A/N: I'm gonna be honest… I thought this chapter was going to be filler. But A LOT happened. And I guess it's not. So there…

Blanket disclaimer from the Prologue still stands. I don't own any references to books, anime, or video games.

Thank you for the reads, story alerts, favorites, and the feedback I've received so far…

More author's notes at the end…

Chapter 2: The Ace of the Fighting Pits

"I can only presume that you think I'm a fool when I had my guards leave so we could speak to each other in peace."

"I'm glad I don't have to point out every single truth."

Schneizel only smiled at her insolent quip and shuffled a pile of papers off to the side of his large desk.

"You have a nerve to be so bold with me when your freedom and your pardon are clearly at stake." Schneizel's haunting gray eyes twinkled in the dim light of the chandelier hanging above the room.

"My freedom?" She asked, cocking an eyebrow. And her pardon. So she had been right to presume.

He ignored her words as if she hadn't voiced a single thought and continued. "Though I suppose that arrogance would be a bit of an asset. I was never one to fool myself into thinking that my father's empire was built on trust and goodwill. But I'm sure you're well aware of that…" He paused for a moment, building so much suspense that CC's fingers curled where they were pressed to her sides. "My father has gotten it into his head that he needs a Champion."

She shouldn't have laughed at the absurdity of the word, but CC tipped back her head and cackled with unrestrained glee anyway.

"Let me get this straight." Clearing her throat but still chuckling at the proposition and now the Captain's and the Prince's irked faces, she continued, "The ruler of the Holy Britannian Empire wants me — a killer about to be tried for her crimes — to be his 'Champion'?" She sighed dramatically, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. "Please don't tell me he's accidentally gotten rid of every noble soul in this rotten world. He has his Knights of the Round Table. Surely, they're enough, yes?"

"Watch your mouth!" The Captain snarled, his fingers clenching around the hilt of his sword again.

Schneizel leaned back in his chair, still appraising her with that calculating gaze she was beginning to hate with every passing second. He let her talk and he never took the bait. That was annoying.

"The twelve Knights of the Round serve a different purpose. Their main responsibilities involve overseeing military operations and escorting the Empire's important dignitaries. The Emperor's Champion, on the other hand, is akin to His Majesty's personal sword. He'll need you to maneuver around… difficult people."

"Why can't you just come outright and say that he needs a lackey for his dirty work? Or that he needs an executioner he can easily dispatch to gods know where?" CC raised her eyebrows. "A lackey that, might I add, is capable of tasks a squeaky clean Knight of the Round can't fulfill." The grin she flashed Schneizel was one of her more irritating ones.

"Putting it brashly and bluntly, yes. That is what it amounts to." The Prince nodded in agreement, glancing at her chains that rattled with each restrained gesture she tried to make.

She rolled her eyes again. "Of course it is. His Knights are symbols of his so-called justice. Wouldn't want to stain their pretty white robes now, would you?"

"One more mutinous word out of you and you lose your chance." The Captain seethed behind her. And while she was mindful enough to take his words into account, she still pretended to ignore him — or that his words failed to faze her.

Schneizel cleared his throat. "Ideally, his Champion would keep his stubborn enemies silent."

"As silent as the grave." CC crooned.

The Prince flashed her his charming smile. "Yes."

From the moment she realized that the world they were born into wasn't a gentle place, CC had grown to hate the Empire's ways and its judgments. Hell, she and Lelouch often dreamed about changing their world together as superheroes when they were children. But while that was a childish ambition, CC knew Lelouch's solemn promise to obliterate Britannia wasn't.

Growing up, CC had had a habit of living in the worst and making the best out of it, but her best friend was an idealist. And often, he made her visualize what could be better. To this day, CC was aware that Lelouch was making good on his promises. She had sworn to help him long ago, and for her, that meant opposing the Empire that had them all enslaved — in varying degrees.

So, to work for the Emperor; to be that executioner. To kill for him and be an instrument of many innocent people's deaths… She might as well go full-blown Rogue if it truly came to that. The Brotherhood may very well disown her anyway, once the word got out.

But freedom… and pardon. Freedom from Arobynn and her enforced debt. Freedom in so many ways depending on how this deal would go.

"If I accept?"

"Your services will be required for six years. Then, he'll grant you absolute and unrestrained freedom."

"Six years?!" Her eyes could have popped right out of their eye sockets. But she never expected the word "freedom" to resonate so strongly in her soul.

"Decline and you're destined for the gallows. As you should be."

Life or death… Living, even if it was in the servitude of a cruel master, would still be life. CC knew that if she were another person; if she were as noble as some of the Emperor's twelve knights, she would have refused. A smirk curled on her lips…

Then wasn't it fortunate that she was neither noble nor a puritan knight?

Being an assassin was a paradox, but she wouldn't have chosen differently.

"However," Schneizel held up a hand, so he could explain first. "There is a catch." She waited with slightly bated breath as the Prince toyed with his fountain pen. "This position isn't being offered to you. Yet." At the slight frown starting to mar her pretty face, Schneizel kept explaining. "Because the Emperor figures that Britannia and its nobility needs a bit of entertainment, he's hosting it as a competition. My father has invited his seven small council members to each sponsor a would-be Champion. They would be trained and housed within the Royal Palace. It's a Battle Royale. Ultimately, two or three competitors — depending on the outcome of the games — will duel in the final stage." He gave her a half-smile.

"And who exactly are my competitors?"

"Thieves, warriors, assassins across Britannia and its colonies." Schneizel waved a hand flippantly. She was about to speak, but he cut her off without much preamble this time. "If you win — consequently proving your skill and your trustworthiness, my father has sworn to grant you your freedom. And of course, as his Champion, you will receive considerable salary."

His fingers clasped, he raised his brows at her, awaiting her ideal response. She wanted to retort that his father's words weren't exactly clear. What kind of freedom? There were different types. Freedom through death wasn't an appealing prospect.

CC kept ignoring the chafing around her wrists and the way the Captain of the Guard was keeping a hawk's eye on her. "It seems to me that while you nobles have all your fun, this whole competition is completely unnecessary. Why not just hire me immediately?"

"Your trustworthiness must be proved." Was the very simple answer.

CC lifted her chin just a teeny bit. "In your own words, Prince, I am 'the Witch to the Warlock of Britannia.' Based on my own track record, that title is worth any sort of proof you might need."

"Yes," the Captain agreed, his mouth twisting into a cruel sneer. "Your wretched title proves that you're a criminal worthy of a death sentence, and that we shouldn't immediately trust you with the Emperor's business."

"I swear on my own future grave and I give my solemn oa—"

"I doubt His Majesty would take the word of an assassin as sufficient bond."

CC shrugged nonchalantly. "Alright, but why me? Why not track down the Warlock of Britannia and get him to participate in your little competition instead?"

Schneizel raised an eyebrow, silently asking her if she thought he was stupid. "Your capture is an opportunity I don't intend to forfeit. And contracting the Warlock of Britannia will require me to expend resources I don't find the need to waste." He gave her a sly smile. "Unless, of course, you can point me in his direction and refuse my offer."

"Even if you tried to torture an answer out of me, you won't get anything. I've never even seen him." CC made a disappointed face, pouting childishly and looking exactly like an immature brat who was forbidden from seeing their life-long idol; although a part of her silently crowed at how smooth her lie was. On the contrary, she knew this Warlock like the back of her hand.

"That's what they all say until the torture begins." The Captain commented nonchalantly beside her.

Nevertheless, Schneizel looked like he didn't believe her, but he let the suspected lie slide as he focused on the more important things. He meant it when he said he didn't have the resources to spare. In truth, the First Prince had been trying to track the Warlock of Britannia. He had been doing so for a month. The designated day to present the Champion candidates to the Emperor was the day after tomorrow.

Thankfully, Lady Luck had seen it fit to deliver the renowned assassin's worthy equivalent to the palace's many doorsteps. The Witch would be just as good.

"So, CC, are you going to take the offer?" Schneizel's expression was thoughtful, with a hint of mirth somewhere.

"Of course I'll take the offer." She snapped. And her wrists chafed badly against the manacles that she could swear her eyes almost watered. "I'll be your stupid Champion if you agree to free me in three years, not six."

Schneizel appeared thoughtful, and she sincerely wanted to rake her jagged nails down his unsoiled face. He nodded slowly, still contemplating. "Doable. Not three though. Four."

"Fine," she would have gestured with her hand, but she didn't. "It's a bargain."

She didn't know how else to describe Schneizel's grin. Despite the dim lighting, his rows of pearly white teeth were kind of blinding.

"The details of the competition will be made clear when you stand with your other competitors. I have every confidence that you will live up to your reputation. Winning this bet should be fairly simple with you as my candidate."

"And what happens if I lose?"

Schneizel gave her that dismissive wave again. "You won't be alive to find out anyway."

The flippant way he just referred to putting her to death should have fazed her or perhaps triggered a nervous reaction out of her, but CC was numb. After years of looking death in the eye each time she trained with Arobynn, every time she was sent to that pleasure house to 'learn,' or was in the receiving end of his cruelty, she could have cared less, to be honest.

So, she merely shrugged. "That's fair enough."

"Indeed." He agreed with a nod, and addressed the Captain afterwards. "Jeremiah, take her and do as planned. Leave for Aries Villa immediately. We need to get her ready."

"Yes, Your Highness."

CC tuned the rest of it out as they led her through the palace hallways again, but in a different direction — not to the main entrance, but perhaps one of the side doors where he could spirit her away to Aries Villa in the dead of night. Still in manacles, CC didn't put up a fight when they roughly hauled her into a carriage — looking worse for wear — to leave the grounds of the Royal Palace.

Her wandering thoughts drifted to her current situation instead, and how her life was going to change course yet again. Her only reluctance laid on Lelouch.

Nodding to herself, she resolved to find a way to send him a raven with her message. Or find a Pigeon Coop somewhere to leave a paper written in code for him, telling him that she was fine and that he leave her be for a while — no matter what kind of news spread around the manor.

And she figured she'd been living with Arobynn and his abuse for seventeen years. It was time for a change — albeit an unpleasant one, but it was the lesser of the two evils. When she would win this joke of a competition, she would only be bound for four more years — a definite number, and much better than the inevitable.

Yes, she was definitely capable of waiting for sweet freedom a little bit longer. It was worth it…

vVvVv

Being the daughter of a rich nobleman had its privileges. There was the food, the luxury, the endless time occupied with entertainment and leisure.

Or at least… That's what everyone liked to think.

On the contrary, Kallen Stadtfeld loathed her life as a nobleman's daughter. Scratch that — a nobleman's illegitimate daughter. She may partake of the luxuries provided by her father's aristocratic lifestyle, but her future wasn't as bright as she'd like to imagine. Because as far she was concerned, this way of living was only available to her if the man who sired her continued to live. Should he die, his wealth would undoubtedly pass over to his legal wife and his legal daughter — Kallen's half-sister gallivanting in Euro-Britannia while attending a prestigious educational institution for young noble women.

And gods knew the two Britannian women didn't give a s*** about her.

If she was going to be completely honest, she detested having bodyguards around, watching her every move 24/7. But her survival, at the moment, was dependent on her father's living breath, so Kallen didn't find it in her to vocally complain at the lack of complete privacy in the house.

Why, if it weren't for her alerting the guards to the assassination attempt that had happened four days ago, they wouldn't have set up a trap for the killer that had stalked into the house, ready to eradicate her father. The only bit of information she had managed to glean from her father's main bodyguard, Ralph, was that the assassin had been female and that she was turned over to the Crown to receive justice for her attempt at murder.

Kallen had three dark secrets...

The first was that she wouldn't have mourned if her father had been killed that night. He was as power-hungry and two-faced as any politician could get. She was never fond of his lascivious ways, and his inexplicable taste for debauchery. Kallen was even surprised that her stepmother could turn a blind eye to it. She held no care for the full-blooded Britannians in her so-called family.

But if there was one person she truly cared about, it was her mother. Her mother living far far away — in the far eastern colony of Britannia, Nippon.

And there was her second dark secret. The only reason she resolved to stay in her father's household and not run away was to amass enough funds to take with her when she would finally journey away from Pendragon to travel to the place where she truly wanted to be — by her mother's and her brother's side. The money was so they could build a new life. She wanted to give the woman who birthed her the life she deserved.

Given a choice, Kallen wouldn't even want to live in Britannia. She was perfectly content to stay in her motherland of sprawling green hills and beautiful sakura trees. She was stolen from her home when the man who sired her came one day and took her from her real family.

Kallen could still remember her mother sobbing at her father's feet, begging that he wouldn't take her only girl away. But the man she called her sire had been ruthless. He didn't have a child then, and was in need of an heir. So with his political power, he sought Kallen's mother out — even from across the world — and stole the child he abandoned when the woman had been pregnant with her.

Of course, fate had a way of screwing with you. Because a year after taking Kallen from her home, Ruther's Britannian wife fell pregnant, and the man had his legal heir after all.

Both Kallen and her half-sister, Rosalind, were bred and raised with the finest governess. But Kallen wasn't foolish or blind when it was so evident that Ruther was raising Rosalind into something more. Obviously, the Britannian girl was the favored out of the two. From the dresses to the manner of education. Kallen was home-schooled with a private tutor. Rosalind was sent to an academy for girls in Pendragon and then Euro-Britannia to learn all that she could and have an active social life.

She didn't belong here from the start. Kallen knew that. She wasn't after her father's affection either. She knew he didn't hold a sliver when he abandoned her before she was even born.

Now that she was steadily growing into a young woman with each passing day, her father and stepmother cared less and less about what she did with her time and who she spent it with.

They largely left her to her own devices, which led to the last of Kallen's dark secrets…

A year ago, Kallen had discovered Babel Tower — the house of Pendragon's underworld — where she met men like Ohgi, assassins like Tamaki, and brothel investors like Viletta.

Despite its imposing name, Babel Tower wasn't even a tower or a glorious fortress. The name was a mockery for the tower in the North of the Empire, erected by a proud lord but didn't survive the battle when Britannia's forces came knocking at his door.

Babel Tower in Pendragon, however, was just a two-storey establishment between the rich and the dirt poor part of the city. A tavern would greet you upon entrance on the first floor. The upper level held a huge room divided by feeble barriers made of wood. It housed the filthy beds and the prostitutes looking to make a profit with their bodies.

But the underground was what had held Kallen's true attention…

Babel Tower's underbelly housed the Vaults — the infamous location of the underground fighting pits, the wide gambling arenas, and a haunt for Pendragon's most dangerous denizens. Rumor had it the Crime Lord was known to invest in the business of Babel Tower as well.

The underground fighting pits were open to any challenger from the crowd and the Vaults' contracted fighters — pay per fight plus tips tossed from the generous onlookers.

During the day time and in the presence of her 'family', Kallen played the role of a feeble and meek girl submissive to her parents' every beck and call. That was Kallen Stadtfeld. But when darkness settled and the Vaults would come alive, she shed her daytime facade like a second skin — metaphorically.

Kallen Kozuki — one of the fighting pits' contracted fighters and a favorite among the patrons — would step into the arena to beat the living daylights out of any man who would dare undermine her for being a young woman. Any challenger who had underestimated her had paid dearly for that mistake.

Combining the money from the Vaults and the generous allowance her father let her have, it would only be a year more before she would save enough money to leave this festering hole for good.

But at the moment, it was 7PM…

There were no challengers to fight yet, no man sleazy enough to approach her out of the blue. And she could just enjoy her mug of warming ale. The Vaults didn't come alive until after nine in the evening. But even so, she had seen it fit to don her lightweight armor. Just in case.

You never actually knew in a place like this…

Swishing the amber liquid around the mug before downing the last of its contents, Kallen surveyed the number of people trudging in from the upstairs. She could spot a few of the regulars and the occasional dead drunk man who wandered into the Vaults looking for a fight.

And of course, there were a lot of important people trying to disguise their identities by wearing masks that covered the lower-half of their faces or hoods that hid their whole heads. She didn't particularly care who they were, because that was commonplace around here.

But there was one of them who stood out from the others…

She had noted him coming to the place regularly for five nights now. Kallen had recognized him before as one of the Vaults' infrequent visitors, and figured he was a mercenary or yet another member of nobility stalking around and just looking for something different.

And she was sure that she wasn't the only one who had noticed. Other patrons did too. But how could you not turn your head to look at him? (At least, she assumed he was male from the stature and the lean build.)

He wore a supple leather cloak fastened by a glimmering amethyst brooch at the very center. And from what she could spy out of that customary cloak tonight, she could easily see that the tunic and pants he wore weren't cheaply made either. The silver embroidery around the edges of dark silk was proof enough that the stranger was well-off. Or if he wasn't, he obviously made enough to afford such extravagant clothing only ever worn by the rich.

The guy was just asking to be robbed…

The ease of his gait and the way he strutted around, his cloak flaring ever so slightly behind him, pinned Kallen's eyes to his figure. Even when she had snapped out of it long enough to realize that he was approaching her, she couldn't find it in her to look away.

Oddly enough, for a man that hid his face, he held an air of dignity around him. Her eyes wandered to his feet, stepping in front of one another as he approached her soundlessly.

The stranger stopped half a foot away from her, and that aura of power that exuded from his very stature was so potent, Kallen could have sworn she forgot herself just a bit. Eyes transfixed to his hooded face, she itched to violate all sense of respecting other people's privacy and just snatch that hood off so she could see what lay beneath.

As the longest five seconds of her life stretched out before the two of them, she had had a brief sense of the world falling around them, leaving only two strangers to gauge each other fully. But that flimsy illusion was shattered when the cloaked figure spoke in a voice that was as smooth as his approach.

"Is this seat taken?" He gestured with his gloved hands; hands with long spidery fingers.

Kallen blinked out of her self-induced stupor. Her face flushed all the way to the roots of her fiery red hair; caught red-handed as she plainly gawked at him.

What a way to introduce herself…

Not trusting herself enough to speak, she merely shook her head and turned away to mind her business. She was suddenly hyper aware of the noise and smells around her as she did her best to finish her inner self-deprecating rant. Even the cackles and barely subdued gasps of pleasure from the prostitutes down here weren't enough to help her drown the embarrassment she was still suffering.

"So, tell me. What is Ruther Stadtfeld's daughter doing in a dump like this?" His tone was inquisitive and so nonchalant that it took her a good few seconds to realize that he was actually talking to her. And she was right in assuming he was male.

Of course, he was. Who else was Ruther Stadtfeld's daughter?

Despite the intrigue she held for his persona, she frowned, disliking the very thought that he had figured out who she was right off the bat. She didn't answer him immediately, but she gave him the pleasure of receiving her scathing glare.

"Kallen, if you were coming to the Vaults to rough it up with men older than you, you need a more clever disguise than just pinning all your hair up." A growl rumbled in Kallen's throat as she listened to the stranger's voice dripping with false innocence. She could even picture him rolling his eyes in the darkness of that hood. "Spare me the excuses. Your father's men would have come in here and recognized youon the spot. Not that they would fancy a place like this in the first place."

The stranger slumped slightly in his seat, his shoulders hunching over ever so slightly as he gestured for the bartender to deliver him the usual drink. Kallen watched him nonchalantly toss a gold coin into the bartender's tip jar — more than enough to cover the single drink he ordered tonight. So it probably wasn't his last. Just the first of several.

"Well, you know my name." She sipped from her mug, still peeved and internally alarmed that she was speaking to a stranger who probably had weapons hidden in his complicated outfit. "Don't you think it's only proper for me to receive the same courtesy?"

She could hear the smirk in his voice when he angled his head slightly towards her. "In a place like this, I think not."

On a normal day, the flames of outrage and annoyance would have lit her blood on fire, compelling her to pick a fight and show this guy exactly who he was going to deal with. But whatever was the reason for her boredom tonight, Kallen only relented with a frustrated sigh and a defeated shrug of her shoulders.

"I suppose it can't be helped…"

There was festering silence between them for a good while until Kallen couldn't stand the quiet punctuated by the sounds of men shouting over each other as they gambled across the room. Addressing the fascinating stranger with a generic, "Hey, you," seemed to do the trick.

And as much as her gut told her no, the nobleman's stubborn daughter silenced the insistent voice niggling away at the back of her mind. It was a voice that told her this man was dangerous and that he couldn't be trusted. That she shouldn't be speaking so freely with him, loosening her tongue willingly to tell him a life story he probably didn't care about. But she should have known better…

A tipsy Kallen was a chatty Kallen… Didn't the few friends she made in the Vault tell her that? Get her a few drinks on the house, and her tongue would have a life of its own. Ah, but she didn't care at the moment. She didn't care because her strange companion was a rapt listener.

And she was actually having a conversation with him. Although she did most of the talking, he was attentive enough to factor in his two cents every now and then. And the more they talked, the more she found his voice strangely alluring. It had a sort of sedating quality to it. That, or she was just really tipsy.

Kallen was talking about how her father was almost assassinated the other day by a woman who barged into their home and tried to take him out, only to fall victim to a trap her father's guards had set. And as she rambled on and on, the stranger listened intensely — more than he did before.

Frowning in the shadows of his concealing hood, he asked, "And how did the guards know to set a trap for her — this assassin?"

Kallen snorted, her ego climbing up a notch as she proudly answered, "I told them of course." She flashed him an arrogant smile reminiscent of one of the assassins in the Guild. "I said I wouldn't mind my father dying, but not after I've saved up enough money to leave this hellish place. She's welcome to try and take him out again after I'm on my way to Nippon. But until then, he has to stay alive."

The stranger was quiet for a few heartbeats, processing every word that the nobleman's daughter had vomited tonight. If she was this talkative after two mugs of alcohol, then she would certainly be interesting if she was drunk. But he didn't want her drunk at the moment, so when Kallen made to order her third drink in his presence, he was quick to snatch her wrist and guide it back to the table.

And when she had the nerve to question his actions, he said, "No one's going to chaperone you home tonight. Keep your head the way it is."

He was right, of course. Kallen frowned and clenched her fists atop the slightly oily bar counter; if only to keep herself from consuming a third mug. She was mad at herself for divulging so much about her life to a man like him in one go, but now she could only hope he would chalk her ramblings down to the alcohol talking through her.

"You said someone told you about the assassination attempt happening any day during that week. Was it a friend of yours?" The stranger pressed.

And Kallen, oblivious to the stranger's obvious prying, made a noncommittal sound that meant 'yes.'

He meant to press for deeper and better answers, but the redhead had moved on to a different topic of conversation — one that revolved around the Crown's latest interest.

Going off of what he could glean from Kallen's slightly rushed explanations, the stranger could only make out the barest details of the Imperial Crown hosting a competition to find the Emperor's next humble servant to do his bidding. She then went on to explain that that was all she knew since her father wasn't very keen on sharing the complete details. But she was mentioning something else…

"He's behind in finding a would-be Champion to sponsor, though." Kallen's chuckle was absolutely taunting.

"And why is that?" He asked with renewed interest; finding Kallen amusing as he watched her beneath the shadow of the hood with his chin propped atop his fist.

"He's gotten it into his head to compete with the First Prince of Britannia in trying to find that Warlock Assassin. Or whoever he is." Kallen grumbled.

He was about to speak but a roar rising from the center of the large hall drew their attention. They were so deep into their conversation that neither of them realized that the Fighting Pit had officially opened for business for the night.

Men flocked to the ever growing crowd at the center of the room. There were shouts for placing betting amounts, and the clamor of many men to place their bets on the lineup of fighters set to compete tonight. The unruly hollering and the constant jostling around for a place in the chaotic line (if there was even one in the first place) was almost painful to watch.

But when a collective cheer, a whistle, and a shout barged through the hall, everyone knew that the first fight of the night had officially begun.

The rules in the Fighting Pits were simple…

No weapons allowed. Armor was fine — especially for the women who dared, but only fists were permitted into the barely washed ring.

The stranger discreetly let his eyes wander over Kallen's current attire, and the fierce set of her eyes as he stared off into the gaggle of men and the ring where pained cries, grunts, and growls emanated from. The sound of fists smacking against flesh was so audible too — a testament to how hard these people pummeled each other in the name of money and entertainment.

He was curious, so he decided to try something out. He had nothing lose, after all. "So the Emperor needs someone as skilled as the Warlock of Britannia to do his bidding."

Kallen turned to him, and over the raucous noise, spoke louder than before. "That's his title?" She wrinkled her nose at the absurdity of it. What did the assassin do, exactly, to earn that nickname?

The stranger shrugged. "That's what they call him." A pause, and then, "You sound as if you would detest someone like him."

Kallen grit her teeth. "I don't particularly care, but if I have to, I disagree with his methods. Always killing for a living can't be a sustainable job." She reasoned, her eyes shifting back to watch him.

He chuckled lowly at her hypocritical remark. "That's funny… Coming from someone who associates with an assassin."

How did he—?

But Kallen's surprised expression — no matter how brief it lasted, was enough of a confirmation for him. Even when she did her best to school her face back into a more neutral setting, it wasn't good enough. He had seen through her, and he finally had the opening he was waiting for.

In the shadows of his hood, he clenched his jaw.

"I don't know any assassins." Kallen insisted, stubbornly refusing to meet his shadowed face.

"Then this friend of yours who told you about the assassination attempt must be one hell of a spy." The sarcasm wasn't lost on her as she did look sort of defeated. "Because I can assure you, Kallen Stadtfeld, that nobody trespasses into the grounds of the Assassin's Lair in Pendragon and comes out alive. So the only way you would have found out about a high-profile mission like that, was if someone from within the Guild told you."

His tone had dropped into a low and menacing growl, but for some reason, she heard him clearer than before. And… And… He was an assassin. A part of her mind began working at hyper speed to backtrack and concoct several excuses, but even she was smart enough to know when attempts at salvaging were futile.

She was sure of one thing, though… The stranger wanted something from her. Otherwise, he wouldn't have bothered patiently luring her into a conversation like this and then springing the trap.

God, was he keeping tabs on her the past few nights? She wasn't sure why, but the thought of him studying her from the darkness of a Vault alcove sent shivers down her spine.

Kallen clenched her fist atop the table, the roar that rose from the Fighting Pits a faint background noise compared to the sound of her blood rushing in her ears.

The stranger sat across from her, looking as relaxed and as untouchable as ever. She discreetly and swiftly scanned him from head to toe, trying to gauge if she could fight her way out of this and delay him long enough so she could run and disappear into the crowd.

Surely one mishap was enough for the night…

Me and my big mouth…

"So what do you want from me?" She demanded, glaring at the shadows that stared back at her.

Clever girl… He mentally applauded her for realizing his rather evident intent. Most people were so dim, that he often had to explain himself. He shrugged. "All I ask is a name, so I can exact proper retribution. Or perhaps you prefer the story of a nobleman's daughter gallivanting through Babel Tower at night to reach the wrong ears."

Oh, how dare he?

For all she knew, he could be bluffing. But… If this man was truly an assassin, then who knew what he was capable of? The existence of their organization — if you could call it that — was a big deal to Pendragon's underworld. She wasn't sure, but there were rumors of the Crime Lord paying homage to the Master Assassin of the Guild in Pendragon — as ridiculous as that sounded.

If push came to shove, it would be her word against his. But what good would her testimonies do her in the face of a glorious bribe and a half-truth whispered in the wrong ears?

Something flashed in her eyes, and he watched as she shot to her feet. Arms pressed to her sides with clenching fists, she glowered at him. For a moment, she was possibly even forgetting that he had just threatened her.

Kallen glanced at the writhing bodies crowding around the Fighting Pits beyond them, and made her decision. She could use the chaos within the ring to make her escape. But she had to do it right… She had to distract the crowd with a good fight, so she could slip away unawares.

There was no rush in collecting her hard-earned money anyway. She could get it from Ohgi some other time.

If she lost a fight to this man professing to be an assassin, then so be it. But if she took this stranger down fair and square in front a public spectacle, then even better. Either way, if she did it right, she could slip away.

I'm not going down without a fight…

Kallen Kozuki wasn't an ace Pit Fighter for nothing…

"I'll give you an answer if you can beat me in a fight. And when I win, you get the hell out of my life, drink yourself stupid tonight, and forget this conversation ever happened."

When; not if…

The stranger's mouth stretched into a dastardly grin.

"I like a fair deal. So if I win, you answer my every question tonight."

"Fine." She huffed, and nearly didn't accept his hand when he offered to shake hers. But she did anyway — his firm and warm grip didn't escape her notice.

With impossible grace, the stranger left his seat and strode through the room towards the unruly crowd. Kallen followed in his steps hastily, her light armor clanking, as she realized that it should have been her to lead the way.

A/N: I'm really curious, so please humor me for a bit.

What do you think of the backstory behind Kallen?

Constructive criticisms and VERY honest feedback is welcome. I kind of want to know because her narrative was a joy to write and I felt the need to flesh her out early on since most of this story will revolve around Lelouch and CC. I want to give the spotlight to other significant characters where possible.

And originally, I would have included the fight in this chapter. But by the gods, it was getting way too ridiculously long. I had to cut it.

Review replies:

Freudentraene: Thank you for your interest. :) haha! And I know that for a lot of people, myself included, that it can be quite hard to picture Lelouch as an assassin who can fight his way out of death. Canonically speaking, he always does rely on other people to do the heavy lifting. But then again, that's what fanfictions are for, isn't it? So, because this is AU, you, me, and a lot of other people can indulge in a Lelouch who knows how to fight - in more ways than one. (In very lethal ways actually). And boy, is it gonna be fun. ;) At least, I hope so. Maybe I'm the only one who thinks he'd be so HOT stalking around the streets in Assassins' Creed gear and garb while killing bad people. But seriously, thank you for the input. I appreciate it! :)

Thatsoneperson: Please, don't apologize for the long review. I appreciate them in all lengths. :D And I'm happy to know that you think the story is intriguing so far. I'll work hard to keep it that way until the very end. And thank you so much for understanding the perils of every writer too. It is hard, juggling RL responsibilities and this, but it's what keeps a lot of us happy (or in my case, sane).