Knights or Justice?
Chapter 2: "Coffee Clash"
by AstroCitizen
Imperial Palace, the City of Pendragon
Holy Empire of Britannia, mainland (a.k.a. Area 1)
The Retaliation plus two days
Despite all his accomplishments and titles, Sir Bismarck Waldstein felt mildly self-conscious, as he and the newly arrived prince made their way, hurriedly but not unseemly so, through the halls of the Imperial Palace. He was of high birth himself, a duke no less, in addition to being the Knight of One, foremost member and leader of the Knights of the Round. Nevertheless, Waldstein was not royalty, not even via a marriage to one of the princesses, and Lelouch vi Britannia was. It wasn't done for a prince to walk behind a knight, even one so decorated as himself.
Perhaps he wants you as a human shield? voiced a cynical portion of his mind.
The 11th Prince had been a lamb among wolves during his short childhood in Pendragon, and despite his rising star in the Empire since returning to the fold, he was hardly a prodigal son to the eyes of many of the imperial court. Even he who had it within his power to treat Lelouch as such, and to a degree had, viewed his prospects as still balanced upon a razor's edge. And it was for that above all other reasons that, if the absurd possibility was true, Lelouch was making a grave mistake depending upon the Knight of One.
Charles zi Britannia was his Lord and Master, ordained by God to drag Britannia and by extension mankind out of the muck and mire of its sinful history to greater glory. For that alone, Sir Bismarck would never abandon his post to shield another soul, not even a frightened, helpless child; in fact, he would do quite the contrary. He'd done so before, hence Lelouch's checkered past with the royal family, and he would do it again if need be, as much as it was necessary to afford His Majesty the time to write the final page on mankind's sordid past.
No, far more likely a reason the prince had insisted that he be led the way was simply because he didn't know where the others were gathered. The Emperor had shut himself away on what many assumed was yet another sabbatical from the mundane daily grind of the Empire. And so the lion's share of responsibility yet again had fallen to Prince Schneizel, who'd called together an emergency meeting of the royal court in light of yesterday's events. As always, Prince Odysseus and other available princes and princesses were gathering in one of the palace's lounge areas for their meeting, a coffee klatch to be more accurate. There, details could be addressed and hammered out, along with any frayed nerves and hasty words, in the comfort they were accustomed to before proceeding to the palace's main conference room with its high ceiling, vowel-shaped table, spotlights, and cameras.
And being a stranger to the palace for so long, Lelouch would have no idea which lounge they used or where it would be, he concluded with a brief affirmative nod to himself. He then steeled his neck against turning to look back at the prince over his shoulder, his description of the siblings' meetings bringing about another thought. Perhaps it would be better if he missed the meeting after all. From the looks of him, caffeine is the last thing his system needs.
Seventeenth in line to the throne, an officer of no little rank in His Majesty's military, a nobleman since his success in Africa, and most recently the duly appointed Viceroy of Area 11, the so-called Black Prince of Britannia had arrived at the airport just a half-hour ago after his supersonic flight from the former Japanese islands. Arrayed in a crisp uniform as black as Waldstein's own was white, austere yet still ornate with some brief silver piping, Lelouch kept his emotions whatever they may be firmly in check, a far cry from the defiant child who'd been stripped of his title seven years ago. His gaze was steady, his jaw set, an attaché case clasped firmly in one arm while the other hung loosely but not slovenly so. And yet…
Those same hands twitched mildly every so often, and his brow had a sheen of cold sweat upon it. When the prince had been greeted at the entrance, even with his one free eye it hadn't escaped Waldstein's attention that one of his legs jiggled ever so slightly, as if he wished to be somewhere else very badly. Given his past, it wouldn't be too far off that he was nervous of having another meeting with His Majesty, but all the same… Having lived through the invasion of Japan, the death of his beloved sister, and the intervening years as a commoner – "Little better than the guttersnipe that he truly is," some gossiped – one would expect Lelouch to be able to take anything life threw at him and remain standing.
Of course, he recalled that the viceroy's palace for Area 11 had been attacked by the invaders, a fight occurring within his very office. To have actually suffered a close-combat situation unexpectedly was surely a traumatic episode, especially in so familiar an environment. Waldstein again internally nodded to himself that this was the likely answer, slowing his pace as he approached the final turn towards the royal siblings' lounge. Standing aside, he gestured for the prince to precede him, and then fell in step as they carried on to the doors, which were opened by a pair of helmeted royal guards, standing ramrod straight bearing combination rifles/pole-arms, their livery flawless as always.
Inside was an expensively decorated yet still pleasant large seating area with armchairs, settees, and coffee tables rearranged by the servants in preparation for the special assembly. While not standing room only, it was still well-filled with the Emperor's children, a few having even brought along their retainers and advisors. Many were already in tiny groups speaking quietly among themselves, the occasion soft peal of laughter sadly reflecting that not all were concerned with the present crisis but rather were engaged in typical small talk.
While not announced as one would find with a formal ball, Lelouch's entrance did not go unnoticed. The most typical reaction of many was a glance his direction, followed by a brief grimace, then a return to their idle chatter. Waldstein then smiled broadly in spite of himself as one reaction, unlike the rest but typical in its own way, played out before him.
"Lelouch? You're here! You're safe! You're here and you're safe! Oh, thank Heavens!" the Third Princess of Britannia cried out as she launched herself at her favorite among her half-brothers. While she'd been standing only a few feet from the very doors they just passed through, it was sufficient for Euphemia li Britannia to gain enough momentum to nearly knock the Black Prince to the floor as she tackle-hugged him.
Until then, she'd been standing apart from the rest, silently dabbing her reddened eyes with a frilly handkerchief. Yesterday, her sister Cornelia's headquarters in Gibraltar had been one of the areas attacked, and now the marshal and her closest aides were missing. There were always rumors and preliminary reports such as these, Cornelia being habitually incommunicado for hours at a time as she led her troops from her custom-made Gloucester, but this time such reports had been authenticated. Euphemia had been informed of this development that morning, and while she was now past the crisis stage in her anxiety, the perfunctory well-wishes and crocodile tears of many of her siblings only served to rattle her composure.
Even in her worried frame of mind, however, the pink-haired girl carried herself with her normal exuberance. As she continued to bear-hug her reserved brother, a fond memory of Waldstein's first real meeting with her came to mind. He'd knelt on one knee in greeting as was customary, the five-year-old Euphemia in answer only looking at him with wide, quizzical eyes as if he were a kangaroo she'd unexpectedly come across in the foyer. She then did a clumsy but sincere curtsy as was expected of her before abandoning all decorum, wrapping her little arms around his neck and giving him a peck on the cheek, thanking him for protecting her father.
I could probably count on one hand the number of times I've known His Majesty to be referred to as "father" by his children, the Knight of One thought as he took in the matured young woman, still unchanged in many ways, before him. He frowned at the notion, finding it somehow disturbing although he wasn't quite sure why. The Emperor had taken upon the duty of fulfilling the Lord's work, after all, in the face of which "family time" was inconsequential. They'll all reconcile and thank him in the end, whether in this world or the next, I'm sure of it.
Deciding to refocus on his present duty, which was to look after – or keep an eye on, to be more honest – the royal court in his master's absence, Waldstein shook himself as he returned to the present, and so picked up on some behavior that was uncharacteristic…
There had been the initial surprise, of course, but instead of the usual embarrassed acceptance of the inevitable, Lelouch had actually welcomed his half-sister's undignified greeting, returning her hug wholeheartedly. He oddly seemed unwilling to let her go for once, going so far as to rest his head against her shoulder even as she did likewise. It lasted only for a minute though before Lelouch – having drawn some measure of strength from her attentions – placed his now-steadied hands on her shoulders and gently but firmly pushed themselves apart.
"Yes, Euphie, I'm here now," he spoke evenly, "and as you can see I'm perfectly fine. So you can – no… NO!" Lelouch's tone was sympathetic but still admonishing as Euphemia's expression returned to cold dread, looking away as a fresh stream of tears threatened to erupt. Plucking the hankie from her hand, he gripped her shoulder and made her face him as he dried her eyes, still speaking words of encouragement. "Euphie, Cornelia's going to be okay. She's made of iron, we both know that. And wherever she may be, she has Sir Gilbert and General Darlton with her. Just like you have me, and Odysseus, and Schneizel, and… so many of us right alongside you."
Having taken up his place at the head of the room before the main doors, Waldstein couldn't help but hear this last bit fall unconvincingly from Prince Lelouch's mouth as he tried to calm Euphemia over the fate of their missing sister. With a glance, he understood why as, over the princess's shoulder, Lelouch could plainly see two of his other half-sisters, Guinevere su and Carine ne Britannia. They were already making themselves at home on one of the more strategically-placed divans, Guinevere idly flipping her ever-present compact mirror over and around her fingers while Carine scowled at the scene Lelouch and Euphemia were making, giving them a look both derisive and jealous.
For most of the half-siblings, the hierarchical stance of their respective mothers had failed to garner enough attention for His Majesty to father a second child with them, and so each was in a way an only child. Add in that they were most often spoiled rotten and one found a host of princes and princesses who had little understanding or appreciation for the closeness of family. There were a bare handful of exceptions, though, which either came naturally as with the li Britannia sisters or Lelouch and his sister (God rest her soul), or by overcoming the emotional hurdle as had Odysseus, Schneizel, and to a lesser degree Clovis.
This did not include these two princesses, however. Among the earliest born and therefore most prominent children of the Emperor, they'd been expected to share a good deal of time associating with royal siblings of similar status when they were younger… which often had proven a bad idea.
Guinevere was disinclined to associate with others, holding herself at a smug distance. The First Princess of the Empire, a childhood belief that she was thus owed a Prince Charming straight out of Brothers Grimm led her to constantly maintain her appearance so she would look perfect when that happy day finally arrived. This had overtime devolved into self-obsession, her beauty maintained while her soul shriveled with neglect.
For the longest time, Sir Bismarck liked to think that, somewhere deep down, there beat the heart of a hopeless romantic within her. That was until the debut of her latest accessory, which was a tattoo of a rose – A "tramp-stamp" as the commoners call it, if I'm not mistaken – upon her left breast. Displaying it necessitated changes to her wardrobe, whose décolletage already taxed the boundaries of good taste. After that, a part of him threw up his hands in disgust and tried not to think about her at all.
Vain and snobby as she was, Guinevere had still known well enough to carry herself respectfully aloof while younger, leaving it to her mother to heap derision upon her competition for the throne. This on one occasion resulted in a still-discussed showdown where Lelouch's mother had driven her personal Knightmare Frame the Ganymede onto the grounds of Pendragon to demand an apology from her rival consort for her perpetual rumor-mongering.
Carine, on the other hand, made no pretense of her contempt, most of which had been aimed at her primary rival, Princess Nunnally. Born earlier by little more than a few weeks, the Fourth Princess already technically outranked her when she unknowingly rubbed salt into the wound with her warm and appreciative personality. This was a direct contrast to Carine's own, which at first seemed to be a Cornelia-esque appreciation for the martial lifestyle but soon revealed itself as a blood lust of the sort which in ages past had born coliseums and gladiatorial games. This attitude went beyond the standard Britannian values of conquest and subjugation, and so had earned her little in the way of respect or friends and allies.
Taking his eye off Carine, Waldstein glanced at the other royals gathered around her like a herd of antelopes by a crocodile's stream. Most disregarded her as a violent brat, an attitude she encouraged with her hair, worn in oversized pigtails, and her clothes, which brought to mind a child's playsuit with their blown-up pantaloons. A few, however, noted the O-ring adorning her choker as well as the oversized hoop earrings she wore from her pigtails, and humorously imagined a wild ram that had broken its chains.
Oh, if they only knew, he thought with a chill. As Knight of One, he was allowed access to the Emperor's secret files on his children's many foibles and delinquencies, and so was well aware of the Fifth Princess's well-hidden proclivities.
In the distance, bells tolled the hour, and the assembled royalty broke off from their little cliques and ambled to the available seats around the hall. As befitting his rank, Odysseus eu Britannia took up the unspoken executive chair for the meeting, a large comfortable bergère set before the main entrance. The couch on his right was taken up by Prince and Chancellor Schneizel, who'd arrived a minute beforehand alongside Kanon Maldini. An Earl and former classmate, Kanon at some point had become Schneizel's executive assistant and effectively his knight of honor among… other roles in the life of the White Prince of Britannia. With a beckoning gesture, Schneizel was joined by Lelouch, who guided a still-sniffling Euphemia.
As they sat, he briefly heard whispered conversation between Lelouch and Schneizel, the younger brother trying to ascertain their father's presence. Schneizel diplomatically whispered back that Odysseus was heading this meeting, as His Majesty had not answered a request for an audience. The Black Prince seemed to deflate a bit at this, which made Sir Bismarck wonder if maybe he had wanted a meeting with the Emperor.
Despite the emergency state for which they had been called, everyone went through the social niceties of ordering drinks. Most had tea or coffee, although there was the occasional call for a glass of wine. Lelouch was the odd man out, ordering bottled water – specifying that it be brought unopened – for himself and Euphemia, who obviously needed to rehydrate. A suspicion that he was wary of being poisoned proved true when he angrily sent the arriving bottles back after noticing that the stewards, misinterpreting his request, had twisted the caps off to break the seal then twisted them back on beforehand. This earned him a whispered joke between his siblings that the stewards had been afraid he'd be unable to do it himself, which the Black Prince stoically ignored.
"My brothers and sisters, loyal followers of Emperor Charles," Odysseus began, the mild-mannered Crown Prince attempting to sound commanding as he called the royal court to order. "The last twenty-four hours have seen unprecedented damage fall upon our great nation. These have gone beyond the expected raids along the borders by competing powers, or acts of terrorism committed by insurgents within our Areas. A blow has been struck by a faceless enemy against Britannia at key junctures throughout our colonies, leaving the stability of the Empire in question.
"Attempts to contain the extent of the damage have only been mildly successful," he admitted. "While the public sees fit to continue trusting in our ability to safeguard them, there are those both within and without who know or at least suspect the whole truth. Those without smell blood in the water, and those within demand immediate action, a course only we can set." And with this last powerful utterance, the handsome young man then came to a standstill. After a moment's silence, Odysseus then deflated his own inertia with an embarrassed cough into his fist before turning the proceedings over to Schneizel as he returned to his seat. Crown Prince or not, many silently rolled their eyes or sadly shook their heads.
Politely thanking his elder brother for the introduction, the Chancellor stood as he began with a brief rundown of the listed attacks, verifying or discounting many of what his siblings had ascertained. "Most telling have been the attacks in Areas 11 and 18," he cited. "Not only were hangars full of Knightmare Frames demolished, and Sakuradite mines made to collapse upon themselves, but our siblings Cornelia and Lelouch were attacked by the invading parties. Lelouch remains with us," he added, gesturing to his seated brother, he looked back in him in fear for what he would say next. He had not long to wait.
"Cornelia, on the other hand, is still missing, as are her chief attendants. Her Gloucester was heavily damaged to the point that she actually ejected from it." This provoked whispers around the table, as many were aware of her proficiency with the two-story armored exoskeletons that had become the backbone of the Empire's military. Euphemia merely buried her face in her hands, too drained to cry any more as Schneizel continued. "The cockpit was found a short distance away, but had been ripped open, with no sign of the princess within. Sir Gilbert disappeared under similar circumstances, having gone into battle alongside his lady, while General Darlton simply went missing while overseeing attempts to contain a fire that gutted the Moorish castle which Cornelia had made her main headquarters."
"'Ripped open,' you say?" It was less a question than a statement from Guinevere, interrupting the proceedings. Waldstein narrowed his eye at her as she kicked one leg over the other as she swirled her drink in her hand, seemingly meditative. "That's what we really want to know about, dear Schneizel. We can see for ourselves that Lelouch is here and that Cornelia isn't; what we don't see is how these attacks occurred. There are no reports of massed troops along our borders prior to the attacks, no reports of slain combatants recovered afterwards, and no one from Europe, Asia, or even the Number terrorists taking credit. Just inexplicable damage wrought upon our holdings that we depend on!"
The Knight of One cocked a surprised eyebrow at the concise, actually pertinent nature of the outburst from the woman oft referred to as the Modern-day Marie Antoinette. Evidence as to who was responsible was slim to none, which had done nothing but feed wild rumors. There was even talk of monsters and witches having carried out the attacks.
"I don't think they have anything to take credit for, Guinevere," Lelouch responded testily. "My attackers were not uniformed as any of the special force units of the Euro Ultra-union or the Chinese Federation. In fact, they weren't arrayed in what one would call standard uniforms by any stretch of the imagination. They, like their strange… skills, were too outlandish." He then nodded at Schneizel, inviting him to continue, but the First Princess was having none of it.
"'Outlandish,' Lelouch? Were they dressed as clowns? The front and backside of a pantomime horse? You and your staff have actually seen those responsible for these raids and were left behind to speak of them, and we still have no idea of whom we are dealing with or even what to look for. So, pray tell, at least define 'outlandish,' mmmm?" she ended mockingly.
If the Black Prince had intended to respond, it was silenced by a sudden chorus of boney, clattering sounds. The noise was produced by the various cups, saucers, and glasses on the table, now shaking as if vibrated. They were soon joined by the chandeliers, then the paintings and affixed lights rattling on the walls. Sir Bismarck and the others in the lounge began to feel the vibrations carry up from the floor as they grew stronger and stronger. Busts shattered on the floor as they fell off their pedestals, potted plants fell over, and panes of glass cracked in both windows and display cabinets that threatened to tip over.
"An earthquake? On top of everything else?!" someone tittered aloud just as a sharp jolt rocked the castle. Barely a second went by before there was another jolt, followed by more, each accompanied by a sound that was either a massive wooden cracking or the muffled thump of a distant explosion. The shocks gained strength as they continued, seeming to come nearer and nearer, louder and louder. Many of the royals were already jumping out of their seats as they realized the accompanied sounds were centered beneath a point roughly in the middle of the room. Several, trying to remain inconspicuous, made their way towards the exit only to pull up short, Waldstein stepping forward as a platoon of royal guards entered, which inadvertently blocked their path. Tellingly, those gathered around Schneizel merely stood alongside him in nervous silence, waiting to see what would pop up.
And pop up it did, royal and noble alike screaming and ducking behind whatever cover was available as the floor exploded, the furniture situated upon it thrown up, torn up, and tossed outwards as a massive whirling conical object burst through with earth-shattering force. As quickly as it came up, it almost immediately reined itself in, coming to a halt just as its tip was about to touch a chandelier above (which after a moment fell loose anyway and shattered against it, glass fragments flying everywhere). Its rotation slowed down immensely as well, allowing them to see that it was indeed a massive drill bit jutting up from the floor, the base of it surrounded by torn wiring, insulation, tiles, and other whatnot from crashing up through the ceiling – and several other levels of the palace – below.
For just a moment, Waldstein suspected the Elevens of this attack. The Number Advisory Council – a committee of Honorary Britannians standard to each Area whose supposed purpose was to oversee the native population – for the former state of Japan had awhile ago contracted a series of Knightmares specified for construction and demolition purposes. The result was a modified Glasgow, called a Rascal or "Burai" in their native tongue, with hands replaced by large drills, among other options. He also knew from the Emperor's secret files that this N.A.C. and the Houses of Kyoto, the secret backers of terrorist activity in Area 11, were one and the same, meaning the Burais were actually intended as sanitized insurgency weapons. However, this drill was massive, almost six feet wide and twice as tall, far larger than those equipped on a Burai. And then there was its color: Green.
Yes, green. Phosphorescently so, too. It was a solid glow far more uniform than the Blaze Luminous deflector shields the Advanced Special Envoy Engineering Corps was developing. Waldstein couldn't help but think that it looked like some mad artist had not only made a gigantic neon light, but also intricately molded it into the form of an awl.
As the dust settled and the room's occupants stopped screaming, the guards disentangled themselves from the royals and surrounded it, Waldstein joining them. He drew out the sword he was carrying as a sidearm, which sadly was just a perfunctory blade he'd worn for show. He hadn't been expecting to fight off an invasion that day, and so left behind in his quarters the ornate longsword he had with some difficulty learned to wield after he'd been appointed Knight of One. In addition to being a gift from His Majesty, it was composed of and shared the same strange properties as the materials that went into the massive MVS wielded by his Knightmare Frame, the Galahad. Looking at the iridescent monolith before him, he had an odd feeling that he could really use those properties right about now.
In front of him, the drill had come to a complete stop. He half-expected it to slide back down through the hole it had made, but instead a long vertical crease formed along its base. The sides of this crease then slid back, revealing that the drill was hollow on the inside. The opening widened until it formed a rectangular doorway like on an elevator, from which emerged three people – two men and one woman.
All three of them were tall and of athletic built, although they differed in how slim or muscular they were. Each of them wore dead-serious expressions that announced to all that they meant business. That and belts, simple leather belts each carrying a small boxy device like an oversized beeper, were the only things they all wore as he took in what had to be the most bizarre uniforms he'd ever seen.
One man was completely covered in a seamless layer of some silver-iron substance which gleamed like metal. While colored the same, the contours of his face and presence of hair in a military-style crew-cut inferred that his head alone was uncovered, although one could hardly gauge where "cloth" ended and flesh began other than somewhere along his neck. His garb, for lack of a better term, was only interrupted by gloves and boots as well as a red emblem on his chest. Studded with six sharply curved points, Waldstein at first thought it was a stylized Star of David before realizing it could also be the outline for a planetary model of the atom.
The other man was attired with cloth and skin clearly defined, revealing himself to be of African descent like himself. His uniform was snug and had a design and texture similar to a flight suit, although its color patterns were original. It was entirely black but for patches of green, notably around his collar and shoulders, as well as a circle on his chest set tightly between a pair of short horizontal stripes. This emblem and a ring on his right hand were the same fluorescent green as the drill, a clear indication that he was responsible for it.
Then there was the woman. She was dressed rather sparingly in what could be generously described as a red and blue bathing suit, divided at the waist by a golden corset. All the same, she had a militant air about her, underscored by the silver vambraces she wore, along with a zigzagging strip of a gold breastplate over her décolletage. Another, minor differing feature from her companions was the small satchel bag clipped to her belt alongside her device.
In spite of himself, Waldstein felt his mouth go dry at the sight of her. He'd already flinched a bit when he first got a glimmer of her through the still-settling dust, ascertaining a tall, curvaceous woman with a head of black hair and a stance that was regal but not presupposing like many in the imperial harem. It had recalled to him poor Lady Marianne, his fellow KOR and a favorite among His Majesty's consorts until her death.
Now that he could see her clearly, he wondered how he could have made such a comparison. Marianne's hair had been thick and dark but was still lustrous, while this woman's mane seemed to absorb light, which would have left one with the impression of a solid black mass but for the hint of individual hairs and separate tresses. Her skin tone was naturally tanned in a way that brought to mind some Euro-Mediterranean race, most likely the Spartans given her expression, itself far from the late Knight of Two's gentle features. While she wore no perfume, looking at her Waldstein could swear that he smelled blood, smoke, and fire burning upon some ancient battlefield, along with the distant clash of steel upon steel. No, the only woman he could properly compare her to was Sif, the Viking sword-maiden and lover of Thor, whose wheat-colored locks were replaced with a wig sown from the night itself.
The missing Princess Cornelia came a close second though, Waldstein's mind returning to Earth as she stepped forward, planting her red-booted feet on the ground, the silver man and the ring-wearer falling into step on either side of her like an honor guard. She walked casually a short way, heels clicking sharply on the floor, stopping only as Sir Bismarck and the guardsmen closed the distance, weapons at the ready.
The two men exchanged looks after taking in the guards' rifles, whose extended muzzles ended with pike-heads. The woman, however, paid them no mind as she locked eyes with Waldstein. Slowly placing a hand upon the satchel bag, she spoke, slowly and unthreateningly but still firm.
"We came here to talk."
The only response was a guardsman lifting up and aiming his rifle straight at the silver man's head, cocking the hammer with an audible click. Several of the others followed suit.
"Halberds in place of bayonets? Seriously?" Rather than frightened, the silver man sounded merely dubious at the display of force. He reached out as if to poke the tip of the pike-head playfully, seemingly unaware of the danger to him.
Suddenly, his hand glowed, a halo simulating the orbits of electrons appearing around it, before grabbing onto the pike. He squeezed, deforming the razor-sharp edges as the glow suffused into the pole-arm. The wide-eyed guard pulled back rather than firing, falling on his ass when the pike unexpectedly disintegrated along with a good portion of the muzzle, the remainder of which shattered like brittle sandstone when the rifle hit the floor. The remaining guards all leapt into action, the four nearest to the silver man concentrating on him, only to receive punches that sent them flying even as their pikes merely flattened where they struck him.
Taking their lesson from their embarrassed brothers-in-arm, the guards surrounding the other man stood back and unloaded their magazines at him. For his part, the man in green merely stood in place while a thin bubble suddenly enveloped him, effortlessly absorbing the impact of the bullets which fell off onto the floor. This provoked a quick lull in the onslaught, an opportunity the ring-wearer used to fling his arms out toward his attackers. In answer, the bubble broke up into sections that flew out, wrapping around the surrounding guards like plastic wrap. Their arms pinned helplessly to their sides, the guards sailed across the room as the remaining inertia of the bubble's fragments played out. Some were merely knocked to the floor, others crashed onto overturned furniture, and one poor fellow bowled over a small pack of cowering royals. Naturally, they seemed more angry about a common guardsman flopping about upon them than having an intruder with supernatural powers in their midst.
This left "Sif", who stood unmoved by the violence around her. Her gaze was steady and almost a dare to try something, a challenge the Knight of One accepted. With a slow but powerful swing, Waldstein brought the sword over and around his head before driving it down to cleave the warrior maiden in twain. In response, she crossed her arms over her head, the blade landing upon, and blunting against, the vambraces decorating her forearms. Despite this, the force of Waldstein's blow pushed her down as she was seemingly forced into a crouch.
It was from this position that one of her legs shot out, kicking Waldstein out from under his own. Going into a spin on her other foot as he fell, she swung out with a fist that caught Sir Bismarck hard in the gut and launched him backwards. The wind knocked out of him, he reflexively let go of his sword as he landed and skid across the coffee table behind him, cups and glasses shattering underneath his weight. Through the flashing spots before his eyes, the knight could see the woman standing up straight as she completed her spin, again facing the royal court. She also caught his sword, which had flipped end over end into the air, by its hilt, then held it aloft over him. He dimly heard Princess Euphemia scream as "Sif" raised the sword high over her head, the perfect position to deliver the fatal blow.
It never came.
"ENOUGH!' she cried out, all action halting immediately. Grabbing the tip in her other hand, she then slammed the sword down on her knee, breaking it into halves which she then tossed over her shoulder. "We are here to talk," she repeated forcefully as her companions took up her sides again, "and you are going to listen."
"Savages," somebody dismissed them after a pause. "What could a bunch of barbarian freaks possibly say that would interest us?"
"If we were savages, instead of talking we would have just killed you… and them," the man in green retorted as he jerked a thumb back at the giant drill, the glow of his ring intensifying just for a moment.
In response, the drill bit began to disappear, breaking up into minute green sparks like fireflies as it melted from its tip down to the floor. Soon all that remained of its presence was the massive hole in the floor, into which some debris fell, no longer braced against the drill. The assembled nobility then gasped as, hovering over the hole, the drill's other occupants were revealed: Princess Cornelia li Britannia, Sir Gilbert G.P. Guilford, and General Andres Darlton.
As Waldstein struggled to his feet, Earl Maldini helping him as he stumbled slightly, the three missing soldiers floated away from the hole. Suffused with the same green glow as the drill and the bubble, they hovered a few inches above the floor as they came over to the group.
The silver man grabbed onto Darlton, who it became clear as the glow receded was tightly bound with a series of plastic-cuffs, as well as a patch of duct tape slapped over his mouth. His movements now restricted only by the cuffs, it became clear he was wide awake as he began to violently struggle against his bonds, peppering the air with a string of muffled profanities. The eyes on his usually cool, wolf-like demeanor were now frantic and bugged out, staring daggers at the intruders as he screamed behind his gag. He continued to do so as some guardsmen, back up on their feet again, grabbed hold of him and carried him a safe distance away.
In response, the silver man shot off an obligatory if respectful salute. "General," he said professionally, which only earned a pause before Darlton started cursing from behind his gag again.
The man in green took care of Guilford, who with a touch turned in midair until he was floating horizontally. Hooking a foot around the leg of a coffee table, the ring-wielder pulled it in front of him then pressed down on the floating form of Cornelia's knight of honor until he came to rest on the table, the green aura rescinding from him as well. Now clearly visible, the knight was unconscious, his thin features slack. His only restraint was a neck brace that kept his head immobile.
Lastly was the princess. As with her knight, her position was readjusted to a lying position as the woman tilted a couch back onto its legs before laying her upon it. As the glow cleared itself, one could see she'd been through hell: Her uniform was ragged, a boot had been removed to bandage her ankle, there was a dark bruise on her chin and on her temple, while her left arm was covered in plaster, among other field dressings and signs of medical aid. With a cry, Euphemia tore loose from her brothers and, snatching a water bottle up from the floor, raced over to her no-longer-missing sister. Sitting on the floor, she muttered reassurances as she poured the cool water onto her hanky which she used as a cold compress.
The princess must have been partially awake as her eyes stirred beneath their lids at the sensation. "Eu… phie?" she mumbled in a daze.
"It's me, sister," Euphemia replied, happy to hear her again. "You're back at Pendragon. Everything's okay. A doctor is coming and—"
She didn't get much further as Cornelia, the princess feared and cursed by the world as the Witch of Britannia, began to stir. "Run…" she spoke softly through a fog, her free hand attempting to reach for her. "Run… away, Euphie."
It was a little thing, but those who knew Cornelia were struck dumb by this. The princess continued to mutter for another moment or two before she slipped back unconscious, her steady breathing the only indication she was still alive. Euphemia simply sat there still for a moment, before turning and looking up at the warrior woman, somehow inherently knowing that it was she who'd attacked her sister and left her in this state.
"You… I…" Euphie sputtered for a moment, her mouth spasming like a fish gulping for air. Watching her, Waldstein could see the alien emotion of rage trying to find an outlet within her. It finally mixed with fear and sadness as, tears streaming anew, she found her voice. "I'll never, never forgive you for this," she said softly.
Surprisingly, the woman's response was calm and even as it was before, her gaze returning Euphie's declaration with only regret. "Then one day you must kill me or die trying. Is it in your heart to do that?"
The Pink Princess squeaked in response, both to the retort and apparent realization of her own words. Pulling closer to her wounded sister, as if cowering from herself, she returned to caring for Cornelia, tilting her head a bit to feed her some water.
Standing shakily aside the Princes Odysseus and Schneizel, Sir Bismarck paid witness to this exchange silently as did they, perking up as the woman returned her attention to them. Walking up to the end of the coffee table set before the bergère, she stopped there, seeing fit to use it as the border between herself and the standing royals. As she unclipped her satchel, he called out to her, sticking to protocol.
"Who approaches the royal court of Britannia?" he demanded.
She gave him a blank look before sharply pointing a finger at the diadem upon her brow, a thick solid band of gold with a red star emblazoned upon it. "I am Diana, Crown Princess of Themyscira, ambassador for my world, and I will be heard," she responded authoritatively. "It concerns the incursions your government made against us in the past months."
"'My world'"? Many of those gathered exchanged looks at this use of the word. Obviously, she had mistranslated her Britannian and meant to say "country," they assumed. Sir Bismarck, however, felt a chill run up his back, while an unreadable expression on Prince Schneizel's face nevertheless conveyed that he felt the same.
Ignoring all this, the woman – Diana – had returned to her satchel, pulling out a series of blown-up photographs which she tossed onto the tabletop. Each photograph showed a rhesus macaque with different gadgets strapped to it, gamboling about a suburban neighborhood. Some were grainy still images taken from surveillance footage, while others were clear and focused, made with cameras or cellphones with a snapshot feature. They showed it rummaging through garbage cans, playing in trees, typical monkey behavior. Others were of it being chased by residents with nets, trash bags, even guns. Waldstein had seen the monkey's point-of-view on these antics among the information Prince Schneizel had attached to his report on the Tarnhelm Project to His Majesty.
Oh my God... they're Americans, he thought astonished, not having connected the raids to the backwards world of Earth-2. Bismarck clinched his jaw at the sight just as Schneizel lifted his chin up with a knowing look, subtle movements which weren't lost on their guests.
"Had a feeling 'Chim-Chim' would look familiar to somebody," the ring-wearer intoned. "People can miss chunks of rock and other junk popping up out of nowhere. But a monkey doing a magic act every other day? We were just about to start looking into that…"
Diana interrupted, a decidedly acidic edge to her voice. "When you did this to us," she said as another, much thicker stack of photos was pulled out. These she threw up into the air, a cascade death and destruction frozen in time coming down on the assembled heads of royalty.
The first batch with the monkey had just earned odd looks from those not in the know. These, however, earned a wholly different reaction. Odysseus and Lelouch both gasped, although the latter followed this up with an angered glare at the Second Prince which silently demanded answers. Carine's arms flailed around in the air, trying to grab as many as she could for whatever morbid scrapbook she had in mind for them. Schneizel, for his part was a rock, standing resolute as the cascade of visual accusations rained down upon him. He did have the grace to turn away his eyes from some of the grimmer images of bodies, and there were plenty of them.
The bodies came either one by one or in groups. Many were civilians while others wore uniforms that denoted them as police, soldiers, or emergency response workers. Some had been burnt nearly to ash, others had massive bullet holes or shrapnel wounds, and others had been crushed beneath rubble. Few but noticeable were those that had been run over, stepped upon, or crushed as if by a massive hand.
These photos had all been taken after the attack had ended, while the rest were a combination of the same or in the moment. They were from any number of places, showing urban areas, wide open fields, military installations, even an amusement park in a few. Most were either ripped apart or in the process. Few and far between were those that were relatively peaceful as a Knightmare or two did nothing but stand around looking dangerous, as if just taking in the view of wherever they had "landed".
A large chunk of them were in a city he couldn't identify, but from the level of destruction he could identify the handiwork of Sir Luciano Bradley and his personal guard, the Valkyrie Squadron. He could tell even before he saw the sequence of photos with the Percival, first as a blurred jumble of jutting edges in gold, purple, and grayish lavender, then the infamous Knightmare clearly seen lying upon the ruined landscape. It was identifiable even as a husk of itself with most of its limbs ripped off, armor warped and battered, torn Slash Harken lines limp upon the ground, its head a twisted metal sculpture.
Sir Bismarck felt his blood go cold at this, both for the viciousness Bradley had used during Operation Wild Hunt, and the Americans' ability to field a response against him. Little emotion was spared for the self-styled Vampire of Britannia himself, of course. Like his fellow KOR's, Waldstein despised the newest Knight of Ten with a passion, but could do nothing about it.
Bradley had originally been a knight notorious for escalating battles so he could continue to fight and kill the enemy rather than bring about a swift victory, often breaking ranks and disobeying orders in the process. When he was inevitably court martialed, His Majesty intervened, dismissing the charges and elevating him to the Knights of the Round. While Sir Luciano certainly had his use as a one-man forward unit in heavy combat zones, Waldstein still for once had questioned his liege's judgment. With the Emperor's decree that Bradley was a necessary evil – indeed a prime example of the old Age of Man he toiled to end – for shattering enemy resolve, the Knight of One's hands were tied in this matter.
It did not, however, stop him when Bradley had rubbed in his face once too often that, as a Knight of the Round, he and his actions were protected by the Emperor himself. In answer, Waldstein had grabbed the bastard by the neck and hoisted him into the air, where he'd impotently kicked and tried to break the bigger knight's grip until he nearly passed out from lack of oxygen, at which point he'd been tossed to the ground. While it did nothing to cure Sir Luciano of his attitude otherwise, he now treaded lightly around the senior-most KOR.
Bradley had reportedly behaved no differently during Wild Hunt, choosing to stay behind rather than return on schedule, laughing that he was having too much fun as he massacred defenseless people. A number of troops under his command and most of his Valkyries had stayed with him, either out of loyalty or fear that the Blood Knight would hold it against them if they left without him. Obviously they had thought they would engage their Tarnhelms after a few more minutes, the official report laying the blame on a minor equipment malfunction.
When none of them returned, it was assumed that the Americans' military had in an act of desperation flattened the combat zone with an artillery barrage or possibly even a missile strike, killing civilian, soldier, and invader alike. It had happened before, one of the few tactics effective against KMF's back when they were exclusively Britannian hardware. Now, looking between the photo of the Percival in ruins and the palace's unnatural visitors, Waldstein could guess the true reason why.
Having given them enough time to look at the visual evidence against them, Diana spoke again, answering the unasked question. "He's alive, as are his underlings. But no, you won't be seeing him ever again. Blood was spilled, lives shattered, history reduced to memories. Blame and punishment must be meted out, starting with your Sir Luciano, who's currently locked away with his fellow 'Homicide Genuises'."
At this, the man in green raised his hand, his ring projecting a large rectangle of light into midair. It resolved into something like a TV screen and began displaying a video clip from a security camera, although with the green tint it looked more like it was taken using night vision. From a high angle it showed Bradley in a small cell, his hair unkempt, his arms firmly locked in a straight jacket. From the cushioned walls one could tell he was in the violent ward of a sanitarium, although the wall opposite from the camera's position was a large partition of glass, evidently bulletproof from the way he repeatedly slammed his shoulder against it without effect. On the other side were three men speaking to one another and sending Bradley the occasional glance. One was possibly an administrator with his tweed suit, clipped-on I.D. card, and academic air, while another was clearly a military officer given his uniform. The third was a mustachioed man with darkish hair tinged with grey, wearing glasses and a rumpled but clean three-piece suit. A civil servant, perhaps, although his manner spoke of a man embattled but was still resolute and standing.
The image began to change, breaking up into smaller screens which showed the Valkyries and soldiers who'd stayed with the Knight of Ten, now garbed in prison coveralls. This display was interrupted before the images could fully form, the Fifth Princess flinging a broken teacup which passed through them and nearly clipped the ring-wearer.
"You'll pay for this with your last drop of blood, you insolent Numbers!" she spat like an alley cat as she shoved her way to the front of the group, incensed by her idol's degradation. "The Britannian Empi—AUGH!" She came up short as she fell to the floor, clutching her leg in pain. Diana had swiftly kicked her end of the table in response to Carine's tantrum, shoving it forward enough to jab the spiteful little princess in the shin.
"You are in no position to lecture us on arrogance," the envoy responded firmly. "Because we are unlike you, you judge us a wilderness without laws or culture. You assumed we are weak and helpless, and thus you've the right to attack us without provocation, to enslave us with impunity. Your arrogance offends us, and we've responded accordingly in the only manner you seem to understand: With force."
A brief silence followed this remark, not too distinct from a death sentence in Sir Bismarck's opinion. The lull ended when one of the rui Britannia brothers – he was never entirely sure which was Castor and which was Pollux – regained his voice.
"Oh, you've frightened us, all right," his said, dripping with derision. "Someone throwing a temper tantrum and causing a little damage in the Areas happens from time to time. We're used to it."
"So if you think you can intimidate us with this little coordinated show of strength, then you're sadly mistaken," his teal-haired twin concluded.
The royals for a moment regained the look and stances of people unmoved by the Americans flaunting their power, completely ignoring the fact that the imperial capital had just been literally penetrated. This was broken by a sudden buzzing sound from someone's cellphone, evidently set to vibrate in the unlikely event of a call during the meeting. This was joined by more buzzing, followed by a full-on ringing or a digitally-rendered excerpt of music, as phones around the room went off. Quickly, the royals' aides answered the offending devices, some having received text messages, others regular phone calls. All of them blanched, looking back and forth between their lieges and the Americans.
"I reckon that'll be reports of our second wave that happened while you were all having tea and scones just now," said the silver man. "They won't be in the Areas this time. They'll be about your shipyards and Knightmare assembly lines located here in Britannia. Your military bases… here in Britannia. Sakuradite mines…"
"… here in Britannia," Lelouch concluded for him venomously.
"How war is waged distinguishes the values and goals of each side," Diana explained, taking up the discussion in a lecturer's manner. "Your attacks were meant to demoralize us, to terrorize us into submission. Assuming that the locales weren't just completely random, of course." This last bit was directed straight at Prince Schneizel before she continued. "Our response targeted your military and industrial infrastructure, affecting your ability to pursue hostilities against us and maintain your position against your enemies here. All done with a minimum loss of life, I might add."
"We also wanted to show that if we felt like it we could hit you even worse than you hit us," said the ring-wearer. After a beat he then added with a smirk, "Although we nearly cancelled it after our windfall in China."
Waldstein's eyes widened. The mention of China could only possibly mean one thing, but before he could say a word, the ring-wearer had produced yet another image. He snarled even as the royals around him gasped nearly to a one.
It was the Emperor, Charles zi Britannia, either unconscious or dazed, bound to a chair with lengths of torn wiring. Despite the weak lighting, it was apparent he was underground, a functional enough room hewn from a cave. The image was taken from an angle nearly in profile, so despite His Majesty's great frame it was apparent he was tied back-to-back against another, much smaller figure. Waldstein knew it to be his older brother, the long-forgotten prince who was now the immortal Geass director V.V.
The image flickered and changed, showing more video clips as Sir Bismarck felt his world fall apart. As he feared, it was the Geass Directorate's headquarters, an underground city founded sometime ago in China. Its eternally twilit streets and buildings showed the wear and tear of a recent battle, as if the handful of battered or abandoned Knightmares were not evidence enough. American soldiers of some branch were scattered about, dressed in mostly black jumpsuits not unlike the ring-wearer. The major differences were that they wore metal facemasks and had as an emblem the horse-head profile of a knight chess piece. Also, instead of rings they were armed with military-grade pistols and rifles. Well-armed in fact as the captured city's occupants could likely attest.
Gathered into kneeling clusters with their hands on their heads were the innumerable scientists and maintenance workers that lived and worked there. Segregated into their own groups were the few soldiers that defended the secret facility, as were the "high priests," the masked and robed Directorate officials who were V.V.'s most trusted assistants. Also separate were the children, some born to the Directorate's members and servants but most orphans gathered by V.V., all experimented upon to create a diversity of Geass-users. Instead of most of them dead, blindfolded, or both as in his imagined visions of the Directorate under siege, the children simply knelt in clusters, frightened but obedient, like their elders. Unlike them, however, they were also wearing collars, solid plastic circles with built-in electronic devices of some kind. What seemed an act of cruelty by their captors to most, Waldstein surmised was a preventative measure against the children's psychic powers.
"Father," Odysseus quietly breathed as he spoke for the first time, while another royal voiced that it must be an imposter. "Is that true, Lady Diana? Have you taken our emperor hostage, or is this some trick?" he voiced with some semblance of authority, although the edge of concern for his and his siblings' sire was unmistakable.
"The word 'hostage' implies we'd be willing to return him for something," the silver man tersely replied, causing Diana to clear her throat at him.
"A search for him will either confirm or deny our claims better than words can, Your Highness," she replied, addressing one of them with an honorific for the first time. Whether it was a hint of respect for the Crown Prince or simple sympathy, one couldn't tell. "Before you decide if you really want your emperor back, though, you should know that this footage is from a secret facility in Chinese territory, specifically Inner Mongolia."
As she said that, the images changed to an aerial shot of a desert area somewhere in the world, marked only by a cave-like outcropping of rock. "Now, what do you suppose Dad was doing so far behind enemy lines?" the man in green wryly noted beside her.
"Are you suggesting His Majesty was a traitor of all things? That he'd privately cut some deal with the High Eunuchs?" Lelouch's tone and words teetered on sedition as he spoke, but still they were questions somebody had to ask.
"Nothing so simple I'm afraid," the envoy responded as she reached into her satchel again. "We've downloaded all the information from the facility's computer system before destroying the hard drives with the more… sensitive materials so the Federation's central committee and military can't use it. But I'm sure if you look around well enough here at home you'll find things that will validate what's on this." Saying so, she held up a tiny flash drive that hung by its loop from her index finger.
"We shall leave it to you, but the gist is that your emperor's been working on a secret project since he took the throne. A project he kept from all of you and killed more than once to keep secret," the ring-wielder said by way of explanation.
Waldstein could sense Lelouch's ears perk up at this, assuming the worst. Beside him, the White Prince kept his cool, curious but cautious against the invaders' accusations.
"Keeping secrets from his own children, even those he depend upon to run the Empire for him," he said with a touch of pride, "I can easily believe. But what manner of project would be so sensitive he'd risk facilitating it in an enemy country?"
"The project's name says it all: Ragnarok," Diana responded grimly. She then shrugged and added, "Although from what I know of hu—of modern religions, 'Rapture' would have been more appropriate."
"But you boys and girls do love your Norse folklore," the silver man said glibly.
Flipping the flash drive onto her palm, Diana then made an underhand toss towards them. Knowing they would not understand, Waldstein jumped in front of the princes, and snapped his hands closed upon… the flash drive's cap. He looked up and saw the flash drive, its USB plug now visible, again dangling from her finger.
"Give me that, you interfering harlot!" he began to shriek, enraged at these infidels profaning all His Majesty had worked for.
"Sir Bismarck!" the White Prince shouted over him. "Is there something we should know about?" He sounded like a teacher calling out a student caught passing notes in class, but there was nothing to be done about it.
Waldstein gripped his fist so hard he crushed the cap almost to powder before he finally responded, speaking respectfully. "Your Highness, whatever His Majesty's activities, if he deemed them too sensitive for even yourself, we must respect that it is a matter of the gravest imperial security. As such, I must insist upon confiscating documents which may concern said activities," he jabbed a finger at the flash drive as he said so, "in the Emperor's absence."
The Chancellor took this in with an unemotional, impartial stance as always, but even before he spoke the Knight of One knew he was having none of it. "On the contrary, good Sir Bismarck, it is due to the matter of imperial security, upon which questions have now arisen regarding His Majesty, that sensitive documents must be obtained and studied by those a bit further down the ziggurat, albeit under tight security. And as for the matter of the Emperor's say-so" – he shrugged apologetically at this – "you'll have to make do with the decisions of the Regent."
"Regent?" The word was muttered about quietly and repeatedly around the room, even by the obvious recipient of such a title. "Brother, we cannot say for certain that Father has been… incapacitated. Aren't you being hasty?"
"I agree with Schneizel," Lelouch said to Odysseus, walking around the coffee table, slowly but purposefully to the American envoy. "Given the present state of affairs, we have valid reason to believe Father is no longer able to fulfill his duties as lord of the realm… nor that it would be appropriate for him to do so. As such, protocol demands that you now must shoulder that responsibility for the foreseeable future, Odysseus." As he stopped before Diana, he smiled as he added with faint sarcasm, "And if it turns out we're wrong, I'm sure His Majesty will accept an apology."
He moved to reach up and grab the flash drive from her, but instead made eye contact with the statuesque woman. There was pause as a brief battle of wills passed between them, before Lelouch offered his hand palm up, into which she placed the device. He flipped it over in his hand, eyeing it curiously, as he walked away, only to nearly bump into Earl Maldini, who repeated his action of holding his hand out, although with far more insistence in his action. Clearly, even as a viceroy to an important area, he fell outside the tight circle of government officials that Schneizel would grant security clearance to inspect the so-called Ragnarok files. With an irritated look, the Black Prince smacked it down in Kanon's hand before turning away in annoyance.
"Your Highness," Sir Bismarck said quietly, trying a new tactic. "I need you to trust in me as you would your…"
Oh, who am I kidding? That would never work. He'd nearly said "your father", but he knew for certain that the Emperor only kept Schneizel around for his administrative abilities, and that the White Prince would be a fool not to know this. Changing tact, Waldstein began again, deciding to be honest if not forthcoming.
"I can say with utter sincerity that the future of Britannia is tied up in Ragnarok. Its achievement would mean no one need fear of violence from our enemies or civil war among future generations of the imperial family. But few would understand or even accept the means required to achieve that end. With that, and the exotic… materials the program requires, a handhold in territories not yet under our control is a necessity."
"And I'm sure a full inquiry will show just that, Sir Bismarck," Prince Schneizel replied smiling. Sir Bismarck looked to protest, but at that the Chancellor snapped his fingers. The remaining guards still on their feet, knowing which side of their bread was buttered, stood to attention, their remaining arms at their sides, lest the Knight of One try anything. With this, he had nothing left to do but gnash his teeth as a lifetime's work teetered on the brink.
"Oh, piss on this Viking Doomsday nonsense," Carine suddenly spoke up, still nursing her bruised leg from where she sat on the floor. "What about them? We can't just let them get away with this!"
She'd referred to the Americans, who had quietly slipped back to the hole they'd made during the political drama between knight and prince.
"She has a point, Madame Ambassador." To his surprise, it was Lelouch agreeing with the girl who'd bedeviled his darling sister no end. Standing at the lead before the invaders, he held his hands up empty to signify he did not seek further violence. "Granted, it would appear that we've attacked your territories… although I wonder how I missed that in the news. An attacked man has the inherent right to defend himself, which I can attest you've done so," he said with a hint of bitterness. "But we seem to have hit a point where we can negotiate a peace accord, which means prisoners of war may be released from confinement, especially those who were noncombatants."
"Oh, you mean like your… Major Croomy?" the ring-wearer asked after a brief pause, apparently to remember the name.
Watching this, Bismarck could have sworn that the prince had nearly flinched just as the invader named one of their prisoners. Or did I imagine that? he wondered.
"As good an example as any," the prince responded crisply, a hint of pained restraint in his voice as he glared at the man. "I imagine there are others, of course. Such as those people who worked in the Chinese facility. We'll need them to substantiate your claims against His Majesty. Or to dismiss them," he added.
The man with the atom emblem then spoke up. "Let's say we hand them over to you. Who do we get in return? What POW's do you have to offer?" There was a pause before he continued accusingly. "None, because you didn't take prisoners! So maybe we'll hold onto the ones we have and call it compensation. Or maybe we'll dump them on your front lawn tomorrow just so you don't get the wrong idea about us. It's not our say. We're just the messengers."
Several eyes darted to Diana. "You said you're a princess! Isn't this your choice?" someone yelled at her.
"I'm a princess of Themyscira, which was not touched by your attacks, so at best that puts me in a position to serve as a third party and negotiate, if called on to do so."
With this the two men touched hidden studs on their belt-devices, each opening with a snap a hidden panel that concealed a large yellow button which lit up when pushed. Many of the royals, excluding Lelouch, were startled as both were suddenly surrounded by glowing images of themselves before vanishing in a flash of light. Prince Schneizel, Kanon, and Sir Bismarck, however, viewed the display stoically as the final bit of evidence that the Tarnhelm Project and Operation Wild Hunt had come around to bite them.
Princess Diana remained, however, evidently to give them one last piece of her mind. "Why did you attack us? You struck at almost anything wherever you appeared, and you didn't stray from population centers – hospitals, schools, neighborhoods. Places with no military importance, just civilians. Normal people just going about their lives, who were of no threat to you, who didn't even know you existed. You were in no danger from us, and yet…" She stopped here, her expression showing a combination of anger, pain, and confusion.
"It's sur… vival of… th-the fittest. The law of… Darwin."
The words were low and almost slurred, but still could be heard. Sir Bismarck like many others took his eye off Diana to where Cornelia had lain. Sure enough, the Second Princess had awakened and despite her sister's quiet protests was attempting to wrestle herself into a sitting position. She'd achieved at least supporting herself on her right elbow as she glared at the envoy with unfocused eyes.
"We compete, we fight, we devour," she continued, warming to the subject, "gaining strength from those we conquer. It is how we survive, and how we grow strong."
This last part barely made its way out before a coughing fit she fought to control, shoving her sister's hand away when offered more water. She then continued, evidently embarrassed by her display.
"Our nations are nearly the same age. Both started out with the same pitiful collection of colonies. Today, we control a third of the world. You? You don't even own a full half of your own continent. We wield an army that trembles the earth with its footsteps as our enemies fall beneath our banner. You wield influence, inviting your enemies within your borders to make compromises." A smile appeared on her face that was without a hint of joy, as she nodded her head at the room whose luxury was still evident. "This is the result of our drive and ruthlessness – Evolution!" She then glanced at the photographs of the destroyed city. "And this… is the result of your mercy and generosity. You can't argue with results, American," she finished, spitting out the name.
Diana had crossed her arms underneath her breasts as the battered Goddess of the Battlefield spoke, a reflective pose as she silently took in every word. This silence continued for a moment after Cornelia was done talking, many thinking she'd been able to bypass the freakish war-maiden's armor to cut her with words. That was before she began her response.
"No, I cannot argue with results… but then neither can you. You're alive, Princess Cornelia. We tracked you down and struck, dragging you back to the land you attacked. And what did we do? Did we throw your broken body to the families of the soldiers you killed, to have their way with as they pleased? No. We bandaged your injuries, the very injuries we gave you while in pursuit. And now, you're back home with your sister."
She gestured at Euphemia, the very girl who'd threatened her just a few minutes ago. "A young woman who values your life more than her own. A young woman who has never and I doubt will ever be of the service your empire demands. A woman your own words dismiss as useless in your society."
At the first reference to her sister, Cornelia had tried to reposition herself to serve as a shield for Euphemia. Now, she just narrowed her eyes as her words and justifications were thrown back in her face.
"I was… an outsider when I first came to your nation's counterpart, Princess Cornelia, a type of person they'd never laid eyes upon. They had no reason to trust me, and indeed there were those who did not. Others, however, welcomed me, and treated me as an honored guest until I too could claim to be at home. Many others can say the same, others who were foreigners in a foreign land, and became a part of the community, not as servants or… a resource, but fellow neighbors. And now we stand together alongside those who welcomed us, in this their time of darkness and need."
She bent over slightly, as if putting her face in Cornelia's own from across the room. "And that, Your Highness," she corrected her pugnaciously, "is the result of our mercy and generosity: Justice."
With that she flipped open the panel of her belt-device, her finger resting on the button as she faced Schneizel, Lelouch, and the remaining royals, nobles, and guards that formed her audience. "Your culture extols evolution. All well and good, but now you're the dominant species, at the top of the food chain. There's nowhere else left to go up… except in here," she said, pointing to her head.
"Our countries are at war. We sampled your power, your cruelty, and now you've sampled our strength and our resolve. The next move is yours, Britannia. How you use it will show how well you've truly evolved. Will you conduct yourselves like human beings, will you reason and approach us as the same? Or will you continue to emulate animals, and be treated as such?"
With that final declaration, she vanished in a burst of afterimages and light.
Many present, even Schneizel, remained still as the envoy's final words echoed in their minds. Distantly, Sir Bismarck could hear someone run out the door and throw up somewhere down the hallway.
In front of him, Lelouch slowly walked over to the hole in the floor. Looking down into its depths, he kicked a piece of shattered statuary over the side, then stood patiently waiting for the echo of its impact from far below. Waldstein needn't guess how far down the hole went; the capture of the Geass Directorate and the manner in which the Americans came to the siblings' meeting told him it reached the "Door of Twilight" – as His Majesty and Director V.V. liked to call it – underneath the palace.
After hearing a faint whisper of an echo, Lelouch turned back to his siblings. From his stance, it was apparent to Sir Bismarck that his hands and leg were still and calm again, and that his face was wholly composed. In fact, there seemed to be a new strength in his eyes.
Those same eyes looked over the gathered crowd and caught the eye of Guinevere, who'd fallen silent and stayed that way since the first tremors. He gestured theatrically like a game show's prize-display girl to where they'd first seen the Americans as they emerged from the giant drill.
"'Outlandish,' dear sister," the Black Prince proclaimed with a smile. It was more of a sneer, but all the same… In fact, it was the first time he'd smiled since this whole ordeal began.
Disclaimer: Code Geass: Lelouch of the Rebellion is the property of Sunrise and Bandai Entertainment. Young Justice is the property of DC Comics, Inc. and AOL-Time-Warner.
Author's Notes: As you can tell by Lelouch's presence here and bits of back story dropped, I'm not going by events of the TV series for this crossover. Rather I made an AU wherein he's a prince again and became Area 11's viceroy. It's a popular idea, and I admit my version is based upon several popular fanfics that utilize it - "Dauntless" by Allora Gale, "Lelouch of Britannia" by Cal Reflector, "Lelouch of the Revolution" by Lilyflower1987, etc. It's not my intention to plagiarize those storylines; this is all just a setup for the conflict that will rise out of the crossover rather than an unauthorized copy or continuation of these series and their particular storylines. Your mileage may vary, of course.
I used Lelouch-as-prince as that seemed to me more likely to put him on the front lines, whereas the canon Lelouch-as-Zero would make a spectator out of him or a sideline character a la NIGHTMARE OF NUNNALLY. Not that "Zero/Justice League" couldn't be a source of material, but the Justice League would view the Black Knights for much the same reasons as given later on regarding resistance movements with a level of political authenticity vs. outright terrorists, which would effectively marginalize them if not outright paint them as bad guys. Again, YMMV.