Eternal Geass Moon: The Garden of Sinners
A Code Geass / Kara no Kyoukai crossover
Disclaimer: In this particular universe, I do not own or in any way shape or form hold a claim to the Code Geass, Tsukihime, Kara no Kyoukai, any other elements of the Nasuverse, or any other modern works that I may reference in this story.
In the legends of nearly every civilization, there have been references to mysterious cultures on long vanished continents, of peoples that lived during a golden age, when the earth brought forth its bounty without the manifold labors of man, when dreams shaped reality, when all that man required could be brought forth by will alone—a time forever lost when a cataclysm born of hubris and war sank a legendary land, wiping out much of humanity in the process, with the scattered remnants forced to rebuild from what was essentially the Stone Age.
As the ages passed, the practitioners of these arcane arts faded into the shadows as technology kept on its inexorable advance, eliminating the need for mages for the most part. Still, magic and those who use it continue to exist today, and rumors linger of a strange lineage of magi isolated from the flow of time, carrying within their Codes (akin to Thaumaturgical Crests) powerful magic from a bygone age – a lineage of magi known as Witches.
" " denotes speech
'italics'denotes thought
'bold' denotes location names
'bold italics' denotes skill use
V.V.'s Atelier, Pendragon Imperial Palace
In the center of a vast cavern hundreds of meters beneath the bustling capital of the Holy Britannian Empire, dimly lit by the glowing of numerous sigils of power, an eternally young boy with blond hair longer than his body sat upon a granite throne, attended to by a slim pink-haired figure standing beside him—a demon familiar that he had crafted eight years ago, using the captured soul of an assassinated enemy and the corpse of Anya Alstreim, the young girl that had been the only witness to his crime.
'I take life, and I grant it, creating something greater than human with the splintered pieces of the past…'
A monstrous act, true, and impractical for some magi, given the amount of mana required, but then, V.V. was no mere magus, as the enfant terrible was one of only three Sorcerers alive in the present time. In a way, he, like all other nobles who lived pampered lifestyles, was still a child – but not childlike in the way of being cute and innocent. No, V.V. embodied the worst parts of a child's nature, existing as a hateful, conniving, manipulative being without moral governors, a vicious little sociopath willing to do anything to achieve his goal – a mindset shared by his servants and familiars.
"So the army has failed to apprehend the terrorists that raided the Osaka facility?" the immortal asked, his hands steepled before him as his sharp gaze fixed on the assassin kneeling before him. "And the team of specialists tasked with capturing the Asagami has failed as well?"
"So it would seem, Master V.V.," answered Rolo Haliburton, a skilled assassin who appeared to be a young, purple-eyed boy of indeterminate age – but who was as ageless and inhuman as the Sorcerer who commanded him. "In both cases, the quarry has vanished without a trace, with all of those sent after them eliminated at the cost of great property damage."
"How interesting," intoned V.V.'s soft, melodic voice as the young immortal frowned, narrowing his eyes. "I expected this of the Asagami, but not of terrorists, unless—"
The Third Magician paused, contemplating the possible reasons behind the attack. If the terrorists had only attacked the facility because they thought it contained poison gas, then all was well—if however, they were part of a magi resistance movement who knew the true purpose of the facility, then…
'The typical Magus Killers that comprise our irregular forces work well enough for apprehending most magi, but If our recent failures are indeed the work of the Witch called 'Puppet Master', 'Visitation of Woe', 'Mistress of Destruction', and 'Harbinger of Chaos', then it will be necessary to resort to more drastic measures…'
At that, the immortal stood, his glowing white and gold vestments etched with spell sigils (the Mystic Code "Heaven's Feel", amplifying his ability to manipulate human souls), rustling as he stepped towards his contractor, his voice a sibilant hiss.
"Tell me, Rolo Haliburton, has your network of familiars around the Tokyo Settlement detected any trace of unusual activity while they have been…feeding?" V.V. inquired, clasping his hands behinds his back as he looked at the assassin kneeling before him. "They do have the ability to blend in with the human population more effectively than most."
"Those in Shinjuku have all been eliminated, which is unusual, as conventional weapons usually only slow them down," the ageless killer replied, reaching out with his mind to test his connection with his remaining familiars, while still in his submissive position before his liege. "Likely the work of a mage…or a rogue psychic of the Demon Hunter families…"
A low, harsh chuckle issued from V.V.'s lips, as he looked over to his pink-haired demon familiar, gesturing for her to leave the area and greet a waiting "guest" in the cavern's antechamber, watching as the young girl did his bidding, walking off into the darkness.
"Rise, my assassin," the immortal stated flatly, beckoning for the young boy to stand. "I suspected as much, but seeing as this is the case, I have a mission for you. Will you accept it?"
Rolo stood, his movement a study in crisp efficiency as he met the Sorcerer's purple eyes with his red.
"Your will be done, Master V.V.," the assassin spoke stoically, eager to hear what it was that the immortal wanted him to do. "I assume that there is someone you wish for me to kill?"
"Of course," the Sorcerer said, with his lips quirking into a cruel smirk. "That is the purpose to which you were born, was it not? The reason that you have been blessed with Innate Time Control as well as the gift of the night – having been changed into an immortal Dead Apostle by my magic, that you may better use your talent without penalty?"
"That's right," Rolo replied simply, his hands at his side as he regarded the one who had taken him in as a small child, the only one to show him any kindness. "I can't remember how many people I've killed, just as nobody counts the number of times they brush their teeth or eat a meal. Killing to survive, killing to fulfill an objective—it is all the same, and there is no other place for me."
Indeed, due to how he was raised, the Dead Apostle known as Rolo Haliburton was an existence unfit for society, a creature who found pleasure in coming in contact with death – and excelled at it, given his superior reflexes and physical abilities, superhuman regenerative abilities, and his special brand of magecraft, which allowed him to accelerate or stagnate his body within the flow of time. And besides that, Dead Apostles were notoriously difficult to kill, as their bodies would resist damage from conventional weapons.
"I'm pleased you understand," V.V. chuckled, one of his thin fingers brushing the assassin's cheek, smearing a few drops of his blood against his servant's lips, as Rolo trembled in ecstasy at the taste of an immortal's ichor. "Your mission then, is to go to Area 11 and eliminate any magi or psychics you discover—including the Witch, if she can be located. I trust you will not fail me?"
"Failure is not an option for me, master V.V., not in this," the Dead Apostle answered, inclining his head deferentially.
"Good, you will leave in a matter of days, so I suggest you awaken your remaining familiars, to strengthen you in preparation for the ordeal ahead," the immortal said quietly, tilting his head to the side. "Now wait for a moment in the shadows, if you would. I have business to attend to, assassin, and would like you to observe."
"Yes, milord."
With that, Rolo left, disappearing into the shadows, as V.V.'s pink haired familiar returned, with Luciano Bradley, Knight of Ten and "Vampire of Britannia," in tow.
'How quaint, that I must meet with a would-be vampire after a true vampire,' the immortal mused, activating his Mystic Eyes of Illusion as the duo approached him, an ability that allowed him to appear as he desired to any who looked upon him, with his shadow the only thing that might betray him. 'However, I will do what is required to prevent any more meaningless deaths…'
So the Sorcerer thought as Luciano Bradley drew near, going to one knee as one might expect of a knight before his sovereign lord, a far cry from his usually boorish and confrontational figure.
Anya Alstreim, the Knight of Six, did the same.
"Your Majesty," the Knight of Ten stated curtly, eyes on the ground. "How may I serve you?"
"Vampire of Britannia, what do people value most?" V.V. asked, appearing to Luciano in the guise of the Emperor of Britannia.
"Why their lives of course, Your Majesty," the bloodthirsty man replied. "Lives that I savor on the battlefield."
"Indeed, Bradley, that is why you became a Knight, to officially take what others value, to affirm that in the end, people are not equal," the immortal boomed, playing the role as best he knew how (which was quite well, considering that he was the twin brother of Charles zi Britannia). "In so doing, you pledge body and soul to my service, correct?"
"Indeed, Your Majesty," the Vampire of Britannia replied, as he was loyal to his country, if nothing else.
"A good answer, Bradley," V.V. smirked, amused at how easily he had tricked the Knight of the Round into becoming one of his familiars, his white and gold raiment glowing as he stepped forward, putting his hand on the Knight's forehead. "And so I shall give you a boon."
"Wha—?" the Knight of Ten asked…or would have, had his mouth responded, which it did not, as darkness closed in all around, his senses being severed from his body one by one, shut away.
"The human body is a fragile thing, Vampire, a vessel that can easily be broken," the Third Magician intoned, smirking as he wrenched Luciano Bradley's soul from his body. "And thus I will set you free of this too-frail mortal container."
'Begin Dissociation.'
A quiet humming, as a thousand motes of light burst from the Sorcerer's form—
'Ending resonance of possession experience…'
Hisssss…
—a hissing in the air, as pure mana and Ether gathered, congealing to create the outline of the Knight of Ten, quickly filled in by light—
'Relieved of burden, exist a ghost without a shell…materialize, oh spirit!'
Flash!
—a final burst of power, and the Knight of Ten awoke to find himself standing over what had been his body, his soul having been given form by mana, as a strange tattoo like intertwined snakes appeared on V.V.'s arm —with a strange book appearing in the immortal's hand, cover emblazoned with the same design.
"You have no further need for that frail container of flesh," the eternally young boy remarked, a low rumbling laugh issuing from his frame. "For you have become a higher being—a Ghost Liner, an existence that cannot be harmed by conventional weapons. You will not age, and have no further need for food, or drink, or air, as now you exist as a living ghost, bound only unto me."
That was power of the Third Magic, the power to manipulate the human soul, separating it from the body, combining it with new vessels, or to simply materialize it as a life form unto itself, creating a high-dimensional (planar) being that can cause interference in the material world on its own while existing as a spirit.
Whoosh!
A puff of air, as Bradley vanished from sight, then a pop as he rematerialized.
"As you see, Vampire, you can revert to spirit form at will, and as such can pass through most inorganic substances with ease…so long as they are not dense with mana, the chief component that makes up your new body."
"Mana, Your Majesty?" the psychopathic Knight asked, raising an eyebrow.
"That which fuels the mystery known as magic, which sustains Our rule," V.V. said with finality, gazing intently at the Knight of Ten. "Vampire of Britannia, you wish to deprive people of their lives? Well I shall grant that wish, and more, allow you to grow stronger from feeding upon their souls. You are ordered to proceed to Area 11 to stamp out any resistance. Now go, my Knight of Ten."
At the sound of this, Luciano Bradley grinned sadistically, bowing deeply to what he perceived to be his Emperor. What happened may have been strange, but if it meant that he would get to kill more people, and would not be hurt in the process—then all the better.
"As you command, Your Majesty," the man replied. "Your will be done."
"Excellent," V.V. intoned, glancing at his other familiar. "Knight of Six, arise and escort the Knight of Ten back to his residence."
The pink-haired familiar nodded, rising from her kneeling position and bowing to the Sorcerer as both she and the Vampire of Britannia exited, their footsteps tap-tap-tapping across bare rock as they passed through the bounded field and vanished.
Rolo, having quietly looked on at this, stepped out of the thick shadows behind the throne.
"Is there anything further you require of me, master V.V.?" the Dead Apostle asked quietly, in a clipped businesslike tone.
In response, the Sorcerer deactivated his Mystic Eyes of Illusion and walked over to the assassin and handed him the small book in his hand, an artifact heavy with mana.
"Rolo, I am giving you this 'Book of False Attendant', that you may command the Vampire of Britannia to work with you, should it prove necessary," the eternally young boy spoke imperiously, regarding his pet killer intently. "In addition, take this body away and feed on it, raising it as an undead familiar, as a vessel in this condition is rather hard to find."
The Dead Apostle bowed deeply as he walked over the now superfluous body of Luciano Bradley, sinking his fangs into the vessel's neck.
'By all means, continue to resist and struggle, magi of Area 11,' V.V. thought to himself, returning to his granite throne as he watched his servant feed. 'Reveal yourselves, that my servants may bring you peace, that your denials shall at last be silenced!'
Britannian Military Prison, Outskirts of Tokyo Settlement
Had Suzaku Kururugi been the superstitious sort, or the type who believed that there were no coincidences, the Honorary Britannian would have avoided Lelouch like the plague, given that disaster always seemed to follow in the exiled prince's wake. Eight years ago, Lelouch had been sent to Japan as a political hostage – followed quickly by Britannia deciding to invade, as if eager to kill off the exile. And now, after encountering his childhood friend for a second time, Suzaku Kururugi had encountered a string of truly bad luck.
'I had my nose broken by Lelouch, who was working with the terrorists,' the soldier recalled, able to do naught else while chained to the wall, his body bruised and battered from the attempts to coerce him to confess. 'Then I was shot for disobeying orders. Admittedly my luck turned when I was given a new experimental Knightmare, but then the arm was burned off by some kind of new weapon, with the systems overheating, and the legs riddled with bullets. And after finally being retrieved, I was taken into custody by military police under the command of Margrave Jeremiah Gottwald…'
"Your motive is clear, son of Genbu Kururugi," the purist Margrave had sneered, spitting on the bound prisoner, backhanding Private Kururugi across the face. "Murdering members of the Royal Guard, killing the general staff, cutting down Prince Clovis in cold blood – committing high treason against your country – you are an example of why Honorary Britannians cannot be trusted. However, come clean and we will show you mercy, judging you as though you were born a Britannian, not some worthless Eleven."
"You're wrong, I did nothing!" Suzaku had insisted. "There has to be some mistake."
"Tch! So in the end, you act like every other piece of scum and try to save your life?" Jeremiah Gottwald hissed, turning his head from the Private. "Very well then, have it your way. One way or another, the truth will come out."
And then the beatings had begun.
"Uunnghh," the soldier groaned through cracked and bloody lips, with evidence of torture fresh upon his body, since the military had resorted to more brutal tactics when asking politely for a confession had failed. "Why? Don't they understand that no good can come out of reprehensible means?"
'I'm sure that it's just an honest mistake from an overzealous official,' the Honorary Britannian rationalized, 'something to reassure the people, never mind that a Japanese person would never have been allowed near the Mobile Command Center in the first place. Still, I swore my loyalty to Britannia, so why are they doing this?'
For the son of a prime minister, Suzaku Kururugi was woefully blind to the fact that in a struggle between someone pure of heart and someone corrupt, corruption usually won, as it snared the pure within its coils and manipulated them into doing its bidding. No, perhaps it was better to say that he denied it, having been forced to confront that truth while in the throes of an inversion impulse, killing his father with his own hands.
KILL. KILL. KILL. YOU. KILLED.
"I did nothing wrong," the soldier denied, whispering it in an attempt to reassure himself, to know that the presence in the back of his mind had not once again escaped. "It's a mistake…I've done nothing!"
LIES.
Melting wall. Solvable meaning. Self who can explain. Smoothness of changeable permeability. Transitioning time. LIES LIES LIES ALL LIES.
Tap-tap-tap!
Eager for something, anything, to distract him to distract him from the darkness in his thoughts, Private Kururugi looked up towards the sound of approaching footsteps, only to find a certain labcoat wearing Earl of Pudding standing outside his cell, looking over the boy as if he were a specimen in a cage.
"Congratulations," the overly chipper voice of Earl Lloyd Asplund. "The two you asked me about weren't on the list of casualties."
"That's good to hear," Suzaku croaked out, breath hissing from his lungs in a painful gurgle.
'That's good…even if Lelouch has become a terrorist…and what happened to that girl? Why was she in the poison gas capsule?'
"Not much luck on your end though, I'm afraid," the mad scientist continued, his face souring as he recalled the responses to his inquiries. "You may be getting a trial but there's no one pulling for you. I may just lose the most vital component of the Lancelot…not that its maiden sortie went very well, due to an unforeseen development. I didn't think the terrorists had access to a radiant wave surger…"
Though Lloyd was forced to admit that they likely did, considering what had happened to the Z-01 Lancelot—an incident that had caused him to go ballistic after the fact.
'A trial? But surely, things can't be too bad then?' Suzaku thought, though he cringed upon remembering the flames rushing up the Lancelot's arm—and the terrorist's leader's counterattack, which had disabled his advanced frame.
"But the court is where the truth comes to light, isn't it?" the Honorary Britannian asked, holding out a shred of hope.
Lloyd only shrugged.
"I expect there will be more smoke and mirrors than anything," the Earl said, shrugging. "The truth is scarce of late."
"If that's how the world works, then so be it," Private Kururugi said, swallowing painfully. "I have no regrets."
Death contract. Death Wish. Poison and honey. Another, only me. Raging, raging, raging—rejection of everything.
Ashford Academy
By the time that Kallen Kozuki finished her shower and got dressed (in clothing that C.C. had pilfered from Lelouch's room, smelling faintly of lavender), braving a gauntlet of apologies and reassurances from the members of the Student Council that had stayed behind as she exited the building, the sun had already set, with the grounds of Ashford Academy bathed in the last remnants of twilight.
'If you want to win, you're going to have to trust me.'
Twice now, Kallen had heard those words, once from a mysterious voice on the radio, and once from a strange woman who had cornered her in the bathroom, revealing that she had been the reason the Britannians had instigated the Shinjuku massacre, with the Witch's words deliberately provoking the terrorist into—
'That's right…I attacked her…setting her on fire with my mind.'
The redhead shuddered as she recalled the scent of burning flesh, the realization that she herself possessed an inhuman power, that she could bring forth destruction with a thought—or at least, focused rage.
'But more importantly…who was the woman who lies at the root of these mysteries? Why was she inside a gas capsule? How did she douse the flames and heal herself like that?'
So many mysteries, with a single word given as an answer: Magecraft. Now, being a rational person who tended to be skeptical about the existence of supernatural forces, Kallen Kozuki would have ordinarily laughed off such an answer as a joke—but given the circumstances it was rather hard to do so, since the supernatural was really the only explanation that made any sense. True, it was also possible that the research facility that her resistance cell had raided had been working on some kind of super-soldier technology that was effectively magic anyway, but that latter explanation would not account for Kallen's own abilities.
'I have to accept the Witch's words for now,' the redhead conceded, as she walked along the concrete trail towards the main gate of the school, a solitary figure making her way through deserted grounds of Ashford Academy, moving slowly in the chill night air. 'And to know more, I will have to obey her instructions to come to Tokyo Tower, alone. How...unsettling.'
She had just reached the gate when—
"You're rather later than expected, magus," came a throaty, amused voice from the shadows. "I suppose I'll let you off this time, given the disconcerting nature of our…mutual friend, though she doesn't exactly appreciate being set on fire, even if she can heal."
Kallen turned with a start, whirling about and extending her pouch-knife in a single motion, body tensing defensively—only to freeze as her eyes fell upon the figure of Mana Ryougi leaning against the wall, dressed in a blouse and skirt combination of dark purple and black, studying the redhead with eerily glowing blue eyes as she twirled a knife between the fingers of her left hand.
"Wh-wh—Mana?!" the redhead sputtered in shock, taking an involuntary step backwards as her instincts screamed at her to flee from this shadowed wraith. "What are you—?"
A throaty chuckle, as the assassin smiled ever so slightly.
"Escorting you to your residence," the Satsujinki replied simply, stepping out of the darkness into the pale moonlight, each movement deliberate, utterly without waste. "As one who has been awakened, but is yet untrained, you are in a rather dangerous situation, since special powers attract others."
"Did she ask you to do this?" Kallen demanded, discarding her frail façade, since this other woman was obviously in league with the Witch, and thus knew her true self. "And just what are you?"
"Those are the burning questions of the day, aren't they, Kozuki?" the Chokushi no Magan adept asked in turn, matching question for question. "All I will say for now is that it would be in your best interests to have me accompany you—if not, well I will not take responsibility for the consequences."
"Is that a threat?" the redheaded terrorist inquired, her body stiffening as heat—
"Of course not," Mana denied flatly, arching one slender eyebrow, "but one who holds a weapon, without knowing how to use it, only invites disaster. Now come along…time passes, and I do have other matters to attend to besides this."
Well, Kallen supposed that it couldn't hurt to have an escort, considering that the woman already knew her secrets—and she had the feeling that if Mana had been out to kill her, the redhead would have never seen it coming.
"…Ok."
Lamperouge Residence, Ashford Academy
While Lelouch Lamperouge remained in asleep in a healing trance so that his body could recover from the damage that had been done to it, life continued on more or less as usual in the Lamperouge household, with four figures sitting at the Lamperouge's dining table, practicing the traditional Japanese art of Origami, as they discussed various topics of interest, chatting pleasantly. And all this, even though each was as different as could be in age, occupation, and concept of existence from one another – an odd assortment consisting of a ninja maid, an exiled princess, a powerful magus in hiding, and the First Sorceress.
"So how is Lelouch doing today?" Milly asked, an innocuous enough question that shouldn't arouse any suspicion from young Nunnally. "I wanted to visit him, but if he's not up for it."
"Big brother is still resting," the exiled princess responded, turning her head slightly towards the hallway where the raven-haired prince's room could be found. "Oh, that's right…I didn't have a chance to thank your friend Miss Mana for bringing him back after he collapsed yesterday. I'd like to invite her to dinner for a chance to meet her."
C.C. and Milly shared a quick glance at one another, knowing exactly what had been the cause of Lelouch's collapse, and who had been responsible for it.
"I'll be sure to relay the message," the Grey Witch noted. "I'm sure she'll appreciate a hot dinner that isn't pizza."
"I take it that you do most of the cooking?" Milly asked curiously, having seen some of what the Sorceress liked to eat – and what the Witch's magic automata tended to produce when left to their own devices at the stove.
"For about as long as she and I have lived together," C.C. replied, with a hint of a smile. "We're almost like sisters, she and I…"
'Curious,' thought Sayoko Shinozaki, the woman who had once served as Milly's personal maid, but had been reassigned to the Lamperouges when they were placed under the Ashfords' care. 'As the 37th Successor to the Shinozaki School, I am well aware of the importance of body language—and that of this "Mana" seemed like a trained swordswoman…'
"Since it seems that Master Lelouch will not be coming to dinner today, what shall we do?" the ninja maid asked aloud.
"Well, it has been some time since we've had the chance to just talk, so let's do that," Nunnally replied gently, hoping that her brother would be alright, since he has been acting rather strange over the last couple of days. 'Is it unrequited love, I wonder? Miss C.C. did say that he pledged himself to her…' "And I want to know more about origami, if you don't mind, Miss Sayoko."
"Of course," the maid replied, finishing a paper crane with a few deft folds. "Here, this one's finished."
With those words, Sayoko placed the completed origami structure into Nunnally's outstretched hands.
"Ah, a bird?" the little princess asked, her fingers roaming over the figure to deduce its identity.
"Yes, it's a crane," Sayoko confirmed, voice warm with praise.
"It is said in Japanese folklore that if you fold a thousand cranes, your deepest wish will come true," C.C. added, holding a crane of her own, before beginning to work on another folding, as the three figures at the table turned towards the green-haired witch. "A single paper crane for every year of life that the holy crane is rumored to live…"
"You certainly know a lot, Miss C.C.," Nunnally commented, surprised at the immortal's knowledge.
"Wishes were something one of my dearest friends talked about at length," C.C. replied, eyes intent on the crane before her as her fingers continued their work. "A miracle that you cannot accomplish with your own power, and so seek the assistance of others to achieve…"
"A miracle, eh?" Milly asked, amused at that particular definition, as magecraft was essentially the recreation of a miracle. "So what do you wish for, then?"
A few moments of silence, while C.C. finished a folding -- a modular cube of sorts called the Tamatebako.
"In the Japanese story of Urashima Taro, a fisherman received a folded paper box from the goddess of the sea, with his age sealed within," the immortal recounted quietly, placing the cube in the center of the table. "For saving a turtle's life, he was rewarded with a visit to the palace of the sea god, staying there for three days, while 300 years passed by outside. When he finally returned home…nothing was the same…he did not recognize the people, the buildings, or anything at all. I left my home long ago, and all that remains is the future, so I only wish for tomorrow to come."
"A simple wish," Nunnally said, putting her crane on the table and touching one of C.C.'s hands. "You're very wise for your age, Miss C.C."
'Only for my apparent age,' the immortal thought wryly. 'Considering my true age, not particularly so. I've probably forgotten more bits of wisdom than most people ever know…wearisome, ah, quite wearisome. While surrounded by darkness, I persevered to clearly comprehend, and have seen a cursed nightmare containing miseries galore…'
"Not as wise as you might think," the Grey Witch replied softly, her face taking on an almost wistful expression. "What do you wish for?"
"I only wish the world was a gentler place," the young princess said straightforwardly, with the Sorceress sighing mentally at this.
'A gentle world, eh? A world without meaningless killing, without hate—how many have killed for such a world, how much blood has been futilely shed for this purpose?' the Grey Witch wondered, having seen countless civilizations rise and fall based on such a thing. 'Even V.V. wishes for such a thing – but I wonder what kind of world you will truly build in your time…'
Witch and Ashford magus met one another's eyes for a brief moment before looking away. As two combatants in a secret war hidden away from humanity at large, and as magi in particular, whose lives were never peaceful, a wish such as that…
"Well, maybe when you can see again, your wish will come true," Milly replied gently, not wanting to disappoint the little girl.
"Really?" Nunnally asked, as even she found the notion hard to believe. "Do you really think so?"
"A wish is magic in itself, grown from thought, experience and imagination, enshrined within mind, heart, and soul," the Witch answered cryptically. "Believe that it will, and change will come, for that is humanity's geass, to believe in the beauty of their dreams."
Tokyo Settlement
As the crimson moon shone down from overhead, painting the ground a bloody madder red, a Satsujinki and a part time terrorist made their way through the streets of the Tokyo Settlement, heading for the estate of the other, keeping an eye on their surroundings as they proceeded as fast as simple walking would allow, with Mana setting the pace, silver knife clutched loosely in her left hand.
'After the events of the Shinjuku incident, it is likely that more Magus Killers have been deployed to search for signs of unusual activity,' the Chokushi no Magan adept thought, looking at the world with her ability to see the death of all things. 'The Witch's opponent is not exactly one to sit back and do nothing when he encounters resistance, after all.'
For a time, they walked in silence, with the echoing of their shoes upon the sidewalk as the only traces they left behind, until at last, one of them spoke up.
"Do you really expect trouble?" Kallen asked quietly, not seeing much in her surroundings that could be a threat, yet noting how tense the Satsujinki seemed, like a coiled spring ready to explode in an instance.
"Always," Mana replied curtly, the one word encapsulating her view on the topic better than a long diatribe. "Given what I am, that should be no surprise."
"And just what are you, then?" the redheaded terrorist inquired of her companion, coming to her own conclusions. "Given how guarded you're being, might we be in…the same line of work?"
"I'm afraid that's a secret," the Chokushi no Magan adept said dryly, as the two continued along through streets that were empty, since most people went inside after dark—or mostly empty anyway, since a few businessmen can be seen wandering here and—
Thump!
—a sound from an alleyway between two buildings, like the shuffling of footsteps.
A chill ran up Kallen's spine as she sensed a wave of overwhelming hostility from the Satsujinki beside her, as pure, unadulterated killing intent flowed from the assassin—and the businessmen charged, their fingers elongating into bony claws as they pounded towards the duo.
'The Dead…familiars of a Dead Apostle…'
The assassin snarled as she took in the appearance of these new arrivals, seeing only masses of black "lines" – scribbles running through human-seeming shapes, with "points of death" so closely packed that they seem like clotting blood.
"Mana, what…?" the redhead began, but the raven-haired girl was already in motion, as—
Squelch! Fsh! Slash!
—the sounds of combat filled the air, with the Ryougi drawing a second knife as she lunged forward, slicing the air.
'What the hell is…?'
Swish!
With an ominous premonition, Kallen moved forward to give chase, her movements just enough to avoid a swipe from behind.
"Eh?"
The redhead whirled to see an emaciated figure with a face like a dried out skull, body withered, as if flash dried.
"Hyuu! Hyuu!" the figure screeched with a hideous voice, and looking down, Kallen could see a large hole in the skull headed figure's throat, preventing him from speaking correctly. In the throat of this bag of bones, vocal chords vibrate in accord with the ghastly voice.
Kallen hissed, jumping back and raising her pouch knife as the dried up creature attacked, intending to—
Whump!
—the creature charged into the knife, with the redhead using all her strength in an attempt to ward it off—but to no avail as—
"Guh!"
—her body arced from pain as fingers like sharp needles dug into her shoulder, shredding the skin mercilessly, tearing into nerves and flesh as—
"Ah, aahhh—!"
—pain, overwhelming pain, shot through Kallen's mind, and although she tried to tear off the creature, it was too strong, and with a creaking sound, the skull's jaw opened, wide enough to bite off her head —
"St—"
Thwack!
—a last blow thrown with strength born of desperation pushes the opponent back, as—
WHOOSH!
—a wave of heat surged forth from the redhead's body, setting the living corpse on fire, the dessicated body catching flame quickly, falling the ground and writhing as it is consumed.
Softly, like the remnants of a dream, it burned away to ash.
'What the hell was that—wait…if Mana was my escort, and ran to confront the other enemies…is she ok?'
Squish!
A dull, sickening sound up ahead and to the right, and with all the speed she was capable of, Kallen staggered forward, rushing towards the source of that sound, where she was sure the Satsujinki would be.
Taking a deep breath to prepare herself, the terrorist stepped into the alley.
Thump!
Her heart pounded, racing as every ounce self-preservation left within her told her to turn back, that if she went any further, she would be unable to turn back. But it was already too late, as her feet moved on their own, leading her out into an—
"Eh?"
That weak sound was all that Kallen could manage, as the back alley was a single sheet of crimson, limbs strewn amongst the garbage and rubble. Not the limbs of dogs, or cats or the like, but human limbs, with blood dripping from fresh meat and bone, staining the ground and walls with the blood.
A heavy scent fills her nostrils, thick and pungent, like a red fog permeating the body, the choking smell of ash and blood.
A face. A face. A face. A face on a severed head, rolling around with an expression of agony. A face shriveled up like a mummy, split in halves. A face with both eyes gouged out, so distorted that Kallen could not tell if it used to be a man or a woman.
Six bodies, covered by a blanket of ash—and a seventh at her feet, with a gaping wound in its neck and an angled cut transecting its torso, organs spilling, bulging grotesquely out from the wound, transforming it into something inhuman, a horrific caricature of what a person should be, with a resemblance so revolting that it was difficult to look at.
'What happened here …'
Unable to make a sound, Kallen merely gazed speechless at the corpses, now reduced to what looked like the scrapheap for a sculpture artist, her eyes sweeping across as they caught sight of a shadowed figure standing a few meters ahead, light glinting from the knives in her hands, covered in the shine of ichor.
"Mana…?" the redhead hazarded, as the Satsujinki turned, her Mystic Eyes of Death Perception blazing like azure stars in the darkness.
All at once, the redhead found herself paralyzed, unable to speak, as her blood ran cold. She remembered thinking of Mana as someone who had been in her line of work, a fellow member of the resistance—thinking of the raven-haired girl as a blade that would slash away anything in her path—but this was—
'Death…'
That was the fitting word that Kallen could find to describe the shadow before her, as she stood shivering, waiting for—
"Kuh."
Realizing the effect she had on the one she was supposed to escort, Mana sheathed her blades and looked away from Kallen, with the redheaded terrorist's knees giving way, the girl slumping like a puppet with its strings cut.
Thud!
Sighing, Mana walked over to the collapsed form of Kallen Kozuki and picked her up in a princess cradle, as the redhead looked up at her with wide eyes, stiffening in the Satsujinki's arms.
"I'm not your enemy, you know," the Chokushi no Magan adept spoke quietly, as she carried the newly awakened fire magus out of the alleyway, moving swiftly but silently towards their destination.
"But you are death..." Kallen began, shivering as she involuntarily burrowed herself into the killer's warmth. "With your eyes, how can you not be--"
From the very beginning, it had been against the natural order for a being to accept something recognized as certain death, and so the body responded to this blasphemy by screaming to itself to run away, to shove...but it could not.
"I wonder if you understand what it is to see through my eyes?" Mana said abruptly, cutting the resistance fighter off. "To see the world's uncertainty and fragility, with neither solid ground nor sky above a certainty, with the illusion that all could perish in an instant. If you think that I am terrifying because I am death, imagine how I must feel. But I will tell you this...I am not your enemy. Now rest..."
Straining her eyes, the Satsujinki perceived the concept of Kallen's unease and anxiety, stabbing that point with one of her fingers, as the redhead relaxed, falling asleep in the bloodstained killer's arms.
'How strange...I do not prefer escort missions, but at least there is not much further to go, and it is unlikely that more Dead shall strike...at least for tonight.'
Or Mana thought to herself as she looked around at the scene of carnage around her, noticing that she was extremely thirsty. Was it because of the tension, the excitement, or the knowledge that a chance to destroy would soon come? With a last glance of at this place filled with death, the Chokushi no Magan adept's lips curled into a smile as she turned to go, holding the weight of a slumbering half-Britannian in her arms, feeling that just at this instant, she was alive.
A/N: An interesting fact for all of you – in Roman culture, turning the other cheek after being struck by a superior was actually a sign of defiance, a demand to be acknowledged. The reason for this? In that culture, one only struck social inferiors with the back of the right hand (the left hand was never used), and turning the cheek invited a strike from the front of the hand (or the fist). Doesn't sound too bad at first, until one realizes that to strike someone with a fist (or to slap them with the palm) in that culture was to implicitly acknowledge them as a social equal – one does not fight with an inferior, after all, as it is beneath one.
Thank you for reading, and as always, reviews are greatly appreciated.