Disclaimer: Unless we're having Akito of the Exiled-esque shenanigans here, I do not own Code Geass or Warhammer 40k. Also, seriously, the EU is "Europia United" now?
A/N: Okay, so it seems a chapter every month or two is the fastest pace I can sustain right now. That may or may not change as grad school marches on.
Additionally, a few of you may have noticed the suddenly-reduced word count. The reason behind this is me taking a look at the list of planned omakes and seeing how long that list actually was. It was going to end up with nearly an omake per chapter, so I have split them off into their own short story collection entitled Tales of the 51st Millennium.
Chapter Thirty-Six: Metal Monsters, Part XI
Tharsis Region, Surface of Mars
103.M3
Like many of his peers, Phaeron Menkhetaruk of the Tulun Dynasty considered command centers a quaint anachronism at best and an active hindrance at worst. The nodal command network that once allowed the Triarchs to control their subjects inextricably bound the entire Necron race together even after the Silent King destroyed the command protocols. From the rank-and- file legionary up to the Pharon himself, the connection allowed information exchange at a rate the primitive races could not even imagine. At the current moment, it allowed Menkhetaruk a thorough view of just how untenable his current position was.
Only the tiniest fraction of the Phaeron's attentions were spent upon the surrounding melee, his staff twirling in complex patterns ingrained through millennia of warfare. Menkhetaruk's conscience flitted between streams of information, eventually settling on one of his Lords holding the center. A terrible many-limbed beast, many kilometers in length, twisted and writhed in the air above the battlefield. Spears of dark fire and baleful stars rained down upon the faltering Tulun lines, annihilating vast swathes of infantry as the last protective shrouds flickered and died. The survivors were nearly lost amongst the horde of bare shimmering metal stretching beyond the horizon. A thin spear of blue and gold thrust deep into the enemy center, the legionaries hoping to use their advantage in discipline to win the day.
"My lord, the Wraiths have been stopped! Taking heavy casualties!"
The Phaeron knew in an instant that what little chance he had at turning the battle had evaporated. The serpentine, phase-shifting constructs fought viciously. Not even the living metal bodies of Mag'ladroth's forces were proof against the Wraiths' claws, but volley after volley of Gauss fire reduced the automatons to twisted chunks of scrap.
"Pull the remaining Wraiths back! They won't be able to reinforce the center in their current state!"
"My lord, we've lost our rear guard! The center is collapsing!"
Without the Wraiths, the hard-won breakthrough was immediately made pointless. Cut off from reinforcements, the Tulun vanguard was gradually crushed under the enemy's overwhelming numbers.
"It would seem we arrived just in time, then."
Tharsis Region, Surface of Mars
017.M51
The shadows of a dozen tomb ships and innumerable attack craft blotted out the sun, heralding a strangely localized dust storm. Necron legionaries adorned in blue and gold emerged from the cloud, first in ones and twos then by the dozens. Living metal constructs armed with phase-shifting claws and powerful thermal beam weaponry silently glided through the air. Towering shock troopers assembled into their own formations, Gauss blasters and Tesla carbines ported across their chests. Others wielded fractal-edged blades, symbols of their office older than human civilization itself, as they shouted orders in their arcane language with a sharpness that would make even senior Drill Abbots envious. The dust storm died out moments later, revealing the standard bearers. Sickly green glyphs were projected into the sky as a haze settled over the assembled army.
Lelouch's anonymous Mordian companion was certain that he had gone insane. He could stomach the talking Necrons, he could take the sudden assistance from the metal monsters in stride, but the sight of a Necron Lord addressing a human—even if that human were the Emperor of Mankind—with respect was all too much.
"Emperor Lelouch vi Britannia," the corner of Lelouch's eye twitched as his frame involuntarily stiffened, "Phaeron Menkhetaruk sends his regards."
The amethyst-eyed immortal silently reminded himself that the Necron Lord meant no malice in his choice of address. As he had learned over numerous chess matches, neither the Phaeron nor his court could fathom why he would cast aside a royal surname in favor of a commoner's.
"Lord Amenhokhmet," the Emperor turned to face the towering figure, "I see that you have come to honor our ancient pact. Please, relay my gratitude to the Phaeron."
To his dying day, the nameless Guardsman would swear the Emperor had whispered "the voice" in response to his unasked question.
C's World
The Warp
C's World, once a grand sanctuary of light and order from the turmoil of the Warp, was reduced to a dilapidated ruin. The grand arches, once their caretaker's windows to the outside world, lay in pieces on the ground. The temple at the realm's center was reduced to a pile of barely-recognizable rubble, and the edges of the tiled marble floor crumbled into the void below with distressing speed. The realm's sorry state reflected that of its mistress.
Euphemia li Britannia lay curled up on the ground, shivering as a dozen millennia of doubts assaulted her mind. Her staff was dispelled, for she could no longer maintain even the miniscule amount of concentration required to summon it. Her hair had come undone, which only underscored the unhinged look in her eyes. She tried to ignore the increasingly-tattered state of her dress and the rivulets of blood that appeared unbidden on her clothing and flesh.
"Just give up," a voice hissed in her ear, "You cannot win."
"You are just a little girl playing a game she cannot possibly comprehend!" another boomed from all directions.
"He will strike you down the moment he realizes the truth."
Though the Ruinous Powers still could not enter the realm the Guardian had claimed for her own, they could still peer in. The very Warp shook with their sanity-shattering laughter.
Tharsis Region
Surface of Mars
Lelouch had only seen the Tulun Dynasty take to the field once before: many millennia ago, on the same ground he now stood. A former tributary state of the Nihilakh Dynasty granted its independence during the First Wars of Succession, it never reached the size or splendor of its peers. What its military lacked in numbers, however, it made up for in discipline and ferocity. He had watched them afar, seen how their lines faltered and broke before Mag'ladroth's forces but never routed. He had intended to wait the battle out, allow both armies to exhaust one another and finish off the victor, but witnessing the Phaeron and his court directing their forces from the midst of the most savage fighting had altered his plans somewhat.
"Phaeron Menkhetaruk has entrusted me with this small force," Lord Amenhokhmet rasped, "Ten thousand legionaries, supported by six thousand Wraiths and Acanthrites."
The inexorable march of the Void Dragon's legions had stopped as the first Tulun legionaries appeared on the field. Warriors paused their attack, some mid-swing, and withdrew. The badly-mauled Mordian Grand Regiment, confused but nonetheless grateful, retreated back to allied lines while giving the Tulun legionaries wide berth. The very ground shook as ten thousand blue-and-gold legionaries fell into formation: blocks of infantry, twenty wide and six deep, arrayed into six columns.
"The Void Dragon is undoubtedly awakening another legion as we speak," Lelouch stated matter-of-factly, "And more likely two or three. Even if you turn back this legion, the reinforcements will crush you."
Amenhokhmet's tightened the grip around his Warscythe's haft, the weapon's secondary fractal-edged blade digging into the soft soil. The Lord's other hand withdrew from beneath his tattered cloak, revealing a swirling knot of temporal energies encased within a shimmering containment vessel. The now-ignored Mordian shuddered at the sheer wrongness of the sight. He nearly jumped out of his skin when the Necron Lord turned to face him.
"The efforts of yourself and your fellow soldiers have given us the opportunity we have spent millennia longing for. The C'tan Mag'ladroth is vulnerable and weakened, and it is today that the Tulun Dynasty avenges its fallen Crownworld."
An oppressive blanket of silence fell upon the Tharsis plains, the two Necron armies standing in immaculate formation as they stared one another down. The Void Dragon, severely wounded and seething with rage, silently writhed in the sky.
"You do recall, Lelouch vi Britannia, that the resurrection protocols are not perfect?" the amethyst-eyed immortal nodded in understanding, "That we lose some fragment of ourselves each time we are reborn?"
Lelouch had suspected, of course, with each tiny nonverbal cue and near-imperceptible difference in mannerism strengthening his theories. Amenhokhmet's shoulders slumped and his voice came out as a near-whisper.
"I…I don't remember her anymore. What she looked like, the sound of her voice, even her name…I can't even remember why she was so important to me…," the towering Lord shook his head and straightened up to his full height, "This is a suicide mission, one that I and every legionary down there willingly volunteered for. We will buy your army enough time to evacuate from this world, and when we burn, the Void Dragon shall burn with us."
A harsh yell echoed through the air, followed by ten thousand pairs of feet marching in perfect synchrony as the Tulun force began their attack. Volleys of Gauss fire and focused particle beams raked the arcane shroud protecting their formations, and their advance never faltered even as the destructive energies leaked through and vaporized swathes of infantry.
"We have set up teleporters behind your lines. The tomb ship that ferried us to our funeral pyre stands ready to transport you and your men to Terra," Amenhokhmet's form began fading away, whisked to the front of the army by the arcane technologies embedded in his living metal body, "It is an honor to have known you, Emperor Lelouch vi Britannia."
Combat Information Center A
Black Knights Space Station Ikaruga
Some of the Fleet's most powerful men and women—Field Marshals, Fleet Admirals, and the quadrumvirate themselves—were gathered within the chamber, some in person and others through holographic projections. The surrounding CIC operators tried their utmost to ignore the numerous gaps in the formation.
"With the losses sustained during Operation Desert Goliath, Theater Group B is no longer combat-effective. Pending more complete casualty reports, I am merging the remaining units with Theater Group A," Suzaku concluded, "It still won't bring them up to full strength, but we don't have the available manpower reserves to do anything about it."
With the Lancelot taken in for repairs, the brown-haired immortal was clad in his Black Knights uniform for the first time in so many weeks. Though he stood significantly shorter than most of the other attendees as a result, the sheer power of his voice and presence was comparable to that of Zero himself.
"Before we lost contact, the picket squadron reported that most of Abaddon's in-system forces are engaged with the Mechanicum fleet over Mars," one of the Fleet Admirals chimed in, "As long as that Warp gate is active, however, we have no way of tracking when or how many reinforcements he's bringing in. The Iron Warriors have withdrawn, and there are three other Legions unaccounted for at this time."
"Six," Kallen shook her head as she counted on her fingers, "The Death Guard and Alpha Legion have yet to take to the field, and we've seen nothing of the Word Bearers save a handful of Dark Apostles. On top of that, there have been no confirmed sightings of the Emperor's Children since Parynor. Intelligence is still processing the combat logs from my men and the Jakarta's crew, but the World Eaters and Thousand Sons force we annihilated at the Bond Crater was too small to have been anything but a vanguard. One with many high-ranking champions, true, but the majority of their fighting strength is still untouched as far as we know."
Silence reigned for several minutes as all those present came to the same terrible conclusion. Despite spending nearly two months bogged down in a destructive quagmire, despite taking countless millions of casualties in exchange for long-demolished forges, despite taking hammer blow after hammer blow from the Mechanicum's near-untouched armies, Abaddon's armies were still steadily advancing. The legions of Chaos were still pouring into the system by the millions, and the defenders had no means of cutting their supply lines. The tone of the meeting abruptly shifted, all thoughts of Mars forgotten as they moved to address Terra's defense.
"We've commandeered every available Valkyrie and Sleipnir, but offloading's going to take at least another seven days," one of the holographic Knightmares reported, "Our engineers are working double shifts to restore the Imperial Palace's fortifications, but most haven't been touched for the better part of twenty thousand years."
"We've taken to sealing off most of the Palace's lower levels. Fortunately, the Custodians have been more than cooperative," a neighboring Field Marshal added, "We've prioritized the air defense grid and outer wall fortifications, but even critical systems will need another month."
"Fortunately, we may just have a month," CC interjected as she motioned for a nearby operator to change the main display, "None of us can explain it, but a shoal zone has formed around Mars. No effect on our skimmer drives, but unless Abaddon is willing to make the journey with plasma drives, his fleet is effectively trapped until they can plot new routes."
"There's not a lot in this galaxy that can produce a Warp shoal zone on demand, and with the zone's size and Field Marshal Schwer's suspicions…," Nunnally's holographic facsimile announced, the room falling deathly silent as she paused, "Necrons. Or Tyranids. And I'm not sure which one is worse."
Any response was immediately drowned out by alarm klaxons. The numerous tactical maps were blanked out and replaced with a single real-time display of the Ikaruga's surroundings. The normally-sedate CIC operators were running throughout the room, shouting orders and counter-orders with no regard for switching off their external feeds as a flood of purple appeared on the monitors.
Necron Tomb Ship Tears of Sastiea
Orbit of Mars
As they parted ways, Lelouch realized he had never learned his companion's name. He doubted that the man, as perhaps the first Imperial Guardsman in history to hold a cordial—albeit one-sided—conversation with a Necron Lord, would ever need to pay for another drink again. One of the Tulun legionaries had introduced the Mordians to a simple game played on a spiral-shaped board, which finally broke the oppressive tension. If anyone noticed the Emperor being escorted out by a pair of Lychguards, they didn't voice their concerns.
Though older than the human species and bathed in the same sickly green glow that pervaded Necron technology, the tomb ship's bridge was laid out quite similarly to an Imperial ship's. Crew members sat at banks of arcane-looking consoles, arranged in concentric rings around the enormous holographic projector at the room's center. The imposing command throne at the bridge's rear lay unoccupied, its owner standing at the opposite end of the chamber, hands folded behind his back and gazing out at the burning world below. Lelouch approached the titan without preamble, coming to a halt beside him and adopting a similar pose.
"Phaeron Menkhetaruk," the amethyst-eyed immortal began after several seconds' silence, "I thank you for your assistance."
"Emperor Lelouch vi Britannia, it is good to see you well," the Phaeron shook his head, his blank features somehow adopting an aura of mirth, "But must you be so formal? I see that your consorts have yet to impart any of their refreshing bluntness upon you."
Just as quickly as it appeared, the air of good humor evaporated.
"Keep them close, Lelouch. Few kings in history can truthfully claim they found a queen willing to fight and bleed at their side, much less two," Menkhetaruk trailed off for several seconds, "You do remember that we children of Sastiea hold our vows sacred above all else?"
The Emperor of Mankind turned to face his towering companion, relaxing marginally as he sensed no treachery from the Necron.
"Millennia ago, on the plains of Tharsis, a pact was struck. I swore upon the ashes of my throne that my legions would march should the Void Dragon break free of its prison. In exchange, you would not deny us our retribution. Lord Amenhokhmet and his legion now complete this pact. The ones whose minds are so eroded by the ravages of resurrection that, though their bodies may return to us, their souls will not. It is fitting, in light of the new pact."
Lelouch did not need to translate the disembodied voice to know it was a countdown. Similarly, the wailing klaxon was unmistakably a jump alarm.
"Your emissary is wise far beyond her humble years," if the Phaeron noticed the immortal's questioning expression, he ignored it, "With one question, she has forged a new pact between the Tulun Dynasty and the Black Knights. For too long, I have looked to the past, so absorbed was I in my thirst for vengeance that I never thought to look forward. Tell me, Lelouch, which world should I fight for? Sastiea and all the other worlds that the Void Dragon ravaged during the War in Heaven? Worlds that burned long before your ancestors even took their first gasping steps onto land? Or Terra, a world that is diseased and weakened but one that still lives?"
There was no indication that the tomb ship's inertialess drive had engaged. One moment, they were half-heartedly observing the unfolding battle between the Despoiler's fleets and the Basilikon Astra. Less than a heartbeat later, they were staring down the gun barrels of Black Knights warships.
Tharsis Region
Surface of Mars
If the Tulun legionaries still held even the slightest fear of oblivion, they would have broken and run long ago. Though the army before them outnumbered them several times over, they maintained their razor-straight ranks and advanced shoulder-to-shoulder. When the unerring volleys of Mag'ladroth's legions and intense artillery bombardment mowed down entire ranks of infantry, those marching behind the slain simply stepped forward to fill in the gaps. Though the Void Dragon knew that three additional legions were mere hours away, genuine terror gripped the C'tans heart as the blue and gold army drew closer.
A mere forty meters separated the two armies when Lord Amenhokhmet gave the order to halt. The Gauss and Tesla volleys continued unabated as two ranks dropped to one knee and presented their weapons. At such close range, the powerful Tulun weapons ripped through the enemy formations, with even the basic Gauss flayer sufficient to atomize a Necron Warrior and the one behind it. A volley from the shock troopers followed, their powerful Gauss blasters aimed at the enemy artillery while Tesla weaponry ravaged the infantry. As the first and second ranks rose and shouldered their weapons, the fifth and sixth ranks drew their sickle-swords in one synchronized motion.
The incoming fire only intensified as the legion of blue and gold closed to twenty meters. Two ranks fired a single volley, compensating for their decreased volume with near-point-blank range. The Void Dragon's legions had little time to recover when Tulun fast attack units, which had previously contented themselves with harassing their flanks, formed an armored wedge that crashed through their center. Wraiths effortlessly scythed through the Warriors and Immortals while Acanthrites charged the artillery at the rear.
"Bayonets!"
The protective shroud had long since faded, overwhelmed by volley after volley of weapons fire. It mattered not: at such short range, there existed no defense against Necron weaponry. The forward ranks drew their sickle-swords as one, thumbing the activation studs as they bought the weapons to bear. An unearthly glow emanated from each blade, and the Tulun bayonets followed suit moments later. The near-inaudible hum of disruption fields was drowned out by the horrific ripping sound of Gauss weaponry as the legions of blue and gold stood in perfect silence awaiting the order.
"Charge!" roared Amenhokhmet, his Warscythe crackling with entropic energy as he raised the weapon into the air.
Even before the Triarch placed the diadem of a Phaeron upon his brow, Menkhetaruk knew his armies could not match those of other Necrontyr states in size. Rather than enforce mass conscription, the young ruler drilled his armies in close-quarters combat rather than the mass-firing tactics preferred by other Overlords. Nowhere was the shift in doctrine more apparent than their basic infantry formation: six ranks deep rather than the conventional four, with two ranks of halberdiers sandwiched between four ranks of conventionally-armed infantry.
On the plains of Tharsis, the legions of the Void Dragon were reeducated as to how the Tulun Dynasty had risen from a whim of Phaeron Krispekh to a much-feared combatant during the War in Heaven.
The razor-sharp spear of blue and gold crashed into Mag'ladroth's legions, their disruption field-sheathed blades slicing through living metal with contemptible ease. The halberdiers, all but useless during the approach, carved through the soulless legions while remaining virtually unassailable by virtue of their much greater reach. Amenhokhmet paid the melee little mind, long-ingrained reflex allowing him to slice apart any enemy who dared approach him without so much as slowing his pace. His eyes were focused on the terrible serpentine creature that watched the battle from on high, sheer hatred sweeping aside the fog of his muddled mind.
"You shall not leave this world, beast!" the ancient Lord bellowed in challenge.
Its body still ravaged from Lelouch's repeated psychic assaults, the C'tan attempted to hide its fear under a thin veneer of bluster.
"Fool! It took an army far greater than yours to lay low but a single one of my brethren! I will crush your body and feast upon your soul!"
Had the Void Dragon not diverted all its attentions to masking its weakness, perhaps it would have noticed that Amenhokhmet did not carry a Lord's Warscythe. The Necron Lord knew that the weapon would likely survive the attack that would fell him, and he refused to allow his signet and battle honors to fall into enemy hands. He had swapped the noble weapon out for a common Warscythe, a fact that the C'tan painfully learned in the form of an overcharged Gauss blast. The weapon's glowing crystalline heart cracked under the strain, sparing not even the wielder from its fury. Amenhokhmet paid the warped and blackened metal of his hands little mind, instead teleporting himself atop the foul beast and hacking at anything that looked important. The fractal-edged blade dug into a wing root, and a mighty tug separated the limb from the rest of the creature's body.
Mag'ladroth roared in agony and fury, its serpentine body bucking wildly in a vain attempt to shake its attacker off. Lord Amenhokhmet continued his assault, heedless of the damage to his body. He clawed his way to the creature's head, lowering the contents of his left hand into the C'tan's field of vision.
"Tell me, you are aware of what this is, no?"
The Necron Lord twisted his body so that the Void Dragon's head absorbed most of the impact with the ground, shattering the tesseract containment vessel as he was thrown off. Unchecked temporal energies ravaged the star eater's living metal body, huge swathes of its length crystalizing before crumbling to dust.
"It took the might of the Maynarkh Dynasty to shatter Llandu'gor, but I think the tesseract prison has cut you down to size," Amenhokhmet taunted as he retrieved his Warscythe, "You feel it, don't you? The prison can't hold you without a Sentinel, but the temporal energies have bled off your powers. That might you boasted of is now entirely concentrated on repairing the damage to your body."
The very ground of Mars shook as the clash between Necron Lord and C'tan began in earnest.
Combat Information Center A
Black Knights Space Station Ikaruga
"Necron fleet confirmed! At least fifty-six…no, fifty-eight…mass signatures consistent with tomb ship-class warships!"
Nobody needed to mention the hundreds of cruisers and escorts that accompanied the kilometers-long titans. Agonizing seconds passed as the Black Knights fleet scrambled into new formations.
"They jumped inside of our main defense zones!" one of the Fleet Admirals reported, "Our ships can't fire FLEIJAs without hitting each other!"
"1st, 2nd, and 3rd Fleets form up around the Ikaruga!" Suzaku quickly took control of the situation, "All ships saturation fire towards the Necron ships! We can't let them approach!"
It was scant seconds before the first of the deadly missiles left their tubes that Nunnally finally realized what was bothering her.
"They haven't fired…" the petite immortal told nobody in particular, yet still succeeding in bringing all activity in the CIC to a screeching halt.
"During the First Necrotic War, their warships had calculated a firing solution and launched their first salvos with milliseconds of appearing," the governor took a steadying breath as she banished the unpleasant memories, "Psychic attacks disabled the perimeter patrols before they could retaliate. This fleet has done neither."
"Hold your fire!" Zero's modulated voice proclaimed on every channel in the Fleet, "The fleet before you approaches under my invitation!"
Hangar Bay G48
Three Hours Later
Tensions remained high even after the majority of the Necron fleet withdrew beyond the Ikaruga's defense perimeter. Fresh battle fleets, untouched by the savage fighting at the system's edge and around Mars, kept banks of hadron cannons and FLEIJA tubes trained on the living metal warships. A single tomb ship approached the Ikaruga, the massive crescent-shaped warship dwarfing the dozens of Yggdrasil-class dreadnoughts that escorted it. As the Tears of Sastiea drew closer, the Ikaruga's massive defensive batteries turned to face the Cairn-class tomb ship.
A tiny vessel emerged from the tomb ship's cavernous interior, making for the Ikaruga's open docking bay at blinding speed. A squadron of Tomb Blades fell into formation around the speck, their pilots either unknowing or uncaring of the thousands of point-defense batteries locked onto them. Eight full squadrons of Excalibur-class attack craft rose up to meet them, serving as both the ceremonial honor guard due to a visiting dignitary and a display of military power. No matter their intentions, the Necrons would not mistake the modern Black Knights for the badly-mauled fleet that retreated in disarray at the end of the First Necrotic War.
Allowed more than an hours' advanced notice, the CIC operators performed their duty with all the precision of a well-trained drill team. Their rifle butts crashed against the deck plates as the Catacomb-class command barge passed through the environmental containment fields. The Excaliburs and Tomb Blades peeled away at high speed, the last of them avoiding collision with the Ikaruga's hull by mere millimeters. Two Lychguards manned the skimmer's controls, but all eyes were upon the Phaeron and the two figures flanking him.
The bodyguards disembarked first, their consoles swinging aside to allow the metal titans passage. Their weapons marked them as the elite of the Phaeron's personal guard: swords nearly as long as a Knightmare was tall and shields that nearly dwarfed their wielders. Several of the Black Knights honor guard trembled at the sight but held their ground, their Knightmares suppressing any outward show of nervousness.
The Phaeron disembarked next. A towering figure clad in gleaming living metal armor, Phaeron Menkhetaruk stood head and shoulders above even Space Marine Terminators. The diadem of his office gleamed even under the sterile lighting of the Ikaruga's hangar bay, the complex whorls etched into its surface liable to drive anyone who stared at the for too long insane. A braided cord dangled from each of his massive pauldrons, nearly reaching down to his ankles. Countless tiny runes—each representing a title awarded, a world conquered, a great foe vanquished—covered every square millimeter of the cords, and a sharp-eyed observer could see where old runes were erased to make room for new ones.
The temperature in the hangar bay seemed dropped several degrees as the Phaeron approached, the very air cackling with barely-contained energy. When the lighting struck Menkhetaruk's staff at just the right angle, the runes carved into its handle—those that spoke of ancient deeds so great that the Triach proclaimed that they never be forgotten—flared into visibility.
The quadrumvirate's eyes widened in recognition, and the atmosphere relaxed by the tiniest margin.
"Governor Nunnally vi Britannia," greeted the Tulun Dynasty's absolute ruler, "As radiant as ever."
Though her shoulders slumped imperceptibly as she let out a breath of relief, Nunnally carried herself with a regality one normally associated with her older brother. She had deliberately arranged the folds of her robes to part slightly, allowing a glimpse of the armored carapace beneath.
"Phaeron Menkhetaruk, I take it you are here to honor the ancient pact?" the governor allowed a small smile to grace her features.
"But of course, for we children of Sastiea hold our vows sacred above all else," the Phaeron nodded in agreement, "Yet, I also come to honor a new pact."
Zero silently walked up behind Phaeron Menkhetaruk, the masked Man of Miracles looking a little worse for wear but otherwise unharmed. Near-misses from daemonic assaults and Necron weaponry had torn and singed his suit, and the thin armor plating beneath was visible through the numerous gashes in the dust-caked fabric. His cravat was missing, atomized during one the Void Dragon's assaults, and numerous hairline cracks permeated the mask's visor. All eyes were drawn to the fractal-edged blade strapped to Zero's waist, a small but nevertheless impressive list of honors inscribed into its handle.
"Your emissary is wise far beyond her humble years," Menkhetaruk would have smiled, had he still possessed the ability to change his facial features, "She earned my respect the same way you have: with martial valor and skill at arms. On Mars, an army of the dying completes the ancient pact between our peoples, fighting to avenge a slain world. Around Terra, my legions gather to fight for a world that still endures. This offer is made not as an extension of charity to a doomed empire, but as a tribute to those who fight on despite impossible odds."
It came as little surprise that Lelouch and Menkhetaruk had become fast friends, bought together by their brilliant strategic minds and shared love for theatrics.
The uneven footfalls of somebody not quite used to their body broke the silence that followed. Silent alarm bells went off in the heads of the assembled Black Knights as the Phaeron's second companion stepped forward. Though the sharp angles were smoothed and the harsh lines rounded to impart a slightly feminine appearance, the contours of a Cherub Knightmare were unmistakable. The living metal facsimile of the OPAW's signature armor crossed the distance between the two delegations.
Kallen's eyes widened imperceptibly as her gaze settled upon the jagged scar running down the Knightmare-lookalike's faceplate. The immortal redhead closed the remaining distance, the certainty of her conclusion growing with each step. A knowing smirk gracing her features as the emissary snapped to attention, fist over her heart—or at least where her heart would have been—in salute.
"General Kozuki, Lieutenant Karen Schneider, 1st OPAW Raiders, reporting for duty," the resurrected Lieutenant's voice somehow became sheepish, "I…uh…made some new friends, ma'am."
A/N: So, with the conclusion of Metal Monsters, we have reached the halfway point in my outlines. The scope of this arc kinda exploded, but the destruction has bought Terra a brief reprieve. Anyhow, I've dropped two omakes into the new short collection, one serious and the other a sequel to Time Warped. Until next time!