she felt, she saw images flash before her.
Quite unlike the previous set of memories, this one was more recent, and one of her own.
Lelouch's voice resounded clearly in her mind:
"This shall be the plan that must be carried out when the requiem is at its end.
"-The days of the aftermath following the Demon's fall.
"-The Days of Dissent."
CC's eyes grew wide, a sharp gasp hissing through the burning air of the noiseless hallway as the realization hit her:
The plans for the coming days, Lelouch's instructions!
One of her hands immediately let go of Jeremiah's shoulder and began to pat the area around her abdomen, as though feeling for something underneath the cloth of the restrainer suit.
Any stiffness, anything that might indicate I have it here with me. She pleaded to the fates. Just this once, favor me, I beg of you.
Her franticness was obvious now, even to the haggard cyborg who had been carrying her, her movements were erratic, panicky and unsure as she came closer and closer to checking all the possible places upon her body that could serve as sanctuaries for what she sought; she could feel the sweat well up from her pores and soak her palms, neck, and back.
And, through all this, the chill grew ever more frigid as the fact came to her:
I don't have it.
The witch knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that she was now in the worst possible situation she could have ever been at that point in time. The most important part of the next phase was not with her, and Lelouch did not give her a general idea of what she was to accomplish.
At least nothing more then saying that it would be my job to take care of what was left.
Her eyes clenched shut, the grip of her left hand tightening on Jeremiah's shoulder, making her feel the hard iron underneath the cloth.
She did not want to do what she was about to do, not after all that just happened to her. No, she did not feel willing do what she had to do.
It's cold, too cold.
"Milady," She heard through the heaviness of the silence, the rhythmical clinking of metal heels no longer coming to her ears, as the knight that carried her stopped his run. "What is it?"
Gold eyes snapped open, the call of the mechanical man pulling her from the depths of though, the chill weakening slightly, and the heat of the hot air rushing into her cold body as she drew a breath.
"Set me down, knight." She commanded with a level voice. "I am well capable of using my feet on my own now."
Jeremiah did not argue, setting her down and hearing the click of her boots' thin heels upon the tile; he turned to face her, his gaze trained to her feet in respect.
"We are almost at the hangar, milady; the servants are already on board, and the final preparations just have to be set-up."
CC said nothing to his words, not immediately, at least.
But what must be done must be done, lest all of this pain become in vain.
"Go on ahead." She told him, turning around to let the man face her back. "There is still something I must do."
Jeremiah's reaction was immediate: his head rose to meet a pair of golden eyes, as though searching for an answer that the witch refused to convey through words.
He was brought back to reality, though, when she decided the opposite:
"You are the only person, other than I, that can finish the shuttle's final preparations, and pilot it to our next destination, and there is still something that must be done before this palace burns to the ground." She looked over her shoulder, to meet the cyborg's remaining amber eye:
"We all have our roles in this, and it is time I played mine as Lelouch did his."
~TtT~
Location: North-West adjoining hallway of the Britannian building: Palace Mortem, Edogawa ghetto, Tokyo, Japan
Estimated Date / Timeline: October 12th, 2018, day of the execution of the Instigators of the Damocles Rebellion
Estimated Time: 6:18pm, seven minutes into CC's dash to the imperial suite.
Catherine dashed through the empty halls, turning left or right depending on what she thought would take her to the north wing's staircase fastest.
She did not have much time; she knew that for a fact; from the resounding gunfire, shouts, cheers, and screams, to the scarce sound of falling pillars and collapsing walls; the need for swiftness stood at the forefront of her mind. But despite this, every few turns, she would run dangerously close to the steadily spreading flames; and their cracking and cackling would echo through the recesses of her mind like the demons she still imagined in the chapel just minutes earlier.
Golden eyes observed their surroundings closely, taking note of every landmark that they could recognize to lead their possessor down a safe path.
I cannot afford to make anymore mistakes. She reminded herself as she made a sharp right at a three-way crossing, and rushing through a curtain-adorned hall. Who knows how deep into the palace those mobs have gone. The very concept of such a though did not sit well with the green-haired woman.
Not in the slightest.
She pushed her tiring legs further, using her centuries of experience in mental control to suppress the pain that the buildup of lactic acid in her muscles was causing. She ran ever faster, taking another right into an entrance that had been covered by another set of curtains, and stopping as she came to face the northern staircase.
It stood before her, the antique of black ironwood that, somehow, remained untouched by the aggressive flames that continued to consume Palace Mortem.
The battle of heat and cold began within her then; the chill sending the slivers of doubt from the back of her mind. It only seemed too good to be true, knowing that the set of steps before her was only two doors away from the object of her desire; it didn't fit right that things would seem this easy, and her instincts were telling her exactly that.
But the heat of the mortal hell that was the incinerating palace whispered to her ear:
What other option do you possess, though?
CC knew then that her mind was more taxed than she had ever imagined it to be in the last few months.
Her subconscious had a point; she did not have that many alternative choices, and even if she had, there was no sure way of knowing if the other staircases were still there to cross.
The eastern stairwell is too far off, at least another half-hour of running, if I'm lucky, and the central passes were all blocked by the fire.
Yes, she was, with absolute certainty, out of options.
She sighed, eyebrows furrowing with frustration and exhaustion as she took her first few steps toward the assembled wood, extending her pale hands, which were now clammy with ice-cold sweat, to touch the smooth and shiny handrails.
She froze in realization, golden eyes opening slowly as she observed a detail that she had not noticed at first:
Heat and smoke rose form between the wood, steel, and stone of the black staircase, the darkness concealing it's presence atop the construct.
Catherine set a white boot forward, hearing the hollow sound echo through the cackles as her heel stabbed the wood; she knew that this set of stairs sat directly atop the furnace room, with no earth or stone to protect it from what flames already raged bellow, and the risks ran high that, despite the strength of the wood, it was already nearing it's breaking point against the heat.
She shifted half of her weight forward, her right hand holding unto the black railing in an attempt to test the step's sturdiness; it creaked under the pressure.
-But held despite the weight.
Another foot rose to the occasion, skipping the second step, and landing on the third level with a sharp click and a hollow thud.
The wood creaked, but stood against her weight once again,
It was after this was done, did time seem to slow down for the immortal.
She drew a deep breath, feeling the cold deepen slightly in that instant of decision. She knew that what she was about to do was reckless, outright dangerous even, but she was also aware of the fact that she no longer had time; she had to be quick.
It's not that I'd die, after all.
And so the foot on the lower of the two steps came up, CC's knee joint creating a right angle before her shin swung forward and her hind foot pushed to elevate her past four other steps, and landing on the fifth with a dangerous creek, and the sounds of splintering wood. Catherine pushed up another set of four steps.
And so she ran up, taking each set in literal stride as cries of pain from the steps bellow chorused with the cackling laughter of the flames down under; each platform would bend upon her touch, and break as she left it behind, no longer safe to use as a method for return.
Up five, up five, and up five, once more, she climbed higher up the case of forty-five, her path unhindered and her travel untouched.
But as a testament to cruelty, upon stepping to make her final leap, she sensed grow strong within her, rising with a sudden burst of heat form below, where the demons of the fire whispered to her:
No, no, no! The twisted voices laughed into her ear. No mercy for you, queen Catherine!
And the steps that creaked under her feet snapped at the sudden pressure, causing the witch to fall into the fiery pit bellow.
But that was not the Hell meant of her; CC realized this when she heard a sizzle that she could recognize all to well in the days of her childhood:
It was the sound of the boiler's furnace, crying and wailing in the wake of its failure. And that could only mean one thing:
It's going to explode.
And gold eyes went wild before the splintered wood blasted through them.
~TtT~
Her arms strained with effort, pain coursing through every inch of her body as she attempted to pull herself up whatever surface her left hand was holding unto.
Pain was met with more pain as she turned to lay herself on her back; she was, undoubtedly, bleeding form several places, chips and stakes of ironwood lodged within her body, which was now well-heated by the flames that scorched her skin and sweat-drenched clothes.
Catherine though hard, concentrating on the largest centers of the pain that irritated her so. From her marred legs that bent in directions not intended in their original creation, to the endless sting that flowed from her unseeing eyes, and the familiar sensation of blood that came down from the multiple fractures to her head, the witch's attention was on a stake that had stabbed through her body in a most familiar place:
-An ageless scar that decorated the pale flesh between her left shoulder and hip, one that displayed a familiar symbol, and brought the woman back to centuries past…
-Where the all-too-remembered pain of betrayal and despair seemed just as cold as it ran tonight.
~TtT~
White does not necessarily represent the light of hope.
No, the white is more than just that; the white is deep, it is all-encompassing, it is oppressive, but most of all, it is empty.
What you see before you is the white devoid of all, so fear it for all you are; you will no longer be the same when all is said and done.
~TtT~
Location: Unknown
Estimated Date / Timeline: Fifteenth Century; the birth of the Gray Witch six centuries preceding the rise of the Demon King
Estimated Time: Unknown
The girl was lost; at least that was how she thought she perceived the concept of her current situation.
It was strange, seeing only empty whiteness, yet feeling the pressure of water all around her; the sensation bordering on the pain one would feel when one was deep under the sea.
She turned her head around, lime-green hair whipping slowly through the white, as though she really was submerged, looking for anything that might tell her of her whereabouts.
The girl screamed when she caught the sight of dozens of ghastly, gaseous, black skulls that burst forth before her, seemingly laughing at her now terrified expression; the sound cutting through the void unhindered by the water she believed to be there.
She felt her feet leave the ground, she not falling despite this, and pulled her legs, up to cover her bare and shaking chest; she was crying now.
She heard the bubbles rise form bellow her, feeling the pockets of air brush her pale skin, and passing her to go to the emptiness above.
She heard a voice through the bubbles as they rose:
"Awaken, little Catherine."
Catherine's eyes, which had been shut since she began to hold unto herself, opened to meet the silver eyes and gentle smile of the woman she had know for close to a decade:
Mother Rosaline held out her hand: "Stand, dear child." The girl thought she saw a tiny glint in the elder woman's eyes as the latter spoke her next words "The time has come."
The young woman took the nun's offered hand with furrowed eyebrows; pain and fear forgotten as her bare feet touched the unseen floor.
"Where are we, mother?" Catherine asked the nun, the former's golden irises sparkling with curiosity.
Rosaline addressed the question without hesitation:
"This is a very special place, young one," the older woman turned to walk in the direction Catherine was facing. "This is a place that only a privileged few are given the right to enter; only a few are given the blessing to see." The nun continued as her surrogate daughter followed. "This is a place where the gods come down to meet mortals such as you."
The younger girl paused in her walk, feeling alarm bells ringing at the oddly dark tone her elder had used in the last statement. She found it hard to point out, but the girl was sure that it was there; that heavy feeling of longing.
Catherine de' Celeste felt a sudden chill run through when she looked into her mother's words:
'-Mortals such as you.'
"Mother, what are we to do here?"
Silver eyes chilled over as the nun spun to look her daughter in the eye, the cold in the latter beginning to spread throughout her body.
"I already told you, girl," Rosaline's tone was flat. "The time has come."
The younger girl felt her eyebrows push further together, strangely hearing a chorus of voices whisper frigidly to her ears with the words:
Beware of treachery…
The nun continued, unperturbed by the expression the human before her gave: "When I gave you your gift, you had agreed to grant me my wish when your power had grown enough." Catherine felt the mother's hand land on one of her shoulders, the contact creating more cold rather than the warmth she once felt when she was younger. "I am a bearer of the Code, a trait that makes one immortal, in everything but judgment, and only a bearer of the Power of the King can inherit it.
"Eight years since you were gifted, that is a great deal of growth, Catherine."
Fingers gripped tighter, pain beginning to accompany the chill from the contact; the voices told her then:
Your time has come.
"You have served your purpose…"
Catherine felt cold, her knees starting to shake in the white void where they stood; the emblem on Rosaline's forehead glowed scarlet.
"Now, I shall collect."
And then the pain came, the blade cutting through her flesh as she let loose a scream; the nun continued despite this, driving with another swing just seconds after pulling it out of the younger girl's abdomen.
And it was, minutes later, when the green-haired girl was staring up from the pool of her own blood, did Rosaline speak her last words before fading away:
"You shall see when it is right to, the good of your coming immortality." Hands, grasped the sides of Catherine's head, pulling the latter up to meet the eyes of whom she once saw as her mother. "Regret it, you shall not,"
Rosaline planted a little kiss on the dying girl's forehead.
"CC."
The world fell away then, death claiming the child in his cold embrace for the first time as the despair of betrayal consumed her.
But in all this, she saw not darkness.
No;
All she saw was white.
Notes:
Cackling flames: please note that this is not a typographical error, as some may have assumed in the last chapter. It is meant to emphasize on the mockery of the flames by laughing at CC's predicament. This personification might be used in succeeding chapters.
Cocytus: This is a reference to Dante Alighieri's Divine Comedy, the Inferno, to be exact. Cocytus is the center of Hell, a frozen lake where traitors are given their punishment; Lucifer is said to be found at the lake's center.
Author's Notes:
Now, this officially ends the second chapter of Code Geass: Now and Forever. I apologize for the delay of this, but there was little that could be done for there was much to do, and no time to think of anything good to place in.
Also, I feel I should tell you that I will be gone for the next two months, and will be, without doubt, unable to update any of my stories, so it would be rather pointless to ask me to update soon.
I will though, promise to do so at my earliest opening in schedule.
Now, I hope you all enjoyed this installment, and I hope to hear of your opinions on this.
Sincerely,
Toph the Trickster
