Complete Attack on Titan Season 3 Part 2 or chapter 90 of the manga first. Despite this work taking place after the second season of the Code Geass anime, you don't necessarily need to be familiar with it for this story. Also, some Code Geass lore is inspired from the movie remakes.
I have a Tumblr too. My name is resistingfateymir and the page is called A World Without Fear.
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Flashback to Paradise Divergent AOT storyline.
The New World Order The fusion storyline.
Summary
An imprisoned beast for over 2000 years, so the story goes. And when unleashed the Earth will crack. Lava will seep onto the surface, and the sky will light ablaze. The coming storm is a rapture. And Marley broke the seal. The Colossal Titan, a monster nine times the size of the Gurren awakens from the Mound, erupting over the port-town of Norwa Gateway, fuming the city in a devastating smog and a mess of deception. To find victory, Kallen needs to reconnect the memory of her dreams. Her ideal, Kahl Kōzuki.
"Are you sure about this." The current Emperor of Marley looks concerned, locked inside the tinted black vehicle.
Smile, don't talk. Close the door – walk.
It's a clear sky, no clouds left, buildings spread over clamorous streets with people laughing and socialising. Above the festival, ugly balloons gorge on helium like ghouls, eerily familiar to the Devils of the old world.
Invisible tension warps the air. A Marlian rushes to the vendors, knocking over a Pole in the long queue. They'll never make it to the sports tournament. It's chaotic, this year's Captial City of Culture, situated in the Marlian city of Norwa Gateway; bordering dangerously close to Poland. But today is a union.
The Marlians apologise. The Poles shrug. And then a bottle clangs, they drink, forget and cheer. The festival nuances redeemed by the joyous townfolk.
Lives are so very different.
He has a mission. Somewhere he needs to go.
Every step slow, but Bertolt's heart races.
Awoken only a few days ago, Bertolt takes in this future. Norwa Gateway, it seems only fitting to send it off one last time.
Cold and parched. Constant buzzing. Unnatural still air. Giant structures straddle the rooftops, pulling the stale air below into the sky.
A familiar soldier walks on the same route. Young, face sunk in the past that Bertolt will never experience.
He only knew their surname, that they were transitioning between sexes, unclear which, and that they were part of Marley's stationed army. On Bertolt's first day back, they waited for the debriefing together, a reluctant guard for the Emperor.
"Rector?" Considering what will happen, it's only right to talk.
They look at him, surprised. Indifferent at first, with the gradual change to a slight smile — that pretty look you give to a good friend. Bertolt certainly made an impression.
Bertolt joins Rector on their patrol. "This is my last moment before I head to my station, so I thought I'd come and say hello, help you with your problem. I can tell from that look in your eyes that you're bothered by something?"
They look at him confused, a sort of denial to Bertolt's bluntness, but they didn't mind before.
"Nothing will fix my past. You're too nice to worry about something obscene." But Rector slips back into their frown, waddling their strapped rifle.
They had to be at the meeting with Bertolt for a reason? In a cramped boardroom comprising of an old General, some masked vigilante named Zero and a conference call with political leaders. With one look, Bertolt could tell it wasn't the place for Rector. The Emperor didn't need Rector there; he wanted Rector there.
Bertolt takes out a photograph from his pocket. The dominating metal red colours a perfect representation of reality. "The problem's related to her, is it not?"
Rector's face twists uncomfortably. "The Gurren killed my sister."
Yes, that's the name — the Gurren, or more accurately the face of Japan's influence over the U.F.N. All this, the Emperor explained at the debriefing. So that's what's at stake, an act of revenge that Rector is powerless to fulfil.
Kōzuki, the murderer: a name he shouldn't curse, yet he understands the situation. It fills him with a nasty feeling, but Bertolt can sympathise here; it's obvious what she is. She's just like him.
Rector doesn't need revenge, but it would be too painful for the Gurren to overshadow their life forever.
He squeezes Rector's hand with the photograph. "I promise you. There'll be a future where you've forgotten all about it."
It's not in the plan, but one good thing must come out of all this.
Turning the corner, they pass the drinks stall. Rector loses their gaze. "You're not talking about the festival, are you?"
Berltolt's too obvious, and still, Rector is unaware of the mission, the Emperor not informing them about everything. But it shouldn't come untimely. "You don't need to finish your route. I'm taking care of it. It's lunch, don't you have a team you can join?"
Rector nods, putting the gun to their side. Bertolt smiles them off, as they move towards the Centrum: a large plaza.
The union of Marley and Poland: the Emperor's farce. Rector is an example: a soldier both Polish and in the Marlian forces. But that was hardly their choice.
Tall complex buildings surround the path that Bertolt enters, the curved glass reflecting the tiled floor.
A poster describes the aerial view, an octagon, with paths etched. Eight isosceles triangles hulled by the centre, holding a weighty circular space.
The rail track cuts through the middle area where small trees surround the stop. Events for the festival litter the inner edges, also the most densely populated areas.
So many people; staying for too long will be dangerous.
Bertolt leans on a lamppost, shading himself with a cap. He's just going to make sure the kid is alright.
There's a stall selling confectionery. By the looks of it: two female soldiers enjoy a conversation with the food server. Old, a wartime veteran – now stall owner – his left side moulded by burns from past wars. With his only arm, he flips a pancake onto a tray for display.
Rector regroups with their team, all friendly, but Rector's smile soon turns into embarrassment. The type of shame you get when a superior you respect does something awkward – like holding up the queue.
The stall owner is old, so naturally, he tells long, dragged out stories. "So, I was at the frontline, not even a sandbag to use as cover. It may not seem like it, but it's a miracle that I only lost the one arm." He grunts, chuckles, then sighs. His one real eye, solemn.
Rector's superior makes a little nod. "I'm impressed you still cater stalls. It's admirable. You deserve as much merit as the rest of the Core."
As a stall owner, the veteran lays out a snack for the other girl. "Right so. Viktoria, this is for you."
Viktoria bounces with enthusiasm.[ETHOSREVELATION: these next paragraphs are fantastic interactions] "Come on Star, the choices are already laid out. Let's decide. Mr 'top of the class' is getting impatient, and history geek already snatched his order before us." A panorama turn. "Look how much we're stalling the queue. Teachers are supposed to set a good example, you know."
The tease hurries Star. "Ok, ok. I'm on it. I'll have the Strawberries with cream." She ruffles up her teaser's hair. "Also, give the sourest flavour to this little rascal."
"Yum, lemon drizzle, my favourite." Viktoria leans in out of excitement. "Don't worry old man. I'll choose the others' too." She sporadically points at many tasty treats. "So let's get some pineapple in here. Oh, some mint biscuit. And finally, for the lovebirds, a twin cone with chocolate and vanilla scoops."
Rector blushes; they have a date. And Bertolt will take it all away.
"Star, you're paying!"
A raspy cough, not the quick interruption the old chef planned. He holds up his full-arm as a sign of a completed transaction. "Don't be daft. You needn't pay a thing. You recruits are the only ones in the damn city that treat me with any respect."
That man is doomed.
"Just this morning, some jabbering smart jackets came in and injected me with a sharp needle. Said it was to prevent infections at the festival, didn't even ask me. Assholes don't care that I hate needles. Had to deal with them my whole life and now this."
Star is gentle in agreement. But she clasps her hands on top of the veteran, perhaps to maintain composure. She seems shocked. Viktoria, not so much. Instead, questioning the poor man further. "Maybe they'd be less abrasive if you checked in regularly with the hospital."
After an exaggerated ponder, the Viktoria continues. "I know. How about after the festival I take you there?"
A bloated breath. "Well thank you lass, that's awfully kind to help this lonely elder. Though, you'll have to hold me to it." He lets out a chuckle before dismissing the two.
The team joins each other; a collective sugar-rush enthrals them.
Their capes do look familiar. Perhaps they took them from the Mound too. But where are the owners?
Bertolt looks at the newly formed group. Star enters the circle, handing out cups of water. Short black hair, tugging on a tattered black scarf. Is that who he thinks it is?
Just in case, he fiddles with his hat, making sure it's tight. Bertolt could lean in the corner forever, keeping these happy memories with him. But if Rector is happy now, he needs to get moving.
Averting his gaze, Bertolt travels diagonally to the humming. Looking up, he notes the weird contraptions bridged between the buildings: fog distributors, built to direct the flow of fog that is natural to this city.
The Emperor must love this clear, sunny sky at times of peace. That's not today; war is coming.
The humming reverberates through Bertolt as he reaches the source: a pipeline reaching to the heights of the adjacent buildings. And next to it a tall vehicle resembles a human. That's what they call Knightmares. It's almost like they're mimicking the past. Red highlights, chest branded by purple wings, this one must be Rector's.
A pair of Poles pass him. A huge muscular guy, "We're not going to make it in time, you promised them, didn't you?"
And a girl with a petite but athletic build, "Don't worry. I'll wreck that stadium tonight." Sounds like a life Annie might like.
More street names pass, too many of the Core do too. And they're not the Emperor's personal guard. There should be no other patrols here, just Bertolt? He twists around the corner. More Core stalk, gripping the handles of concealed blades. Bertolt sprints past. They're after him.
The only reason they'd target him is if they recognised him. But if that's the case, why would they risk targeting him.
No, they could snipe him at any time. Even if they knew what he could do, it wouldn't matter.
Bertolt heads into a crowd, focusing on his aching hand. Should he transform now, blow everything sky-high? Make his way through after?
A family pass. Shit, a frail, wrinkled woman in a wheelchair. He has to curse, doesn't he?
And then a little girl in child-filled excitement, "I'm so looking forward to the games. I get to meet her again." The parents pat her head and the family roar in contagious laughter.
Bertolt sputters.
He keeps still as the crowd buzzes round, allowing the townspeople's precious lives to calm him down.
He's not dead yet. The Core can't kill him. All he has to do is keep walking; he's got time. He decides when it starts.
Bertolt keeps the Pipeline to his left. As he quickens his pace, the city matures into intricate arches and turrets.
The footsteps become obvious, chasing him. They know what he is, they won't come too close.
And Bertolt's reached it, the graveyard. Pipelines, digging into the ground, to the source. Taking the key out of his pocket, Bertolt unlocks the gate, pushing it with a grating crank.
Stone after stone placed one after the other. Too vast, the emptiness adds to the eerie tragedy, unpopulated during the festival. The Mound is at the centre, concaving up. Silver insulation covering the earth. A crumpling feat of technology preserving the hollow beast inside, ready to put to waste.
Bertolt extends his hand above his head. Pulling down his sleeve and ripping bandages, white wrappings flutter to the ground. Fresh blood leaking down his skin. His pursuers shouldn't follow.
Bertolt turns behind him, seeing the empty street gives him time. Good, he still needs to check one last thing.
Bertolt looks at the inner gate's map: they place the graves by year, then name. So the closer to the Mound, the earlier the death. Bertolt moves a few rows up. He's on the right path – but where's the stop?
It better not be too close to the Mound.
He keeps walking till halfway to the Mound. He still hasn't found it.
"Bertolt."
Who?
Bertolt turns around to see him. Blond, wimpy voice. Face full of terror. Taller than he remembered.
He's glad, Armin must be a few years older than himself.
No one talks for a bit. Bertolt smiles, waving to Armin, bloody.
Armin, he must want to try and talk things out. But it won't work; Armin has nothing to offer Bertolt.
And Armin can't threaten him. He wields no gun. None of them do; it must be the Emperor's idea.
Looks like it paid out in Bertolt's favour.
Armin will run. They know what will happen, and there is nothing they can do.
No place for negotiations.
Armin grinds his teeth wide, then he runs. Away, out the gate, capes following him. And now, Bertolt can stroll.
His friends are still alive, but how many will make it out by the end of the day? How many will he kill? He puts the thoughts out of mind.
He needs to be ready.
He reaches the edge of the Mound — dammit. He walks past the grave. Two dates from different calendars are marked. He's drawn to the second version. The one Bertolt had to keep in mind for almost a decade.
It's on that year. 854.
Dejectedly, Bertolt climbs the Mound.
What killed you, Dad? My failure, my betrayal, an illness.
He slips on the foil, laid out to cover the Mound.
In the end, Bertolt sacrificed him. And what for? Centuries, and still, the world is encouraging bloodshed. The cycle of war that never ends. Knightmares, the new monsters.
He claws up to the top.
The Gurren. That's the enemy, what he'll destroy. If suffering will always exist, Bertolt just has to make the world a little better for a few that deserve it.
He places his hand into the frozen blood, squeezing into the Mound's cavity. It's funny. Soon he'll end up like Annie.
The glimmering blue of the crystal glows around Bertolt, encasing him.
Nothing has changed. That's just how cruel this world is.
Lightning strikes Bertolt's spine. The Pipeline hums louder with pressure and intensity.
The air boils into a stretched air-pocket.
And then,
Bursts —
Alie Rector suppresses a shiver of forgotten relief. But the chill returns.
They look up at the Cloud Disruptors, worry building in their gut. Such an eyesore. Cortex fuzzy. The rattling comes from Alie's side. A massive pipeline made in the middle of the city. The high energy currents distribute sharp electromagnetic fields. They can feel the invisible barbs of wire periodically piercing their nerves as it rotates. The metal plate states its purpose: festival temporary leakage fix.
The current dampened. The pilot lets out a release. And like an elastic band, it pings back. Shock coursed through their body.
Rumble.
Forced up in shock, they can see over the rooftops: the grey swarm of fumes scald the sky. The direction —
The air bursts. The blare rams the ears. The earth shakes. Sirens scream.
Alie's flung backwards. The city block: blind, hot. Fog envelops them.
Teammates, nowhere visible. The gale lifts them, but Alie charges forward. The Frame is close by. They must make it.
A rush. A van. The pilot dodges. The van slams into someone at their side. Ears screech two tunes. That wasn't Jade, right? Alie starts crawling, getting closer.
They made it to the touch of familiar metal. Alie can focus, cranking a lever to identify themselves. It's jammed. Through the panic, ears pick up the troubling environment: landslides of crashing sounds from the East.
Louder and louder, slamming into the Frame. Alie desperately clambers to the cockpit, trying to pry it open manually, but the sounds hit them.
Like light wood entering a river rapid, the Frame topples before joining the flow, pulling everything clamped with it, into the turbulent end.
The carrier breezes through the air. Frames stored in glass pods, ready for deployment. Below, the 200 kilometres squared coastal town stretches over in mere moments. The altitude descends. Only low enough to notice the terraces, submerged in unnatural smog.
"Passing over Norwa Gateway. 10-seconds E.T.A. to target. Prepare to eject." The sound system flushes the robotic tone throughout the aircraft. These vibrations hit the Gurren's Frame. A magnetic click. The lock mechanism disengages.
Gravity pulls the metal hulk down. In freefall, the air bashes against sharp edges. Drag force high.
The destination: Cliffside of Apocalypse. A mountainous area, off the perimeter of Norwa Gateway, this year's Capital City of Culture. Ocherous fumes rise from the nearby international military base. The colligation of mountains, trees, and grass patches surround the stone in lush portraiture. It is no time for sight-seeing, though.
The crimson robot unfolds. Pink wings sprout, elongating from the spine. The light crystals make the descent seamless. The signature single-clawed hand confirms that Kallen is within the Gurren.
Other Frames join in on the skydive causing the Gurren's communication log to display various profiles. With one even talking: Rookie. Their voice is quick of breath. "Captain Kōzuki, what's with the city?" Is there an invasion going on? No one has clued us in."
Kallen habitually relays a message back. "Negative. Ignore the city. Japanese intelligence anticipated a diversion. Assist the U.F.N. military base. Then capture the target."
Rookie grows talkative, their comments too contemplative, "Maybe, the diversion was used to draw the Polish soldiers to the city. Then, the Marlians sneaked in with Knightmares to overwhelm the stationed guards." A slight delay. "Marley's forces will be miniature."
Kallen makes her reply curtly. "The Marley force is small but intact." Considering Marley's political status, it was evident that their troops be small in number. But, a soldier should not be searching for information to underestimate the enemy. Rookie makes no reply – how it should be.
Kallen grates. "Squad, watch yourself. This mission's going to be tougher than the simple extraction we were assigned." Higherups only planned a simple display of power. Marley had come at the Poles with full force. They need to be careful.
Kallen is in charge. Their objective: to capture the political figure and Marlian Emperor — Sigismund II Von Luxemburg. The hostage to prevent Marley's defiance.
The mountainside approaches. On the outside, the Mound's texture merges with the rocky surfaces, the jaggy backside only slightly jutting from the rest of the cliff.
The old tourist pathway. The road forms around a sharp turret that requires moving halfway up the mountainside before walking down a steep path again. Now littered with the debris of the defending Polish Frames where impressions from metal limbs dig into the mountainside. The enemy needed to scale the cliff.
In the expansive vertical wall, the original entrance was a tunnel of human-proportions where a slim floorboard bridged to the road. The black burns along the white stone give a clear indication of the transpired events. The Polish destroyed the path to stall the Marlian advance. Too little too late.
Polish forces failed to prevent the siege of the U.F.N. station. Marley scorched the area. All enemies: now gathered on top of the cliff. Shield Frames centre the Mound's dome-like cap. A smooth surface ruined by a blown-in entrance. Blue translucent force-shields obscure the contents under the marble-like stone. The plasma glow layering ontop the dried red oil.
Riot Shields. The main arsenal of the Shield Frames. Spanning a total curved width of 14-metres, 6-metres tall. The rectangle covers their Frames' compact 4.51-metres height, the barrier's extra protection sacrificing the gift of flight.
Despite the constraint, one of the Frames consists of a modified cockpit, an external jetpack jutting from behind. The Frame, like the others, is covered in dirt and scuff marks all over its limbs. It wall-climbed too, meaning it must be conserving its fuel for an essential purpose: the target's get-a-way. Kallen will strike first.
The U.F.N. task force Delta primarily consists of well maintained and updated Amanecers that have been kept around since 2018. They are fast and reliable, using electric shields to protect high-value artillery. In this case, the Gurren. They are 4.69-metre tall, and consist of Espada blades mounted on their arms.`
I.T. support sends herself and her squadron real-time analytics of their possible approaches. Kallen makes her choice; a choice she knew would come up. For her team, she provides additional context in the log, "Alright, squad Delta. Marley has instigated their attack despite U.F.N. warnings. We are entering the fire-zone. Follow formation."
The seven Shield Frames enclose the Mound's new entry point. They place the Shields over their heads. Smart. Kallen's aerial attacks won't harm them. But the pose provides little opposition to her, now 7.32-metre, giant.
Delta enacts a planned manoeuvre. At the enemy rear, two Knightmares provide suppression fire from above. The other two Amanecers charge at the Frames from below, where the Shield Frames are defenceless.
The lower Amanecer squad collides with the Shield Frames' bodies with little glory. Their blades pierce through both sides. Two shields down. The Amanecers' blades deplete. Shield Frames are tough on mele equipment. They're still in danger, within the remaining Shield Frames' radius of control, but just as planned they evade at the last second.
The Shield Frames lose their opportunity to follow. Delta's aerial squad flips to the enemy's front, laying even further suppressive fire. The success of the Delta's manoeuvre gives the Gurren space to fire. A red pulse flings towards the enemy, aimed at the enemy's centre. Within a few breaths, the backsides of the Frames implode, cockpits obliterated.
A second explosion follows. With jetpack fuel ignited, fire sprays over the damaged Shield Frames. The Gurren looms over the burning debris, observing the Blood-Filled cockpits. Just as she thought, U.F.N conceptually blocked her brain from reflecting on the killing, a feature built-in with the Gurren.
Scanning the battle zone reveals ground infantry, that miraculously survived. Before The Gurren can react, they scurry into the inner depths of the Mound.
The Gurren didn't detect any movement before the enemy retreated. How did they escape so quickly?
No enemy forces remain above ground, the use of their Flying Frames has reached its limits. This operation requires delicacy. They cannot bring harm to their target.
It might be safer to wait it out, but a proactive approach will lead to better results. The enemy is trapped and considering the state of the city war could arise. So, they must be prompt. If she ensures that the target comes out unharmed, the higher-ups could use the Marlian Emperor — Emperor Luxemburg — as a scapegoat, preventing the future conflict.
Opening up like a 15-tonne building, the Gurren drains her liquid container, drying Kallen's spiked red hair. The fluid rolls off her red hydrophobic jump suite, black highlights that run along from her even-sized collar pads to her backside.
Boring into itself, the Gurren snatches Kallen, placing her onto the ground in a fluid exit. Her peripherals, detaching, Kallen Kōzuki is in her own body again. Her small skeleton pailing by comparison to the Gurren. Stretching, she takes in the visage of black smoke leading from the Sentinel tower.
She's now on it: the Cliffside of Apocalypse. Despite the name, the Mound used to be a prominent attraction. But then, the U.F.N. installed the military recon base, sentinel over Norwa Gateway.
Projecting herself to the team, she strides to the entrance. "Out your Frames, we're heading down. All of us."
Three of her members exit less gracefully, clambering out their cockpits. But their uniform is slick, S.W.A.T. suits in pitch-black, perfect for intimidation.
Elder stays in his Frame. "We mustn't leave our rigs unguarded."
Sharpshot slings her laser rifle over her head. "Frames are too big. There's no getting around that. No choice. Five persons are the minimum number for on-foot extraction."
Kallen tries to shut them up. "After we capture the target, we'll use remotes to operate the Frames."
Elder groans through their Amanecer's speakers. "Wireless capabilities are also impossible. We need a guard."
Kallen shakes her head.
Rookie brings out a tablet for Kallen, manipulating a schematic of the Mound. "The Mound reveals a unique chemical makeup. Combine that with the thickness of the cavern, there is no way wireless connections can pass through."
Kallen cares little for the distraction. "A guard won't be necessary if we're quick."
Yeti knocks on the Gurren, he's awe-inspired. "You know, we teamed up with the Gurren. Kōzuki is one of the only military personals in the world to connect their brain to a Knightmare. It works with a quantum neuron link. And she's always able to control it. She'll cover our exit."
Yeti misjudged the practicality of the quantum neuron link. In the recent fight, it kicked ass. But that's because Kallen was inside the Gurren, using a direct interface, paired with the ability to sync with all the Gurren's new sensors. The quantum neuron link could be considered an extension of Kallen's own brain, making the Gurren is undifferentiable from her body.
Not the case for external use, the Gurren has its own A.I. system that'll enact heavy mental tasks. With Kallen able to still feel all the sensors, the Gurren becomes more like a third arm, motor and sensory functions able to operate independently of her own. But benefits have their downsides. Her reaction time is sluggish. And the further apart she is, the worse the delay gets. Not ideal for infiltration.
Rookie is in disbelief. "But the walls are too thick."
Kallen closes her eyes, crosses her arms, and exhales. She makes the call, better put herself on the line. "Physical obstacles won't matter. Distance does play into it, but the Mound isn't that deep. I'll keep a lookout, but it won't be perfect."
She turns back to her squad, stifling the urge to gaze upon the blue sky. "I'm not your guard dog. Make sure my body doesn't disengage from the mission. I can grow, distracted."
Content, Elder joins them on the marble surface. Kallen takes out her standard-issue pistol as the Gurren attaches grappling gear into the Mound. "Follow my mark."
They descend into the abyss. The S.W.A.T. team lower themselves, picking up thermal signals of their enemies. Kallen throws a stun grenade into the hole.
Silence. Flash.
Bang. Rifles start firing. Like bats, the enemies attack. Still hung on the rope, Kallen cannot anticipate any attack. Surrounded on all sides by her comrades.
In the darkness, she keeps grappling.
They reach the bottom. Bodies fall around. Kallen's team of four encompasses her. Elder drops his fist. The ambush is over. Everyone is unharmed. The enemy sprawl on the floor. Dead.
Lacking thermal gear, the enemy had little chance. Funky gear is strapped onto the bodies, attracting her. She reaches down to one of the corpses where an exoskeleton protrudes the outfit. Flipping the body reveals a small canister. Is this how they moved so quickly?
Her time is short. Kallen suspends her fascination, her team expectant. Sharpshot lifts her, and they continue.
The walls shine with a gnarly texture as if Kallen were clambering around in a giant's oesophagus. She swears that bone engraves the sides.
Kallen prefers observing her squad's movement. Knees bent, body lowered, their prowl unwavering. They had only met a short time ago, at the debriefing, but already they are in sync. Their quick learning proves just how modular the U.F.N.'s training regiment has become. At times she wonders if the neuron link also controlled the U.F.N. soldiers.
Cavern after cavern is an empty looming silence. The enemy has tuckered together at the end, unaware of the squad's entry. Only plaques of historical details endure, speaking of flying devils and brave soldiers.
She lets her guard down for just a moment, wondering if that tale is here, inscribed on metal, in the Mound so intimately integrated with Marlian folklore.
Kallen can almost imagine it. As a kid, her birth-mother would tell her of the legendary character: Kahl Kōzuki.
"A war chief leads a battalion of warriors on valiant quests. With cheers, they conquer the untamed lands of Marley: flying and slashing. All the way to the ocean. That is the strength of a true leader. The giants in their way are no match for their heroism because Kahl will reclaim their stolen freedom. Making a world of peace."
Kallen would rest on her mother's lap, turning the pages together. Her little fingers embraced by her mother. One by one, viewing the gothic drawings., nothing more than a heroic fantasy then.
The cavern remains still. Then Kallen presses on because she is adamant. This mission needs to go down perfectly.
Kallen is a reincarnation of Kahl. Her mother's choice of words. The bolster for her bravery. Britannian's discrimination against her stood no match to the image of Kahl toppling over giants. It gave her strength, enough to join the Rebellion. And her crutch when Zero betrayed them.
Now, her guidance to maintain this world's peace. And no Marlian Emperor was getting in her way.
Five long years of being unsure of her position, but after today, the officers pinpointing her would no longer be capable of avoiding her influence. She'll have risen through the ranks. A general, able to make the calls others should've made a long time ago.
Rookie missteps. Only for a moment, but it's enough for Kallen to notice, to pause because there's a chill in the air, one that chitters along her vertebrae. One that could almost make her believe in the impossible. The eruption of an ancient evil, a future of doom. Kallen keeps her entire team in her vision.
Don't worry Rookie. If a future like that existed, I would never rest until I tear it all apart.
Multiple tourist signs diverge in different directions. All point to their intended destination: The Crimson Crystal.
This room. How much importance did Emperor Luxemburg place in it? He's so desperate, even going as far to disrupt the Capital City of Culture.
She waves her hand. The team split up. Kallen keeps Rookie at her side as she takes the centre path. Emperor Luxemburg will get a fright when Kallen emerges from the stairwell. Kallen has the advantage.
Truce negotiations are inevitable.
They arrive in the main chamber, gloomily lit. L.E.D. lights embedded in the floor at regular intervals. Lighting up walls of flesh: dried veins weaved through their mesh. Bone canopies form the ceiling. The atmosphere soaks into Kallen.
Ahead, a chiselled path twists towards the end of the cavern. The blood-filled crystal awaits on the ceiling. Emperor Luxemburg, lit up in red-stained light, prances next to the tourist attraction.
His grey hair is greasy under the spotlight. He turns, basking under a show of lights. Despite being royal, the only item resembling this life is his eagle covered belt. The insignia of his nation weaved through. Otherwise, he's draped in a plaid shirt, with black staps. His hard-jawed complexion, contrasting his wear.
Arguing voices echo through the cavern, concealing her footsteps. Two kneeling figures face away from Kallen, hoods hiding the back of their heads. Arms tied together around their backs, distracting the guards' attention. Strangely not all the Marlians are using guns.
Appearing through the alternative entrances, she can see her team take their position. Elder to the right, Yeti on the left, Sharpshot perched on the back. They anticipate her signal. Kallen's viewpoint through the Gurren looks peaceful. She signs.
They intervene.
Laser shots pop heads. The Marlian soldiers lose composure, Kallen's voice loud and recognisable. "Everyone. Down on the ground, now!" She meets the target's gaze. Kallen's team deliver an onslaught of barking demands.
Emperor Luxemburg is swift to raise his hands. The remaining Marlians lunge to attack. Then halt, faces conveying raw fear. Her team's range, too far for their melee weapons. All rifled troops dealt with. Emperor Luxemburg gives his unit a troubled nod of submission, spreading tension, a confusion that needs to ebb out.
Kallen strides across the chamber. This time without gunfire. "You are under arrest for the attack on a United Federal Nation army base. Lay down your weapons. Come quietly, or we will shoot." She extends her firearm to point directly at Emperor Luxemburg. Despite this, he still steps forward.
"Kallen Kōzuki. The esteemed pilot of the Gurren, blessing us with her appearance on this fateful day." His body tilts into a bow. The address is polite. As if he was talking to the ruler of Japan. Kallen didn't need the reverence.
The enemies' guard lowers. Kallen moves past them towards Emperor Luxemburg and the two hostages, but the Marlian Emperor is still miffed. Edging his gaze at Kallen, scared she can't understand him well.
He can remain calm; Kallen is ideal for this mission. A college life of meticulous perusing library archives, recording any Marlian myth she could. Anything, if it got her closer to Kahl.
And Emperor Luxemburg is the same, obsessed with finding a solution in ancient texts, to fix his starving economy. She can sympathise there; Japan suffered in silence as Britannia waged war. Kallen had to ride with the Rebellion, adamant about bringing them to glory once again. And they did, but it's over now, for all the nations. The U.F.N is the solution. And Emperor Luxemburg needs to move on.
"Don't threat. I can speak Marlian." She'll pacify him, so he doesn't need to follow the motions of her gun. But he's unsure, keeping his distance.
Kallen's dialect does please him though. Emperor Luxemburg nods, bobbles. "Ahh, good. That makes sense, one way or another. We always seek out our past. Just as you seek out the Kōzuki clan's history."
"Keep still."
Kallen takes another step, but Emperor Luxemburg hops back. He's agitated.
"We've forgotten our history. But it always comes back in one way or the other. That's why we built Knightmare Frames. The Lancelot. The Gurren. It's all to remember the past."
Fluent in the Marlian language, with a varied knowledge of their culture, Emperor Luxemburg and Kallen would strike a great duet. But she's not here to dance with him.
Emperor Luxemburg offers his hand. "You know the legend. We're doing it. Reviving the past. Our heroes can return."
She could take him, twist his arms behind his back, push him to the floor. But Kallen can't hide it. Her scowl.
Emperor Luxemburg retreats, not willing to sacrifice his excitement. But knowledge is also a disappointment. For Kallen has learnt Kahl Kōzuki's truth. She wasn't the brave soldier. She was the flying devil. Nothing more than a war criminal stealing territory from the weak.
History had a habit of creating fantasies from tragedies. Emperor Luxemburg is ignorant of that. And the fact that this truth is the very thing ruining the mission fills Kallen with rage.
"You're a fool."
"My plan leaked, did it not? Why else would Japan send the Gurren?"
"Hush. There's no talking your way out of this one. We neutralised your escape vehicle. Obey, and you might just leave here unharmed."
Lifting his arms like a priest, Emperor Luxemburg could exhaust even a turtle's patience. "The U.F.N. have extorted the Myopic countries long enough. Marley will lead the world into a new age. And the world will honour us once more – just like your Japan."
Steam erupts from the red crystal above Emperor Luxemburg. The Marlians cheer, waving their swords. Kallen presses onto her trigger. But she lets the aggression pass refusing to give the order for her team to subdue.
Rookie jabs their gun in the air. Kallen's team grows unruly, but she won't let anything phase her mission. It's just a light show.
No matter what Luxemburg spouts. "I'm not scared of the Gurren. You won't kill me. You're not allowed to. But wait for it. Soon, I will have the power to surpass even your Gurren."
Kallen can't deal with his blabbering right now. She prances behind the victims. Removing Emperor Luxemburg comes later.
Her voice is calm but to the point. "Stand up and turn around. Slowly. Don't rush. You're safe now."
One of the Civilians ignores her – a female voice. In response to Emperor Luxemburg's propaganda, they plead. "Reconsider Sigismond. You know not what you would release."
The other swings their head, unhooding himself. Even if following Kallen's instruction, it's unruly. Black frazzled hair flicks against the man's fastened blindfold. However, Kallen recognises him, visualising the purple irises, and she is dumbfounded. "Lelouch?"
The other's voice becomes all too clear; The revelation, disturbing. C.C. joins in the unwanted reunion, a green-haired pixie that spares little ceremony. "Kallen. Shoot the Emperor."
Kallen's guard lowers. With her mind consumed by thoughts; she screams at them. "What the hell's going on?"
But the ghosts won't explain their existence.
Emperor Luxemburg butts in. "I know, shocked me too. For this very moment, even the dead have risen out their graves."
He grabs hold of Lelouch, gazing into Kallen. "Remember him? Lelouch V Britannia. Tied you to a cross and trollied you along a public parade."
The Marlians look ready to assault. Kallen's team is disordered. Unsure of how to progress. Breaking her stammer, she's had enough of this and raises her gun.
Emperor Luxemburg chokes Lelouch with his elbow, dragging him as a human shield. And stalling, no mask disguises his crumbling disposition. "From what I remember, Zero spilt your guts, laid them out in front of your little sister. Care to explain?"
Lelouch seals his lips.
Five years. Over five years since that day and Lelouch remains silent.
Emperor Luxemburg scoffs with Kallen. "Come on. Kōzuki needs a reason not to send us to our death-beds."
Lelouch does not budge. In retaliation, Emperor Luxemburg stifles his chest. "Want to end up like your friend, like Jesse? That Code made sweet promises, deals that kept us imprisoned. Well, I broke those chains. Made him reveal everything. And If I can torture him, then the U.F.N. will break you!"
Lelouch lets out a groan. He spits in disdain. C.C whimpers at Emperor Luxemburg. Wailings of a guilt-ridden leviathan.
Stop this. Kallen can't handle much more. Jesse's ghost won't haunt her too.
Kill the target.
No, she won't lose.
She just needs to readjust herself. Events escalated so suddenly. But it's really simple.
Plop.
What was that noise? Emperor Luxemburg looks above. Kallen's gaze follows. The crystal fizzes. Blood dripping down into pools. And the unthinkable happens.
The mass slides out of the bubbling steam, bouncing off the ground and rolling on impact, landing between Emperor Luxemburg and Kallen.
Is it a man? The clothes are ragged, bagginess concealing its primitive form. Only a black nest is visible. The head rises, and black strands slip into place, dangling below a chin.
The being snarls. A tanned face jumps out. Somewhat lengthy and rounded. Hazel eyes fixed on Kallen, scars encircling the lids.
Its movement breeds confusion, perking its nose up like a wolf unfamiliar with their surroundings. It rageful eyes fall back upon her, then cool. It utters, but the voice cracks a name. Kallen widens her eyes. That's not possible.
Emperor Luxemburg claps in delight. "We're witnessing history. Today is the rebirth of the Coordinate."
But the gaze keeps fixed on Kallen. This time, with little weight. Again, the man tries his voice.
"Kahl?"
A hurdle lies in the way of Kallen's goals: Lelouch is back from the dead. And Eren Yaeger has awoken to a changed future. And worse yet, he has a relation to Kahl. Nothing can prepare Kallen for what awaits in Norwa Gateway.
Thanks for reading. Remember to comment. It's super easy, say something quick and clean. Or analyse to your heart's content. I'll love it all.
Betas: Mistrali, Minium