Eternal Geass Moon: The Garden of Sinners
A Code Geass / Kara no Kyoukai Story
Disclaimer: In this particular universe, I do not own or in any way shape or form hold a claim to elements of the Code Geass franchise, Tsukihime, Kara no Kyoukai, any other elements of the Nasuverse, or any other modern works that I may reference in this story.
In the legends of nearly every civilization, there have been references to mysterious cultures on long vanished continents, of peoples that lived during a golden age, when the earth brought forth its bounty without the manifold labors of man, when dreams shaped reality, when all that man required could be brought forth by will alone—a time forever lost when a cataclysm born of hubris and war sank a legendary land, wiping out much of humanity in the process, with the scattered remnants forced to rebuild from what was essentially the Stone Age.
As the ages passed, the practitioners of these arcane arts faded into the shadows as technology kept on its inexorable advance, eliminating the need for mages for the most part. Still, magic and those who use it continue to exist today, and rumors linger of a strange lineage of magi isolated from the flow of time, carrying within their Codes (akin to Thaumaturgical Crests) powerful magic from a bygone age – a lineage of magi known as Witches.
" " denotes speech
'italics'denotes thought
'bold' denotes location names
'bold italics' denotes skill use
Training Field 404 - Θ Abandoned Ruined Empire
Day Equivalent 93
'So…we won…'
It was something that Lelouch Lamperouge could scarcely believe as he sat on a fallen stone in the Void Shrine, looking over the group that had gathered in the Void Shrine after the final challenge that he and Mana had been presented with by their instructors, one that, true to expectation, had included no nonsense about points, style, proper technique or such, as those things were secondary to what really mattered in the end: triumph or defeat.
Yet he was still tense, his instincts nagging that the trial had not truly passed, that even now, unseen enemies lurked in the shadows, waiting for him to let his guard down so that they could strike when he was vulnerable. His mind told him otherwise, of course, but an intellect as sharp and powerful as his could not fully suppress half-remembered inklings of pain and wariness.
An irrational fear, he was certain, since no less a personage than the Wizard Marshal himself had commended them on their tactics and mentioned that in a day or so, something new would be beginning, and White Ren had done enough damage to him to satisfy even her twisted nature, but the mindset one acquired after three months of nearly constant threat of life-or-death battles tended to leave its marks, scars both physical and mental, which no amount of therapy could fully remove. But then, that was rather the point of the equivalent of his physically and psychologically trying training regimen – to instill in him a full awareness of what being a magus in this day and age entailed – especially one who had not only chosen a side in the war between the branches of the now sundered Association, but who at the least would be serving as a symbol of defiance against Britannia itself.
A role fraught with risk, to be certain, but for the moment the reality that he had not only managed to survive this last challenge but prevail proved rather satisfying, intoxicating almost—and after facing the hardships and uncertainties that one invariably came across in any struggle, victory as a general rule was quite preferable to defeat, given that one would at least gain something from the ruins of one's dream, instead of losing everything to a lie one had pursued, driven to the depths of despair.
Still, not for the first time, the magus named Lelouch Lamperouge ruminated on the old saying that there was nothing worse than a battle won than a battle lost, for victory tended to be a bittersweet affair, an end never arrived at without pain, without great effort.
Oftentimes the price paid to achieve an objective proved far heavier than desired or expected, rendering the end hollow at best, pyrrhic at worst, so that victory was merely a token word to assuage the self. It was why so few actually fought for what they wanted, as few were confident enough without the knowledge of certain gain to balance out certain sacrifice. As much as one could plot and scheme to turn events to one's liking, it was still a gamble, with one only tending to prevail against the odds if providence proved more whimsical or benevolent than usual, allowing one to mostly avoid the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, the sea of troubles that plagued all human adventures, but particularly those militaristic in scope or design. Yet even with the blessings of fortune, it did not do to forget that one was still subject to the law of averages and cruel twists of fate.
'I myself have no little experience with that…though had our gambit failed, things could have been worse…far, far worse…'
So the exile was painfully reminded as he winced, barely holding back a hiss as delicate fingers brushed insistently against his wounded arm, tracing ruined flesh that had been cut open to the bone, mangled nearly beyond all hope of repair by White Ren's Sword of Execution, high-level thaumaturgy that created a 'blade' of creating extreme cold by forcibly initiating phase transition of solids and liquids into gasses.
As a result, it was utterly devastating to whatever it hit, destroying flesh, clothing, stone or even metal with the slightest touch, with only something designed to block such high-level magic capable of withstanding its power – something like Lelouch's staff, which, having the ability to absorb the prana of enemy attacks and weaken spells, had emerged unscathed from the altercation.
His arm was not as fortunate, a good portion of it having been immediately vaporized by White Ren's final attack, with what remained being twisted and blackened, flesh flash frozen and withered enough that he wasn't sure it could be healed. Hence, while others chatted, his injuries were being studied by the black-clad counterpart of the one who had so direly wounded him, with the petite succubus slightly smiling as her fingertips danced along the contours of the magus' body, the nagging pains of nicks and scrapes and bruises fading away at her touch. But Ren's expression hardened as she finished tending to his other wounds and moved onto his arm, with the blue-haired succubus frowning as the glow about her fingers changed from a calming azure to a more rosy hue.
"How long will this injury take to heal?" Lelouch found himself asking the black cat, more out of morbid curiosity than anything else. While he knew her to be proficient in the healing arts, as she had been the one to tend to his injuries in the past, he suspected that this level damage would prove more…troublesome than usual.
"…" was the reply as the succubus ceased her ministrations, shaking her head.
A long pause as Lelouch took in what that meant.
"…you can't heal it?"
The only response he received was another shake of the head as Ren gently touched the magus' arm just below the shoulder—
Fzzt!
—and severed the damaged arm without any warning whatsoever.
This time Lelouch did hiss, reeling away from the sudden amputation as he ended up on the ground with a jolt, eyes wide as the diminutive black-clad figure took his severed arm and curtseyed slightly before disappearing, sinking through the surface of an icy mirror with nary a ripple.
'What the…why did she…'
It took him a long minute to compose himself, more from mingled shock and loss of balance than from pain, as he had not expected Ren to simply cut off his arm like that. Looking over at where his missing limb had been showed he was not, in fact, bleeding to death, with the wound apparently cauterized in a way eerily similar to injuries caused by the Sword of Execution.
As he rose to his feet gingerly, Lelouch's thoughts turned to the uncanny resemblance between Ren and White Ren, making the magus more than a little curious (and wary) as to how the two succubi were related.
Mirror images of one another, they seemed, a study in contrasts. White and black variations – one to harm and one to heal, but both possessing powers stemming from dominion over ice and dreams, opposites but still very much alike, especially when someone was unwise to bring up (much less discuss) one in front of the other.
Even during his first encounter with Ren in the park outside the café (though he had merely thought of her as the girl in the garden of cats), the Lamperouge magus remembered all too well how the black-clad succubus glared daggers at him when he had commented on how pretty white cats were. It had seemed an odd, if unnerving, thing at the time, though now that he knew that White Ren was capable of transforming into a white cat—and had been the one he had complimented during that encounter—the animosity made a great deal more sense.
Little encounters over the several months of relative time only reinforced the impression that the two were not…on particularly good terms, and while he had thought both were rather pretty, he had come to understand at least part of why Ren disliked her white-clad counterpart so. Someone similar and yet so markedly different could definitely raise one's hackles—it was why he disliked Schneizel and the Emperor, after all.
'Well, at least they're not the same person…,' Lelouch thought to himself, fortunately not knowing just how wrong he was, or how White Ren really was formed from the unused parts of Ren – her personality through the looking glass. 'I don't know if my mind could handle it if the same being who injured me was responsible for treating my injuries.'
He suspected he would be rather unsettled if this turned out to be the case, though his mind pointed out that this wasn't how he reacted towards the Satsujinki, who was capable of both terrible violence and great compassion. Of course, the fact that Mana's deadly violence wasn't usually directed at him did make something of a difference, but…
Lelouch chuckled as he once again looked at his arm, a bit of dark amusement coming over him as he realized that he'd apparently be mirroring his partner in another way. She'd lost limbs before too, and yet had been able to procure replacements as good as the original in pretty much every way, as he knew full well from her touch. If he hadn't seen her after one of the battles in which she'd been literally disarmed, he'd never have known it. Truly magecraft was a powerful thing, a threat to common sense…
In both of their cases, injury had been something they had accepted, cold-bloodedly sacrificing a part of their bodies in order to close with her enemy and counterattack without hope of evasion or defense.
Risky, to be sure, but the only choice that would have allowed either of them the opening they needed against their respective foes. In this most recent case, Lelouch had had but one shot to pull off his gambit, carefully timed to coincide with the fall of White Ren's Reality Marble, before the succubus could regain her bearings or summon up a barrier to block his spell.
After summoning forth her snowy world and sealing away the magecraft of her opponents, White Ren had been utterly confident in her victory – and thus laid the foundations for her own defeat, as one was never so vulnerable as when one was certain of something, since one would usually stop checking to make sure one was correct and simply assume so.
Taking advantage of that small oversight, the two sworn to the Grey Witch had won, but in the wake of winning found it a peculiar thing, knowing that a time of great challenge had passed, that things were about to shift. Both of them knew, of course, that they had been put through an accelerated training regimen due to more than the kindness of the Wizard Marshal's heart, so there was no doubt some hidden purpose to all of this – a mission or stratagem in which the two were required.
Either that or Zelretch was doing this on behest of the Grey Witch, the First Magician, she who had once ruled as the Witch-Queen of Arche Koeln before the Five had their falling out.
But if this was so, then who was C.C.'s enemy? It couldn't simply the magi of the Clock Tower, given that from what he had learned, two of the three branches of the Association were in rebellion against it (and since the Dust of Osiris, the head of one of these branches, was quite deferential to the Wizard Marshal, Lelouch surmised that a Director of an Association paled in rank and power to one of the Five).
'Five figures to guard five thrones –ancient seats of power representing those who wield the five miracles, surpassing the bounds of science and magecraft alike—those who once fought amongst themselves for power at the end of this civilization.'
The Grey Witch, to his recollection, possessed the Magic called 'Denial of Nothingness', which she had said governed creation. To his knowledge, creation of matter and energy from nothing would violate the laws of conservation, but he supposed that that such a thing was to be expected of a miracle. He did wonder if this included the power to destroy with ease, for creation and destruction were intimately entwined and inseparable.
'That would also explain why such an elaborate prison was needed to contain her,' the magus mused, furrowing his brow at the pieces of the puzzle. 'A serial phantasm, an isolated pocket of space time severed from the usual flow, with her abilities restricted by an entropic field that required her to continue to focus just to exist. Unable to escape, except via a pact…'
But what had been sacrificed in that pact? Lelouch found that he couldn't remember, with that part of his memory inaccessible. All he knew was the evidence of his senses, that when he encountered the Grey Witch in Shinjuku, she had been once more bound, and this time, when released, did not have quite the commanding presence he remembered from the dimensional prison, suggesting she may have weakened over the years. But even to have devised a way to contain her…did that mean whoever her enemy was knew exactly who she was and what she was capable of?
If so, this implied that her enemy was quite a potent threat—perhaps another of the True Magicians, or at least an ancient Dead Apostle who knew of her talents and was powerful enough to wish to use her as a experimental subject. But if her enemy was indeed a True Magician, which would it be? Not the Second, since the Wizard seemed to be on good terms with the Grey Witch, and most likely not the Fourth or Fifth, as they had been fought long ago—and he doubted that C.C. would have let them live after their treachery. The Third, however, was an interesting possibility, as Materialization of the Soul might explain how Bradley had acquired his more unnatural abilities.
'A Sorcerer in Britannia…,' he thought to himself, rather disturbed by the thought. The last time Sorcerers fought amongst themselves, a civilization had fallen– would that be the case with this conflict as well? One that threatened to embroil the world…
While he had never had the privilege of witnessing or engaging C.C. (or any other Sorcerer) in combat before, if the Second's impressive abilities were anywhere near standard for Sorcerers, odds were good that the result of a clash would result in great destruction. How much was uncertain, but it didn't really matter what the outcome might be.
He had sworn an oath under Gaia to be C.C.'s ally in this conflict, and Mana had been chosen as C.C.'s Knight. Their roles were set, and there could be—would be—no turning back.
The exile shook his head wearily, his thoughts turning to more pressing matters, such as what had happened in the span of time he had been absent from the outside world, unable to respond as the repercussions of the Tokyo Tower incident played themselves out over time.
Had the Britannians retaliated to salve their pride, as he thought was likely? If so, what had they chosen to do?
He knew from experience that the Britannia was capable of ordering terrible things done in the name of justice, though few enough on either side really fought for that imaginary ideal. People fought for things like honor, vengeance, self-righteousness, the desperate desire to prove oneself superior by eliminating rival points of view; they didn't want things to be fair as much as they wanted to win.
That was a human truth, after all, shown on all levels of humanity from the schoolyard to the battlefield: the human urge to twist and destroy sublimated under other labels, buried under layers of prejudice and twisted modes of thought, so that they could sleep at night and not think about the consequences of their own deeds.
As he sometimes thought when one official or another made ridiculous statements to sate the whims of the people, one could not bring someone to justice when one had no justice, but it didn't matter to most people, as words such as justice, tragedy, honor, glory were such convenient fictions to use to convince themselves of the rightness of their varied causes.
The exiled prince had no illusions about whether or not what he was doing was right – he knew full well that his methods were evil, and that some would see his goals too as blasphemy. He didn't care – if that was that it took to fight Britannia, to destroy his enemy, then that was what he would do. For the power to determine his course, he would do anything, even sell his very soul…
'And on the note of those seeking revenge…'
A bit of movement caught his eye, and he turned his head to see the killer named Shiki Nanaya stalking over to the Dust of Osiris with predatory grace, with the assassin simply picking up and slinging the protesting alchemist over his shoulder as he left the Void Shrine, a smirk upon the Nanaya's face.
Elsewhere in the room, he spotted Mana speaking with two of their trainers – the fire magus Azaka Kokutou and the psychic Fujino Asagami, the body language and words of the trio rather familiar. It obviously wasn't the first time they had met, and though he had questions, he didn't want to interrupt, given that he had some suspicions about how the three of them were related. The psychic and the flame magus were comfortable enough with one another that one might think them lovers, and given how closely Mana resembled the flame magus (and how she had used Cocteau…or was it Kokutou…as a cover name), they seemed almost sisters.
Oddly enough, he felt strangely pleasant at the sight of his accomplice's smile, an ironic, wry twist of her lips that was unexpectedly reassuring, despite his current pains, and her terrifying ability to end the existence of whatever she wished with a stab of her knife. Despite being able to see the fragility of the world, knowing how easily everything could break, everything could shatter.
He was snapped from his reverie as Mana staggered, reeling, as every part of her body contorted in purest agony, her usually composed face anything but calm as a violent maelstrom of emotions played across her features.
Lelouch made to run to her side, but he too was frozen in place by a chill like being dunked in liquid nitrogen. He couldn't move at all, a freezing gale cutting into the marrow of his bones, poison running through his veins, his flesh, his nerves as every scrap of joy in the world was drained away, the world spinning, spinning, spinning…
"Ma…na…" he barely managed to croak, forcing his fingers to—
It was meaningless, as the exile went limp, collapsing on the chamber floor, with the Satsujinki's body sagging, a rattle leaving her throat as she crumpled moments later, and all gave way to darkness.
Black Knights' Safehouse, Warehouse District, Tokyo Settlement
After the operation against the Britannian Military earlier that day, Kallen Kozuki, part time student and resistance fighter was exhausted and rather uneasy as she paced the confines of the warehouse Zero had arranged as a gather point for the Black Knights. Neither was she the only one who felt this way, as a heaviness hung in the air, an ominous feeling that something had gone terribly wrong.
Minami, Yoshida, and Tamaki were dead—and that was just the few she knew personally, since many others had fallen, rebel and civilian alike. Others were wounded – though among those who had made it out, most wounds were not too severe.
This was not for the reason that some had not taken serious injuries such as losing limbs or bullet wounds to the gut, but for the fact that most of those who had been that badly injured were dead, having sacrificed themselves to prevent their retreat from becoming a rout, allowing those with a better chance of survival to escape to safety.
'Well, what safety exists these days…,' Kallen thought, looking upon the remnants of those who had gone into battle on behalf of the Knights, watching as many of the injured were being treated, broken bones being set, bullet wounds patched up, shrapnel removed, lesser wounds treated with bandages, gauze, and stitches when necessary. The more fortunate ones had fallen asleep, their snores and quiet breathing mixing with the whimpers and muffled sobs of others. Those not as fortunate were shellshocked, curled up into little balls of woe as they rocked back and forth in place, their eyes staring into the distance, seeing nothing. .
A few, mostly the leadership of the Black Knights and the Yamato Alliance, were awake and walking around, tired, haggard, and grim as they looked around, reminding themselves that Britannia had not emerged unscathed either, though it was hard, given how much suffering they were seeing firsthand.
Realistically, their intervention had managed to save quite a few lives, but to be honest, it didn't feel that way. They had only managed to evacuate a few from Chiyoda, losing many of their own people in the process, without being able to do anything to counter the Britannians in Shinjuku. And there were no survivors from Saitama that the Knights were aware of, given that it had been leveled, reduced to rubble by aerial bombardment.
To most, the annihilation of the Saitama ghetto would have been crippling to morale, a powerful symbol of the overwhelming military might of Britannia.
…except of course that the division of the Britannian army sent to suppress Saitama would have been destroyed in the downpour of heavy ordinance, if they weren't already dead beforehand, and further, Governor General and Knight of Ten Luciano Bradley was dead, killed along with the military command staff of Area 11.
There had been massive shock and confusion in the enemy ranks after that, allowing the Black Knights their final chance to disengage from Chiyoda with the majority of their forces intact.
'It's true. We didn't get away unscathed,' Kallen allowed, a dark expression coming over her. 'But we didn't lose. And we repaid the Britannians for every one of us that fell in blood.'
…though they had not heard from Zero.
Zero, who had planned the operation. Zero, who had personally gone to Saitama to deal with the Britannians – and had apparently done quite well until they decided to destroy everything. Zero, who had helped them to accomplish a minor miracle.
Zero, who she knew was Lelouch, the man responsible for two Britannian reversals, and who worked closely with the Grey Witch.
'Not that I really care about him—it's just that morale will go down if he's done something as stupid as dying.'
She sighed, her footsteps halted as she came to a vehicle in the corner of the warehouse that served as their hideout, opening the door to find Ohgi and a few others clustered around the television, watching the news of a "terrorist" attack at Lake Kawaguchi, where elements of the Japanese Liberation Front had attacked the hotel, taken hostages…and had been eliminated by a Britannian missile strike.
Britannia did not negotiate with terrorists, after all.
'No…it can't be…'
A dagger of ice bloomed in Kallen's heart as recalled where the Ashford Student Council had gone to escape the dangers of the settlement during the operation, and her legs threatened to buckle as she staggered to a chair.
'What do we do now…Zero…?'
Millennium Castle, Θ Setting Eternity's Night Moon
Day Equivalent 94
Sounds of water echoed in a cavernous room as Mana Ryougi sat nude and alone in a bathtub filled with warm water, eyes closed and head bowed, hugging her knees close to her body in an effort to keep herself from shaking, to keep her emotions from running rampant by willing them away, by surrounding herself with warmth, closing her eyes, and trying to pretend that she hadn't lost one of the only people in the world she gave a damn about anymore.
It didn't work, but then it never had, as there was a certain burden to being a Chokushi no Magan adept that most did not even realize existed. Those that knew of powers of the Satsujinki tended to think only about the sheer lethality of her, how nothing was safe if she came after it, given that all things could crumble, all things could break—but none appreciated how this power ate away at the human psyche, at one's capacity to feel anything.
Living beings were hardwired to run away from what they perceived as death in whatever way they could, be it physical flight, denial, avoidance of a topic – but Mana did not have that option, forced to face the cold, stark reality of death every moment she was alive.
Death was all around her, and she perceived death as readily as others saw color or movement, recognized the sound of water or their reflection, understood it in her marrow as others knew warmth or human emotions. It wore on her day by day, and though she was capable of suppressing it on a conscious level, there was always a part of her, a basic animal instinct, that was aware of how close she walked with to the void every second of every day, knowing all how uncertain and fragile every moment was, with neither solid ground nor sky above a certainty, knowing how all existence could perish with a touch.
The world seemed to crack and break apart under her feet, the air to scatter, all those around her to die as her mind told her how weak everything was, how useless it was to try and make anything lasting. For nothing could last in this world—whether herself, other people, or reality itself, everything would break in the end, so what was the point?
Such bonds would bring nothing but pain in the end, and so she kept herself distant from most people, keeping her emotions controlled, keeping herself aloof, hardly recognizing her memories as her own, for the new awareness made the life she had before almost alien.
The only one she allowed herself to draw close to was the Grey Witch, whose death alone she could not perceive. C.C. had saved her life a long time ago, pulling her back from the void with threads of the immortal's lifeforce, bringing her full into this world of nightmares…serving as her sister/mother figure for years, the only companion she had.
While First Magician lived, the soul-link established between them remained intact, one of the few reassurances the Satsujinki had that reality would not simply splinter to pieces, that even if everyone else in the world were to die, someone would remain. It had helped one to find the other multiple times, and had served to assuage her anxieties in the early months, the solidity of it serving as an anchor for her sanity.
Now it was broken, and she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that C.C. was dead, with the only certainty she had possessed since her coma, when she had lost everything else to Britannia, gone, leaving her more alone than ever in a world of pain.
Pain all over, phantom pains continuing to run haywire through her nerves, not fading, not going away. Any motion – breathing, moving her eyes, blinking, twitching, anything at all hurt, a side effect of her current condition as she feared that everything else would crumble to dust, for psychologically, it was harder to control her power when she was unstable.
Footsteps. Someone else had entered the room behind her, the quiet sound of the intruder's motions indicating someone light on his feet but unbalanced, as if the weight on one side was unequal to that of the other, approaching her, and stopping. Whoever it was, he was looking at her, his pulse and breathing had quickened slightly, and she could smell a distinctly male bouquet of odors.
"What do you want, Lelouch?" the Satsujinki asked tiredly, her voice barely audible as she sat unmoving in the water.
"Mana…are you…" the exile began, but stopped, knowing how foolish of a question that was, given that she had felt something like he had, but worse, if her condition was any indication. "Is the—"
"And what could you do if I was not?" Mana interrupted, with a hollow whisper, empty as the void itself.
"I—"
"If you get close to me, I will kill you," the assassin said with an air of absolute certainty, so much so that Lelouch was jolted by it, though he blinked as he sensed no anger in her words, no murderous impulse, just a sense of sadness, resignation.
He needed clarification.
"Wh—"
"Do not get the wrong idea, Lelouch…I am not warning you because I dislike you," Mana elaborated, her lips attempting to curl up at the edges but failing. "It is a simple thing – in my current state, I cannot completely control my eyes, and if you approach me, you will most likely die."
A step forward…and then another.
"Please, I do not want to hurt you."
He was her partner, someone who had walked by her side during the harsh training, who had put his life in her hands more than once. Someone who she thought would trust her. So why didn't he trust her now when she said she couldn't control herself?
Another step forward.
Killing intent washed over him, nearly enough to drive the magus to his knees, but Lelouch would not falter, fighting back the urge to flee by taking yet another step forward.
'What is he thinking? Does he have a secret death wish?'
"Lelouch, do you not understand that—"
A final step, and Mana stiffened as the exiled prince touched her, setting a hand on her shoulder, the warmth and feel of another human nearly overwhelming to her.
"Why? Why did you not?"
'Why did he not run away?'
Stupid, stupid, stupid – why had he ignored her? The moment she opened her eyes and looked at him, accidentally gave into the urge for comfort, he'd die. In her hands, nothing was safe after all.
The Ryougi began to tremble, her body wracked with suppressed emotions as she dared not move from her position, lest she do something foolish. She redoubled her shroud of killing intent to try and push him away, to make him leave, but though his legs gave out beneath him and his body shook like a leaf in the wind, he did not.
"Mana…"
She didn't answer, hoping that he would take the hint.
"Mana…"
"…what?" the Ryougi breathed, exasperated by Lelouch's refusal to do as she asked. It wasn't a complicated thing, and it wasn't for her sake. She just wanted him to—
"Look at me," the exile murmured silkily, leaning close to her, his hand pulling her hair aside and brushing the line of her jawbone as he gently touched her chin.
'No…I can't. I have to…'
"Please."
Such sincerity shook her beyond anything Lelouch could know, sorely tempting her to do exactly as he asked. But she didn't want to hurt him, so the Satsujinki put a hand over his, otherwise, not moving from her spot.
"Lelouch, I—"
"Trust me," the exile said simply, and this time, Mana let him guide her face towards him. She opened her eyes to see exactly what she had feared – the body of Lelouch, like the rest of the room, covered in the scribbles of lines and points of death. "You can control your eyes."
She was about to say otherwise, that she didn't want to see the lines at the moment but still did…but was stunned when the lines and points faded from her vision.
"What did…" The Ryougi didn't complete her statement, as she knew, recognizing the language in which he had spoken – a language unlike any upon the Earth today, able to compel unless one it as well. She looked at the Lamperouge magus for a few long minutes. "Why did…"
He could have used that ability to give her any command at all – even to just keep her from seeing his lines at all to make her feel better, making him immune to her power in the guise of helping her, so why had he instead done something that…
"C.C. may be gone, but we are both still here," the exile said simply, his purple eyes boring into her blue. "And that means that we are not alone, because we have each other as we walk upon this path, my dear accomplice."
Mana's breath hitched, and she flinched away from Lelouch's touch and gaze as if stung, moving further in the water, her footsteps obviously unsteady. It hurt, but she moved away from him all the same.
"I cannot trust mere words, Lelouch," she said, her body shaking as she tried not to cry. How long had it been since anyone had said such things to her? How long had it been since anyone actually meant such things? "Words are fleeting things, even more so than our lives…"
But the Lamperouge magus was not dissuaded, and followed her, stepping into the water, and taking her trailing hand in his only one.
"Then I will offer you a deal, a Contract, inviolable under Gaia," the Black Prince said softly but firmly, like the sea itself, opening his circuits as he reached deep into his core. "In place of the Grey Witch, I will be your warlock – even if the world itself becomes your enemy, I will be your ally."
"You wished to escape inevitability, struggled that you would have the power to change your path – and you're throwing that away?" Mana murmured softly, feeling the warmth of Lelouch's prana leak into the air and into her. "Why would you do such a thing?"
Only a moment of hesitation before Lelouch spoke, his voice distant, lost in memories.
"…for most of my life, I have been powerless, forced to endure infinite loss without gain, humiliation without end," the magus related solemnly. "Until the day when you and C.C. appeared, and I began to live by different rules, different time, a different life…a road that both of us have walked together. That is why I am yours, if you will have me."
"Fine," the Ryougi intoned, taking a deep breath as she let his words sink in. "Then in my turn, I will be your ally, walking with you on this road—and even if you become the world's enemy, I will be your knight."
"This is our Contract," Lelouch repeated, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "Do you accept?"
"…yes," she whispered, gasping as she felt a thin thread of life force gently brush her like a kiss, body quaking as everything that was suppressed began to reveal itself, in great, heaving spasms, and Lelouch put a gentle arm around her – offering the Satsujinki what comfort he could, as they stood there, two people unused to human touch or companionship holding each other and crying, bonded by mutual loss.
She wept silently, but he could feel her every sob and tremor against his chest, felt it echo in time with the anguished emptiness he felt inside. Both of them hurt, both of them had known great pain and suffering in their time, but for the moment, neither were alone.
V.V.'s Atelier, Pendragon Imperial Palace
In the center of a vast cavern hundreds of meters beneath the bustling capital of the Holy Britannian Empire, an eternally young boy with blond hair longer than his body stood silent as he stood before a now dim scrying window, processing the information he had gained from those connected to him, not knowing whether to be pleased, furious, or merely annoyed.
On one hand, he was moderately pleased that his familiar Anya Alstreim (who incidentally happened to be the Knight of Six) had successfully slain the Grey Witch, the greatest thorn in his side in his struggle reach Akasha, mortally wounding her with Harpe – a wound from which she could not recover. He had commended her for this, though now, some time after she had broken the connection, certain details of the report nagged at him, as they tended to do so whenever C.C. was involved.
Against Anya, the Witch had only projected one Noble Phantasm, and not an immensely powerful one at that, which seemed odd, given that she should have the prana for such a thing. Instead, from the reports, she had drawn Black Keys as her primary armament, conceptual weapons capable of binding shadows – or of dealing extra damage to inhuman beings such as demonic familiars. But more than that, they were weapons associated with the Church's Executors and Burial Agents, suggesting that his suspicions about the First Magician having received help from the Burial Agency and the Euro Universe were correct.
Either that or C.C. was intending to mislead him and create more enemies for him to fight, but given that Cornelia li Britannia already had orders to attack the Euro Universe, it would be a minor matter to send some specialists to help deal with the Vatican.
The young immortal coveted their stash of powerful relics and Noble Phantasms, after all, seeing as he was no wily Faker like his ancient enemy, a deceitful woman who lied at every opportunity, ensorcelling the unwary with clever words and false assurances that she would aid them, before ultimately betraying them in the end, as everything she touched was eventually destroyed.
But this time, he had managed to crush her first, and with his main opponent gone from the battlefield, he rather suspected that things would be easier…though he could be not be completely sure that the First Magic was gone from the world, given that in the aftermath of Anya's attack on C.C., his familiar had been unable to recover fragments of the Witch's Code, even when she had searched for it with her invasive Shadow magecraft.
This suggested two possibilities – that what had been killed was merely one of the Witch's puppet bodies (unlikely, as that would require a specialized workshop, as well as the fact that her puppets were not capable of high-level projection), or that the Code had been passed on, which was another issue in itself, as he did not know the transfer mechanism that would have been used. If it had passed on, had the World merely taken the Code as payment for some debt, or had she consciously willed it to another?
'How I despise unexpected variables from that woman –she does not even have the dignity to die without being a thorn in my side…'
Much like Atlas itself still continued to be a thorn in his side, even after its main facilities had been destroyed, as they had apparently managed to convince Nrvnqsr Chaos, the Dead Apostle Ancestor once been called Fabro Rowan, to strike at several of the occupation airbases in Area 18, if video footage of black beasts tearing into his aerial battleships was anything to go by.
'I will need to dispatch Directorate assassins to be rid of him – or hope Cornelia can take care of that task as well…'
A new batch of vampiric homunculi (besides Mao, who had shown…quite useful results) needed to be battle tested, after all, and who better to test them against than a Dead Apostle? But perhaps it would be better to have the Witch of Britannia handle the matter, as she did have a battalion of mage knights at her beck and call…and a reputation for success against all odds.
She had once commanded the Glaston Knights as well, the adopted children of Andreas Darlton, though those had been neutralized during an attack on Atlas, the organization that the Witch had founded long ago, with the most recent director, the Dust of Osiris, proving every bit as devious and infuriating as the First – even down to being as difficult to locate
Other news from Area 11 proved grimmer, as both the Knight of Ten, a powerful Ghost Liner familiar, and the Dead Apostle Rolo Haliburton, his most loyal servant, had been killed – the former by a powerful magical explosion that erased him from existence, and the other having been slain by two powerful magi.
The last memories his vampiric familiar had sent over their link had revealed his assailants to be a young blonde magus who quite adept at wind manipulation and a black-cloaked figure with a flaming sword and golden eyes.
He had some suspicions as far as the identity of the blonde, and had sent Anya to investigate, but troublingly, he knew of no outstanding flame-users who should be able to fight off a Dead Apostle – much one who wielded golden flames powerful enough to completely destroy vampire without heed to the curse of restoration. Rolo would have shrugged off normal fire or low-level magecraft, so this level of destruction suggested either a rogue magus with more intelligence on the movements of the irregulars than anyone had a right to know, or an active demon hunter with a conceptual weapon of some kind.
'Possibly that the Witch has been watching me for a very long time…with agents of her own loose. As ancient as she is, that should be no surprise, yet she still manages to surprise me now and then'
Millennium Castle, Θ Setting Eternity's Night Moon
Day Equivalent 98
"Careful – not so rough, Lelouch," Mana chided, as the exile's hand roamed over curves and contours of her naked body, sliding down her arms, along her sides, kneading the flesh of her tense shoulders and feeling every inch of her that she allowed.
"Sorry, it's my first time doing this with one hand," the magus said sheepishly, his hand ceasing its errant motions for a moment as his tone turned more sardonic. "...and you're not exactly helping by not allowing me to see what I'm doing."
"Yes, I can certainly tell that much…" Mana quipped, her voice wry with a hint of teasing. "Oh, but you want to look, don't you?"
A quiet snort of amusement.
"Could you blame me if I did?" Lelouch asked, hand moving up to the blindfold that she had insisted he wear…for the experience, as it were.
"I suppose not, given that you are a male and I am hardly your sister now am I?" she said as a statement of fact, remaining still to see what he would do next. "Or does that really make a difference, since the royal family is rather known for its incestuous behavior?"
Lelouch sighed, thinking back to the frantic days of hiding and deception after Japan fell to Britannian forces seven years ago, and how he had had to take care of his sister, becoming so overprotective of her that some would think there was something improper going on. And then he thought a bit further back to his childhood days, when his half-sister Euphemia li Britannia and his sister Nunnally had argued over who was going to be his bride.
The soft splashing of water filled air hazy with steam in an underground bathing chamber, as two figures sat together in a pool fed by a hot spring, helping one another to get the troublesome spots, given that one was still dealing with the aftereffects of adapting to a replacement arm, while the other was still missing a limb. Something of an intimate moment, but a necessary one, and they were already quite used to being around each other, especially as they had hardly left one another's sides for the last few day equivalents, keeping each other company and lending support.
"Heh, well…I wouldn't really need to, given that…"
He trailed off, wincing under his blindfold at the thought of what his accomplice might do to him if she knew that with him having linked his consciousness to the steam and water in the room to alert him of intruders, he could feel every bit of her submerged and not, every contour, every curve without even touching her.
"…given that you already have a good idea?" Mana noted, shaking her head. She was silent for a long moment, as if deciding what to do. "Fine then…take it off."
Lelouch's eyebrows shot up towards the ceiling at her statement.
"…are you sure?"
"…well, I suppose it would be fair, since I have seen you, and you have already seen all there is to see, so…"
The comment weighed heavily on the both of them, with their proximity to one another's nearly nude forms making things somewhat more difficult.
"…as you wish then, Lady Mana," the magus said in a slightly mocking tone, removing his blindfold only to find the Satsujinki nose to nose with him, glaring at him.
"…Don't. Call. Me. That," she stated, biting off each word and lacing each with enough killing intent to make even the exile flinch, thoroughly cowed.
The Ryougi held his gaze for a minute, then turned away, presenting the expanse of her back to her companion, and Lelouch wisely decided to keep his mouth shut for a while as he washed her back, as fingers gliding across smooth and supple flesh, stroking, kneading knots and kinks of tension from shoulders, a tiny gasp escaping lips as magic fingers did their work, tracing scars, examining the join of arm and body, thoroughly massaging her scalp as he washed her hair, with the ruthless murderer warm and wet and pliant beneath him for the first time.
The exile touched the assassin respectfully, almost reverent, as he finished up, tracing the scars on Mana's body and her replacement arm, since it would be something like what he would be receiving, he imagine.
She stiffened slightly as he touched the puppet limb, causing Lelouch to pause.
"Sorry, did I hurt you?"
"No, it's just…that's the first time someone's touched it since it was replaced again…it's still sensitive from phantom pain," Mana related, looking back at Lelouch's stump speculatively. "You'll probably have to deal with hypersensitivity for about two weeks yourself."
"…all things considered, a minor price to pay."
"Well, the Wizard Marshal is paying for it, else Touko's services can be quite expensive."
"You are familiar with the puppetmaster?" the magus asked, curious as to just how deeply she was connected with the world of magecraft and other such things.
"One tends to be, when limb-risking injuries run in the family," Mana replied dryly, shaking her head as she remembered her mother and how she too had needed Touko's services…though the incarnation of Akasha had worked for Touko at the time, so the limbs were more or less her pay.
"…is this condition contagious?" Lelouch answered in quite the same tone. "I don't remember losing many limbs until I met you, after all."
"Well, powerless corpses don't remember much, do they?"
He winced at the reminder of his past state, but there was no real sting in her tone, so he let it past.
After a while, he finished and turned about, showing Mana his back, since it was rather more difficult for him to properly wash himself with only one arm.
"…I apologize for earlier," he said as she moved to work on him. "Bad memories, I suppose?"
"I simply do not like to be reminded of certain things in the past," the assassin bluntly replied, something Lelouch could well sympathize with. "Especially those which are no longer here…"
When he had first met the Satsujinki, he didn't think he would ever feel entirely comfortable with his back to her, yet he found himself enjoying her ministrations, quite aware of her heartbeat and the feel of her hands, roughened from combat. Here and there, their bodies brushed up against one another, especially as Mana leaned forward to wash Lelouch's arm, noting the scars he bore from shrapnel and from not being quite fast enough to avoid White Ren's blades.
"Not so rough – that's still sensitive!" Lelouch hissed, wincing as Mana moved onto the stump of his severed arm.
"And here I thought men were supposed to be the tough ones?" the Ryougi heiress asked ironically. Both of them knew perfectly well who was the stronger between the two of them – or at least, who was the stronger in different areas.
"Touché," Lelouch sighed, admitting she had a point. "But I didn't grow up a demon hunter, either."
"…no," Mana allowed darkly after a drawn-out silence. "I suppose you didn't. Maybe that's why you're so well-adjusted."
The exile barely managed to stifle a laugh, though it turned into a coughing fit instead, with the Satsujinki hitting him between the shoulder blades in case he had choked on something.
"Or perhaps that is why we are both a little odd," Mana corrected herself, a smile flickering on her lips for a moment before it died again.
"That…sounds…a bit more accurate," Lelouch wheezed, finally getting his breath under control. "In the end, we do make quite the odd pair, don't we? A prince and a beautiful assassin seeking the destruction of an empire, not for power, or other gain, but revenge…"
"Don't think flattery will get you anywhere."
Mt. Fuji
Kohaku Fujou exited the council chambers of the shelter within Mt. Fuji, where the remaining members of Six Houses of Kyoto had gathered to discuss a letter from no less a personage than the Puppetmaster herself, of the family which had once administered the spiritual land of Japan. The contents had been rather straightforward at first, sympathizing with the situation of those caught in Britannia's schemes and requesting assistance to help deal with it. The unusual part was that it had referred to the demon hybrids of the Kyoto House by name, as well as to a certain demon hunter family, something that unsettled the amber-eyed maid.
She walked briskly down a lesser used tunnel, and took a platform down several levels to the antechamber of the workshop she shared with her twin sister Hisui, who was apparently within the main chamber working on something, given that the more powerful wards were being used.
With a sigh, Kohaku drew the sword from within her broom and held the flat against the bounded field for a moment, with the field weakening just enough to allow her to pass. She did so, entering the main work area and sheathing her sword, her curiosity piqued at the sight before her.
The blonde mage she had rescued from the Dead Apostle earlier was floating in the air, her nude form surrounded by a circle of levitating ofuda and ethereal Torii, as a redhead dressed in a white and red miko outfit moved about the edge of the impromptu circle, channeling energy through a great mirror she carried in one hand into the girl, powerful magecraft rippling throughout the room.
'Ah, Hisui-chan was always the better medium between us...I make a better killer so that Hisui-chan doesn't have to deal with such things, fufu…'
Kohaku watched as the ritual went on for a few more minutes, until at last, the body of the mage was levitated into one of the torii, which froze in the air and leaned down onto a waiting futon before dissipating.
"Nee-san," Hisui greeted simply, businesslike as always. She had grown quite detached from life after the Britannian invasion, when Akiha and SHIKI perished, and Hisui herself had been blinded. Kohaku had been out of the mansion on an errand, which is how she had escaped injury—and she would never forget how she had returned to find the mangled bodies of the Tohno heirs, and her sister screaming in pain. "I have completed the healing ritual."
"Ah, good job Hisui-chan. How is our vict—guest's condition?"
"She will not awaken soon – perhaps not at all, but she will not die either," the younger of the twins replied, nodding to her elder sister as futon and occupant were put into a corner of the room, with ofuda surrounding it to isolate it from the outside. "The poison has been purged."
In the aftermath of the invasion, Kohaku had sought out Sougen Jinan, a former member of an organization that had monitored the demon hybrids, for any assistance – and he had provided her with information about her family – the Fujou, an ancient bloodline of magi specializing in two things – acting as a medium and the use of curses, with a special psychic ability that granted a superior view of the world at the expenses of causing blindness—something like clairvoyance, bypassing the eyes entirely.
Given that Hisui had already been blinded by shrapnel during the attack, this seemed a good enough tradeoff, and so Kohaku had read these books to Hisui, assisting her with the rituals and training needed to unlock her latent abilities. It took three years of Kohaku going around the country, "collecting" artifacts and relics—the most powerful of which included her sword (the Kogitsunemaru, "Little Fox", which had the ability to manipulate fire and wind, as it had been crafted to match the Ama-no-Murakumo-no-Tsurugi, a blade tired to Amaterasu herself), a Kaleidostick (acquired, along with katana training, from the First Magician and the last Ryougi in return for a future favor), and lastly, the Yata no Kagami – the divine repository of Amaterasu (recovered from the ruins of the Ise Shrine).
The "Eight Hands Mirror" was the relic that Hisui drew powerful from, gaining her clairvoyance the first time she was able to tap into the sliver of divine power stored there, cementing her as the better spiritual medium between the two of them , quite adept at evoking the power within. Since then, she had acquired other mirrors, which floated around her, defending her from harm or attacking her enemies as she wished, as well as allowing her to access the Yata no Kagami's power from a distance via the law of similarity.
Her techniques involved mostly illusion, hypnosis, and healing, abilities sharply boosted by her link to the Yata no Kagami, including a spell that creates the illusions of inextinguishable flames on a target's body…with any damage done by the illusion quite real to the target and capable of killing, only negated by prana, magic resistance or moving out of the caster's sight.
Hisui was initially horrified at seeing someone burn to death, while Kohaku had thought it wonderful for self defense, since Hisui needed something to protect herself from enemies if she couldn't be around. Kohaku's own abilities were slightly different, as she had proven better with curses and attack magic, with her blade amplifying her fire and lightning affinities, as well as slicing through illusions with ease.
"Nee-san."
"Yes, Hisui-chan?" Kohaku asked, though she soon looked up, the hair on the nape of her neck standing on end as a Torii materialized in midair, with a mirror-like sheen within its inner portal. She frowned, tensing for battle if whatever came through proved hostile. "Be careful…"
'How did they get past the wards?' she wondered, since she knew full well the power of the Yata no Kagami when it was used for bounded fields.
"Nee-san, I think…"
But the medium trailed off as she saw a ghost of the past step through the torii into their workshop, and Kohaku did the same, recognizing him instantly – the rogue Demon Hunter who had killed Makihisa Tohno, who had freed her from her torments and awakened her to the beauty of killing, a young man who haunted her dreams each night.
"Shiki…san…"
Millennium Castle, Θ Setting Eternity's Night Moon
Day Equivalent 98
The room was dark but warm, a hint of rosemary in the air by virtue of the crackling fire, silent enough save for the sound of the occupants' breathing and their heartbeats, the two of them spooning after a hot bath, skin to skin, entwined beneath comfortable satin sheets, feeling the reassuring warmth of one another's bodies to offset the chilly backlash of a close brush with death.
It was nothing carnal, really, which might have come as a surprise to rumormongers who enjoyed (fictional) tales of the Lamperouge magus' amorous exploits, but not to the two of them, as they simply didn't want to be alone with their thoughts – and they thought the other would understand. They had already lived in conditions of enforced intimacy and had nothing to be shy about with one another, for when each had only the other, such formalities were quickly enough forgotten.
And so they lay in bed together, talking about various things before the morrow, when they would be separated. Each of them had a role to play in the upcoming conflict, but surprisingly, neither was too apprehensive. They would do what they had set out to – there was no other choice.
"How is your new arm?" the Satsujinki asked quietly, with Lelouch flexing it and finding it distinctly odd—even hypersensitive, as she had warned, able to feel textures and temperatures with extreme acuity, though pain was also an issue.
"Could be worse," Lelouch replied, stilling the limb and doing his best to suppress a certain physiological reaction that teenage males sometimes found inconvenient, even embarrassing. It hadn't been an issue before, but then it didn't tend to be when both of them were more worried about the possibility of an impending attack, constantly on guard against enemies. "And yours?"
"Better."
"I'm glad."
"Are you?"
This night though, like those that had preceded it, was different, as neither were in danger, their minds drifting only between the past and the present, with the occasional thought of what might come on the morrow.
Eventually, Lelouch's mind found itself drifting to half-remembered vestiges of Mana's touch lingering on his flesh from the dream and from the bath incidents: the sensation of her breasts as she embraced him or accidentally brushed against him, her surprising softness of her lips on his, the smoothness of her skin, the warmth of her hands, the captivating scent and taste and feel of her supple body. It was as vivid as a little over a month ago, when White Ren had pulled her little dream stunt that unfortunately seemed more than a dream, and in a situation that reminded him of that…
Mana stiffened for a moment as she felt Lelouch's manhood harden rather involuntarily, pressing rather insistently against her shapely backside, and then relaxed, raising an eyebrow.
"All in all, I suppose I should take that as a compliment, magus Lamperouge," the Satsujinki quipped, a hint of mischief in her voice.
A momentary pause as Lelouch swallowed. The last time he'd been in a situation like this, Mana had been poised over him, fingers at his lines of death, so why did he feel so comfortable now?
"And why is that, praytell?" he asked.
"Why? While your taste for crossdressing sometimes brings it into question, you are certainly a male," she murmured, a trace of humor in her voice. "And as you are rather…striking by some standards, the fact that you are attracted to me is not entirely unpleasant."
"Thank you ever so much for qualifying those statements," Lelouch muttered sarcastically, rolling his eyes.
"With you, everything has to be qualified." She was more serious this time, glancing over her shoulder to censure him with a serious look. "After all, you are the prince of lies, are you not?"
"Hmph, you may have a point there…" Lelouch conceded. "Still—"
"May?" Slightly on the acerbic side this time. "Ask yourself how you fare as a magus and…"
Mana trailed off, letting Lelouch draw his own conclusions. It only took a beat before he did, a soft, rueful laugh, escaping his lips.
"…you do have a point then," the exile admitted with a heavy air. "As much as I wish for the power to change my course, I haven't really changed. In a sense, training me has been a waste of resources, for I have not yet gained that I need. Actions have consequences, and what I have done has led only to a trail of blood, yet even so, I cannot turn back."
"That's not true at all," the Ryougi said after a moment, her voice low and reproachful. "Don't lie to yourself, Lelouch…you are a better person than you think."
The assassin's words shook him, as he furrowed his brow, puzzled by how she might think so.
"… I'm honored, but what are you basing that on, Mana?"
"You don't fight beside someone for a month, back to back, watching them, relying on them, without learning what they're like, L.L. As much self-loathing as you have for yourself, as much as you don't care if you live or die, as much as you believe you deserve to suffer as a burden – you did watch my back, and fended for yourself. What's more, you strive for a goal – to create a gentler world. You are not like me… I only wish for vengeance against the ones who have taken everything from me."
The last part came out as a quiet admission, powerful in its frankness.
"…perhaps I am better than I think, but I am not nearly as good as you believe. To defeat a greater evil, I will become evil if it is necessary – you and I are very much alike, warlock and assassin. Shades of grey, stark against the bone-white of death…"
" …you can honestly say that after I nearly killed you a month ago?"
A month ago, in the aftermath of the Dream incident instigated by White Ren, in which both of them had experienced a threesome involving them and C.C., Mana had come to his room and awoken him with her fingers resting on his line of death. They had become very much aware of that in the morning after…
"But you didn't, as my presence here indicates," Lelouch said with an air of finality. "Even if…"
"Yes, I can feel your 'presence' quite well, thank you," Mana whispered, turning away from him. "To be honest, I remember that night too…and I suppose I didn't hate it."
"Oh?"
"I'm actually surprised you aren't tempted to go further right now," she chuckled briefly as she relaxed, settling against him, so what he could feel her voice as much as hear it. "…or do you think I'd stop you?"
"Oh, I'm certainly tempted," Lelouch related softly, though his expression smoothed. "But it isn't what you really want right now, is it?"
"…and what is it that I want, Lelouch?" the Satsujinki asked with a hint of challenge.
"Simply what you have always wanted: not to be alone…."
A quirk of lips, as the prince's arms slipped around the murderess' waist, his fingers intertwining with hers as he pulled her closer to him. She considered resisting, but just sighed, accepting the comfort of someone's touch as she relaxed against him, leaning her back on his chest.
"It seems you know me well, Lelouch…"
"As I should, dear assassin. You don't fight beside someone for a month, back to back, watching them, relying on them, without learning what they're like," he voiced in an echo of her previous statement.
The two shared a hollow chuckle and a faint smile as they drifted off at last to sleep.
Undisclosed Location
Softly, eyes were slowly opened, and like emerging from mud, the consciousness awakened from a deep and fevered sleep, with a somewhat puzzled Mana Ryougi lifting her head to find that she was sitting on a hillside under a tree, with the autumn wind blowing gently as leaves fell all around her. As she opened her eyes, she found herself looking out at the sea.
Or what looked liked the sea, but wasn't, as her senses dutifully informed her.
"There's a reason for that, you know," an oddly familiar voice murmured from behind the Satsujinki, one Mana recognized instinctively. "I was wondering when you would come, Child of the Void."
Raising an eyebrow at the title, the last Ryougi turned her head ever so slightly towards the speaker, eyebrows shooting towards the sky as she caught a glimpse of the one who had been her only companion and friend ever since she had awakened from her coma—a green-haired woman garbed in robes of royal white, looking at her with ageless amber eyes.
"C.C.," the Satsujinki said, standing as a sign of respect, taking the hand the other offered.
"Cythera," the immortal corrected with a wistful smile. "In this place, I think I can use my name freely…and I think you know where this place is…"
"A place that is no place, a time without a time, yes," Mana noted, having been in an alternate version of this limbo once with her other personality. "Why are you here?"
The Witch was silent for a period of time, though exactly how long was uncertain to the Satsujinki.
"Because I find that before I pass on, I must apologize," she said at last.
"What for?"
"For using you," the Grey Witch said bluntly, as Mana took a step back in shock. "By saving you, I cheated you out of your life and changed your fate, exposing you to a nightmare beyond anything most can imagine."
"No…that's—"
"Don't misunderstand, I do care about you as much as I am capable, but in the end, I have my own purposes, Satsujinki," so the First Magician declared imperiously. "And so I saved you for that."
Mana considered these words for a time, tilting her head as she looked out at the sea.
"Why are you telling me this?" she asked levelly. "This isn't like you."
"Because you deserve to know the truth so you can hate me, and let me go instead of mourning me – just as I hate myself after all these years," C.C. responded, only for a powerful crack to stagger the immortal, who was rather stunned when the Satsujinki followed the slap with a hug.
Tentatively, not used to touching or being touched in a violent manner after many years, the Grey Witch returned the embrace, not knowing why. By all rights, Mana should have turned away and left her alone, but it seemed she had miscalculated.
"I don't care, C.C.," the Ryougi replied, holding the other tight, sounding for just that instant like the innocent girl she once had been. "You saved my life, but you didn't force me into anything. Everything that followed was my choice."
"I thought about choice once, when I was young, millennia ago," the Witch-Queen sighed, shaking her head. "It's like chaos theory, really – it is easy to believe that we have choices, but given our natures and the deterministic nature of the universe…"
"…do you really believe that, you who wield the miracle of denial of nothingness?"
"Sometimes yes, sometimes now – it depends on the day. You and I are much alike, Mana Ryougi," slow, measured words from the first and oldest of the Five, the ancient sorcerers who had once shaped the world at will. "Both of us know the world's uncertainty and fragility, with neither solid ground nor sky above a certainty, familiar with the illusion that all could perish in an instant. You see this because you walked with death for two years, staring into the abyss and gaining a connection with it. I, on the other hand lived for over eleven millennia. I have seen civilizations rise and fall – I have seen millions…billions pass away. I have seen knowledge discovered, forgotten and discovered once again countless times, more than the grains of sand on the beach. But that, too, is the overlooking view, and as we know, the experience called far seems much less real than that called near."
"Yes, Touko-san taught me that much," Mana sighed, releasing the Witch and stepping back.
"How kind of her, when she isn't feuding with the Fifth," C.C. murmured, golden eyes looking fondly at the girl who had been her sister/daughter of sorts for the last five years. "You have your path then, and you will follow it, no matter where it may lead?"
"I learned from a good teacher," Mana replied rather impishly, though her eyes were moist in the light. "Exactly who, I cannot say."
"Well, I suppose having at least one person forgive me is enough," the Witch-Queen whispered, turning away and taking a step toward the sea, turning back just for a moment. "Farewell…"
And with that she was gone, vanishing into golden motes of light.
Café Ahnenerbe
The time had come at last for Mana and Lelouch to saying their goodbyes, as each had their own mission to accomplish, their own roles to play, as it had been in the past, and it would be in the future. They were partners and accomplices, yes, but they worked best on different battlefields—their strengths geared for different specialties.
Now they stood before simple mirror portal, through which many had already gone, save apparently the Ren pair, which maintained the connection.
Mana was to join the "Demon Hunter Party", comprised of the Dust of Osiris, Shiki Nanaya, Hisui Fujou, Fujino Asagami, Azaka Kokutou, and Ren. Their task was to journey to the plains of central Asia and from there to Europe, where the Association and Directorate hid its more deadly secrets.
The Knight of Dusk had departed for parts unknown together with a woman only known as Blue, which amusingly enough to Lelouch, White Ren had tolerated being teased and treated like a child by, in her own tsundere way.
As for Lelouch…while others fought in distant lands, his role was in Area 11, to rally the people, to cause unrest, and to keep the focus of Britannia on him. He was a symbol, a rebel, a man of miracles…and so they counted on him to make a miracle happen.
"Well then, this is it, I suppose," Lelouch said, looking at Mana, at her equipment, including the Kogarasumaru, and then at the portal. "Be safe."
"I should be telling you that, Lelouch," the Satsujinki replied with a faint quirk of her lips, though her expression quickly sobered. "Just stick to our contract and try not to die, alright?"
They looked at each other for a long moment of hesitation, each wanting to say something more, but neither wanting to—
"Oh, screw it!"
White Ren, fed up with waiting for something to happen, pushed Lelouch, who stumbled forward into Mana's arms, where he was caught—just as their lips touched, with the two of them giving in at last to a desire for closeness, a tender kiss first, separating after about a minute—and then one considerably more passionate, with Mana pulling him back to her, as the more dominant one this time
This second kiss was forceful, searing, laced with all the tension between them—the fears, insecurities and all else that had appeared in their dreams – as first kisses went, it wasn't a bad experience, and one that hinted at the possibility of considerably more in the future.
"Don't you dare die on me," she whispered as they separated. And then the portal flashed, with a stunned Black Prince left behind, struck dumb for a few seconds as his brain rebooted from the sudden, unexpected bit of affection.
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN THAT KISS DOESN'T COUNT FOR THE BET BECAUSE I PUSHED THEM? YOU….YOU DAMN BLACK KITTEN!"
The tinkling of ice crystals filled the air, as Black Ren's ice clone was sundered to pieces by White Ren's Sword of Execution, the white-clad succubus rather…annoyed at her counterpart.
For once Lelouch didn't fight the urge to smirk as he turned for the door, letting a chuckle escape his lips as he strode for the exit at a brisk, determined pace.
There would be many trials to come, much to be faced at home or abroad, but he trusted that Mana and those with her would not fail.
Just he could not—and would not—fail.
For the end of the expected and the beginning of a more chaotic age was his time. A time for miracles, a time to make the impossible possible, a time…for Zero.