Well, this will be a new one :) This chapter is a full flashback chapter, so it will most likely be shorter than the ones that came before it. Then again, since the past few chapters were about 12-15k on average, I guess shorter chapters like this are fine once in a while. After this we move on to the Mott arc anyway, which turns darker all-around. Hate to say it, but I'm gonna have to bump this story to M once I reach the Mott arc: There's going to be some pretty risque stuff there and I don't want to test my luck and get my fic purged. So to anyone reading this, please turn your setting to include all ratings by the next two chapters or so.

And looking at my fic plans, I fall under "The Stations of the Canon": Basically, I keep canon events intact and only change how they go. If I want to really make my story unique, I'm gonna have to find a way to make change and add events :/ Guess this fic's gonna fall under mediocrity since its mostly copy-paste from the novel and canon events. Hopefully I can change that later.

I'll probably change the title, and maybe the summary too. "Dark of Zero" is catchy, but its also nonsensical. I'll decide what to do with it in the next few days if possible.

Anyway, without further ado, I present to you the first flashback chapter: The Wraith.

It was dark. That was the first thing he noticed. The area around him, the ground he stepped on, everything was completely pitch black. Even the air he breathed seemed heavier, as if tainted by a poisonous existence. Not that he needed to breath. He supposed his lack of a jaw meant that he was far from needing a full physical body in order to function, let alone air.

He looked down at his hands with rising trepidation. It was one of the first signs of the horror inflicted on his body - His ten fingers were bony, wrapped with a mix of decayed blue flesh and remnants of metal; gauntlets most likely. He moved them slowly, marveling at how the thin digits could still move despite their high state of decay. It was like a miracle.

His stomach had receded, covered in the same bluish skin that wrapped around his entire body. Thankfully it wasn't completely lost, so he still had some width to him, but he could see the outlines of bones at his sides. Whatever he had left in him, it wasn't much to last. Past the stomach he could make out dangling bits of skin starting from his shoulders and ending at the ground behind him. Wings? No, they were too thin and there were parts of it that looked discolored. It didn't take long to figure out what it was - Skin that had been torn off his back, mixed with was either blood or remnants of a cape, based on the reddish brown streaks. Wings would be too graceful for the likes of him.

He looked down at his decayed form again, a mixture of curiosity and morbid realization coursing through him. He was alive, but he had changed. Though whether one could call him alive was debatable. By all accounts, he had turned into a nightmarish monster straight out of a nightmare. He breathed, finding the action unnecessary as he felt the air pass through his decayed lungs with nary a feeling or relief or irritation. He didn't need air anymore.

And of course, how could he forget his mouth? He grasped at the brown scarf and pulled at it again, only to give up quickly when he realized it wasn't coming off. Somehow it had bonded itself to his body - or more specifically his missing jaw. He tried to open his mouth before his eyes furrowed in disquiet. He didn't have a jaw anymore, that was certain. He could still feel his upper mouth and teeth, however.

"Newly Arisen, you are worthy."

He turned around quickly, trying to discern where the voice had come from. The deep baritone was unrecognizable to him. The voice seemed to speak from everywhere at once, the sounds snaking their way towards his decayed ears. His eyes darted around the inky blackness quickly, trying to find any physical form he could direct his attention to. But there was no one there, no one he could see anyway. All around him there was nothing but darkness.

"Ah, why so quiet? Do you think your new form is incapable of speech? You are wrong. Try it, marvel at how your form adapts to the changes."

"A..." He spoke out the word slowly, as if afraid that speaking would somehow cause his crumbling form to collapse then and there, "A...Alive..." His voice came out smoother than he thought, almost as if his body hadn't decayed past use. He grabbed for his jaw again. It wasn't a hallucination; he had spoken without the physical capability of doing so. Where did his voice come from if not his lips?

"Do you plan to stay forever?" The voice called out again, "Or will you push forward? The choice is yours."

Taking a step forward slowly, he was amazed at how there was ground left to meet his strides. Looking down at his feet, he idly noted that the only thing covering his lower body were rotten pieces of cloth and the remains of metal boots for his feet. The metal covered limb made a small clicking sound, like it was actually hitting stony ground rather than floating air and darkness.

"What cursed form is this? This pitiful state must surely be madness consuming me. Death would be a release from this torment!" He yelled out suddenly, earning a chuckle from the disembodied voice. It was toying with him, playing at him like he was a puppet on strings. It found this amusing, a sentiment that he did not share. He needed to find out what happened.

"I know you, better even than you know yourself. Do you even remember your name? Beyond the cursed form you take?" It taunted, the voice changing from a deep baritone to a light jest. He scowled, trying in vain to once again determine where the voice was coming from. The voice seemed to enter and leave his head so quickly that he couldn't determine where it had come from. It was like it had spoken directly into his head.

"Who is there?" He finally demanded. That voice had ordered him around already and he still had no idea what was going on. He needed answers.

"Why are you so quick to assume that you had survived? Does your appearance give the image of life?" It taunted again, its voice changing to an almost feminine tone. He felt a shiver as his body seemed to decay at his words. No, that was just his imagination. It knew what had happened to him, that much was obvious. But the changing voices meant that he was either dealing with an entity that could change its sound...or he was dealing with multiple at once.

"Cease your riddles and tell me who you are!" He resisted the urge to yell out when the voice laughed again, this time reverting back to the baritone it had used earlier.

"You ask me?" It had turned cheerfully high this time, "Do you not remember anything? How you had come to be in this place which serves for punishment against traitors? Your survival is most surprising, given this place's purpose. You are the first survivor to come from this place."

Blessed? He didn't really feel as if fate was favoring him right now. He didn't even remember anything: His name, his position, who he was, everything was erased by the years of torment he had endured. All he remembered was the one who had thrown him in, the man in the regal armor and his silver knights. He had no name nor an identity for him, but he would know him when he saw him. He would tear the flesh from his bones.

"Ah, just as expected," It remarked lightly, "You are not aware of who you once were, who you still are. Such is the price for your resurrection and blessing. We all must pay a price, even one such as yourself."

"You are aware of who I am?" It didn't reply, "Tell me who I am, who I once was. I know nothing but this decayed form." He called out, all but begging for the disembodied entity in the darkness to help him.

"That is something you will have to find out for yourself," It answered dismissively, "I am not here to answer your questions nor am I here to be your guide. The way out lies ahead, but you will reach it only if you wish to do so. I cannot and will not save you from your fate."

"I...cannot go without assistance," He called out hesitantly, "I do not know this place, neither do I know what has happened to me. Any assistance you could offer would be most helpful," He hated playing nice with something that was obviously enjoying his suffering, but he wasn't so proud that he would not ask for help when he needed it. He needed to find a way out of this dark void.

"Fascinating," It drawled, "Your actions do not match who you once were. Perhaps I will help you, newly arisen. Your situation...intrigues me." It chuckled, sending spasms of anger down at him. This thing was having too much enjoyment out of his torment.

"Then answer my question: Who am I? What am I doing here? What have I become?" He called out quickly.

"The first two you will have to find the answers for yourself," It called irritatingly, "But the last one I can answer: You are an Undead, one of the first but certainly not the last. You have been blessed with life beyond death; immortality and the chance to move beyond your demise."

"Blessed? This form is...tainted, decayed beyond use. I see no blessing in this situation, only fate mocking me for my inability to die," He clenched his hands roughly, the decayed skin on his fingers stretching to compensate for his movement. If he could have, he would have grabbed the entity by its neck and slowly strangle it, if only to relieve some frustration from his situation.

"Do not let your new form's appearance color your judgement completely," It scolded, its voice changing again to a high pitched female. He began to get tired of the constant changes, "You are alive now, are you not? You can walk on your own two feet, see with your eyes. Would you prefer it if you were blind and crippled?"

"I would prefer it if I were dead," He mumbled to himself, shaking his head in irritation, "Regardless, I wish to leave this place. Staying here serves no purpose for neither you nor I."

"An interesting choice," It commented, "Tell me: What do you expect to find in the world outside? Time has passed while you lay in this place. Do you expect things to remain as they were, to wait for you while you recovered? Time has changed many things, not just you."

"I do not know anything," He called out irritatedly, "My memory of who I once was is missing, as is any knowledge I might have of the world beyond this desolate darkness. I wish to find out for myself what exactly transpired in my absence." That and he doubted whether he would care at all at the state he found the world in. Anything would be better than this place right now. He couldn't even see anything.

No, wait, upon closer inspection he could see more details in the darkness. He could see the curves of rocks, the edges of stone that led even further down into bottomless pits. The ground in front of him bent with every step, the darkness bending at the unnatural contact it made with his body. Something told him that whatever this dark abyss was, it wasn't used to the idea of anyone walking inside it. Either he was hallucinating the absolute darkness from earlier or he was getting used to being in this twisted place. Neither of the two truly appealed to him.

"Then I will assist you in this endeavor," The voice called out, amused, "Move forward. Cling to life."

Seeing no other choice, he began his slow crawl forward, fascinated at the lightness at which his body moved. Despite all appearances, his arms moved swiftly and without complaint. His legs as well, despite the melted metal and thinness from decay, moved smoothly and he felt no exhaustion from the wide strides he took. Perhaps there was some truth to his enigmatic benefactor's words.

He continued to walk forward before he came upon a corpse. Unlike him, the corpse was decayed beyond physical movement, its skin clinging completely to its bones. One touch and he had little doubt that it would crumple into dust and spread across this abyss. He felt a tinge of pity for the poor man. No doubt if fate didn't have such a perverse sense of humor, then he would have been the same.

His musing were interrupted by a sudden feeling of weakness. His legs crumpled from beneath him, and he felt a sudden bout of dizziness. No, more than that, he felt hunger. He wanted to eat something, to satisfy the base craving he felt. He crawled forward on his bony hands. He suddenly felt drawn to the corpse sprawled out in front of him. It had something he needed, he was sure

"Your new form needs sustenance, something no food or drink can satisfy. You need Humanity, the substance which gives you form. Surely you did not think your blessing would come without a price? Everything comes at a cost."

"Humanity?" He didn't have to wait long before he understood the meaning. From the corpse he could see a warm substance, darker than even the abyss around him. The sight made his body ache. He needed it, he hungered for it. The craving was overtaking all rationality. That substance - Humanity - it would make him better again, it would make him stronger. He could get up if he had just one taste of it.

He reached a hand out before recoiling at the thought. Was he truly about to desecrate a corpse to satisfy his hunger? Did he not wish to die just now? He could've just lied here and let himself rot away. At least he would die without knowing he succumbed to hunger like a beast. Something growled inside him, angry at his decision to let himself starve. He felt air being absorbed from where his jaw previously was. He needed to feed.

"Feeling hesitation now?" The voice taunted, "I suppose you wish to believe that you would die here as a free man. Regardless, the choice is yours."

He blinked, trying not to let the taunts get to him. If he died here, whoever sentenced him to those years of torment would avoid the punishment they so rightly deserved. Until they paid for their actions against him, he couldn't afford to die here. Even if it meant sacrificing whatever morals he thought he had, he needed to get out of here or they would have succeeded in killing him.

Closing his eyes and mentally praying for salvation, he muttered an apology before forcing the cloth covering his mouth away from his face. A stream of air shot out, absorbing the dark substance from the corpse and into the open space between the cloth. As soon as the substance entered him, he quickly let go of the cloth and once again let it cling to his face. So, he noted wryly, that was why it refused to leave his body. It was the only thing stopping him from breathing in a gust of air with every second he spent 'alive'. And here he thought it was because of some dark prophecy.

"Satisfying, is it not?" It called down to him, "Humanity is what allows you and all others like you to survive. But do not be foolish; Humanity will not always be waiting for you. You will have to kill for it, take it from others or from those that you fight. You must be willing to fight to survive now. Your motives must transcend all notions of good and evil."

"I thought you would not guide me?" He called out sarcastically, "Did you have a change of heart?" Or a change of whatever it had in place of a heart.

"I am giving advice, nothing more nothing less," It replied lightly, "What you do with your new life is up to you. I am interested to see what comes of your choices." It paused before continuing, "I will give you one last form of help: A path out of this blessed oblivion. Take it if you wish to escape this place. But if you desire to stay here, then only turn around."

A few feet in front of him, he saw a hole about 10 feet wide open like a tear in a fabric. He looked at the darkness surrounding him before his gaze turned back to the tear. This was the way out? How generous of it to help him. He assumed he would be alone on this mad quest. Although he doubted that it did it out of a sense of generosity or kindness. It had admitted to helping him out of amusement more than anything.

Quietly thinking of choking whatever the thing talking to him was, he pushed himself up and forced himself to push forward. Already he could see the abyss around him lighten and the darkness recede. He was close to the hole now. He looked down and saw books and other scholarly memorabilia. Was this some kind of portal? Knowing everything that happened, it honestly wouldn't surprise him if it was some kind of trap.

But he had no other choice here. Grimacing at what might have lay ahead, he spread his arms and jumped into the opening.

He landed with a dull thud, though the impact was lessened by his lower body weight. He observed the area around him warily: Books, tables, lamps, everything one would need to study in peace. By all accounts it looked like an average study...save for the fact that everything looked a few sizes too big. He made his way to the bookcase and observed the books. The book took both his hands to life, though it was lighter than its appearance indicated. He traced a claw-like finger along the books bindings and his eyes narrowed. Leather, and not that old either. Whoever used these books were here recently.

Of to the side, he made out a mirror and walked towards it. He grimaced at his reflection. Despite the view he had seen of his body earlier, he had foolishly hoped that things weren't as bad as they seemed. But looking at his reflection now: Veiny blue skin, a tattered brown shoulder cape that wrapped around his lower mouth, and even flaps of bloody skin torn from his back lapping around at behind him like destroyed wings. He looked at his eyes: No pupils, just an empty blank space with a whitish-blue glow. The fact that he still had hair, rotted as it may have been, was a small miracle in and of itself.

He should have been more shocked, he guessed. But there was no shock to be felt, only disappointment and anger. He had no idea what he looked like before, so there was no longing to go back or hate for his new appearance. Maybe, a small part of him said, he was even more decayed before he had been thrown into that abyss. He shook his head and laughed bitterly. That would have been a miracle.

A slow clanging of footsteps jolted him out of his reverie. The door across the mirror opened. A knight, easily taller than him by a few feet and clad in , stepped into the room and stopped when it saw him. He understood the shock. How else would one react when seeing a monster in a room. He turned around quickly and waited to see the knight's reaction. Would it try to help him or assume he was a monster.

The sound of a sword being unsheathed and a shield being drawn was his answer. The knight immediately rushed forward, smashing the sword at where he had stood. Eyes widening at the sudden attack, he jumped to the side quickly as the metal clashed against the mirror he was just in front of. Typical knights, always quick to assume by appearances.

It picked up the sword from the shards of glass and tried to strike at him again. He didn't give it a chance to. Pushing forward, he grabbed the knight by the throat and pushed it against the wall easily. It struggled in his grasp, wordlessly flailing its sword haphazardly in a vain attempt to try and strike its smaller for. He tightened his grip on its neck and he heard the sounds of gurgling chokes.

His eyes widened at how easy it was to physically overpower the towering figure. He tightened his grip on the knight's neck again and heard the unmistakable sound of a snapping bone. It ceased its struggles, hanging limply in his hands. He had snapped its neck. As if on instinct, he used his free hand and pulled open his new 'mouth'. The knight's body was covered in a bright white light before quickly.

As he looked down at his now empty hands, he realized what he had just done. He had killed someone and taken their power for his own. Not even a body left behind for their comrades to mourn. But what shocked him most was how easy it was. The knight was easily heads and shoulders taller than him, but he had snapped its neck so easily without straining himself. Was this twisted form truly a blessing, like his benefactor had said? Or was the cost too high to pay for it.

Another knight smashed through the door, no doubt hearing the commotion from their fight. He didn't even let it get a strike in before he took the spear from its armored hands and impaled it through its head. Same as before, he opened his new 'mouth' and absorbed the opponent's essence. Its body disappeared, leaving behind only the spear he had stolen from its hands.

"That was simple," He commented blankly, staring down at the spear in his hands. It was much too large for him to use in proper combat, though his newfound strength allowed him to wield it with ease. He placed it against the lamplight and observed the make: Silver, but dented with multiple nicks and dents. Whoever he had just killed, it was a veteran of many fights if the spear's condition was any indication.

He needed to get out of here. Relegating the spear to one hand, he walked out of the room and was met with the sight of a wide open hall. The place looked large, too large for even the knightly figures. He looked to the right and stared up stoically at the large statue. It was of a woman, holding a baby in her hand with a sword in its infantile hands. There were other statues around her: Knights, assassins, sons and daughters. He cared little enough about them to care for their minute details.

To his left he could see a wide doorway leading to an open walkway. On the other side of it he could see another building, "The archives," He mumbled, not realizing what he had said. Wait, how did he know that? There was no sign pointing to its name, so there was no possible way for him to know that at a glance. Only someone who had been here before and recognized the architecture would know that.

His eyes widened at the implications. He had been here before. That was the only way to explain how he was aware of the building names. So why had that building stirred memories when no others did? He sighed, though his lack of a jaw made it sound empty. He didn't know what to think, but he had obviously recognized the building. Perhaps it held answers.

The walk to the archives was barren. He didn't know what to expect: Maybe a group of knights or even a giant stone Golem? But no, there was no one to bother him. It was as if the entire place was abandoned. But what could that mean? A place as large as this would no doubt be populated by all sorts of different individuals. But the emptiness would seem to indicate otherwise.

The area around him was bright, contrasting greatly with the abyss he had spent time in earlier. The sunlight shone off the glass windows and murals that he passed while rich stone and brick encased all the buildings around him. Whoever lived in this palace was well-off, especially given the quality of the knights guarding it. He had no doubt that an average person would have been torn limb from limb.

He entered the large doorway to the archives and immediately felt a chill course through him. There was something wrong about this place, something he couldn't explain. He traced his hand against the wall and grimaced; the dust had gathered up and, though it was hard to see, insects had started trying to nest all-around. This place had either been abandoned, lost its use, or no one cared to maintain it.

The end of the long hallway made way to a library. He crouched near the edge of the wall and peeked inside. There were people there, although calling them human would have been a stretch. They were large, easily as tall as the knight's he had killed. Their clothes were dark blue and laced with traced of gold embroidery all around them. In their hands they held staves, though the three pronged end made them seem more like a demon's trident. He couldn't see their faces, however, as they were looking away from him.

It was safe enough to assume that they were hostile. At their feet he could make out the forms of captive men and women, although what interested him more was that they were the same general size as he was. So the trident wielders were not the same as he and their captives? Crouching down, he raised the spear to throw it at his target. There were four of them in there, and it was enough to take out at least one.

The robed figure raised its head at the sound of footsteps before a burst of pain suddenly forced it down into the ground. The spear had impaled him in the chest and killed it instantly. The figure next to it attempted to chant a spell before he was also forced to the ground. He had used his hands to snap its neck.

The last two didn't even get a chance to try and attack before he killed them as well. The first one had its six eyes mercilessly gouged out by his fingers while the last one was just in the beginning of its dancing chant before he used its deceased friends trident to impale it to the ground. It struggled briefly and tried to pull out the offending weapon before his body collapsed completely.

He looked down at the four dead bodies. He had fought like an adept fighter, although he had no idea how. He opened his 'mouth' and once again absorbed their strength, leaving nothing behind. He remembered what they were now: Channelers, creatures that served this place's master. Whoever he once was, he was aware of these creature's existence. But now he was a Wraith, a Revenant, a creature that killed and became stronger form it. He raised his hand and clenched it into a fist. Power was at least something he had.

He knelt down the unconscious captives and untied their ropes clumsily. He had no time to escort them out of here, but he could at least make sure to give them a chance to get out of here. One of the captives began to awaken at the commotion and he quickly retreated deeper into the archives. Given his appearance, he didn't think they would find him to be a welcome sight.

The rest of the way into the archives was more populated. Channeler's stood in his way, but more often than not they were by themselves, so ending their lives were easier than before. Soon he found himself in a spiral staircase leading to the end of the archives. A sense of dread began to fill him the higher up the staircase he went. Despite his strength, he had a feeling that whatever lied at the end would prove dangerous even for him.

When he opened the door at the end of the stairway, he was amazed at what he had seen. Bookcases, larger than some even some buildings, filled with books so thick it would have taken weeks to try and read even halfway through it. But what impressed him most were the crystals, shining beautifully in multiple parts of the room. There weren't too many of them - He guessed they were probably enough to fill a couple of desks - but their radiant glow made them all the more noticeable. The rooms design and lavishness meant that this was reserved for someone of great importance.

"Who...enters...my domain..."

He turned around gasped in pain as a large hand grabbed him roughly and lifted him up. The Wraith looked in horror at what had grabbed him. It was a dragon, completely white in color with the exception of its wings, which had traces of red and blue. Instead of legs, it had what could be described as a three sided tail, covered in multiple jutting crystals that protruded from inside its body.

He grabbed the fingers grabbing onto his body and tried to push them away from him, but the creature's grip on him didn't budge. He felt a pop of rising pressure as the dragon raised him up and positioned him in front of its elongated face. Eyes, though they were hard to see due to their crystalline color, opened slowly and regarded him with curiosity and rage.

He knew this creature. Seath the Scaleless, pariah of dragonkind and betrayer during the war. Again the reason he knew that eluded him.

He grimaced as its grip tightened and it growled loudly, the crystals around the room reverberating at the loud sound. It was angry, that much was evident, but what intrigued him most was that it did that after it had seen him with its own eyes. That thing was aware of what he was, who he was. Slowly, Seath's jagged jaws opened and it breathed out a single word with its monstrous voice.

"Man...us..."

Raziel woke with barely a sound. Blinking the weariness from his eyes, he looked around him quickly. They were still in the cart, and he could see the horse making its way forward. The academy was in sight, looming ever closer with every step the horse took forward. Tabitha was at the front of the carriage, either not noticing or caring that he he woken up.

He looked around him slowly. Kirche and his master were sleeping, lying against the cart in curled positions. Fouquet was at the floor in front of them, her hands and legs tied with binds of rope and her mouth was gagged with with a large piece of cloth. She was still unconscious. He could see Derf sitting next to him, the sword not saying a word of greeting either. All of them were too tired.

Raziel looked up at the sky. Nothing but darkness and the twin moons greeted him. It was nighttime now, meaning he had been unconscious for at least an hour. They were on their way to the academy now.

He looked upwards again, losing himself in the red and blue moons. These memories made no sense to him, least of all the ones his runes suppressed. Was that memory even his? He doubted it. Perhaps it was from a previous wielder? He stared down at the runes. Three of them now glowed, meaning there were four runes left and whatever memories he had stored in them were close to halfway finishing.

He supposed he should have been more worried, or maybe even relieved. The memories he received were different from his experiences in Lordran, which possibly meant that it was his memory from before the Asylum. But again, he couldn't discount that the memories weren't his. It certainly didn't feel like they belonged to him, not even in the least.

The form he took in his memory also bothered him. Even as a Hollow he never looked quite as bad. But in his dreams he was a genuine monster, rotted beyond all pretense of life. And yet, with the decay came strength, more than he ever had or remembered. He - or whoever that person was - was able to kill the Channelers and those knights with his bare hands, something that he couldn't even dream of doing without it being a form of suicide.

And that wasn't even getting into Seath's appearance. Was it before he had made his way to the archives? Granted his memory of that event was hazy for one reason or another, but he was pretty sure that he wasn't a decayed pseudo-winged humanoid when he fought the insane dragon. In fact, he couldn't ever recall having that appearance at all. Even when he was in the asylum the worst he looked as that of a highly emaciated corpse, not some kind of monster.

But what did Seath call him? Manus, right? He sighed. Another layer of confusion to his current enigma. Manus wasn't a name so much as a moniker. It was similar to Raziel: While his name meant 'Risen Soul', Manus translated roughly to 'Man from the Abyss'. It wasn't the name of an individual, but rather anyone that it could apply to. The implications of being called that were...unpleasant.

Flames, he might have just been imagining the whole thing. Gods damn it all, things became so complicated after he had bonded with his master. Raziel kicked the unconscious Fouquet angrily, earning a pained grunt from the earth Mage thief. He would be lying to himself if he said that things were better than when he was on the Kiln or in Lordran before that, but at least things were simple: Be Kaathe's pawn or Frampt's pawn. Here he was getting memories that might or might not have even been his.

He supposed that there was no need to tell his master about his memory. After their disagreement, he doubted that they would be able to talk amicably unless she was giving orders to him. Well, that was fine with him. He would serve her out of gratitude, but he didn't have to like her. Her views on life and mercy were naive, and it would get her killed one of these days. He wasn't a fool; those runes stopped him at her command. But since he had disobeyed her before, their hold on him wasn't complete. If need be, he would disregard their connection. Having an Undead away from her probably would be a relief for the noble student anyway.

Raziel sighed. Things were much simpler when he was being killed all the time. At least then it was consistent.

Now I know this chapter wasn't very large, but most flashback chapters rarely are. I'll try to make the other flashbacks larger, but I really wouldn't hold my breath. They're meant to be segments of the larger present day (at least for Halkeginia) story, and they cut in and out at different points, so its more like jumping to different points of an ongoing story rather than a full story itself. Though since the next arc will be the Mott arc followed by the Albion arc, I doubt that it will be lacking in words again. Maybe I'll limit myself to 8-10k words per chapter or something. Don't want to strain too much since school's started :p

Oh, and I might make a drabble fanfic of a younger Karin and Marianne (Louise and Henrietta's mothers respectively). I just read the summaries for the Karin side-stories and the Tabitha side-stories, and I have to admit I find them more engaging than the actual novels. Though I still don't understand how Karin fooled people into thinking she was male given those short-shorts/hot pants of hers. Anyway, Marianne is utterly convinced Karin is male and has a blatant crush on her, complete with trying to make out with the poor girl despite her insistence that its improper for people of their position (Not to mention gender). Since the fanfic will be on these two, their will be pseudo-yuri vibes, though there probably isn't going to be much actual romance beyond Marianne's crush. Just a lighthearted fanfic. And my first conscious attempt at an actual pseudo-yuri, so it should prove interesting

Anyway, answer time:

Necrofantasia - He was able to disobey her before, so its not a complete Geass. And its still more acceptable than burning for eternity, so its not like he's going to be vocal about it. He still has free reign for the most part, after all.

Writinginreverse - Nope, he just took humanity, which anyone can do :) I dunno where the Soul Vampire things coming from. I mean, the name shouldn't be too indicative of anything, right? Its not like he looks...like one...nevermind.

Demons Anarchy - Question answered :) And its less not being a dick and more on not being vocal of his dislike.

Kraut - I love long winded reviews, so its fine :D I'm more surprised you can review so fast since you aren't using an account. I dunno how you know when it updates.

Manus - Dear Manus,

Request denied.

With friendly regards,
Headmaster of Tristain Academy of Magic,Headmaster Osmond

Primal Chaos - He doesn't know how. And making a bonfire hasn't been done yet, so the process is naturally unknown to him. That and a firekeeper soul may or may not be needed. He'll find a bonfire soon, I promise.

Asa - You don't actually kiss them. It may look like it, but you do draw blood when you punch them and your head stops at chest level, not mouth.

Diamondace - Finally someone comments on his stupidity :) He's being stupid, I never tried to hide that. Louise does call him out on it because he's being unfair.