Gundam SeeD Destiny: Lion of Heaven

Original idea and story by Kouryuo Saber

Re-written by Spiritblade

Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Seed or Gundam Seed Destiny. Nor do I own the various games, anime and RPG genres I have included into this story. Even this story isn't mine; it once belonged to Kouryuo Saber, who passed away. May peace be upon you, brother; you fought like you lived – like a man. This chapter – and each and every one that comes after – is dedicated to you.

Author's Note (4/03/2015): This story has taken me six months, four drafts (including this one!) and well over sixty thousand words before it arrived in its present incarnation. The first and second drafts – done by Kouryuo Saber and myself years back – needed A LOT of improvement, as a story built on a shaky foundation can bring it crashing down. This story of mine has plenty of crossovers, so please bear with me. For those who have followed me for these many years, thank you for your loyalty and I hope you will enjoy the new and improved version of my and Kouryuo Saber's GSD epic.

Now, enough talk: On with the story – and let me see if my skills have deteriorated any.

X X X

The Cathedral of Seraphs stood at the heart of the city the man had laid to waste. A building over a thousand years old, it was the first building Rigel's first colonists had erected upon their arrival. Technology had seen to the majestic edifice being completed in the space of three weeks, just as the power grid that provided water and electricity to the city came on-line. As was tradition within Rigel, it was tradition for the planet's new ruler to be inaugurated within the Cathedral.

The man made his way towards it.

The street he walked on were littered with the skeletal forms of men, women and children who had desperately tried to find shelter from the vengeful angels that rained destruction down upon them. Over a million souls glared at him in utter loathing, as they looked upon a man who had turned his back on the oaths he had once sworn before the Glorious Cross.

Many of those same ghosts asked why he had betrayed them.

The man did not reply. There was nothing he could say or do to right the wrong he had done. He paused briefly as something caught his eye, and he knelt in the snow. A pair of skeletons – no doubt a mother and her child- rested half-buried in the snow. In the frozen hands of the smaller of the two was a small, stuffed owl, its grey and white fur untouched by the holocaust that had destroyed her world. The man picked it up, running his armored fingers over the soft toy gently.

Wish upon a star,

Cross yourself and say a prayer,

He could almost hear the little girl's soft voice in the wind and see her ghostly form standing before him. She asked him, in the voice of a child who realized that the world she lived in was neither gentle nor forgiving, why he had done what he did. The man wanted to reply but froze suddenly, and he turned his gaze on the nearby alleys. His eyes blazed with hatred as he saw what emerged from the shadows. His sword materialized in his hand, lightning running down its length.

The figures were massive, clad in ornate battle-plate and wielding burning blades and guns which had brought low the enemies of humanity. The emblems on their shoulder guards and breastplates were unlike his own. Four wings spread from a sunburst and a cross, and acid-etched inscriptions declared their allegiance to one of the most powerful individuals in the galaxy: The Supreme Lord of the Church of Lordaeron.

Pledge yourself to the cause and the crown,

Or bend knee to the maiden and the knights of the round,

Once, not so long ago, these men and women were his comrades-in-arms. The battles they had fought in were beyond counting. The oaths sworn amidst the thunder of war and the suffering was worth more than all the wealth of the worlds they had delivered from death and ruin. But deceit and betrayal would sunder those bonds, and turn comrades on one another. On the ruins of a hundred worlds, the man's shattered legions fought to elude the vengeance of those who had been as badly deceived as they.

On their many graves, he would see the wrongs done to them answered.

He was among the Templars in an instant, his sword cutting their leader from groin to crown in a single stroke, the ancient weapon in his hand making a mockery of armor capable of withstanding every blade War could turn against it.

Choose one, and choose wisely,

For under ten thousands stars and in the shadow of the Tree of Eternity,

Before the Templar's body had hit the ground, the fallen paladin had already killed two more. One was beheaded and the other sent off his feet before being cut in half. It was a display that would move even the hardest among them to fear. But these have learned over the years to master it. They turned their guns upon him and opened fire. Heavy caliber rounds suddenly impacted on a barrier more powerful than that which could be granted by an Iron Halo Aegis array. Eyes widened behind stalwart helms as they beheld the monster that emerged from the massive warp rift that had materialized behind the man.

You shall make your vows,

And the Fates shall deliver you to your destiny.

Steely talons which could have leveled a building slammed into the ground with enough force to register as a minor earthquake. Wings so vast that they cast entire city blocks in shadow spread from an equally massive body with imperious majesty. Five draconic heads, their eyes blazing with the light of dying suns, glared down at the Templars with wrathful contempt.

So fear not, dearest.

When your vow is done, and your duty discharged,

Find the road that leads beyond Rome,

Tiamat, Queen of Dragons, War Goddess of the Traitor King, had come. With that, any hope of victory faded. The Traitor King had stood amongst the most formidable of all the Horsemen, and his power was second only to the Supreme Lord of the Church of Lordaeron. With the Queen of Dragons, he possessed the might to literally defeat entire armies and shatter worlds. But this did not drive the Templars to despair. No, their duty was clear. A traitor stood before them, and he could not be allowed to escape. Should he succeed in doing so, the consequences would be unimaginable.

Know that I will be there, waiting for you,

And together we shall find our way home.

As such, they did not hesitate. They charged forward with prayers on their lips, their swords and halberds raised high to smite the Traitor King. Guns blazed, unleashing a firestorm that would have cut down the galaxy's warrior elite in seconds. An avalanche of fire smashed into void shields that were capable of enduring a world's ending. All of it was nothing compared to the devastation the Traitor King and his War Goddess unleashed seconds later.

Chapter 2

Two years later / Dreams and memories – 1

Angel of Fire / A pact between Kings

When a man goes to war, he shall be forever haunted by what he has seen amidst its flames.

- Jarrod Shadowsong, Autarch of Night Hunter Legion

Natarle knew she was dreaming. She knew this because she had gone to sleep in her quarters aboard the Shield of Destiny and had found herself standing in the heart of Suramar City – the capital of the Night Elven Kingdom of Kalimdor – seconds later. She knew this because the clothes she had worn when she turned in had been exchanged for a low-cut lace gown that would have not looked out of place on a Britannian noblewoman. She knew this because standing before the Glorious Fountain, a monument which honored the daughter of the Gear race's Savior and her mate, was a young man who had died in the closing hours of the Bloody Valentine War and whose blood were the words and the ink on the peace treaty that had ended a bitter year-long war between Earth and the PLANTs: Kira Yamato.

The young Coordinator's lean, strong body was clad in flowing black and gold robes Natarle had seen worn by the Knights of Lordaeron. But unlike the warrior elite of the Holy Kingdom, who were never seen without their sabers or broadswords on their person, Kira was armed with the signature weapons of the Shogunate's military: the daisho – the traditional Japanese long- and short-swords. Natarle to admit that Kira cut a dashing figure, one right out of the novels she had loved reading when she had been his age. Her lips curved in a grin when several Night Elf maidens and a fox-woman paused in whatever they had been doing to flirt with him, the latter batting three of her five tails against him affectionately.

Frey had told her that Kira had been popular in the university they had studied in, especially among the girls. Few of her male classmates were as accepted as Kira had been. He could mingle just as easily amongst its ne'er-do-wells as he could among the most exclusive cliques. The former would ask him for advice as frequently as the latter would ask him to be their dates on company or state functions. Miriallia had added that if it had not been for the fact that it would have cost them their jobs, the female professors in the University would have long ago crossed the line, the consequences be damned.

Natarle chuckled; she herself had almost done the same. Pots calling kettles black, indeed.

As if sensing her scrutiny, both Kira and the female Gears turned to face her. The young man spoke something to the girls, who nodded in assent before moving in the direction of one of the nearby cafes lining the plaza. Natarle watched them leave before walking up to Kira. He was taller than she remembered, closer to the man he was becoming than the boy he had been. Or would have become, one part of her whispered softly, had he not died…

She closed her eyes. No. Now, in this place where Death held no power, she would cherish this impossible moment. Here, the boy who had guided her back onto a road she had turned her back on was still alive. Here, the battles she fought to preserve a fragile peace were far away. Here, there was joy and freedom, things that were hard to come by in the waking world.

"You look tired, Natarle-san."

"I am," the female Earth Alliance officer replied as she opened her eyes once more, "But recent events have made it impossible for me and my crew to go on shore leave. The anti-Coordinator and anti-Natural extremist groups have become more active in the past few months. My superiors believe that either group may very well launch a major attack somewhere in the Earth Sphere in the next few weeks and have, as such, dispatched strike teams throughout the region to stop them before they can carry out whatever it is they are planning."

"And you are to be part of one such force?" Kira asked.

"Yes. My ship, the Shield of Destiny, is now en route to PLANT Neo-Stratos to meet with the rest of the strike force."

"PLANT Neo-Stratos…?" Kira had a perplexed look on his face, "A new colony?"

"Yes. It was built some eighteen months ago by the Earth Alliance and the PLANTs as part of a new resettlement initiative. And if you're wondering why the colony was constructed so quickly, it was because the EA and the PLANTs had jointly purchased several orbital platforms from the Reyguard Empire to use as the colony's foundations," Natarle said, "I have to admit that that was a brilliant move."

"I second that. What is it like? The PLANT, I mean."

"Have you ever been to Venice, Kira…?"

"Yes. My mother brought me there when I was ten," the young Coordinator had a faraway look in his violet eyes, "Why?"

"Because PLANT Neo-Stratos is a replica – a much larger one – of Venice during the Renaissance," Natarle replied, "Yes, Kira, there are canals on the colony and there are gondolas that ferry both its inhabitants and the tourists to other parts of the city. And before you ask the same question that my niece asked me last Christmas, yes – there are fish in the river."

Kira stared at the smirking Natarle for a full minute before erupting in laughter, a merry sound that was music to the ears of the latter.

"You have changed, Natarle-san. You look more like the woman you always wanted to be than the one others needed you to be," the young man said when he finally managed to regain his composure, "Though I wonder if you would be offended if I say that you are becoming more and more like Mwu-san…"

The older woman raised an eyebrow at that. She was becoming just like that playboy? Dear God in Heaven, if such a thing were true, she would give Murrue a gun and ask her friend to shoot her. Mwu la Flaga was a playboy whose conquests would have made Casanova go green with envy; his exploits were legendary in the squadrons he had served in. And some of them would have seen to his family disown him had they learned of it.

"Kira, it is a good thing that you are now sleeping in Valhalla. If you were on the right side of the River Styx, I would throw you back across it…" Natarle scowled at the Coordinator.

'After I have had my way with you…' a soft, treacherous voice whispered deep inside her, the melodic sensuality of its tenor making Natarle shiver. It was a voice that she had been hearing more and more as of late, ever since her grandfather had given her a ring, one he had worn during his younger days when he served aboard the Battlestar Deliverance during the Reconstruction Wars. The Deliverance and her escorts had been part of a strike force – one of seven sent to the Earth Sphere by the Holy Kingdom of Lordaeron – to aid then-President Luther unify the region. Her grandfather had taken part in many of the battles that had decided the fate of the fledgling Earth Alliance. And it was aboard the Deliverance, amidst the thunder of battle and within an unforgiving crucible, that her grandfather had fallen in love. The way it had ended was bittersweet, but what remained had endured despite the decades and the distance.

Her grandfather had told her that the time would come when Natarle herself would understand. There were things, he had told her during her graduation from the Academy, worth more than the gratitude of a country and the esteem of its leaders. Natarle could not help but frown at the words of her grandsire; the oaths she had sworn to the Earth Alliance were ones she intended to keep, as in doing so, it would preserve that which her family had given their lives to protect. But looking at a flustered Kira, she found that there was more to the oath than simple words. An oath sworn without a reason was an empty, cold thing.

The young man raised both his hands, a frightened look on his face, "I was only joking, Natarle-san."

"Some things cannot be joked about, Kira. To say that I am like la Flaga is akin to calling a saint a sewer worker."

'Or the owner of a brothel….'

"Understood," Kira replied with an apologetic smile, "But moving on, could you tell me the names of one who built Neo-Stratos and the one chosen to govern it?"

Natarle crossed her arms, trying to remember what she had read regarding the construction of Neo-Stratos. What she knew was that both the Earth Alliance Senate and the PLANTs had called in an extra-regional contractor, and that said individual was a woman. She had been recommended to both parties by the Kamishirou, one of the five founding families of the Orb Union. Where did the architect come from? Britannia, maybe…? No, her grandfather had spoken to her before, and had told her that the architect came from somewhere beyond the Martian border. The Protectorate of Menoth…? No. If that had been the case, the Menofix – the sigil of the Church of Menoth – would have been everywhere on Neo-Stratos. Was she from Baldur's Gate…? No. Not from there, either.

The answer came to her when she saw the bodyguard of a young woman walk into the square with her servants, the latter of whom were carrying all of her purchases. Three among said servants were armed with the signature weapons of the Severan Dominate House Guards – the force lance – and the emblem of the family they served displayed proudly on gleaming breastplates.

"I remember now," Natarle turned her attention back to Kira, "Lumina Shavari Martus of the Severan Dominate. She is the owner of the Martus Construction Conglomerate and is the governor of the Prandium to who is governing Neo-Stratos, the colony is jointly governed by Lord Cornelius Hardestadt of Baldur's Gate and the Arima Family (12)."

"I have heard of the Arima family. They are an old and powerful Rogue Trader dynasty. My father worked for them. But Cornelius Hardestadt…?" Kira had the look of one who found the name familiar, but could not remember where he had heard it, "I have heard that name before. My father mentioned him once, long ago, when his friends from his younger days visited our home in Orb."

"Cornelius Hardestadt was once a Steelhead Chapter commander before he retired. If his name sounded familiar, it was because your father fought him in the War of Princes," Natarle replied, "Cornelius fought under the banner of King Arvaleg of Arnor, while your parents fought for Crown Prince Bernhardt."

The stunned look on Kira's face made the wicked, mischievous side of in Natarle – a part she never knew existed – giggle in delight. Oh, that look was one she would never get tired of seeing! It had taken her a lot of work to uncover the truth. If there is one thing Natarle could give her grandfather credit for, it was the network of allies and contacts he had built over the years he had been the clan head. It was through said network that she learned who Haruma Yamato and his wife, Caridad Yamato, really were. And dear God, it had shocked her (and her grandfather, when he realized why she had asked him if she could call upon the Badgiruel clan's spy network).

Haruma Yamato was not and had never been a citizen of the Earth Sphere. Everything about the man, save his name, was a lie. He was a Vyrkul, and was born in Angmar. Not only that, he was a descendant of King Conan of Angmar himself, one with a legitimate claim to the Obsidian Throne! And if there was one thing she knew about the Battle King's offspring, it was that they were a hardy, invincible breed whom you did not cross unless you had a death-wish! (13)

And his mother! Now that one had been just as interesting. Prior to her settling down and taking her husband's family name, Caridad Yamato had been a Rogue Trader. Hard times had forced her to take up a profession that went against the Warrant of Trade held by her family. The Court of Blades had listed her ship, the Sanctified Wind, an Atlantean Aconite-class frigate, as an active participant in numerous engagements and which was responsible for sinking the Arnorian Dictator-class battlecruiser, Steadfast. (14)

"What….?" Kira asked after he managed to catch the cat that ran off with his tongue, "My parents were…?"

'Heroes of a war…'

"Yes, they were. And before you ask how I found out, let us just say that I have my ways," the older woman grinned, "And you know that I am quite the stickler for details, as your court-martial on the Archangel may have shown you. Battles are won and lost on such things. But that aside," the grin faded from Natarle's face as she sat down on one of the marble benches surrounding the Glorious Fountain, "Cornelius's appointment as governor of Neo-Stratos caused quite the uproar within both the Earth Alliance Senate and the Supreme Council of the PLANTs – which is understandable when you take into account that it goes against the Constitutions of the Earth Sphere, all of which explicitly states that no non-citizen of the region can control territory without the approval of a regional Head of State. And that approval can only be given if he or she can get a two-third majority within Parliament, which did not happen."

"Then how…?" Kira had a perplexed look on his face, before it changed to one of dawning realization, "A joint Presidential Executive Order…."

"Yes," Natarle nodded, "Both President Copeland and Chairman Dullindal took unilateral action. President Copeland, in particular, has little to lose. Many in the Senate want to him to resign, but the President has made it clear that he will leave only after he ensures that a second Bloody Valentine War will not happen in his lifetime."

'He will not succeed.'

"Chairman Dullindal," Natarle continued, "for his part, needed to show both the Supreme Council and the leaders of the Earth Sphere that he was more than willing to exercise his power in a manner that would benefit the PLANTs as a whole and not repeat the mistakes his predecessor had done."

"And what about the other nations…? How did they take it?"

"The Kingdom of Scandinavia remained neutral throughout the debate, but they supported Cornelius's appointment as Governor-general of Neo-Stratos. The Lunar City-States Alliance and the Orb Union supported President Copeland on the condition that any force tasked with defending Neo-Stratos would come from a neutral, extra-regional party (15). And considering what had taken place in July last year, I think it is a wise choice."

Natarle proceeded to tell Kira about the uprising within the Eurasian Federation. She told the young man what had led to the greatest mutiny in the history of the Earth Alliance. She told him how it happened and the names of those who had taken up arms against it. She told him why they had done so, and how it could have been averted. The young Coordinator listened as the older woman spoke, and closed his eyes as pain crept into her voice. The insurgency may have lasted for the better part of four months, but the damage it had done to the morale of the Earth Army and its leadership was enormous.

Even now, a year after the rebellion was quashed, Atlantic Federation forces still refused to take to the field alongside their Eurasian counterparts for fear of treachery. The insurgency was named after Admiral Geoffrey Amadeus of the 188th Eurasian Orbital Defense Fleet, who was both the highest-ranking officer in the rebellion's command echelon and the first one to take up arms against Berlin when it refused to take action against the Atlantic Federation for what it had done during the Bloody Valentine War.

The surviving Amadeus loyalists had, in the aftermath of the rebellion, fled the Earth Sphere with their families, swearing to one day return and pay the Atlantic Federation for its treachery and the bureaucrats in Berlin for their greed. The region's anti-terrorist agencies pursued and hunted down those it could, but did so reluctantly. They were of the opinion that the insurgents were justified in their rebellion, a stance supported by the Deathwatch Force Commanders operating within the region. Force Commander Dahaka of the Deathwatch had stated, with no small amount of distaste, that the Amadeus Affair was the bitter harvest whose seeds were sown by the Earth Alliance's ruling elite. Ambition and zealotry were the most subtle and the most deadly of poisons. It murdered not the body, but the mind and the soul.

"And that is not all," Natarle continued, pausing as a group of Gear children ran past her, laughing in delight, "When Admiral Amadeus rebelled, he called upon allies we did not know he had. Tell me, Kira. Have you ever heard about a faction within the Traitor Legions known as the Dark Angels?"

'Death comes from the shadows, bearing vengeance in its hands…'

The Coordinator did not speak for a long time. When he did, it was to admit that he did – and that he had met the one they had served when he was a young boy. Natarle stared at him for a full minute, trying to get her tongue to vocalize one of the hundred questions that were in her mind.

"When…?"

"Do you remember the siege of Copernicus City some ten years ago?" Kira paused briefly to run his hand through the thick fur of a Nemean wolf who, like its young owners, had decided to sit down on the soft grass patch next to the bench Natarle had occupied. The enormous creature nuzzled against the young Coordinator affectionately before putting its head on the ground, its furry tail acting as makeshift blanket for the two children.

Natarle smiled briefly at the scene before turning her attention back to Kira, the smile on her face becoming one of stony fury. The incident had made headlines both within and beyond the Earth Sphere. Disguised as tourists, one hundred and forty terrorists from various anti-Coordinator extremist groups across the region, all of whom were well-trained and armed with assault and heavy weaponry, managed to infiltrate and mount a simultaneous assault on both the Presidential Palace as well as the colony's central shopping district. To say that it was a bloodbath was an understatement. The colony's SWAT teams and marines had been unable to dislodge or counter their well-trained adversaries, the latter of which counted extra-regional war veterans within their ranks.

It was only in the sixth hour of the siege did the terrorists make their demands known. They wanted arms and money as well as the release of their comrades who were locked up in maximum-security prisons throughout the Solar System in exchange for those they had taken captive. When asked why they had targeted the colony, the terrorist leader had simply replied that Copernicus City, being one of the region's richest trading and busiest industrial hubs, was the perfect target. That it was a colony that would choose to allow Coordinators – whom the leader had described as a race whose existence was an insult to God – to live on it had made it a legitimate target.

But it was during fourth day of the siege that all hell broke loose. Bloody battles suddenly erupted across the shopping district and within the presidential palace compound. The crash of assault weapons firing on full-auto were met with the familiar thunderclap bangs of weapons whose use was outlawed in the region by the Convention of Steel. Demands to know just who had launched the attack were soon answered, when a media VTOL – with hacked street cameras confirming it minutes later – saw armored figures practically rip apart a terrorist strongpoint and gun down those that had surrendered. The emblem of a flying sword, resplendent on gleaming war-plate, told the world who they were.

The Traitor Legions had decided to intervene. And it was not just any war-band of that feared, ancient army who had launched a vicious counterattack that left dozens of terrorists dead within minutes of their arrival, but the personal guard of its leader, the latter of whom made his appearance near the end of the siege (and who had, prior to that, beheaded the entire terrorist force's leadership before proceeding to do the same to their subordinates).

Their communications specialists had hacked into the terrorists' network, allowing everyone to hear what was transpiring, a stratagem that terrified both the terrorists and the authorities. Screams of agony, pleas for mercy and reinforcements, shouted orders to hold the line echoed in the ears of thousands across and beyond the Earth Sphere. And amidst that thunderous symphony of death, fear and torment, a harsh, grating voice was heard and a blasphemous, cruel promise was spoken – one that had haunted the Holy Kingdom of Lordaeron since its founding:

"Rejoice, oh servants of God, for your slavery to the Tyrant and His liars ends today…!"

'And Creation turns an angry gaze upon the Most High.'

"Are you telling me you were there, Kira?" Natarle's voice was shaking.

"I was, Natarle-san. I am alive today because two of the Dark Angels gave their lives to save mine. They gave my classmates and me time to escape from my school. I don't know their names, but one of them – a woman just like you – whispered in my ear before we parted ways that we would meet again. I do not know what she meant, and it is only now that I am starting to."

Natarle did not speak for a long time. Her grandfather had told her that pain was the price one had to pay in order to gain wisdom. No teacher was better than one which left the lesson on the mind and the soul. Kira had detested war and violence, and it was only now that she understood why. His friends never knew, because some ghosts were his to hold.

"She was like you, Natarle-san," Kira continued, "She was stern and cold and beautiful. She did her duty without question. She was a weapon given the shape of a human being. And yet, beneath the steel and the conviction was someone who had willingly made herself what she was, so that others would not need to make the choices she had."

"Did she regret them, as I have?"

The young man chose to answer her question with one of his own, "Did you ever regret what you have did that day on the Dominion, Natarle-san?"

Natarle shook her head.

'Because you are my sin – one I love more than I loathe.'

"And there you have your answer. You took up arms to defend your country. You did not take up arms to commit atrocities in its name. Billions," Kira emphasized the word, "have died in the centuries leading up to the Cosmic Era, Natarle-san. Billions. How many have died in the name of a flawed idea? How many more must die before we understand that life is a fragile thing, easily crushed?"

There was pain in that voice, one the female Earth Alliance officer had heard and seen far too many times in the past year. Though the war had ended, the hatred and contempt that had made it possible was still there. Her friends and relatives in the police had spoken of an escalation of hate crimes and murders. Her uncle had told her of how a Coordinator supremacist group had kidnapped well over a dozen Natural girls repeatedly until a vigilante rescued them. Her aunt told her about how a Natural orphanage caretaker on a colony had died protecting his charges, many of whom were Coordinators, from a Blue Cosmos attack.

"Do you know what that Dark Angel told me before she went to her death, Natarle-san? She told me that meaning of life and its value is in the manner in which we choose to spend it, and that we have but one chance to make the right decision. She had made hers a long time ago, and will see it to the only ending that that decision could lead her to."

"What about you, Kira? Do you regret anything that you have done?"

The young man weighed the question for a full minute before replying, "There are many things I have done that I regret, Natarle-san. But the decisions I have made, I made knowing the consequences. My one regret…is that I can do nothing to aid you in the days to come."

"What do you mean?"

'For the shadow of Strife envelopes the world…' Natarle frowned briefly, trying to banish the voice in her mind.

"Natarle-san, we did not win the war," Kira turned to look at the starry skies above him, "We only bought ourselves more time. And what little you have is running out. I think you know what I mean. The growing power and influence of the extremist groups you're fighting and the rise of the neo-conservatives within the Earth Alliance all point towards one thing: a new Bloody Valentine War. And there is one thing you should know. When I was fighting Rau le Creuset, he told me many things."

The young Coordinator rose from the bench's armrest and knelt before her, "Chief among that which is that the Bloody Valentine War was a proxy war between the Holy Kingdom and its allies and those who oppose them. That war has not ended. They were driven from the region by the Traitor Legions only temporarily."

"Are you saying that…?" Natarle's voice was a strangled rasp.

"Yes. You may not be aware of this, but the leaders of the Earth Sphere have taken sides in the Conqueror War. When Lacus's father was in power, the PLANTs were neutral. They had no wish to get involved in extra-regional affairs. But Athrun's father was of a different opinion. In order to win the war, he made bargains with the Coalition. In exchange for helping them counter the technological superiority of the Holy Kingdom, they would provide him with technological templates that would give ZAFT the edge they needed to match the numerically-superior armies of the Earth Alliance."

"Wouldn't that be a breach of the Convention of Steel?"

"It is, but Zala-san went around it by ensuring that the templates given to him would help improve technology already available within the Earth Sphere. By doing so, the Deathwatch cannot arrest him. The GINN, for example, is based off the Assault Suits used by the Equatorial Union. The assault rifles used by its soldiers…? It is based off the HKS-192 battle-rifle used by thousands of soldiers in the Conqueror War, one that Zala-san made a profit from by reselling back to interested parties beyond the Earth Sphere. And there were many."

"And the GENESIS gun…?"

"Was a flagrant breach of the Convention," the young man answered her question, "Its existence alone would have seen to the Deathwatch taking action. What Zala-san had built was essentially a Caliburn System Defense platform. The GENESIS does not have the range of the Caliburn, but it is its equal in power. If Zala-san had succeeded in firing it on Earth, millions would have died. He would have won the war, but signed the death warrant of the PLANTs. The Deathwatch would have sent a battle-fleet into the Earth Sphere to kill him. The Holy Kingdom of Lordaeron would have sent in their Throne Guards and one of their High Lords, if not all four of their Horsemen, to punish him. And the Traitor Legions…?" Kira's eyes turned to a shade of amber, "They would have enacted the Black Sun Protocol on the PLANTs."

Natarle shivered at that. The Black Sun Protocol was the euphemism used by both humans and aliens alike for the total extermination of all life in a given area. The female Earth Alliance officer knew the conditions in which the protocol was enacted. For it to be used in any way outside the centuries old Charter was tantamount to a war crime. And the Traitor Legions had, during the War of Wrath, enacted the Black Sun Protocol on over a dozen worlds for reasons unknown.

"What about the Earth Alliance?" Natarle swiftly changed the subject, "You mentioned that we have taken sides in the Conqueror War. Who did the politicians in Washington side with?"

"The Earth Alliance, as you may have already guessed, sided with the Holy Kingdom of Lordaeron. Or rather, they sided with the powerful Lancea Sanctum faction."

That did not surprise her. The conservative Lancea Sanctum faction and the Church of Menoth formed the largest and most powerful religious coalition in the Holy Kingdom, its members holding practically half the seats within the Grand College of Cardinals. Their power was matched only by the Chantry, and their influence by the Morrowan Church, both of whom held veto power and two thirds of the remainder of the seats in the College. The least powerful of the three factions was the liberal Thamarite faction, whom many of the members of the Lancea Sanctum faction (and no few of their peers in the Morrowan Church) regarded as heretics. Ancient pacts bound the Morrowan Church and the Thamarite faction together, but there were times when the leaders of the former could not help but suffer migraines at the antics of the latter (5).

'Sin was born under Heaven's light, and its poison turned radiant hearts to blackest night.'

"But what could the Earth Alliance have gained from such an agreement? I…do not…" Natarle froze, as she remembered what one of the Chief Engineers working on the Archangel had spoken in regards to the ship's construction. The engines of the Archangel were similar – and yet, superior – in design to those used by the Dauntless-class light cruisers; the only difference, the man had said, was the technology used to achieve that end. Not only that, the Valiant rail-guns mounted on either side of the warship were based off the Ballista-class cannons used by the ships of the Kingdom of Atlantis and the Lohengrin beam cannons – which were far superior to those used even by the Agamemnon-class battleship – were based off those used by the Reyguard Empire's Tyrant-class battlecruisers.

The entire conversation had soon devolved into terminologies and engineering jargon that gave Natarle a headache, but she managed to understand that the Archangel was more than a match for any Earth Alliance and ZAFT ship. The only problem – and this one had the chief engineers cursing endlessly – was the fact that the ship would find its performance reduced under an atmosphere. Nothing the EA had could resolve that particular issue, much to Admiral Halberton's fury. Murdock, the Archangel's Chief Engineer, had shared with her that the only way they could have gotten the technology to do so was to purchase said technology from extra-regional sources, all of whom would charge the Earth Alliance an arm, both legs and more favors than a politician had fingers and toes.

"The Archangel," Natarle's eyes widened with realization, "Orb may have helped build the ship and the G-Weapons, but the technology…"

"Was from the Holy Kingdom, yes," Kira finished for her, "And that was not all they were given. The Extended Project was another. I don't think the Earth Alliance is aware of this, but the data they were given was…incomplete."

"What do you mean, incomplete?"

"The Holy Kingdom's Claymores," the young Coordinator turned to look at a small group of lean silver-haired, silver-eyed men and women clad in body armor and carrying their signature weapons they were named after, all of whom were accompanying a man clad in the ornate battle-plate of the Holy Kingdom's Throne Guard warrior elite, "were based off the Bio-soldier Project of the Galactic Police. The Extended were based off that template, with key genome sequences being altered so as to ensure that they would never go rogue."

"Are you implying that there were Claymores who had gone rogue?"

"Yes. It is for that reason that the Holy Kingdom has implemented the use of Punisher Collars (2) centuries ago. And before you ask, a majority of said rogue Claymores sided with the Traitor Legions, while others…pursued more peaceful lifestyles."

'Freedom for a price, to wrest all from the hands of Fate and the throw of the dice…'

Natarle's eyes looked at the ornate chokers that were worn by the Holy Kingdom's elite assassins. The collars used by the Claymores guaranteed its wearer's obedience and loyalty. Any who chose to turn their back on the Alabaster Throne would find that death swift in the coming. In a way, the Claymores were no different from the Extended. Both were weapons to be used, but the former would never suffer the ignominious fate that awaited the latter.

And it was that thought that made Natarle want to ask Kira a question she had asked her mother in the aftermath of the argument they had. That simple question had extinguished the anger in the older woman in an instant, making her sad and turning to look at her grandfather, who refused to answer the question she had posed. Not that it was difficult, but because the answer was ash upon the tongue.

"Kira…?"

"Yes?"

"Is war necessary?"

The Coordinator did not speak for a long, long time. He watched the bustle of the marketplace, of the children that laughed and played, of the city's inhabitants exchanging greetings and engaging in conversation. He watched, as she did, what he could no longer be a part of. War veterans across the ages knew they could never return to the lives they once knew, that the horrors they had seen were seared into the bedrock of their souls. Countless thousands had passed into death describing the wars they had been in.

"You are not the first to ask that question, Natarle-san. Nor will you be the last. Lacus had asked me that same question after she and Waltfeld-san managed to escape from the PLANTs."

"And what did you say?"

Whatever answer Kira could have given her was suddenly cut off as a hot wind blew into the market, the scent of rot and corruption filling both their nostrils. The young Coordinator, in particular, stiffened as the dreamscape of a once-bustling market twisted once and became a cold, desolate ruin. Where a glorious, prosperous city once stood was now a necropolis populated only by the dead and whose dreams were sacrificed on the altar of greed and ambition. Natarle shot up from the now-wrecked bench she had been sitting on, reaching instinctively for her sidearm (before cursing a second later when she realized that she was in a place where such things were useless) and looking for the source of the cold dread she felt gnawing at the edges of her mind.

"He would say what his ancestor had said, dear girl."

The rumbling voice caused both Natarle and Kira to look behind them. There, sitting amidst the ruins of the Fountain Glorious, was a handsome man whose obsidian skin was a contrast to the white loin-cloth he wore and the gleaming, ornate torque, shoulder guards and cuirass. Clutched in armored talons was a master-worked, double-handed claymore, its jagged edges dripping corrosive venom that left the ground smoking where it landed. The man had the lower extremities of a goat and the horns of a ram emerging from his brow sweeping over his shoulders. Everything Natarle knew and read told her that the person before was a Gear of the Sixth Circle (1). But the dread she felt and the voice that had haunted her for the past few months told her told her that the…creature before her was no Gear. It was something else. Something older than the world, and whose power had defeated angels and whose schemes had seen to saints falling from grace.

The word that left her lips revealed to her just what the man before was.

"Archdevil…"

'No. Lucavi,' the voice was seething with hostility.

"Ah, your consort's instincts are as sharp as yours, my King," the devil replied as it rose from where it sat and gave her a courtly bow, "The Law forbids me from giving you my true name, but you may call me Blackheart, Bright One. As to why I am here…" the creature flinched when Kira looked at him, "Is something best spoken of another time. But your question is an interesting one. Is war necessary? I will tell you that it is. Why? War, Bright One, not peace, is the galaxy's hygiene – and blood is the price in which freedom is gained and purity is preserved."

"Indeed," another voice, this one feminine, melodious voice caused Natarle to turn around to see another devil, this one striding from the shadows of a ruined pavilion, clad in black spider-silk garments that bared a considerable amount of pale skin and accentuated her voluptuous curves. The woman played with a crimson jewel that rested between her cleavage, a playful smile on her lips, "War is coming, Bright One. And those the Fates have chosen," crimson, reptilian eyes gazed fondly at Kira, "will be drawn into the maelstrom which, even now, grows in strength."

Blackheart's voice thick with hatred, "Malice…"

The woman looked at her rival with a smug grin, before turning her attention to Natarle, "And such is the name I have given myself, Bright One. My true name, like Blackheart's, is reserved for the one I make my pact with. But, unlike him, I am of a different breed. One that is superior to his by far…"

The black-skinned arch-devil snorted, "Your words are absent weight, Malice. Were you my better, you would have already made a pact with an individual of worth and readying yourself for war instead of wasting your time with one who cannot grant you your wish."

"Then why are you even speaking to him, Blackheart? You are many things, but stupid you are not," Malice replied, a sensuous smirk curving her lips, "No. You know that this…complication is one that will soon be remedied. And when it has, you will be there to offer him aught and all. But the best laid plans, as the humans say…" and the woman swept one hand to indicate the figures, behind her, "never survives contact with the enemy."

"Damn you, Malice! You have brought…!"

"I did no such thing, Blackheart. They came of their own free will."

"Why are all of you here?" Kira's directed the question at the figures who stood in the shadows of the ruined city, "You already know my answer."

"You have no choice in the matter, King of Lions," 'Malice' replied as she walked towards him, her shapely hips swaying with each step she took, "Those chosen by Him have no choice but to play His sick game. If you wish to protect those you hold dear, then you must abide by the rules of the contest. You are not your ancestor. Mighty as you are, you are less than he. Until such a time you become his equal, you cannot hope to win this war without our particular brand of aid. Your companion,"the horned woman looked at Natarle, her lips curved in a sensuous smirk, "will, in time, find such offers made of her. And she will be more receptive than you, I think."

"What are you talking about?" Natarle looked at Malice with a mixture of fear, disbelief and loathing, "I will not be part of your games."

Malice chuckled, "The stakes in the coming war are high, Bright One. Those who have things they wish to protect must be willing to sacrifice all that they have on the altar, even if it means making a deal with the devil. You are no different. You made such a bargain, after all…"

Natarle saw herself on the bridge of the Dominion once more, watching as hundreds of nuclear missiles raced towards the PLANTs. In that one instant, on the cusp of committing genocide, her mind had replayed the oaths she had made when she joined the Earth Army. This, one part of her had whispered, was the price of the oath she had taken to defend the Earth Alliance from its enemies. She blinked once, and found herself back in the ruins of Suramar City.

"You are now paying the price that saw to the one you love ushered into our embrace. And you are not alone in your penance. There will be a chance for you – and they – to pay in full the debts you owe."

"I…" Natarle looked away in shame, but an elegant finger forced her to meet the female devil's gaze.

"You can neither run nor hide. You are not one to run or hide. You will take up arms and fight. You do this because you know that if you do not, the dream which so many of your kind have died hoping to see will die forever."

"My death is not your fault, Natarle-san."

The former commander of the Dominion looked at the young man, whose gentle smile forgave all her transgressions, and she felt tears run down her face. She remembered the ceremony which had been held on the Archangel to honor those of the Deliverance Fleet who had died in the Bloody Valentine War. It had been a somber affair; a reminder to the living that that which they had won was a fragile thing paid with the lives of those they loved. Natarle remembered caskets that had lined the deck of the Archangel, each draped in the flag of the Earth Sphere's warring nations. She remembered looking into the casket which Kira's friends had set aside for him, and what had laid within.

All the other caskets had been filled with the personal effects of the fallen and parting gifts from those that knew and loved them. Kira's had been no different, but what had been laid within had amazed her. Treasures from the length and breadth of the Solar System had rested within. She had seen the uniform of an Imperial Knight resting within, its sleeves and empty gloves crossed over a sword used by the Grey Wardens (3) of the Deathwatch. She had marveled at the sight of a master-worked Valendian medallion inscribed with the Eye of Horus, and the Atlantean prayer book it rested on. All this and more had told Natarle how well-loved Kira had been. But holding centre stage was a single rose, one that only the richest could have afforded to have grown in their gardens: a Valendian Sol-Rosa.

And what did she give? The only things she had on her person: her cap and a promise to defend what a boy had died making a reality.

"Isn't it? Had I scuttled the Dominion before we left, you would still be alive. I did not, and you paid the price for my mistake."

"Everyone makes mistakes, Natarle-san. It is what you do after which matters."

"You will be made the same offer in time, Bright One," Malice said as she raised one hand, the mandala that took shape in the air before her blazing with white-hot flame, "But for now, awaken. War is coming, and you must not be found wanting."

The last thing she saw before she woke was a vision. She saw Kira Yamato, standing before a throne of carved ice, his lean body clad in battle-plate and his violet eyes burning with frostfyre. Before and around him were hundreds of men and women, Gear and human, all clutching beautiful rune-blades and ornate staves in their armored hands. The young Coordinator raised one hand in salute, and the thunderous cry echoed in her ears was one that she would remember in the decades to come.

"Long live the King."

(O)

Somewhere in the Solar System…

The circle of men and women fell to their knees, panting in utter exhaustion. The few that any strength left looked up at the golden sarcophagus before them, unable to believe the sheer power of its occupant. It had taken practically the full strength of the Chapter's Librarians to return the demigod within back into slumber. The Master of the Chantry had not been joking; the young king sleeping within was a Chosen, and thus, had power equal to those already enthroned.

One of the Librarians, a curvaceous, white-haired, white-skinned woman who was leaning upon her man-reaper and whose scandalous garments bared no small amount of skin, stared at sarcophagus in disbelief (4). The runic wards inscribed both on it and on the floor were burning with blue-white energy, and the air was filled with voices speaking in both tongues long-dead and which were alien to humanity. She saw in her mind's eye the monstrous shape of an angel-winged lion, its muscular body and wings clad in gleaming battle-plate and crowned in glory. She reeled as it threw its maned head back and roared, the psychic shockwave a hurricane of force that knocked those still standing or who were on their knees onto their backs.

It sent those that had been teetering on the brink of unconsciousness into the waiting arms of oblivion, the dull thumps of their unarmored forms hitting the floor mingling with the crash of those that were clad in battle-plate. The white-skinned Nazzadi woman fought a moment longer than her compatriots, long enough to hear the doors leading to the Chamber of the Sleeping King to slam open and the voices of her compatriots calling out her name, and the voices in her mind whisper an approbation that would be echoed by countless thousands in the days to come.

"Long live the King."

(O)

Shield of Destiny

Earth Alliance Archangel-class battleship

Captain's quarters

Natarle Badgiruel shot up in bed with a strangled gasp, the thunderous cry that had echoed in her ears following her into the waking world. Her heart was racing and she was breathing heavily, as if she had been running a marathon. The clothes she had worn earlier to bed were now a second skin, sticking to her body. Had any of her subordinates come in at that very moment, she would never hear the end of it. Though she had pretended to be oblivious to the subtle advances of the male half of her crew, she was well aware of what they were thinking. One of the squad leaders of the Shield of Destiny's marines, a Casanova whose antics had landed him in more trouble than Natarle could count, had made a bet with his colleagues that he would be able to take her out on a date before the year was through.

Natarle shook her head to clear her mind. Now was perhaps not the best time to think about her love life. She already had enough things on her mind. Chief among which was the mission she had been tasked with. Her uncle had pulled a few strings to include her in the strike force that was currently being assembled to combat the extremist groups in the region. Their growing power and influence – to say nothing of their recent attacks – had caused regions heads of state no small amount of concern.

'The road to hell is paved with good intentions, as they say…'

Standing up, the commander of the Shield of Destiny turned on the lights before walking to her desk and picking up the two files she had been reading before she turned in. The thicker of the two were the compiled intelligence reports from no less than five agencies, including the Deathwatch. Though each was written independently, all pointed to the same conclusion.

The extremist groups were up to something. And whatever it was, it was big and important enough for both the anti-Natural and anti-Coordinator groups to put aside their rivalries and their hatred to see it done. Natarle was not a woman easily frightened, but what she was looking at made her nervous.

'War is coming.'

Natarle opened up to one of the sections she had marked. On it was a report from the Arbitrators of the Severan Dominate, who had reported with no small amount of embarrassment that two of their ships had been stolen from their docks by Red Monika (6), a criminal in no less than four planetary sectors. It was only recently that these had learned just who exactly she had stolen them for. Both ships had been sighted in the Debris Belt, and both had the emblems of Genesis's Light painted on their hulls. Natarle had learned that an EA task-force had been deployed to capture or sink said ships, a task made all the more difficult by the fact that the ships Red Monika had stolen were Minotaur-class (7) battlecruisers. While the Earth Sphere was phasing in both the Minotaur and its larger Behemoth-class counterpart into their respective fleets, these would lack the FTL drives which were present on the ships Red Monika had sold to the terrorist group. Such technology would allow the Genesis Light terrorists, whose engineers Natarle knew would swiftly reverse-engineer the technology, to disengage from a fight they could not win or to launch a surprise attack that would catch the defenders of a colony or city off-guard.

She flipped another page, which detailed operations which have been undertaken by the region's law-enforcing and anti-terrorist agencies. The extremist groups have been growing more brazen, and the regional governments were not taking their trespasses lying down. Dozens have been arrested and incarcerated. Ships belonging to known terrorist groups have been boarded and its crew arrested. Hidden bases in the region were located and attacked.

It was in one such raid on a hidden Blue Cosmos base in the Debris Belt that had led to the leaders of the Earth Sphere realizing that more needed to be done. Said raid had been a joint operation carried out by Cerberus, a newly-formed anti-terrorist organization based in Central America, and the Sentinels, which was based in Orb and had been founded by its King. What they had found in said base had given weight to the suspicion that the extremists had support from outside the Earth Sphere. The weapons used by the base's defenders aside, the small squadron of LEVs were proof positive that there were some very rich and very powerful individuals who wanted to see the Earth Sphere fall into chaos.

'In all its glory…'

Natarle turned to another section, and looked at the forces being assembled for the punitive strike on the terrorist groups. Comprising of at least sixty ships and no less than twelve thousand men and women, it was perhaps the largest joint-operation since the attack on New Tamnis some thirteen months back.

Sabretooth and Einherjar, the Special Operations branches of the Atlantic and the Eurasian Federation military, had sent three teams each. Cerberus (8) and the Sentinels were both sending a strike-team as well as a company of marines each. ZAFT had committed one of its twelve Constellation teams, two repair ships and a hospital ship to the fleet. Orb and Scandinavia had sent the equivalent of a full marine battalion and fourteen of the sixty ship armada. The Kingdom of Britannia had sent four Minotaur-class ships, a full contingent of its elite SAS as well as one of its Knights of the Round (9).

The captain of the Shield of Destiny's marine contingent had called what was being gathered a Retribution Force – one that was capable of tearing through anything the Solar System could throw at them. He had even joked that such a force could possibly storm the Orb Union's new Libra Base and win. The combat records of the units that were part of the Retribution Force were impressive, to say the least. Even the Sentinels and Cerberus, being new kids on the block, were quickly proving themselves the equals of their more established counterparts.

'And all its horror…'

Natarle's eyes alighted on a black folder, the emblem of Earth Alliance Naval Intelligence embossed on its cover. The Bastille Report detailed an attack by the Deathwatch on New Tamnis, an abandoned colony that had been converted by ZAFT High Command for top-secret projects that were known only to a select few within the Zala administration. The commander of the Shield of Destiny did not need to open the folder to remember what was written on it.

It was well-known that the Coordinator race had problems reproducing. The experiments on New Tamnis were to address that flaw. And Patrick Zala and his cohorts had gone about it by violating laws and charters that had taken decades for the various nations of the Solar System to agree on. Worse, they had done so with the implicit support of their peers from beyond the Earth Sphere. The pictures of women – Gears and human alike – being chained to the walls, many of whom were in various stages of pregnancy, their empty eyes bespeaking of the horrors they had borne witness to and had endured, was a glimpse into Hell.

And that was not all. The experiments on New Tamnis also included ways by which to purge the Naturals from existence and the development of new weapons that would allow the PLANTs to win the war with the Earth Alliance. The first involved the creation of a bio-weapon, codenamed Terminus, which had been close to completion when the Deathwatch attacked. The second involved the creation of a cadre of super-soldiers and weapons that would allow ZAFT to match the numerically superior armies of the Earth Alliance on the battlefield.

'Justice has turned its gaze on Heaven.'

The ZAFT soldiers on New Tamnis had turned the prototypes of said weapons on the Deathwatch, only to find that the latter were more than ready for such an eventuality. Could the same be said of the Retribution Force? Many of the anti-Natural and anti-Coordinator groups, upon realizing that their supply lines were being cut one after the other, had turned to both extra-regional and criminal sources for logistical and financial support. These had provided the extremists with reliable weapons, money and manpower in exchange for their providing a safe haven for both their goods and their agents.

'And has found it wanting…'

Natarle put the folders she had been holding back on the table and turned to look at the picture that rested on the nearby shelf. Resting in silver-steel frames, they were a memory of days when the world made more sense than it did now, before she learned that the true face of the world was one where nothing was true and everything was permitted.

She smiled when her eyes alighted on a picture of Murrue, in a bath towel, castigating la Flaga when the latter had accidentally gone into the Archangel's bathing area at the wrong time. She grinned when she saw Murdock, with a peeved expression on his soot-blackened face, glaring at the mess hall's stove which had decided to repay him for his efforts to repair it by sneezing in its face – something which had caused both the Archangel's crew and the refugees on it to erupt in gales of hilarity. She saw a picture of Archangel's marines who had been caught red-handed playing cards while they were off duty, the horrified expressions made all the more comical by the fact that she had been behind Kazui Buskirk when he had taken the picture. She saw Kira and his friends as they were before war and hardship scoured away their innocence and bloodied their hands.

Kazui had been reluctant to give her copies of the pictures he had taken while aboard the Archangel, but Natarle had been able to persuade the teenager to do so. When asked why she wanted it, she had simply replied that it was to remind her of the lessons she had learned, and of the price she had to pay to learn them. She wanted to never forget that even the greatest of heroes were people first and what others perceived them last.

'But the halls of Heaven are replete with heroes who know who and what they are.'

It amused her to later learn that Kira's reputation had spread far and wide. During the first Memorial Ceremony commemorating the end of the Bloody Valentine War, both she and the crew of the Deliverance Fleet had been approached by members of the media and military, all of whom wanted to know more about Kira – or rather, as one reporter had called him, the White Angel. It was only much later that she learned the reason why they had so many questions about him – and it was one that had both the leaders of the Deliverance Fleet and his friends horrified and looking for answers.

Every trace of Kira's existence had been erased. His civilian, military and educational records had all been deleted. His parents were nowhere to be found and the home they had lived in had been sold to another family. Someone, somewhere, wanted to ensure that nothing of Kira Yamato remained – and they had succeeded. The gentle, shy young man would only exist in the memories of those who had known him or had fought and bled alongside him.

'And they will not stand by while the world burns.'

Why had they done this? Could her dream have something to do with it?

No.

No, her dream was a warning. The ruined city of Suramar, one of the Solar System's Thirty Wonders, with wraiths and demons amidst its ruins was a premonition of what would happen if they did not thwart the extremists. A nightmare was what awaited the Earth Sphere if they failed.

'But you, Natarle Badgiruel – you are among the last who has yet to decide. Choose, and choose wisely.'

She would not allow the nightmare that Kira had given his life to avert be made a reality. There would be time enough later to learn who had been behind the Yamato family's disappearance. Let those who have been tasked with uncovering the identities of the culprits be left to their work. She had been entrusted with a far more important task. Natarle looked at the data-slate on her desk and smiled, as the face of an old friend looked back at her. More the woman she was becoming than the girl she had been, Frey – no, Angel – Allster had become both the poster girl of the Earth Alliance's Mobile Suit Operator Program (MSOP) and one of its finest pilots. She had heard of the younger woman's recent exploits and looked forward to having a conversation – one that was long overdue – with her when they linked up with the 1718th Assault Fleet at Lunar orbit.

(O)

The Immaculate Flame

Earth Alliance Agamemnon-class battleship-carrier, 1718th Assault Fleet

En route to Nav-point (Lunar orbit)

The silence that filled the hangar bay of the Immaculate Flame was palpable. It was heavy with the weight of memories and duty. It had seen good men and women walk its corridors and labor to keep it battle- and space-worthy. The dull hum of its reactor was a comforting heartbeat to all that served aboard it, and the roar of its guns when it engaged the enemies of the country that had given it life was a prayer for those it swore to protect. Her captain had stood at its helm for well over twenty years, and had never sought another command or to rise in rank. He was where he was supposed to be, and his son would one day take his place. Tradition was a good thing, but tradition twisted to evil goals made it weep.

The Bloody Valentine War had been a blasphemy of the highest order. It had borne witness to its brother and sister ships unleashing death upon their counterparts. Wrath and hate that had festered for over five decades became a bloody conflagration that threatened to wipe humanity from the very region. It – they – remembered when the Deliverance Fleet came. A storm swept through the Solomon Sea, and a plea for the madness to end was given weight on the wings of an angel and a king.

The Immaculate Flame remembered the spear of light that unleashed, and heard the screams of its fellows as they were reduced to atoms. It remembered its commander searching through the data-net for information regarding the colossal fortress that had unleashed such devastation upon his compatriots, and the horror on his face as he realized that the technology that had made it possible came from a time when gods and angels made war on each other. Its shields and walls were impervious to all but the nuclear weapons the fleet carried, and its defences ensured that no threat that could destroy it would be permitted near it.

But what an army could not accomplish, the young king did.

The ship also remembered another battle, this one more vicious than any fought in its long memory. An angel fought against the serpent king, and they traded blows that would have crushed lesser knights many times over. The latter invited the former to join it, to take that which was rightfully his. He, the serpent king said, was a demigod, and such exalted beings had no place among lesser beings, whose greed and pride had set the inferno they were in ablaze in the first place. The ship remembered what the angel had said, and were it human, it would smile.

Duty and honor – if not to king and country, then to the people one loved. Sometimes that made more sense. And such things have a tendency to leave its legacy in the blood. Grief made love strong, and pain gave faith meaning. For those who were blind and who had lost their way, the price to return to the light would always be high.

It turned its gaze inward, to a young woman who now stood within the hangar bays, where its lesser siblings slept. She was a beautiful thing, her dark-red hair reminding the ship of the red star which had recently appeared in the star ocean. Closer to the woman she was becoming than the girl she had been, her body was curvaceous and strong. She was a princess, a thing of royal blood. But the crown that was hers, the castle she had lived in, existed no longer. The knight-angel who had defended her and brought her home had taken her place on the ferry, denying both the Fates and Justice their prize. A foolish, sinful girl could not make amends if she were dead. Only alive could she do so.

It may seem a greater punishment, but the deity the ship knew its crew worshipped would never grant forgiveness without the sinner paying the toll. Such a pilgrimage was difficult, and the ship was thankful that the little one would not do so alone. Nodding to itself, it turned its attention back to the stars.

X X X

The minute Frey Allster stepped into the hangar bay, a melodious, crooning sound and a series of clicks greeted her. Having long ago sensed her approach, the Avenger Phoenix – one of the three Animus-class Gundams in the Earth Sphere – had warmed up its reactor and readied itself for whatever its master would wish of it. The red-haired girl smiled at up the war-machine, "No, we're not going out tonight, Brigid."

A series of clicks, in a lower, somber and more enquiring tone filled the hangar bay.

"Yes," the smile faded from Frey's lips, "Yes, I have."

Two of the Avenger Phoenix's five steely tails hanging from the safety clamps shifted and moved towards Frey, an invitation to the latter to sit on it. The young woman complied, and soon found herself raised high to the engineering gantry close to the cockpit. The eye-slits of the Phoenix's eagle-shaped head flashed once as the eighth-generation Mobile Suit activated its inbuilt holographic projectors and turned the entire hangar bay into a perfect replica of the Bay of Stars on Venus. Frey needed only to look over her shoulder to see the beautiful, elegant city of Suramar City, capital of the Gear nation of Kalimdor. The only indications that the breathtaking vista she beheld was a holographic illusion was that the air she breathed in and the sounds she heard were the ship's dry, recycled air and the ever-present hum of its engines.

All that changed a second later, and Frey flashed a thankful look at the MS, who crooned happily (and who had taken the illusion of a girl with dark-crimson hair and violet eyes, sitting on a rock and grinning with all the impish delight of a normal child her age). It amazed her at just what the Avenger Phoenix was capable of. The Animus-class Gundams was the brainchild of one of the Solar System's top scientists, one Adeline Sears, whose recent technological breakthroughs and innovations had earned her the patronage of countries and mega-corporations alike. Frey had met the woman once before, when she confronted the latter as to the reasons why she intended to do with the charred wreck of the Freedom.

The statuesque woman had studied her with crimson eyes for the better part of five minutes, before telling her that had she not done so, it would have fallen into the hands of those who would have misused the knowledge they would have gleaned from it and tarnished what it represented. The Freedom was already a symbol and a legend to soldiers and pilots across the Solar System, the emblem of the winged shooting star becoming a good-luck charm to those who fought and died on a thousand battlefields. It had taken her a considerable amount of arm-twisting so as to prevent those she saw as her intellectual and moral inferiors from taking a symbol and turning it into a grotesque trophy. The trade-off had been that she was contractually obligated to make for the Earth Alliance a Mobile Suit that would surpass the Freedom in every way.

Frey did not remember what she had said but – whatever it was – it had made the older woman smile. The latter made her an offer she could not refuse. The contract she had with the Earth Alliance stated that she was to build them an eighth-generation Mobile Suit. Nothing in said contract stated that she could not choose the pilot for it. Her decision had been met with no small amount of resistance, as the Earth Alliance Ministry of Defense had gone about compiling a list of pilots whom they believed could be trusted with the Avenger Phoenix. Several of the names in said list were individuals whom Frey and Adeline would not trust with a kitchen knife, let along the Avenger Phoenix.

The power of an Animus-class Gundam was not something anybody wanted in the hands of those who could – and would – misuse it. Even if the EA Ministry of Defence had gotten their way, Brigid would have immediately turned the Gundam into the region's largest and most expensive paperweight. The highly-advanced A.I. in the Animus-class Gundam remembered the one who had piloted its former incarnation and the reasons why he had fought. It remembered the people the latter had died for, and sought to finish what its former master started.

The mantra that took shape on its primary screen as it powered up was a prayer for an impossible dream held dear by countless millions across the centuries. A dream Frey had sworn to defend, and which had seen to the sub-commander of the 1718th Assault Fleet making her an offer to be part of the squadron. It had taken the young woman several days to understand why they had done so. The commander of the squadron wanted those who had no wish to see a second Bloody Valentine War erupt to serve under her. Because of her beliefs, the 1718th was smaller than many of its counterparts, comprising of barely six hundred men and women and eight ships. But what it lacked in quantity, it made up with quality.

The commander of the fleet was Commodore Kajira Ibn Douta, a woman whose fighting tactics gave weight to the rumors that the Arab woman – as well as a good number of her crew – had been a pirate in the years before she joined the Earth Alliance. Many of the stratagems she used in combat were never taught in the Academy. Said tactics made Kajira one of the best fleet commanders the EA had.

ZAFT fleet commanders hated her. The Ghost of Endymion was the sobriquet given to Kajira. Her love of guerilla attacks and her penchant for launching ambushes out of nowhere had earned the 1718th Assault Squadron the enmity of the colonies' armed forces. The fact that the Eagle of Endymion flew from under the shroud of the Ghost made those attacks all the more deadly. Even though the Earth Alliance lost Endymion, they had made their enemies pay dearly for their victory.

Many of the Earth Alliance's senior commanders hated Kajira just as much, if not more. The latter had proven an adroit player in the game of politics, and was not above wrapping politicians and powerful corporate magnates alike around her little finger (with many of said methods used to snare them in her web being a step away from being a felony). Her one regret in life was that she did not manage to snag Mwu la Flaga, who she regarded as her other half. Frey had been startled by how alike the two were despite their differences. Commander la Flaga was a silk hiding steel. Commodore Kajira was steel masking silk. The blonde ace was, to quote one of her fellow pilots, a smooth criminal. The raven-haired Arab fleet commander, on the other hand, was brash and daring – someone who was prone to shooting first and asking questions later.

In some ways, Kajira remaindered Frey of Commander Murrue. The key word in that sentence was some. The brown-haired commander of the Archangel would never do what the commander of the 1718th would do in the time Frey had known her. But she could not deny that the image of herself, the admiral and Kira in a threesome was an appealing one. Her body still remembered the times she and Kira had made love. It was addictive, a memory burned right into her body. Had Kira lived, she would not have minded sharing him with Lacus.

And their children...dear God, they would be beautiful. His violet eyes and her red-hair, the sins that gave them life burning hot in hearts that knew long before they beat how to love. A delighted shiver ran up the red-haired young woman's spine. The dream she had seen was one she hoped would one day be made true. She only hoped Kira would be able to survive what was coming to him…

A melodic croon and a series of clicks made Frey turn to the 'girl' sitting atop the rock. The latter had a curious, yet concerned, look on her face.

"No, Brigid. I'm all right. I was just thinking about the past."

A series of enquiring clicks was its reply, and a tilt of the head.

"Yes, I'm thinking of him."

A sad, mournful sound was the Phoenix's reply, followed by a series of clicks.

"The dead never die, Brigid, because they live on in the memories of those who remember their names."

X X X

The Immaculate Flame

Captain's quarters

At that very moment

Sasha Springfield placed two fingers against her temple to ward off an impending headache. Her mother had been right when it came to men and their pride. She could count on the fingers and toes of every individual in the room the number of the male gender – at least, those she had met – who did not let their ego do their thinking for them. Her blue eyes went to the powerfully built figure of Commodore Benjamin Ben-Nadav of EA-Israel who stood in the centre of the room. The latter had arrived several hours ahead of his fleet on his flagship with a squadron of escorts to speak with his counterpart in private regarding the suitability of the young woman who was entrusted with one of the few Animus-class Gundams in the Earth Sphere.

Benjamin was a stern and unbending man with a tally of victories longer than Sasha's arm. A veteran of numerous campaigns both within and on the borders of the Earth Sphere, the Israeli commander was one of the few she knew who could take on men the likes of the Desert Tiger and the Iron Wolf of ZAFT and actually win. Every time he crossed swords with any of the two ZAFT commanders, the ensuing clash would be bloody. Benjamin regarded the Coordinators of the PLANTs as rebels and traitors, and had enacted on no few occasions the penalty reserved for those who had betrayed the state. The fact that the divisions and squadrons under his command were replete with Blue Cosmos sympathizers had made him a very popular – if not feared – commander.

Sasha and her compatriots would always spend hours comparing the three men. The Desert Tiger was a maverick, loved and loathed in equal measure by ZAFT High Command for his ways, but adored by the men and women who followed him. The Iron Wolf was choleric by nature; he was the first into a battlefield and the last out. Benjamin's bilious temperament and fierce determination had earned him the wary respect of both his peers and superiors as well as the unquestioning obedience of those beneath him.

But the commander of the 1718th Assault Squadron was no pushover. The reputation and higher rank of her counterpart did not intimidate her. The arched eyebrow and the smirk on her lips told Sasha just what she thought of him. The fact that she was still in her scandalous nightwear, which had caused every male in the room to shoot admiring looks at her sensuous curves, showed that everything Benjamin believed in meant less than nothing to her.

"So, Admiral Benjamin," Kajira looked at her counterpart from behind locked fingers, "You are telling me that Captain Allster, whom I know and who has proven herself a competent pilot, is an obstacle to our completing our mission because of her…issues. Am I correct?"

"Yes, Commodore Kajira. As such, I request that the Avenger Phoenix be given to another. It is unacceptable that its creator would simply give one of the region's most powerful weapons to a child whose combat experience is but a fraction of the greenest pilot in my squadron. If we are to succeed in this endeavor of crushing the terrorists, we must ensure that the tools given to us should be in the hands of those most able to use them."

"And who is the person you say is 'most suited' to piloting the Avenger Phoenix, Benjamin?" the Ghost of Endymion asked her opposite, disdaining the use of the latter's rank, "Because I have seen the records of each and every person High Command had sent to Professor Adeline when they got word she was close to completing the Gundam, and I find all but a handful of them insufferable in the extreme."

"Please do not put my pilots in the same category as the trash that the Ministry of Defence has recommended to pilot the Gundam, Commodore," the Israeli commander snorted, "It is offensive. I have standards. And as such, the men and women serving in the 68th Heavy Flotilla are among the best in the sector."

Sasha met the eyes of one of Squadron Phoenix's pilots. The Chinese woman had an amused look in her gaze and closed her eyes once in lieu of a nod. Admiral Benjamin's command had been purged not once, but twice, in the last year alone. Blue Cosmos sympathizers had been found at every level of his command, and many had been secretly funneling sensitive information to the terrorist groups. And what worse, the Deathwatch had gotten involved in apprehending one of the Israeli commander's peers, while the High Lord of the Traitor Legions personally executed one of his friends, a powerful business leader.

The Russian woman shivered. To think that the Archdemon himself had gotten involved was a frightening thought. Those who had sworn the same oaths she had knew that the worst possible enemy anyone could face was a demigod whose fury had seen to fall of the Solar Empire and whose hatred had kept the flames of the Long War burning white-hot. She had seen the holographic video clips of the Archdemon in battle; nothing short of a combined effort by the Archangels themselves could possibly stop him.

"My apologies, admiral," Kajira amused voice brought Sasha out of her thoughts, "I know that you have expended considerable effort to rebuild your command in the wake of …recent events. I should not have made light of your labors. But moving on, you have made many good and convincing points in regards to having Captain Allster being removed from piloting the Avenger Phoenix. Unfortunately, I cannot agree."

"And the reason being, Commodore...?"

Kajira stood up and crossed her arms under her full breasts, "I made a promise to Professor Adeline."

"And is that promise worth more than our completing our task?"

The Ghost of Endymion did not speak for a full minute, weighing her words carefully before speaking, "One does not make bargains with devils and break them without suffering the consequences, Benjamin. A lesson I am sure you know all too well. But in light of your arguments, I will grant you this: Until Captain Allster proves that she is incapable – and I don't see it happening anytime soon – of piloting the Avenger Phoenix, I cannot and will not accede to your…request."

The Israeli admiral nodded, "Very well."

"But tell me, Benjamin. If I had agreed to your demand, who would you have given the Phoenix to?"

"Major Aaron Baratz, my senior squadron commander. His record," the man nodded in the direction of Kajira's workstation, "can be accessed should you wish to peruse it. If you wish to speak to him in person, he is on my ship."

"Is he the only one you recommend, Benjamin?"

"No. There is Captain Ariel Herzig, who leads the Strike Dagger contingent on my flagship. She and Major Aaron have served together for four years and have fought in every major battle leading up to the Battle of the Solomon Sea."

"Including the Junius-7 suppression?"

"Including that, yes," Benjamin replied, his eyes narrowing, "Why? Do you disagree with what our superiors have done?"

"I do, Benjamin. The Junius-7 Massacre was and is a war-crime," Kajira's eyes sharpened, "I will strongly advise that you and yours do not mention the part you played in the Bloody Valentine when we meet our ZAFT counterparts on Neo-Stratos. And no, I am not asking you. I am telling you. If the Stormlord is there – and I can put my sweet ass as collateral for the bet – he will carry out the threat he made you in the closing hours of the Middle East campaign."

Benjamin paled at that, and whispered a prayer in reflex. Shateiel Sinclair, Commander of ZAFT's Storm Wardens, was perhaps an enemy more dangerous than the Desert Tiger and the Iron Wolf put together. The Stormlord's command comprised of no less than three land battleships and three thousand men and women, a force far smaller than that of his compatriots in the region. But with that force, he had done one thing they could not. He had put the fear of God in every Earth Alliance commander and regional leader in the Middle East. When ZAFT swept into the Middle East, the Storm Wardens were its vanguard, and they would earn a place in history for their accomplishments.

EA-Israel would lose well over two-hundred and forty tanks – the equivalent of a full armored division – to the ZAFT Commander and over three times as many soldiers in the first week alone. Lightning raids and ambushes accounted for many more. Elite commando teams were killed or captured. Officers would suddenly disappear, never to be seen again. Their families would find the belongings of their sons and daughters materializing on their doorstep days later, neatly folded and with the ZAFT Medal of Honor resting on it.

By the time the Earth Alliance managed to drive ZAFT from the region, the Stormlord and his legion had become legend. Benjamin had been part of two million-strong force that had driven ZAFT from the Middle East. It was a great victory made bitter by the fact that the Coordinators had inflicted horrendous casualties on the Earth Alliance army and nearly broke the Crusader host. It was in the battle of Jerusalem that Benjamin learned why his compatriots had so feared the Stormlord. It was a lesson he learned almost at the cost of his life. The Stormlord's Mobile Suit divisions have ever acted both as his mobile artillery and diversion; the true danger came from when he and his Storm Wardens made themselves known.

Benjamin needed only to close his eyes to remember the image of the heavily-armored ZAFT Commander, clad in gleaming carapace battle-plate he had had his stormtroopers wear, clutching a mono-edged broadsword wet with the blood of his subordinates. He remembered the silence and the golden eyes that judged him. He remembered, most of all, the mantra that was seared into his soul.

"Benjamin…?"

The Israeli commander snapped out of his memories, to see Kajira looking at him in concern.

"Are you all right? You look pale."

"My memories of the man are not pleasant ones," Benjamin's voice was rough, and he closed his eyes and fought to control his breathing, "But your advice is noted. I will be careful to not arouse the anger of my old enemy."

'You are beneath him, Benjamin. Do not ever think yourself his equal. Do not even dream it. Many men and women better than you have tried, and they are all dead. This is a hunter who seeks but one prey, and everything that stands in his way is naught but a distraction to be crushed underfoot.'

'Do you know who he is, Rabbi Ersatz?'

"Good. I take it that this concludes our business?" Kajira asked him.

Benjamin nodded, before leaving the room. Outside the corridor, the cold air made him shiver, and the crushing silence brought back memories of when he gazed into golden eyes of a legend whispered by all the faithful who prayed to the One God.

'Yes, I do. And I curse the day I learned who he was. I saw him once, many decades ago, long before I came to the Earth Sphere and made it my home. Like all foolish young men and women dazzled by the deeds of our forbears, my friends and I attempted to lay low a dragon and perished to the last doing so. He spared me, so that I would prevent more from dying for the self-righteous arrogance of uncaring lords.'

He did not know if what the rabbi was talking about, but the expression on his face spoke volumes of bitter memories made heavy with equally bitter truths. The universe ever relished in twisting the knife of undesired answers in the hearts of the questioner.

'His last words to me were…'

"Nothing is forgotten. Nothing is forgiven."

X X X

Kajira waited until she knew Benjamin was far from her door before speaking to the pilots and the Chief Engineer of Phoenix Squadron. Her dark eyes met each one with quiet resolve, and her voice was cold iron.

"You all know what is at stake. Ensure that no action you take arouses the suspicions of that arrogant ass. I will not have the Phoenix be sent to languish in an institution or in a prison cell before we are reunited with our King. Am I absolutely clear about this?"

Five heads nodded in unison.

"This goes double for you and your crew, Sasha."

"I understand."

"Good. Dismissed," Kajira paused briefly, "Sasha, who is the watch officer on duty tonight?"

"Master Sergeant Eric, Commodore."

A libidinous grin curved Kajira's lips, as she felt a hunger rise in her like a tsunami, "Please tell the man to come to my quarters, Sasha. There is…something I would like to speak to him about."

The Russian woman rolled her eyes in amused exasperation, and prayed that Kajira would be able to keep her hands to herself when their King returned to them. The women around the last would either be less than amused and kill her, or nod approvingly and get her to join in. Sasha sighed inwardly. She really should stop reading too much Japanese harem manga; it was seriously screwing with her ability to think rationally at times.

(O)

Washington, D.C.

EA-America, capital of the Earth Alliance

The White House

At that very moment

The White House that Richard Copeland, President of the Earth Alliance, lived in was far larger than the one his predecessors had lived in millennia ago. Built in the years after the Third Solar War by Peter Igor Momus, a renowned Italian architect, the seat of power of the leaders of the Earth Alliance was an impressive building that would have matched the Carnelian Manse of Greater Helium (10) in imperious majesty. Located in the Hyperion Crater, where the old Imperial Palace had been centuries ago, the White House was surrounded both by the various ministries that allowed the Earth Alliance to function as well as military bases – both large and small – belonging to the Capital Defense Force.

From the Oval Chambers where presidents of the Earth Alliance and the now-defunct Earth Defense League would meet important dignitaries or conduct press interviews, Richard needed only to look out the window to know the power he had at his command. It was no idle boast that Washington, D.C., was the seat of power of kings and Emperors beyond counting. The fact that the Oval Chambers stood directly over where the Golden Lion Throne of the Solar Empire had not been a mere coincidence. Peter Igor Momus had made absolutely sure that those who would sit within the Oval Office knew the weight that rested on the shoulders of he – or she – that sat within.

Richard Copeland was one of the few presidents in the seven decades since the founding of the Earth Alliance to hold the presidency for three consecutive terms. The Constitution stated that no president could hold the term for more than two terms, but he had had forced a third when the Bloody Valentine War erupted despite his efforts to avert it.

Things had been so much easier when he had been regional governor of the L15 colony-cluster. It was not the snake pit he found the heartlands of the Earth Alliance to be. There, it did not matter if one was a Coordinator or a Natural. There, only the flag and the homeland mattered. There, the enemy was beyond counting. He had learned from his father, who had been the regional governor prior to his political rivals removed him from office, that he should keep his friends close and his enemies close enough to kill. It was there that he met the representatives of two factions, both of whom wanted his allegiance in return for their support.

The first sent its agents. The leader of the second came in person and told him to accept what the first offered and to do whatever it was they asked. It had startled Richard at first, but he soon began to understand why. It was a trap, one a decade in the making, and which allowed the second faction to utterly decimate the first and drive them out from the Earth Sphere. It was only in the days after the Junius-7 Peace Treaty was signed that Richard Copeland met the man again. And this time, he knew who the man was.

After all, how many could boast of their meeting a legendary demigod in the flesh? One whose power and intellect had made him the most hated enemy of the oldest superpower in the Solar System, and whose thousand-year long crusade against the latter had earned him and his followers a place in the pages of history? Few – and many of these did not realize just who they had spoken with until many years later.

The black-armored demigod was known by many names, but the sobriquet that Richard felt had fit the ancient warlord best was Kingslayer. After all, how many kings and heroes had fallen to his blade in the last ten centuries? How many countries and planets had, in the bygone days of the Reclamation Crusade, fallen to his armies? Richard did not know. He only hoped that the Earth Sphere would not be among them.

"Lord Richard, are you well…?" the concerned voice of the one he was speaking to broke him out of his thoughts. He looked up from where he had been seating to face the massive, armored form of the Supreme Hierarch of the Church of Lordaeron. The eight-foot tall giant was the very embodiment of imperious majesty and of power incarnate. Everything, from his posture to his accoutrements, was the very concept of glory given form. And clutched in one armored fist was a weapon the President of the Earth Alliance could not take his eyes from. It was a spear, easily taller than the giant by a meter and a half, the runes on its cleft blades glowing white-hot with psychic energy. One of the Holy Kingdom's agents had called the weapon in the white-armored giant's hand the Spear of Longinus, after the same weapon which had pierced the side of Christ during the Crucifixion.

"I am well, your holiness," Richard replied, "Just woolgathering. What was it you were saying…?"

"I was asking if those whose names were on the list are aware of what was asked of them."

"They are. I have hidden nothing from them."

The giant closed its golden eyes for several minutes, before nodding once, "Excellent. I shall send my Bishop to meet them at the agreed-upon location in three days. I trust that that will be time enough for you to take care of other matters?"

"It is," the President of the Earth Alliance replied, before pausing briefly, "Your holiness…? I have a few questions, if you don't mind my asking."

"Go on."

"It has come to my attention that the Lancea Sanctum faction is locked in a doctrinal conflict with Morrowan Church and the Thamarite faction, and that they are using," a look of disgust crossed the Earth Alliance President's face, "those… things to settle the argument about how the war will be fought. Is this true?"

"I regret to say that it is, Lord Richard. And before you ask, no," the white-armored demigod replied, the embarrassment speaking volumes of his distaste of the whole affair, "I cannot and will not stop them. It is the right of any of the three parties to invoke the Rite of Ascalon (11). I do agree with you, however, that the manner in which they have chosen to settle their argument is beyond the pale. One does not play with fire and not be burned."

"Of that I have no doubt, your holiness," Richard looked at the newspaper resting on his desk, the picture of jubilant African Liberation Front soldiers raising their flags over the regional EA government building in Mogadishu dominating the front page. Among them was a young man, one whose face the President had seen on a report two years back. He was older than the boy who had piloted the Strike, and later, the Freedom. But it was not that same boy. That one had more in common with the leader of ZAFT's Constellation Team Leo than the ALF soldiers called the Black Lion.

"You have other questions, Lord Richard?"

"Yes. I have two more, in fact. First is if the Serpent is aware of what we're doing. That one has agents and spies everywhere, and I cannot rule out that recent events are because of his meddling. The fiasco in Somalia has his bloody fingerprints all over it," Richard emphasized the last three words, "He's up to something and I cannot, for the life of me, figure out what it is."

The Supreme Hierarch chuckled, "You are right to be wary of the Serpent, Richard. He is a cunning and intelligent man. But then again, so are you. The fact that you know he is up to something means you can counter his stratagems."

"Or make it some else's problem," Richard replied with a grin.

Now, the demigod laughed, "That, too. And your other question?"

"Why you are taking a personal hand in gathering the Peerage of the sleeping King, your holiness? You have never done this for your other Chosen. They would see this as an act of favoritism."

The Supreme Hierarch of the Church of Lordaeron did not reply for a full minute, weighing the words that would make up the answer he would give the man before it. The demigod nodded to himself. The simplest answers were best, and it would be most discourteous to run circles around the leader of the most powerful man in the Solar System.

"Indeed they would, but I will tell them what I tell you. I am doing it because he can't and because it is the right thing to do. And because if I did not, my Peerage, my Horsemen and three of my High Lords would never let me hear the end of it," the demigod had an edge of amused exasperation to it, "Tell me, would you, in my place, say no to a coalition of very powerful men and women who, combined, can do to me what my nemesis could not?"

Richard laughed, then. He knew the feeling of when everyone but the kitchen staff made your decisions for you. And truth be told, he could not blame the Supreme Hierarch. Being in power often meant being in uncomfortable situations, after all.

"I understand completely, your holiness. And you will forgive me if I take pleasure in your pain."

"Traitor," the demigod deadpanned, "I should charge you with heresy and send my Throne Guard after you."

"Right back at you, your holiness," Richard's grin made him look two decades younger, "What you are planning to do is both a sin and a felony. My judges and your Inquisitors would sentence you to a few decades behind bars, if only to teach you that some ideas are best left in the realm of fantasy."

The Supreme Hierarch chortled at that, "That they would, Lord Richard. But I have plans both for him and his Peerage. Plans that will, if things fall into place, allow me to not only right a great wrong but also excise the cancer that has taken root in the Holy Kingdom," the humor left the demigod's voice then, and the pain and anger in it was a thing that had endured centuries and had the weight of worlds on it, "There have been no few times in the past ten centuries I have lived when I wonder if my archenemy has the right of it. He warned me that human nature would undo or, worse, corrupt that which I seek to create."

"The Archdemon (16) is not wrong in that respect, your holiness," Richard replied after a full minute of silence, "Human nature has been the cause of much pain and suffering across the ages. We cannot change that. We can but accept it and work to lessen the damage brought about by the obstinacy and ignorance of others."

"And if you can avert it…?" the demigod asked.

"Then do so, and do not hesitate. In this particular context, the ends justify the means."

"I will take your advice into consideration, Lord Richard," the golden eyes within the helm moved briefly to look at someone beyond the communications array, "It appears that there are matters I have to see to, old friend. I will speak to you again when I am able. Go in peace, Regent of Terra. Give my regards to your family and our servants, won't you?"

"I will," the Earth Alliance President replied as the holographic projector powered down with a soft hum. When the room descended into darkness once more, Richard turned his attention to the figure standing on the opposite end of the Oval Chambers. The latter was a man clad in black war-plate. Dark blue robes gave the man a scholarly air, but the exquisite pistols and the claymore the man was armed with bespoke of his martial leanings. Golden-brown hair spilt from the hood, both framing a face that was known and hated throughout the Holy Kingdom for the chaos he had sown in his wake.

Many were the names given him by both friend and foe, the most famous among which was the one given to him by the Supreme Hierarch of the Holy Kingdom had called him: the Gray Angel. Those less kind called him the Herald of Serpents. Richard called the Dark Templar by the name the latter had used when they first met: Cypher.

"Your father is playing a dangerous game, old friend."

"The games the mighty play are always dangerous, Richard," the other man replied as he walked towards Richard, allowing the light of the lamp on the latter's table to illuminate both his features and the emblem of the flying sword on his breastplate. Golden eyes turned to look at the holographic map of the Earth Sphere planetary sector that the President of the Earth Alliance had been studying before his conversation with the Supreme Hierarch.

"You know this better than anyone else," Cypher's eyes went to the borders of the Earth Sphere, where his agents had reported strange occurrences as well as the appearance and the growing power of a cult aligned with the Holy Kingdom, "When the stakes are this high and the rewards beyond imagining, you either win or you die. And preparation is important if one desires the former more than the latter…"

To be continued…

Author's afterword

It has taken me six months, four drafts and over thirty thousand words before I could post this chapter. The sheer amount of effort to get this done was herculean. Kouryuo Saber wrote the first draft, and I made the second. I re-read it, and found that there were enough holes here to sink the story, and wanted to address it. So, I poured effort and research to making strong and firm the foundations of the story. I hope I did not disappoint. I will be getting down to the third chapter in a week's time. If the chapter blends smoothly, you can see it posted soon.

Also, I had best inform you, my readers and reviewers, that this story is a mega-crossover. As such, I will dedicate a chapter or two every four chapters to the OCs and the characters from other anime and games who will make their appearance. The Conqueror War is already underway, and it will be best if I introduce you to the men and women who will fight in the one that will envelope the Earth Sphere. My only hope – and I am determined to make it a reality – is that I do justice to each and every character, and make them believable. Yes, even Kira Yamato and Lacus Clyne. Flaws are natural to all humanity, and I do not see why these two should be free of them.

But, for now, I shall set the stage. I shall gather the actors. I shall weave the symphony. And I call for war and treachery, for ambition and greed, to descend upon the Earth Sphere and the good and just be laid low. For the Cat has decreed, and it shall be so! Review, so the cat can

Project Notes 1: The Church of Lordaeron

The Church of Lordaeron is divided into the three monotheistic faiths founded in the Middle East over ten thousand years ago. It had taken centuries of war and strife for its adherents to finally, finally, make an end of it. The Gear Uprising and the Crusades ten thousand years ago did much to do so. The price of peace had been so very high, and generations of religious leaders would damn themselves to the Inferno and back again than see it shattered. But even though inter-religious strife had ended, political infighting has not. But within the three monotheistic faiths were numerous factions, all of whom sought dominance over all the rest.

The five largest factions within the Church of Lordaeron are the Lancea Sanctum, the Church of Menoth, the Chantry, the Morrowan Church and the Thamarite Cult.

The Lancea Sanctum faction and the Church of Menoth form the largest and most powerful bloc within the Church of Lordaeron, matched only in power by the Chantry and in influence by the Morrowan Church. The Thamarite Cult, founded by the younger twin sister of the Morrowan Church's founder, is the least powerful of the five factions, but has resources and allies that allow it to punch above its weight. Much suspicion is heaped upon the Thamarite Cult, for it is believed that they have made bargains with the Archdemon and his warlords – an accusation the leaders of the Thamarite Cult have denied repeatedly.

The goal of Church of Lordaeron is to bring the entirety of the Solar System under the rule of the Alabaster Throne and to have its inhabitants embrace the Word. The manner in which this is to be done is often a source of much contention. Brief, vicious wars between the factions are the norm, and no few have lost their lives – or had them ruined – in the process. It is only recently that the Supreme Hierarch of the Church of Lordaeron and the Church's leaders put their collective foot down and ended the bitter feuding.

Even then, the combined authority of demigods and authority figures alike may not be enough to put everyone in line, and their gaze will most certainly be turned elsewhere as the Conqueror War rages on. And when that happens, it is a question of who will be the first to ignite the raging inferno of a Heresy that will dwarf the one that ignited the Long War.

Annotations:

1) The hierarchy of the Gear race is divided into seven Circles. The higher in ranking (or Circle) the Gear it is, the more powerful it is. Few Gears ever reach beyond the Fifth Circle. There are only a handful of Sixth Circle Gears, and each of them is a ruler of vast swathes of territory within the Solar System. There are only TWO Seventh-Circle Gears in history: Justice the Liberator and her daughter, Dizzy the Savior.

2) Punisher Collars – Used by the Holy Kingdom on its Claymores to ensure its obedience and loyalty. It can either send a powerful electrical pulse through the Claymore or, if the situation demands it, kill it (by literally blowing its head off). A similar variation of the Punisher Collar is used throughout the Solar System by law-enforcing authorities, but these deliver painful electric shocks only.

3) Grey Wardens – The Deathwatch's elite stormtroopers; the Grey Wardens form the Deathwatch's rank-and-file soldiers. Every Deathwatch strike-team is supported by at least two to five squads of stormtroopers (excluding heavy support and support elements). And before you ask: Yes, I was playing Dragon Age at the time of this chapter's writing.

4)The sarcophagus is similar to that which is used by the Blood Angels in Warhammer 40K. I won't tell you who is in it, but I think many of you can already guess.

5) Please refer to my Project Notes above.

6) Yes, the characters of Battle Chasers will be making an appearance in this story. All of them; including Gully (who will be jacked up in age).

7) From StarCraft 2. The Minotaur-class battlecruisers are much smaller than the Behemoth-class. They make excellent line ships. And the Earth Sphere are buying and/or building them by the dozen.

8) Cerberus is one of the Earth Sphere's newest anti-terrorist agencies. Though founded in the months after the Bloody Valentine War, its leaders had brought in experts from across the Solar System to help deal with the extremist threat. The Sentinels have more restraint when it comes to dealing with terrorists; agents of Cerberus will shoot first and ask questions later.

9) The Knights of the Rounds of Britannia – yes, I am utilizing Code Geass to a certain extent – are the elite Knight-Commanders of the Kingdom who answer only to its Queen. For a Knight of the Round Table to be sent means that the Queen of Britannia acknowledges that the extremists are a threat and will no longer tolerate their existence. The Knights of the Round are the best of the best in the Kingdom of Britannia.

10) Reference to Dynamite Comics' beautifully-made Warlord of Mars series. Characters from said series – as well as OCs – will make themselves known further down the line.

11) The Rite of Ascalon is the equivalent of a sanctioned duel within the Holy Kingdom. The rite is named after Duke Ascalon Blanchet, a powerful and influential noble who had promised the hand of his children in bond to those who could defeat his House champions (or the support of the Houses that lost).

12) The characters of Princess Lover from Ricotta Soft will make a cameo appearance in one of the chapters.

13) Conan the Barbarian and World of WarCraft will make their appearance as well. The Vyrkul live in the outskirts of the Solar System. Their capital is located on Sedna, and it is regarded by all the clans as neutral and sacred ground.

14) The Aconite-class and the Dictator-class come from WH40K Battlefleet Gothic. The first is an Eldar ship (perfect for the Kingdom of Atlantis, whose ships are as deadly as they are beautiful), and the latter is from the Imperium.

15) Have to decide on this, and have it reflected in future chapters.

16) The Master of the Traitor Legions has numerous sobriquets. Kingslayer, as mentioned earlier, is one. Destroyer, mentioned in the previous chapter, is another. Archdemon is the one most commonly used, but is often used to address/identify his lieutenants or the other warlords of the Traitor Legions.