Author's Note: My sincerest gratitude goes to xpeekaboo for the Bata Read. It was to the point and very informative. WARNING: Scenes of brutal violence, read at your own risk.
Disclaimer: I do not own Code Geass in any way or form.
Recommend: For best viewing pleasure, set you width to ½.
Chapter 3
Unbeknown to the men and women on the Damocles, another fierce battle was flaring back up in full force. From thousands of feet below, more than ten thousand pairs of eyes watched in stunned silence as the impregnable sky fortress shuddered against its own mass, tumbling slowly from its high orbit, as flames and smoldering smoke spewed from its lower decks.
Onboard HMS Glorious, an aircraft/battle frame tender tasked to receive Loyalist equipments, Suzaku Kururugi watched with consternation as the smoke sprawling behemoth descended from the sky. The anger of resentment from an earlier spat with Lelouch once again crept up through his veins.
********
"What do you mean surrender!?" he seethed at the calm and composed looking man on screen.
"Suzaku, we lost. Any further resistance will serve no purpose but more meaningless death. We've tried our hands but were bested in our own game. I am sorry, but it ends here today." The apologetic look on his features further angered Suzaku.
"That is not good enough!" he shouted. "You and your under dealing schemes! For all we know this could be another of your trickeries just to save you own ass!" His knuckles whitened with barely controlled anger.
"I wish it were, Suzaku, I wish it were." Again with that same remorseful look.
There was a short silence between the two men when Lelouch finally spoke. "Suzaku, I have but one thing to ask of you...as a friend. Little do I deserve it after so much heartache, but would you look after Nunnally and C.C. for me when it is…all over?"
For a brief moment, Suzaku actually considered refusing the young-emperor's request, just so he could throw it back at him with the man's failure. But one glance at Lelouch's anxious and stiffened features made him realize that he was just as responsible as Lelouch were for not carrying through with the plan.
Slowly, Suzaku breathed, "I will see what I can do; being the Knight of Zero will almost guaranteed my immediate arrest after the battle."
"A mere assurance from you will be sufficed." Lelouch relaxed imperceptibly. His lips parted as if to say something, but stopped after a short pause. At last, with growing commotions in the background, Lelouch said in an unusually warm manner, "Live well, Suzaku," and before Suzaku could respond the screen went blank.
Suzaku followed the armistice instruction with muted blur; the heaviness of guilt was tugging at the corner of his heart. Not at his own failure, but disappointment for failing Lelouch. He hated the man still, for take away his beloved Euphie from him forever, but nevertheless, Lelouch's intention was a noble one, and for that the young Emperor deserved his respect.
His Lancelot Albion was escorted down to the designated Rebel carrier by no less than eight other battle frames. They were well aware of how easily Suzaku could have turned the fragile truce into another deathly inferno with his powerful weapon.
Half way through his decent, the infamous Guren joined the ranks of escorts. Suzaku laughed out loud at this dramatic reversal of event. His laughter was a mixture of bitterness and remorse. If the battle was to go according to the plan— He shook the thought violently aside; the battle did not go according the plan and he had to do his utmost to keep a promise to a friend.
---
The sight would have amused Lelouch if he would see him again. Every gun on the flight deck was trained on and followed him when he leapt down from the pilot's module. A small grin was forming at the corner of his lips.
You are not the only one with a reputation, Lelouch.
Behind him a set of hesitant steps approached and a gloved hand was upon his left shoulder.
"You…you come with MEOW-"
Suzaku turned slight and his gaze followed the unfortunate man whom he sent sprawling off a dozen feet back, landed ungracefully and didn't get up.
The crisp clicks of safety been switched off echoing all around him like rolling waves. A few of the Black Knights snarled at him and by the way of their tightening scrawls they were ready to fire their weapons…
"That is enough!"
A feminine yet commanding tone halted all movements on the deck. All except Suzaku, who knew without looking who the owner of that voice was.
"Kallen..." he greeted while turning but then his jaw clipped shut and bit back the cynical retort that was ready to be spit out at his would-be captor.
The woman before him, the famed fiery-haired female pilot of the fearsome battle frame Guren wore not the triumph of a victor, but the grieving of a widow. Her feature was marred with the same remorse that probably mirrored his own earlier in the cockpit.
The soldiers and prisoners alike parted way for her like the Red Seas before Moses. She stopped just feet away in front of him, with her eyes casting down to their boots.
"I am sorry…it had to end like this." Suzaku almost didn't catch her whisper.
He cleared his throat. "Ahem….I wish things could have been different-" He saw a figure draw near in gold and white. Gino Weinburg approached carefully, almost timidly, bewilderment clearly in his movements.
Suzaku was momentary confused by this puzzlement that he didn't see the fist that came swiftly and connected on his left cheek.
The blow was so powerful that he saw stars within his closed eyelids. Before his body could have a chance to recover from the strike, something dull and hard jabbed into his abdomen and he heard Gino yelped in surprise, "Kallen!"
The second blow almost knocked him unconscious and he felt two angry claws tear at his shirt, scrape at his flesh as he was pinned down on the flight deck.
"You should be sorry! You are the Knight of Zero, you should have protected him! You should have helped him defeat Schneizel!" Kallen accused him with fiery rage. Her eyes were bloodshot. Suzaku found it impossible to even blink by the sight.
Her anger vanished just as quickly as it came, her voice quivered and broke. "Why did you not protect him…"
Suzaku sighed with resignation. His own anger doused by her sprinkling tears.
He closed his eyes slowly. The once strong and confident ace pilot was weeping brokenly into herself, her hands clawed desperately onto his chest.
"I am so sorry." Suzaku offered, surprised even at his own candor.
As on queue, Gino appeared in his field of vision next to Kallen, in which he gingerly placed both hands on Kallen's trembling shoulders, but said nothing, offering his silent support and encouragement.
Just then, someone barked with astonishment, "Oh my god, look, the Damocles!"
Numerous shout of shock and disbelieve resounded amongst the ranks. Kallen's head snapped up and follow the sound of the voice, sprinkled Suzaku with more fluids in the process. He had to strain his neck to peer over her form at the falling sky fortress.
Brilliant, Lelouch! You sneaky bastard…
In one fluid motion, Kallen pushed hard against him and scrammed away on a dead run toward her battle frame, with Gino running close behind. The two battle frames launched itself from the flight deck with its ear-piercing howl and only then did the stunned crowd swing into action.
Suzaku stumbled up with a hand on his tender jaw and survey his surroundings. More and more battle frames with Float System were launching into the air from the adjacent carriers to the aid of ailing fortress. And everyone's attention was on it. He spared an inconspicuous peek at his Lancelot and was mildly surprise to discover that no one was guarding it. He was about to make his move when a hoarsely voice caused him to stop in his track.
"You will come with me this time, I don't care who you are, I will let you have it!" the heavily nasal voice warned, accompanied by a flipping of a safety.
Suzaku raised his hands above his head and turned toward the source of the voice. The man with a bloody noise was staring him with a death glare, a hand on his face and compact sub-machine inches away from his forehead.
With an apologetic smile, Suzaku bowed to the men. "You have been a great help."
The man's confused brows didn't get a chance to arch upward before Suzaku's elbow struck him at the crook of the neck. The momentum carried him forward, over the man's falling form, reaching for the now discarded gun. A few soldiers noticed the commotion but then it was too late.
Suzaku performed a summersault at landing, breaking the fall, and upon recovery, steadied his aim and emptied the entire magazine into the now alerted crowd.
Bodies fell and blood splattered. The momentary chaos gave him just enough time to make it closer to his battle frame. He ducked from one rifle butt and barely avoided another. He had to use a combination of punches, elbow strikes, knee buds just to fend off men too angry to shoot.
All of a sudden, a deafening howl erupted in the back ground as automatic fires intensified in volume. Through gaps in between the oncoming bodies, he saw prisoners – pilots, soldiers and imperial guards alike fought back against their captors with handcuffs and shackles still on, in one single voice. "Fight for the Empire, fight for Emperor Lelouch!"
Twenty chaotic minutes later, Lancelot Albion lifted off the deck with half a dozen battle frames in tow as the first missile roared out at the closest target from the now captured carrier. The same scene replicated itself across the Rebel fleet as smoke trails and cannon tracers crisscrossed the sky. The once magnificent display of ships was now in utter disarray as individual vessel fought desperately for their own survivals.
Suzaku sank three ships in one pass not knowing if there was any fellow Royalist onboard. All he could do in this madness was to return fire at anyone who fired at him. Ignoring the flashing warning light on the extremely low energy level, he barrel rolled between two destroyers and then pulled the Lancelot in a vertical climb to dodge a swam of guided missiles. It would be mere minutes before he and his battle frame drop like a rock into the bottom ocean, something's got to give.
A sharp chirp from the Com panel wrestled away his attention; someone was hailing him on the Guard Channel.
"My Lord, I am glad that you're unharmed." Jeremiah Gottwald's partial masked face appeared on the screen.
"Not for long, Jeremiah. I will soon swim with fishes if I don't replenish my fuel rod," Suzaku griped crossly at the stoic looking monarch.
"Please rendezvous on this coordinate at your earliest convenience," the man continued without pause. "We have also made contact with a carrier battle group of the Thirteenth Fleet from Saipan. The leading elements are approximately twenty minutes from our position, what is your order, My Lord?"
It took him less than a second to reach a decision.
"Hold off the counter attack until my Lancelot finish refuelling, pull back as many of our surviving units as you can. Emperor Lelouch…" the mention of the name caused Jeremiah to straighten visibly, "…has created an opportunity at the cost of his own freedom, we dared not disappoint."
"At your will, My Lord." Jeremiah signed off after a respectful bow.
Maybe we could still carry through with the Zero Requiem after all, Suzaku wished, for the first time in his life, feverishly, that his hope would come true.
********
He was wadding through a dense, murky and stifling mist with much effort. He squinted his eyes but could barely see past his nose let alone his probing arms and roaming hands.
Black shadows of various forms appeared and danced around him like irritating insects. But each would dissolve at a hurl of his hand.
He had no bearing where he was or his destination. But something compelled him onward. The occasional blasts of thunderclaps were his only guidance in this blindness. The numbers of silhouettes multiplied and the blast increased in volume and intensity, each one would staggered him with unseen force, further aggravated his progress.
By now indistinctive clatters mingled with deafening clamors that reverberated around him. The horrifying symphony splattered the once murky mist into bloody crimson clouds.
The air was filled with smells of burning fuel, sweltering smoke and the acidy reek of gunpowder. His movement ceased, as terror metastasized like an incurable disease that consumed his cells in micrometers, devouring his consciousness where he stood. When he was just about to surrender to the nauseating sensation, a single, gut wrenching cry pierced through his numbness.
"LELOUCH!"
His mind jolted awake instantly, thoughts of discomfort temporarily forgotten. The name sounded foreign and he couldn't quite place the voice, but at the same time an image of a pair of brilliant golden eyes shone past his awareness. He felt warmth and adoration sweeping over even after its fading glow. As his body stirred and trailed the now manifested luminance through the repulsive clouds.
He wanted to find the owner of the voice; he wanted to sooth away the agony and the sadness; he wanted to see those eyes again and let himself be immersed by the tenderness that he knew existed. And nothing in this world would deter him from realizing that reality.
********
The stench of death was assaulting his senses, mortifying his thoughts. The smell of burning flames and smoldering flesh added to the already paralyzing numbness spreading across his limbs. Nicolas swallowed hard and was barely able to suppress the bile that was now soaring through his throat. He heard more than one person doubled over; their weapons or gears clattered with a splash and retched violently. The sound ominously echoed in perfect harmony with the moaning of the wounded and dying.
Nicolas had seen plenty of death throughout the years over the battlefields, even some really gruesome ones, but never did he experience scope of this magnitude and brutality.
Mutilated bodies mingled with twisted metals that were once formidable battle frames. Speckles of flares reflected on the rivulet of blood which rippled with each uncertain step, cast the murky hanger in an eerily light. A dozen paces from where he stood, a soldier leaned heavily against a pile of burning scrap, trying desperately to stuff his spilled intestines back into his torn abdomen. Not far away, another one limped by slowly, collapsed only after a couple of steps; his dangling scalp flew off like a saucer. Ragged remains, shredded organs littered the corridors. The grisly carnage persisted as he looked on before him.
If I ever stumble upon hell on earth, this would be it.
He heard his own voice whisper.
The only thing that is missing was the tormenting devils…
A muffled crack punctured through his trance. His training took over his indecision instantly. He dropped to one knee; his rifle came up and swinging toward the source of the fire, searching for targets. His mind drew a blank when his sight rested on Stapleton.
The man trembled visibly with his sidearm held in an awkward stance. The burning light reflected upon his glazed eyes. Nicolas followed the direction of the barrel and found the soldier with the spilled guts stilled with unseen eyes staring into the heavens.
Ah…shit.
"This is not real…" Stapleton whimpered. His body now shook even more forcefully.
"Serge, this is some sort of test, right?" The man turned to him, voice crackling. "Or a dream…that must be it…there is no way that I just step past into the gateway to hell…right, Serge?" Stapleton looked at him pleadingly, as more tears spilled down his cheek.
Nicolas didn't know what to say to that. His stomach fell with dread. He didn't trust his voice enough to try and dissuade the man in his current state. He had witnessed fellow soldiers, seasoned veterans reduced to impotence with emotional trauma. The tolerance level varied by individual and Stapleton had exceeded his and was now descending to madness.
"Serge? Right?" the young man pleaded again, now sank to his knees, his weapon hand dropped to his lap. And in one swift motion, before Nicolas could take a step forward, Stapleton tugged his sidearm just underneath his jaw and Nicolas watched in horror as the index finger slowly caressed the trigger…
A series of loud blasts went off through the tense stillness, with tracer rounds illuminating the sinister air. A high caliber magazine had cooked off due to fire. Everyone ducked, including Stapleton, everyone except for Nicolas. A sudden surge of adrenalin propelled him forward, raised his fist high above his head and struck his young apprentice with all his might.
---
Nicolas's gaze couldn't seem to leave the now sedated Corporal slumped against a pile of rubble. It pained him to see a capable soldier, a close friend who had great promise and potential in his career, ruined, degraded to such a useless state. All because of this…
"This sure tops off the Massacre at Frankfurt," Ingram murmured, his voice oddly quiet. "Here we have at least a battalion worth of corpses." The rest of the Troop had fanned out and start rounded up survivors. Mostly females, shell shocked, all reduced to the same ineffectual state.
Nicolas nodded absently. The image from that dreaded incident flashed past but it didn't make that much of an impact like it used to.
"What do you think happened here?" Ingram was now looking at him, eyes uncertain.
"Do you think the rumor was true? The one with the mind control crap?"
Nicolas was glad for the distraction, his eyes rested on a hunk of metal of what used to be a pilot module.
"We have no way of knowing if that was true or not," he started walking, "but I know for sure that these marks were not made by a battle frame." He pointed to the long scrapes to the side of the pod and the tattered remain of what used to be the pilot.
"Unless MRD developed something that we are not aware of, even if that was the case, a wound inflict onto the human body by a battle frame would be…mush messier." He motioned to a corpse with top portion of the head clipped cleanly off, with no visible torn tissues.
"And whatever it was," Nicolas activated his headlamp, "it could jump high enough into the air to attract a lot of fire." As both of them looked up, virtually every surface of the ceiling was riddled with bullet holes.
"Bloody hell, then what could have –"Ingram's question was interrupted by a violent tremor, throwing them off their feet.
The sickening sensation of his stomach flopped up to his throat and the weakness between his legs implied that the Damocles was losing altitude, fast. He half-crawled, half-stumbled over to Ingram at the same time.
Ingram yelled over the noise and the rattling all around them, "We have to get out of here, now!" and suddenly shoved Nicolas aside, while he jumped clear. A chunk of scrap tumbled down, barely missing them.
Nicolas barked into his microphone while motion Ingram to follow. "All troops, Bravo Oscar from the hanger, new rallying point at the Officer's Me –"He landed with a thud on the blood slippery floor, but a hand strong armed him up to his feet. "Officer's Mess, take whatever survivor with you if you can, but bug out now!" His hand clawed at one of the soldiers who looked up with wide eyes.
"If you want to live, move your fucking asses!" he roared.
He and Ingram had to yell, scream and kick their way through the men and women they collected as everything in the hanger was falling apart. The bunch made it through one of the exits but not before a trailing few was crushed by falling debris in agonizing shouts.
He leaned heavily against one the corridor wall, trying to catch his breath.
"Wh-why the Officer's Mess?" Ingram wheezed, gasping for air.
Nicolas swallowed with pain, his throat as dry as sand paper. "That was where the escape shuttles were at." His fingers found its way to the mic toggle.
"Report," he rasped.
"Nance here, sir," even his usual stoic voice trembled; "I have Stapleton with me and a few others but I think I lost Page and the rest…" he trailed off.
Nicolas's heart leapt and fell at the news.
"Fuck!" Nicolas was in time to see Ingram slammed his fist onto the ground. The men breathed in deeply to calm his nerves and spoke softly into his mic.
"I lost O'Hara and Elliot," Ingram muttered with anguish.
"I am sorry." Nicolas squeezed his long time comrade by the arm.
"Let's get off this hellhole before it takes us down with it." He waved it off and helped him up.
Before they set off to their intended destination, Nicolas was dismayed to find a patch of moist warmness between his crotch. It had been years since he last wet himself in the field.
But you have to be alive to feel ashamed.
********
Lelouch was utterly confused.
Last thing that he remembered was been strap on a crucifix and watching C.C. been molested on a monitor. Traces of white hot anger still lingered within his veins. But there was no gut jerking pain, no torn flesh or scars. He was not even in his emperor's robe.
The Ashford Academy uniform hugged his frame like second skin. There was a solid wall of thick, murky cloud a few feet away from where he stood, kept in place by an invisible barrier. And opposite of that solid white wall, stood a marvellous structure of magnificent design.
It reminded him of the Royal Museum of Britannia. But even the most impressive edifice of the Empire was no match to what stood in front of him. The columns were fuller and the pillars more numerous. The cella doors grander and was more imposing. The pediments and stone etchings that much more exquisite. The marble sculptures alongside the grand steps were the most animated he had ever witnessed.
His body seemed to be gravitating by all that it had encompassed, until a figure sauntered gracefully and stop at the top of the steps.
Lelouch's body pitched forward, broke out in a dead run up onto the shiny marble steps. His lungs burned at the exertion while taking two, sometimes three steps at a time. But at was the least of his concern. The object of his affection, the woman that occupied his thoughts of late was standing at the head of the step, waiting for his arrival.
"C-Two!" he shouted. The mention of her name alone infused him with more stamina, as he steamrolled up the grand steps.
His mind hadn't decided what to do when he reached her. Does he embrace her? Squeeze her so hard until she cries for pain? Or does he pick her up and fly her into the air like carousel, with whatever meager energy that he has left? Or –
His floundering exhilaration quenched in a blink of an eye. His long strides faltering, he came to halt two steps down from the limed hair beauty.
She looked like her, moved like her, she even smelled like her and yet he did not know her. Fear, disappointment, confusion, anger and hopelessness went through his mind in sequence, gradually seizing his thoughts. Lelouch was left with a trembling jaw and unblinking eyes.
The mysterious woman stared back at him quizzically, only for a brief moment; a fleck of realization crossed her features.
"It's you again," the woman stated flatly.
She even sounded the same. Lelouch felt like screaming. He wasn't sure if he could stand losing her over again…wait, something didn't add up…
"Who are you?" The question rolled through his tongue without his assent. The woman's façade too detached, tone too callous to be the slave girl that he knew, could she be…?
Pause…
"I am the Curator."
To Be Continue…
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