Disclaimer: I own nothing of Code Geass, nor of Guilty Gear, nor to a lesser extent, BlazBlue and Rewrite. I do own this story, and all the inspirations along with it. And of course, the brain where the ideas came from.
"All units, disengage! Contact the Preserve's disaster groups, tell them to reactivate the Code of weather exclusion as soon as possible! Move all civilians in the shelters near a two mile radius around the Palace! Knights-"
The open channel communication by Suzaku's sensei was little heard as the Lancelot gazed from the top of a building at the chaos that had been wrought on the Viceroy's Palace. The torrents of water that had been but a trickle of rain moments before had ripped into the pyramidally-shaped building, some streams flowing down the sides towards the main base, others impacting onto the surface of the pyramid itself, boring its way through to the interior like worms.
He didn't have to guess the torrents' effect on those who were still inside the Palace. The water seemed neverending, pouring from an unseen spot in the sky like an angry cyclone, as if sent by some vengeful water god to judge humanity.
But he knew that wasn't true. It was the action of a thing pretending to be a god, an abomination that should never have been born to this world. Now that it seemed to have carried through with its threats, there was nothing human about the Gear to Suzaku, no matter how verbose or well-cultured it had spoken to the world. Such a disgusting way of "proving" its power was obviously some other way of unleashing its true self – the only purpose of a Gear, after all, was to destroy.
Down below, a number of Britannian Knightmares were dragging one of their own by their Harkens, the lone Sutherland struggling to escape their grasp, as if it wanted to be free to dash back towards the dangerous flood that would engulf man and Knightmare alike.
Lancelot's Factspheres then registered, Suzaku was pained to see, the appearance of biological forms being swept away, along with spare Knightmares, tanks, weaponry and all kinds of things from within the palace that would soon become flotsam and jetsam. He watched as his sensei's Frame and some other Knights in Knightmares returned on ice ars, picking up and extracting whatever body they could before they could be swept away.
"Zero..."
A face suddenly pushed itself into his display, a smiling, bespectacled one that proclaimed, "Sir Devicer! Are you-" Then the man stopped and sighed. After, he spoke again, "It's really good to see you, you see, there's been a disaster or so we've heard from the emergency channel, and although our end doesn't report the Lancelot missing, we'd still be worried about its well-being. Could you come back now while-"
"I'm terribly sorry, sir." Suzaku said, looking but not looking at the man, his vision shooting past that face at the terrible sight. In his mind's eye, he was staring into that maleficent face, with the faded indigo sphere that seemed like a gigantic eye to him now. "But justice must be met."
"Justice? What are you talking about?"
"Lloyd sir, he's activated the second stage Factsphere system!" came the alarmed voice of the woman, whose fine, worried face now appeared on screen. "Please don't Mr. Kururugi, that's still an experimental system that could give you severe side-effects!"
"I have to use it!" declared Suzaku. The Lancelot now glowed a fierce pale blue, its magical matrixes filling up through its connection to Suzaku with lightning-charged energy, making the Factspheres burn and revolve faster than ever.
"As much as it would be interesting to test, she's right, Mr. Devicer! Not only would it affect you, it would severely damage the Lancelot! What the heck do ya think you're doing?"
"I shall find Zero..." Suzaku informed them. "And with these hands, end his detestable existence."
"That's suicide, Kururugi! The Lancelot doesn't even have any Variable Pack installed yet! You won't stand a chance against a Gear with that power!"
Their entreaties were lost on the youth, at that moment, they had become background chatter just like the emergency announcements in the open channel. He turned off the display, severing the communication, and watched the data stream into his mind, causing his entire body to heat up, as he begun to sweat greatly. The overload of information in his mind would have caused a lesser man to collapse, but Suzaku was not just any man.
He was doing calculations using the "experimental system" with the speed and expertise that his friend would have been proud of, his consciousness moving through the digital mindspace filled with magical signatures of everything the Factspheres could detect, from the lowest vermin to the dying embers of Zero's victims, to the blazing power that emanated from the Knights in their Frames. Suzaku searched and searched, eyes watering and bearing the pain of a hammer being pushed against his forehead until he found it. Found them.
)()()()()()()()(
The structures erected within Pendragon, the Holy Britannian Empire's capital, have endured the centuries with barely a change in position or construction. The advent of technology and magic did not necessitate a break from tradition, and so the spires and ziggurats from which proud Britannians once stood to contemplate the world they had left over the sea continued to serve other, perhaps different purposes in this day and age. The Chamber of the Throne for example, the literal heart of hearts within the capital was on the outside still made of mud and stone that once formed the base of the proud Britannian cities of the past.
The Altar, a mausoleum-like structure within Pendragon, was one of those buildings that wore and discarded many namesthroughout history. Only the dusty historians knew of its ancient purpose, the haggard emeritus deigned only to learn a part of its self, the Britannian heirs and heiresses who used it most only viewed it as their place of gathering, of a neutral ground where only those of the purest blood were allowed to enter. Very few Britannian Emperors or Empresses went their lifetimes without ever having participated in a gathering at the Altar, and then again, those were the ones with the shortest reigns.
This building was necessary, for one of the unwritten creeds that were drilled into the minds of the Imperial siblings since birth was the importance of the bond of blood. One's siblings always came first in any affair, and in times of duress when it was necessary to turn against each other, care should be taken to conduct oneself with the utmost honor and grace to preserve the integrity of the creed of blood. Such an arrangement served to cement one of the foundations of the Most Hallowed Throne.
Not even the most valiant of Knights of Rounds or the most loyal of retainers were allowed inside; even the Emperor was discouraged to do so, as his generation had already passed.
During the reign of Emperor Charles zi Britannia, the Altar served a three-part purpose: a private place for a gathering of the royal siblings, an alternative briefing room for the more delicate commissions for them, and an audience area where their admirers were allowed to greet and pay lip-service to their sources of admiration.
Presently the vast room, the largest in the building and bound by layers upon layers of ars, was used for the first purpose. Accordingly, the scenery was different: the walls plastered a straight ebony, with streaks of blue and red. In the center was a cone-shaped object that rose halfway to the ceiling, and from it grew white lines, a hundred or so in number, which attached themselves to glowing, floating circles that dotted the room. The number of circles corresponded to the number of siblings currently living, though it would take some time for one to disappear during the chance of a death.
On this most auspicious day, almost all, with the exception of two or three, of the Imperial siblings were present.
Sitting on conjured chairs on most the activated circles was a son or daughter of Charles, their own space within the circle customized in color and appearance, each floating freely in the nebulous space.
To one side were gathered a group of circles, while others waited to the sides like castaway stars. Within that huddle a discussion was occuring, at the very centre of which were the Princes and Princesses acknowledged to have the greatest minds in this generation of siblings.
"I'm fairly certain it is but a recording." The opinion was voiced by the placid, dreamy voice of one of the most prominent of the heirs, Second Prince Schneizel, who sat with hands steepled while he stared at the gigantic screen before the assembly that displayed the ominous face nof the one who named itself Zero. "Leaving aside the scattered reports Cornelia has brought us live from Area Eleven intel," he inclined his head at the Princess, "it would be difficult to be speaking to the world thus while at the same time conducting its campaign in the Preserve."
"But it's a Gear, after all, they aren't quite so understood," said one of the Princes. "This Zero might have the capabilities that allow such a behavior."
"My conclusion is backed by other things." He waved for the already recorded parts of the message to replay on the screen watched by all. "Notice the distortion quality in the video, in particular the fallout density that is supposed to like sand. In a video that is broadcasted live from within the Deadzones, the distortion is enough to warp the subject's phase. Yet as we see throughout," he fastforwarded several frames back and forth, "that while the sand gives the appearance of obscuring the subject, the subject's face remains intact and viewable. If we take the liberty to separate the layers like so," he emphasized, and now the frozen view of Zero's face was clear without the sand, "And view it again, one will come to the conclusion that the sand is but a visual illusion that was only achieved by ars or edited into the broadcast itself. As to my second point, notice now that the sand is gone, there is a hint of sun in the upper-right corner, though most of the time it's obscured for some reason. See...this section and then this...fastforward some more, and there it is again. I rather suspect Zero recorded this underneath one of the skyways, but at this point it may as well have been a bird that flew in front of his source of light."
"Astounding!" ejaculated another Prince. "Simply astounding, dear brother! And to think you concluded thus from but seeing the mere initial transmission?"
"Hardly," Schneizel answered humbly, "Though I already had suspicions when I viewed the difference in his face and the apparent distortion, but I had to test it myself to be sure. It's how I discovered the fact of the sunlight."
"Amazing..." echoed one of the princesses near Cornelia. "Does this mean Zero's as smart as it claims to be?"
"Not so if Schneizel can see right through him as quick as that!" laughed another.
"There is another point that I am rather divided about." Schneizel continued, silencing the banter that was about to erupt in the assembly. "I am of the opinion that this Zero, whatever else he may appear to be, is a Britannian by blood, or in another way, had a Britannian upbringing. It's possible he is something else, but his speech, unless purposely made for him to speak by a probable master figure, is almost entirely indicative of a Britannian pedigree."
"The Gear's a Britannian? I'd like to throttle the one who had the gall to raise such a beast," groused a Prince.
"Perhaps not," Cornelia li Britannia finally spoke. "To look at it in another way, Britannia has a bigger family to Gear ratio than all the rest of the nations combined. It's possible that there's a bigger chance for a supposedly civilized Gear like this to have been under the wing of a Britannian house."
"Exactly what I was going to say, thank you dear Sister," Schneizel said, beaming at her. "In addition, it has been unfortunately proven through many surveys from the Guardians that more Gears under Britannians have rebelled under their masters as well. I submit that this Zero has at least Britannian sensibilities."
"Very well Brother," said the Crown Prince from the side amiably. "Let's hear your evidence." The screen that had shrunk expanded to full again, and Schneizel took to manipulating the images on it with his fingers.
""My name is Zero. Citizens of the Imperial Sovereign-"
"From the very start, I've had flashes to my old tutor's term for when Britannia was under the tripartite succeeding reigns of the Auden ci line, when this term was first coined. This is no ordinary household name. This is a name that is only mentioned in books written by our countrymen, and only sparingly to minimize the shame that has been brought about by the Audens. In addition, note how Zero solely uses this term for our Empire, the rest of the nations have been properly addressed. The significance was not lost on me."
"-a veritable human mule with two opposable thumbs and a strength to match the gods!-"
"A passage of coincidence or one lifted directly from one of the Circle heretics' apocryphal books? Only mages in training who have the remote curiosity to look into translations of the books could learn about this secret phrasing. Zero either did its research well, or has access to a Britannian library, which we all know only countrymen are allowed to enter." The Prince fast-forwarded to a section of Zero's speech which he played for the rest in silence, before speaking again.
"And then comes his spiel on the rhetoric: 'the strong over the weak'."
"It is true, to a degree." A lot of the other siblings nodded.
"Yes, but bear with me for the sake of the discussion, brother. Where else would one be inculcated to spout aphorisms on the superiority of strength than in Britannia? It is one of the tenets we in the Empire share, and is openly and secretly reviled as an ideology by the other nations, even the Order to an extent. Thus, with these three points in his speech, I have determined that Zero is most likely to be Britannian in upbringing.
"Of course, the issue on whether or not Zero has a greater master who put the entire speech in its mouth for an unknown purpose is still one that presents itself to me, and one which I generally dislike. For if Zero is but a mouthpiece, then it throws my future assertions out of the window, and it puts its involvement in Area Eleven in a ridiculous light. I would feel as if I had wasted my thought processes on him for nothing.
"But if we accept the hypothesis that Zero is a Britannian, or has Britannian sensibilities, then it behooves us to ask a question: what then is its purpose? Disregarding the rhetoric in its speech, there must be a deeper reason which attempts to reveal itself to us from its supposed actions: having its subordinate Gears perform those attacks, ignoring the obvious predeliction to kill, etc."
"Brother," Cornelia said, eyes on the screen in front of her. "The Gear has apparently unleashed some sort of spell on the Viceroy's Palace!"
"Ah, then it is being destructive towards the Britannian district in general? If it is Britannian, then it must have suffered some indignity under Britannian hands to necessitate a vindication. Although that is still too obvious a plot for a mindset which has played all the forces in Area Eleven for fools. Perhaps..." a thought occured to the Prince then, causing his expression to shift ever so slightly, before he wheeled his chair to glance askance at his sister who was still sifting through the reports.
"Cornelia, have the guards confirmed Clovis' arrival in the shelter?" he asked, his eyes already shifting back to a glazed faraway look.
"No, the Royal Guards haven't reported in a while, understandable because of...the...emergency-" she was quick to tap on something on the screen. "This is Cornelia li Britannia, Second Princess, I demand a status report on my brother the Viceroy, now!"
"My apologies, your highness," came the harassed, distorted voice over the channel, "But due to- water- Royal Guards have not- no transmission of help from the Royal-"
"Hasn't anyone there checked the lifeline channels?" Cornelia asked again. Schneizel leaned back into his chair, tapping the interface calmly in front of him.
"It's too late, sister. I'm positive that Gear's purpose had been partially or fully achieved." Schneizel muttered "fascinating" under his breath. "We can only pray the Gear is merciful to our brother. If not..." he quirked an eyebrow briefly, aware of the looks of outrage and fear mixed in the faces of each Prince and Princess now wore.
)()()()()()()()(
He awoke from the cold crushing pressure, a sensation he'd never felt before. Next came the more familiar ones, the cold creeping up from out of his bones, but leaving a lingering sensation that kept him rooted. And then there was light, but without its warmth.
"I...am Clovis la Britannia. I-I...demand my release, monster!"
There were a lot of things he could use to describe that...thing. In a more relaxed, pleasant environment, he would've taken a step back and framed the creature with his fingers, finding the right colors, terms, or rhymes to describe it. An honored assembly would clap, praising the rather morbid words wrapped in fine, black satin, and he would bow gracefully like the master artist he was.
But here, and now...that thing was a monster. Monster. No, he must master the fear! He was an Imperial Heir!
"And what would a mere Gear demand of my Eminence? I must warn you, my humor is vast, but to carry it to this extent would be to risk my anger."
The darkshrouded thing stood perfectly still, its lack of a face an unnerving advantage over him. It tilted its head like a predatorial owl, and just like it, the Gear swooped through the short distance to push its face against his. Clovis heard the flapping of wings.
"You're as dense as ever, brother. To think that it was but a feeling of yesterday when I brushed off your attempt at an intrigue, unknowing of your words' hidden depths. What a fool I was not to notice it. This is why you're ever the master of word-play. Well done." The Gear nonsensically clapped its hands. "But, yes, to business. I have brought you out of your castle, dear Viceroy, to inquire. I am a rather impatient Gear, and I would advise you to take especial care not to supply me with misdirections or falsehoods."
"I assure you...troubled sir, that I'm not privy to the greatest secrets of the Empire, and what I do have seems to be of little use to you since you've overcome my castle's defenses to capture me. Perhaps the fellows at local Intelligence would know more, as I feel they do." The prince looked to the sides, seeing a cloudy darkness surrounding his shoulders and arms.
"Oh, but it is not the matter of the public or private workings of the Empire's foothold in the Far East that concerns me, brother."
"Why do you persist in calling me that which I am not? I am no Gear's brother."
"Oh, my pardons. It seems I have much yet to learn of prisoner conventions." Black slimy tendrils erupted from the ground below Clovis, wrapping themselves around his remaining body. The Gear took a step back, spreading its wings. The Prince wondered what would come next, what other horror this thing would show. He vowed to himself to begin supporting the Circle radicals' campaign to eradicate all magical creatures, after today.
)()()()()()()()(
The resealing process only took a short while, but it was decidedly painful on one's head. C.C had given him the bare-bones explanation on what the mechanics behind the shifting between human and Gear form was, but even now he had yet to grasp the science behind it.
The partial reseal, which would give him some measure of Gear potential left, involved the dispersal of the substance on his head, the blackness receding to reveal his normal, though emaciated-looking face, and then his wings would shorten in length, folding to the size of his back behind him. The rest of his body was stuck in a cross of a scaly dragon-like leg and his human form.
As a bonus, it was in this form that the insufferable tailed appendage grew. C.C had giggled uncharacteristically when she saw it.
He gave a mock bow, imitating Clovis' own flourishes whenever he did his own. "Well now brother, let us start over. Firstborn of the late Consort Marianne vi Britannia, the Seventeenth, and the Eleventh Prince: Lelouch vi Britannia. It is good to see you again, brother."
There, he surmised the shock value would linger for but moments before he would press his inquiry. He expected his brother to be angry, scared, horrified, elated? He would gauge his brother's condition based on whichever reaction the other would show.
"L-Lelouch!"
...is what he expected Clovis to say. However, Lelouch himself looked dumbfounded to see Clovis' lack of a reaction. The Prince remained looking at him with that hint of disgust, opening his mouth to refute, "Don't joke around, Gear. The Late Marianne never had any heirs to bear, and even if she had, it wouldn't turn out to be an unsightly Gear like you. Your role-play is commendable, but I believe, in bad taste."
Lelouch sniffed, his tail whipping around in slight agitation. He should have expected this. It was after all, one of the conditions, but it was too farfetched and nigh-impossible a scenario that he had dismissed it to the fringe. And now that the evidence was before him, he was unprepared for the pain that shot through his heart, clenching over it like one crushes a grape.
"I see. So it really has extended to you. That damnable old man... Before I 'raise your illusions' for you, answer my question. What do you know of Lady Marianne's death?"
"I will never answer a Gear like you," Clovis said in cold defiance.
"Fool! Don't you understand your situation? Don't make me do something to you I shall regret! Come, Prince, be forthright, for the sake of the bond you have forgotten."
"And I keep telling you, Gear," that your baseless words and false masks are facile! That brazen dyke Marianne has never had any heirs like you, though now it is understandable that such an uncouth spawn could ever exist! Your delusions of Princely-"
"Shut up!" Lelouch roared, holding his hand out and silencing his brother's outburst with tendrils of shadow shot through his mouth. The creeping dark threatened to return, his tail shortening and his wings lengthening, almost forcing him to become 'Zero'. "You WILL answer me then, Clovis! Were YOU responsible for my mother's death or not? You claimed to have a suspicious announcement on the day of her death, and that can only lead me to suspect you had a hand in it! Even without the illusion breaking, I will have my ANSWER!"
A blaze of power erupted from him, almost blinding and deafening him to his brother's screams as his vision was filled with the shadow of his legacy. His brother answered, his throat being constricted by the masses of shadow around it, "Announcement?- gack- I- I- on that day -gasp- I- was made a Viceroy- foul Gear- that is all! That is all!"
He had been grandstanding for a foolish announcement like that? Why had he bothered doing all this then? Still- "Then answer! Who do you know has had a connection to the murders? ANSWER!"
"I will not- even if you- k-k-gack-kill me, Gear, you foolish- foolish mon-sterrrrr,"
He waved, the shadows relaxing but not receding. "Hmph. Have it your way. I'm sure I'll enjoy tormenting your new self as much as this one," so saying, he crafted the ars that C.C had taught him, the same one used on him to dispel the 'illusion', the memory seal in his mind. He cast it after uttering the command words at his brother, watching as a sliver of something like ink shot out from his finger to impact against Clovis' forehead.
Such a scream he'd never heard any man sing before. It rattled into his ears, echoing into the chambers of his head. Zero clenched his fists in front, wondering what had caused his brother to scream and struggle and bite his mouth like so. Had he made a mistake with his spell. Without delay he shot out a clawed hand on Clovis' head, but that only seemed to aggravate whatever pain his brother felt, causing his voice to finally break in mid-scream. The silent, hoarse breaths Clovis kept on making, Zero realized, seemed worse than the ear-shattering one that he'd just heard.
"You idiot boy. You're only making it worse," C.C said from behind. Zero whipped around, his gaze searching her face questioningly. Putting aside how she'd found his interrogation spot in the Dead Zone, he replied, "C.C., I did the ars as you asked, but it seems-"
"Well, Zero, I wonder why that could be, how that ars, deceptively powerful in the hands of the skilled, could ever become this destructive on the mind when cast by a fully realized Gear."
"You mean...?" Zero looked at himself, at the rune signature that glowed dully and fully below him.
"This is why I kept reminding you to shift back during your 'interrogation'. I told you to remember your timelimit even in spite of your near-perfect control when fully realized. But you've got that stubborn hard-head of yours that only listens to yourself." C.C strode to where Clovis lay, eyes rolled back and blood streaming from every orifice in his head. "You may have just killed your brother in your anger, little Gear. Such sheer stupidity."
"I-" Zero, once imposing and tall, shrank before the shorter girl, stumbling back with wings trembling. "This- I never meant to- no! It was but a miscalculation-"
"A miscalculation of such magnitude that it has killed." C.C put a pale, hesitant hand on the convulsing prince's forehead.
Clovis was proud, yes, foolishly so, and was one of those types of nobles that Lelouch could never stomach- but he never hated him, he would never willingly cause him harm, Clovis was after all, a sometimes companion when he and Nunnally grew up, insinuating himself but never completely, skating on the point of being annoying, but he was the occasional ally, looking out for Nunnally when he or Euphie or Cornelia or the governesses weren't there, Lelouch would never willingly hurt- for was that not the tenets of the Imperial succession? Blood above all, preserve the purity- no, he could not have-
"Useless. You couldn't even get the answers you worked so hard to establish 'conditions' for. Looks like your journey's off to a very stormy start. 'Command Gear' indeed. Justice would be laughing in his grave." C.C turned from him, and that was all Zero could take.
Child, you can never amount to anything if you continue thus. You are worthless in the eyes of the Throne.
He left.
)()()()()()()()(
The Gears were too fast, moving faster than the experimental system could track them through the haze of seithr and radiation. He'd already dashed past through the Preserve's big barrier, the Lancelot a literal blue-white bolt of lightning that streaked through to the Dead Zone.
"Damnit!" He had tracked them, sure, but at this rate he would be chasing many afterimages that each shot in different directions, with none of them seeming to look so powerful as Zero, his target.
The status feed on his interface was already bleeding to yellow, a sign he did not like, but knew he should ignore to succeed. He was as unstoppable as a bolt of lightning, searching for the target through warped, twisted buildings and rocky outcrops of junk and filth.
Abruptly, a magical signature in the system flared, brighter and stronger than any he had encountered thus far. Could it be? It seemed to be close. Lancelot used its harkens to slingshot without pause through a fallen steel girder and around a building.
There!
Ignoring all others, including the insistent beep coming from Lloyd and his sensei, Suzaku stared at his quarry, his prey. The thing stood on top of a particularly high mountain of junk, solidified through the years to become as packed as earth.
Zero...was at the peak, perhaps gloating over its insane form of justice.
The worn-out Landspinners propelled the Lancelot forward, and it shot towards the mountain with a keening sound like that of static. To a distant observer, the Lancelot had become a literal bolt of lightning, ricocheting over obstacle after obstacle like an unrelenting current.
Zero was either foolish or too proud of its own power. The bolt had started to ascend the steep surface of the mountain steadily, using the harkens to repeatedly boost itself up.
"Here is your justice, Zero! I shall give it to you!" After one more boost with the Harkens, the Lancelot was at the peak, and for Suzaku time seemed to freeze as he flew in midair, almost eye-to-eye with the abomination calling itself Zero. Suzaku bared his teeth, his magical arrays charging through the Lancelot's to deliver a powerful, potent ars blast. "I have your head, Zero."
Then as if from nowhere, something dark and red and beastly appeared in front of his interface, and the blast of lightning that was supposed to be for Zero slammed with full force against an opposing energy, something equally red as its source.
The two forces clashed in midair, Suzaku gritting his teeth and giving his all to power through the last obstacle, though the equilibrium held, frustratingly, no side faltering or strengthening. In the end, the clash was nullified, and the Lancelot, having lost momentum, started to fall.
"Not yet!" The systems screamed itself red now, though Suzaku was heedless of it, shooting another harken to steady himself. He charged another attack, and something at the back of his mind thought it would be the last, perhaps knowing the body's limits, but the youth did not heed it, remembering Nunnally, Lelouch, his sensei and the people who had been overwhelmed by the torrent and he flew back up, a ball of lightning already unleashed.
But the thing returned to block him again, glowing red like a brilliant bonfire, and their powers met in a teeth-grinding clash, blue against red, Suzaku shouting himself hoarse at his impediment, willing everything to overcome. "You still oppose me? Get out of the way!" As if in response, the blazing glow from the other side seemed to intensify, almost matching his own.
"NO!" the youth screamed, the clashing forces ending which sent him plummeting once more, and he cursed as the harkens failed to land, for everything was red now, red as the fury boiling out from within him, and with the last dregs he caught onto a rock with Lancelot's hand. "NOT YET! J-JUSTICE!" Suzaku babbled, the sweat blinding him just as much as his frustration.
He didn't know what happened next, perhaps the energy had run out, or that thing had attacked, for the next sensation he felt was falling freely through the air, the peak disappearing (was it crumbling?) from in front of him. Gravity claimed him as the bolt of fizzled lightning fell from the high place, the Devicer muttering in an adrenaline-starved daze, "So this...is my limit?...or is it the world's, no...nature's...will...? Damn you, Zero..." Suzaku slumped forward into darkness.
And he slept.
AN: My ankle is healed! It probably means a lot of things, such as the progress rate of this story. We shall see.
Thanks for reading!
Merlin Out.