The smack of wood upon wood reverberated throughout the spacious training hall, masking the sounds of his entrance. From his vantage point by the doorway, Vasco Strada watched as the only two occupants of the room continued their spar.
Closest to him was a sharp-eyed blonde woman, her relaxed features misleading of the physical effort she was exerting. The way she held the polished practice sword loosely in one hand was telling of her experience, and he reminisced of the years she'd spent under his own tutelage. He prided himself in his strict teachings and arduous regimen, much to the collective chagrin of his students, but Griselda Quarta was among the few that had gone above and beyond; all without uttering a single word of complaint.
The muffled thud of a connecting blow broke the rhythm of strikes, quickly followed by the recipient's sudden expulsion of breath. A young girl with cobalt hair fell to one knee coughing, her hands grasping the hilt of practice weapon she'd thrust against the floor in an effort to steady herself. Griselda released a tsk of disapproval and used her own blade to sweep the makeshift crutch aside, causing her opponent to momentarily pitch forward before regaining balance.
"Keep your blade pointed towards your enemy. Again."
"Yes Instructor Quarta."
The girl stood, her breath still trying to catch up, and that was all she had time for before Griselda went at her again. One, two, three; a dizzying combination of slash, cut, thrust. The first blow was parried, then the second, and the third was avoided entirely with a rapid half-spin to the side. The girl used the momentum from the movement to carry her sword upwards, and it was brought down hard in a two-handed grip, seeking retaliation.
A lifetime of combat informed him that it would not find its mark.
Griselda calmly sidestepped the strike, choosing to convert her thrust into a horizontal swing rather than retract the blade. It connected solidly against the girl's abdomen and sent her reeling back, wheezing. He noted with approval how she managed to immediately regain her stance, keeping her sword forward as per instruction. Evidently for Griselda Quarta, that wasn't enough.
"Excessive force is only useful in a handful of situations. Match your pace to always be a step ahead of your opponent. Nothing more, nothing less. Again."
"Yes Instructor."
It was the student that moved first this time, committing to a sudden lunge in an attempt to catch the teacher off-guard. Griselda allowed the attack to reach past her own weapon before effortlessly tapping it aside, using her free hand to catch the girl before they could collide. The woman pushed her protégé back, neither overtly gentle nor forceful.
"Better, but your breathing was too erratic. And never be afraid to withdraw an attack. Doing so may even provide opportunity if an opponent pursues. Again."
"Yes, Instructor."
He drew his attention away from the pair, not wanting to disturb the training, and began to idly run his thumb over the metallic object in his hand. The hilt of the generic light-sword looked almost tiny in his palm, innocuously so, and he wondered how many deaths it'd been responsible for.
"Zero, then," he said. "You sought parley, and you have it."
"It has come to my attention," the voice from the phone spoke, "that there has been a number of unwelcome visitors to Kuoh. You no doubt know of to whom I refer."
"We may," spoke a nun to his left, "but even so, I fail to see how it is a concern of yours."
"Ah, but I would wager that it is not the men that hold your interest," said Zero. "Rather, what they have in their possession. Would I be correct?"
Murmurs, from the sect heads, as they processed this piece of information. A mage based in Kuoh, aware of the theft. The question hung in the air; was this stranger affiliated with the Devils, or no?
"You would," he confirmed, drawing several surprised looks from his associates. "And I would ask what you intend to do, knowing this."
"What if I were to say I would reclaim the swords on your behalf?"
"You would have our deepest gratitude," he spoke over the exclamations of shock, "but past dealings with mages tell me you do not make this offer out of goodwill. What would you ask for in exchange?"
"Simple knowledge. What else, given what I am?"
"A humble way of alluding to power," accused an archbishop. "How do we know to have faith in you? You have given us nothing to hold you to your word by."
A deliberate pause came, as if to register offence; but if so, it did not manage to make its way into the stranger's tone.
"In your possession lies a token of mine. Consider it a gift, to commemorate our relationship."
He frowned, searching his memory. "We have no such- "
A knock at the door.
He nodded his consent, and a junior exorcist opened it to reveal a young priest that couldn't have been older than twenty-five. After a second, he managed to identify the man as one of the aides to the deacon who had brought him the phone. In the aide's hands was a nondescript brown parcel.
"My deepest apologies for the interruption," said the aide, "but we've just received a package from Kuoh."
"I see my present has arrived," remarked the mage. "I hope it is to your liking."
Much of the room was unsure of how to respond, caught off-guard by the unnatural timing. Taking action, he gestured for the holder to open it. The exorcists that rimmed the room converged a little closer. Clergy members waited with bated breath, curious as to the workings of this unexpected stranger that called himself Zero.
When the aide pulled out what was instantly recognisable as the hilt of a light-sword, expectant gazes turned into ones of confusion.
"From what I can see," he said, taking the dormant weapon from the aide, "this is fairly standard issue, if a bit outdated. I suppose it could be recommissioned, but it seems a peculiar choice."
"Do with it what you will," said the stranger. "The previous owner needs it no longer."
"And that owner would be?" Narrowing his eyes, his mind cast for the names of the three that had been sent to Kuoh. They had been good men, and he'd known one personally. If this was an enemy's idea of a taunt…
"Freed Sellzen."
Ah.
Dark looks spread through the conclave at mention of the Stray. He could not blame them for it. While it was their prerogative to extend forgiveness, even the Church could not tolerate those unwilling to accept salvation. Undoubtedly, they could have made a better attempt, but it was equally as likely it would not have succeeded. Sellzen had been afflicted with both madness and bloodlust, and the traits only served to ostracise the young man further from his peers until a breaking point had been reached.
With regret, he remembered the reason why this decade had the lowest number of junior exorcists in centuries.
A wave of exhaustion overcame him, and he sunk into his chair. "Call a technician," he requested. "Confirm if this is true."
A heavy silence blanketed the gathering, growing only more oppressive when the head armourer arrived. The heavyset man took a single glance at the hilt, grimaced, and he didn't even need to hear the next words to know the mage had been telling the truth.
"Aye. That is the blade Sellzen stole."
More than a few of his compatriots released a withheld breath, and from their appreciative expressions, he could tell the mage had already swayed over half the room.
"Father Strada? To what do we owe the pleasure?"
He looked up to see Griselda approaching, not a single drop of sweat upon her brow. Behind the woman, the blue-haired girl lay spread-eagled upon the ground with a damp towel draped across her forehead, preoccupied with the task of regulating her breathing.
"I would like to speak with Xenovia, if possible," he said. "But it can stand to wait until the end of your session."
"We are finished for today," said Griselda. "You intend to choose her, then?"
"Yes. It must be her. Do you disagree?"
"Not at all," said Griselda, and he was treated to one of her rare, true, smiles. "She showcases ability greater than myself when I was her age. Though never let her hear I said that."
He laughed, a deep rumbling welling forth from his chest. "Her teacher did learn from the best, after all."
"This coming from the man who regularly loses to the local children." Griselda shook her head ruefully. "She knows about the Excaliburs already. I'll leave the mage to you."
"Tell me, Griselda, do you think she has another lesson in her?"
"I always make certain that my students are barely able to stand after a spar," said the woman. "But you will never hear her admit it. Xenovia!"
The girl sat up, removing the towel and placing it aside. "Yes, Instructor Quarta?" she called back.
Upon seeing him she shot to her feet, if unsteadily, and jogged towards them. Shoulder-length blue locks bounced, revealing a streak of green hanging over her right eye. "Hello, Father Strada. Have you come to see my progress with Durandal?"
"In a manner of speaking," he said. "It is good to see you working so hard, Xenovia, but rest for now. I plan to be so rude as to trouble you for another round soon."
She stood straighter and gave her response without hesitation. "As an Exorcist, I must be ready for combat at all times."
To his side he managed to glimpse Griselda suppressing a grin. Only a handful other than he could place the miniscule quirk of her lips as a tell, and apparently Xenovia was not among them.
"Admirable," he praised. "Then who am I to say no?"
He accepted Griselda's practice sword, stepping past the two and further into the training hall, and rolled his shoulders to ease the stiffness of old age from them. Behind him, Xenovia quickly made to follow.
"I'll leave you two to it then," said Griselda, "as I have other matters to attend to. I'll see you at dinner, Xenovia. Dulio passed me some rather outlandish desserts earlier, and I'm afraid there are too many for me alone. Perhaps you could invite a friend or two of yours."
"Yes, Inst- "
"Lessons are finished for today Xenovia," interrupted the woman, chidingly.
The young exorcist gave a slight smile, and corrected herself. "See you, Sister Griselda."
His heart warmed at the exchange as he heard Griselda's footsteps fade into the distance. The Church could not replace their wards' original families, but let it not be said that they did not provide one of their own.
"If you are not too tired," he said, testing the weight of the wooden weapon in his hand with a quick twirl, "then I would ask that you use Durandal today. Even if it is for only a few strikes, I would like to exchange blows with the blade I carried in my youth."
Her reply was to outstretch her right arm, palm splayed open as she chanted practised words.
"Saint Peter. Saint Basil. Saint Denis. Of you who reside within this blade, blessed by the Holy-Mother Mary, I make this plea. Release!"
Space warped, rippling as if it were a pond struck by a single stone. Xenovia reached her arm into the centre of the vortex, and when she withdrew it, so came Durandal.
Easily surpassing a metre-and-a-half in length, steel of a fathomless blue was lined with gold trim, and such was its presence that the surroundings seemed dim in comparison. It held a single wicked edge, the elegance with which it cut through the air seeming almost ill-fit for a blade of its size. But that was never a term that could be used to describe this sword; what it embodied.
Memory of the first time it had graced his hold came easily to him, of when he had still been able to fit both his hands within the semi-circular guard upon the hilt. As he'd grown, he'd come to wield it single-handed, but that had never diminished its significance.
No signal was given, but they both advanced as one. She darted towards him, focusing her all into the charge, and he took but a single, easy step, infusing the wooden practice sword in his hand with holy energy. The first blow was the hardest, and he heard his blade creak as he deflected it. The second came from his right side, Xenovia making use of nimble footwork to dance around him. He pivoted on his back leg, and parried that one too. Half-a-dozen trades followed the same routine, with him only turning and her seeking an opening.
Noting the exercise in futility, Xenovia leapt back, adjusted her grip, and came for the final attempt. A mighty two-handed swing, containing the last of her reserves.
He blocked it.
Or at least, he would have, if his practice sword had not snapped in two upon contact. It appeared he'd underestimated the amount of energy he'd needed to hold it together.
Maintaining his composure, his free hand came up to grasp the airborne half of splintered wood, and he immediately pulled it back to cross it against its counterpart, halting Xenovia's attack with the intersection of the two shards. The movement took less than a fraction of a second.
"Dear me," he said, their weapons still locked together. "Making an old man pull out his tricks. How fast these youngsters grow."
She stared at him disbelievingly, as if wanting to retort, but settled for staggering back, empty even of words. Durandal sunk into storage and their spar was over as fast as it had begun.
"Thank you, Xenovia. Rest well; you've earned it."
She nodded gratefully and collapsed onto the ground. He allowed her a minute of respite as he considered how to frame his request. He recalled the image of an eager little girl, hair still long and looking up at him from amidst a group of children of similar age.
"Would you like to hear a story, Xenovia?"
"I know all your stories Father," she said. "Every exorcist does."
The sad thing was that she was almost right. Maybe he'd been a little too passionate in his youth.
"Not this one," he said. "To be quite honest, it is not a story as such. There is no ending, you see."
"Then I'd like to hear it anyway."
"In that case, we begin in wartime. The last great World War, and thankfully, now a distant memory. For just as the supernatural affects the human world, the latter shapes the former. I found myself, on orders from my mentor at the time, in a small village in… oh, say, France? Perhaps Italy. It was close enough to the border that it didn't matter. I was after an enemy of the Church you see. We knew not who, only that they had decimated many of our ranks without word nor warning. I'd set out with a small band of fellow exorcists, of course, but when I'd arrived I was alone. Not due to the reason you're thinking. They'd simply chosen to remain in some of the many towns along the war-front, tending to the needs of the injured and faithful."
"They…" She seemed hesitant to form her next words, but a patient nod from him let them loose. "They abandoned their mission?"
"We could not turn our eyes from such suffering. I, as the only one without healing capabilities at the time, was the only one to stay with our original task. It is a choice I could not make, but always wished I could. A bandage suits me more than a blade, I think."
And yet he'd had the highest compatibility with Durandal since the original wielder, Roland. Not that he minded, really. He'd done a lot of good with it throughout the course of his life.
"So," he continued, "to my surprise, the killer revealed himself almost at once. Possibly, drunk on his own arrogance, he thought to end me as easily as he'd done to so many others. It was understandable. A Fallen member of God's messengers, with ten black wings and skin as pale as moonlight. Never had I fought such a hard fight. The sky rained light that day, and I think it would have been beautiful to witness if I had not been dodging for dear life. It seemed hopeless, you know, there amongst the ruins of the village. I was bleeding, alone, and a Grigori whose name I didn't even know was toying with me, insulting my faith and my vows."
"And then?" She was enraptured, and he took a little pride in that.
"Durandal answered my call," he said simply. "And that is the point of this story. People, even in the upper echelons of the Church, forget that it has a will of its own. Just as much as you or me or any of its previous wielders, it has its wants, needs, and is influenced by the ones closest to it. I'm sure you've felt it."
"I have," she affirmed. "But I'm not sure I know what to make of it."
"It is easy to see it as a tool for destruction. To be quite fair, it is one. But if it wants what its user wishes, then what else do you think it could be capable of?"
"Healing?" she guessed.
"Not as literal," he smiled.
"…Peace?"
"Correct," he said. "Not through some special ability or power, but by what it represents. The bearer of Durandal, for better or worse, has ever been at the forefront of the Church. It is always they who provide other exorcists with direction and guidance. That is why I want you to be the one to head to Japan."
"To retrieve the Excaliburs," she said.
"Yes. My colleagues will tell you to stay hidden. To not reveal yourself to Kuoh's overseers." He grinned good-naturedly. "They forget that Durandal's wielder is often notorious when it comes to bending orders."
She looked at him searchingly for a few moments. "I don't think I can be friends with Devils, Father."
"As long as you are not at each other's throats, negotiations can be opened. That is all I can ask for."
He knew she had no bad blood with Devils beyond the infrequent encounters with strays. It was a little selfish of him to place this on her, but he was too well-known, and would only make the other Factions nervous.
She nodded her agreement. "…I'll try. When do I leave?"
"Tomorrow. You'll be entering as a transfer student. They're your age, you know. You might find that you have a lot more in common with them than you think."
"My equipment?"
"Standard issue, along with Durandal of course." He glanced around, and bent in a little closer. "Just between you and me, the Excalibur program has been showing some exceedingly promising results as of late."
"You mean…" Her eyes widened slightly.
"You might find a rather nice new sword upon your return," he winked. "You can tell your partner as well, but you didn't hear it from me. Griselda wants to keep it a secret from the both of you."
"Irina?" asked Xenovia. "Will I be working with her again?'
"Not this time," he said. "We've made an arrangement with another in that regard. But there may be a few things you wish to ask of her anyway. She claimed to know Kuoh like the back of her hand, and we've left the issue of your residency with her. But before I go into the details, I'm sure you'll want to go and change. You'll soon be cold if you stay in your sparring gear any longer. I'll clean up here after you."
She seemed reluctant, but heeded his suggestion anyway. Before she made to leave, she turned to ask him a question.
"The story, Father. What happened after Durandal…?"
"I cornered him, but he escaped, which is why I don't tell this story. The ending is rather unsatisfying; wouldn't you agree?"
"Did you ever find out what his name was?"
Yes, but he hadn't heard the name since, in all these years. He wasn't entirely sure if that was good or bad. He decided to settle on the vague hope that it meant his opponent had spent the time working towards redemption. It was a nice thought.
"Of course," he said. "There aren't very many ten-winged Fallen in the world."
He unconsciously rubbed his forearm as he spoke, where an old scar had long since faded away from.
"I believe it was Kokabiel."
In the noble courts of Britannia, power took the form of covert whispers and clandestine meetings. Upon the battlefields of Area Eleven, it was the presence of his loyal soldiers, and the application of audacious tactics. And then, in the realm of Kings and Emperors, hidden to the rest of the world, the very definition of power itself knelt before the holders of Geass and Code, acquiescing to men and women both chosen and cursed.
But here, in the domain of myth and legend? Power was power; pure, unadulterated might. Held by a countless number of races and individuals, it was displayed as easily as one might have brokered a deal with a desperate Baron. To be sure, allegiances held sway over the way it was directed, but those very agreements were proposed and enforced by the powerful themselves.
However, that did not mean there existed no way for the rest to gain influence. For the ones not fortunate enough to receive the lion's share, several methods were readily available.
He strongly doubted that this was one of them.
"Lelouch? Is it working?"
His eyes blinked open, adjusting to the soft candle-light of the Occult Research clubroom, and he looked up from where he was seated cross-legged on the floor into the curious orbs of Rias Gremory.
"I am uncertain," he said. "How do I know once it does?"
"Good point." She nodded and turned away from him to face her peerage. "Asia?"
The cheerful blonde was standing by the desk, poring over a substantially heavy tome that looked as if it would crumble from a moderate breeze.
"Um," said Asia, finger tracing lines on… was that vellum? "It says… 'The meditator will be aware of when he gains mastery over his spiritual core, as it is accompanied by a profound sense of enlightenment. This can often take lifetimes, with some seekers never achieving the feat at all.'"
"Uh," said Issei. "Maybe we should have read that part before starting."
"Yet," he said dryly, "I seem to distinctly remember all of you telling me you 'knew what I had to do'."
"Oops," intoned Koneko emotionlessly.
Rias sighed. "That makes the last of Sona's books. I suppose that'll be it for today, unless you're willing to keep trying."
"No," he declined. "I think I have had quite enough soul-searching for one day."
He stood, brushing imaginary dust off his knees, and stretched half-an-hours' worth of immobility from his body. At least it had not been a complete waste of his time; he now knew to never put stock into Eastern meditative techniques. He wasn't quite sure what to do with that information, but it appeased him a little nonetheless.
His repertoire was growing by the day now. Minor illusions, puffs of flame and ice, flashes of luminescence. He wouldn't be able to compete with a devil's magical reserves for quite a while, but if he had his way, he would not need to.
"I'm sure you'll find something," said Akeno. "After all, it took our Issei quite some time to become comfortable with his own power."
"Yeah," agreed the boy in question. "Actually, hey, maybe you could try the same thing I did?"
"I'm open to ideas," he said.
"Well," said Issei, jumping up from the couch and into a wide stance. "When I want to use my Devil magic, I sort of just picture myself, uh, charging up? It used to take a few tries, but now it comes pretty fast. I mean, I did a similar thing all the time as a kid."
"Using an imagined visual aide," he nodded. "A fair suggestion."
Rias blinked. "Issei, that sounds like…"
"Haha," the Pawn grinned sheepishly. "Yeah, I get a lot of inspiration from Dragonball."
"Dragon?" he enquired. "Is this related to your Sacred Gear?"
"What!" exclaimed Issei. "Lelouch! Are you serious? You don't know it?"
"No?" he hazarded. "Should I?"
"My goodness," remarked Akeno. "You continue to surprise."
"It's okay Lelouch," said Asia. "I didn't know either, when I first came here. Issei lent me his copies!"
"A sheltered youth," said Koneko sagely.
"What kind of childhood did you have Lelouch?" Issei was shaking his head. "I feel kind of bad for you. You really missed out."
Somehow, despite his own obvious ignorance, the thing that irked him most about this situation was Issei's pity.
"Come to think of it," mused Rias. "We never did expand on that topic. I'm interested to know what sort of upbringing teaches one chess, group combat, and gambling."
"I, for one," smiled Akeno, "would love to hear about little Lulu."
"I bet he was super smart," contributed Asia.
"How are English girls compared to Japanese girls?" wondered Issei.
"Well then," said Rias. "All in favour?"
"No," he said, but it was drowned out amongst a wave of simultaneous agreements.
"Excellent!" clapped Rias, once. "Kiba?"
The blonde's eyes refocused at mention of his name. "Hmm? Oh, yes, I agree. …Sorry, what were we talking about again?"
"Whether or not I had any rights to privacy," he answered. "I believe the consensus was a resounding 'no'."
Kiba tilted his head. "That's not good. Have you tried asking nicely?"
"Lelouch," said Rias, a touch more seriously. "If you truly don't want to, we won't pry."
Of course. It had been nothing more than good-natured teasing, as it always was. But he was reluctant to lie – without purpose, that is. They were deserving of more than that. There were too many bridges that could be burned already, for another to be constructed. Especially if for a meaningless reason.
But neither did he want their pity, unintentional as it may be. Quite obviously, his childhood had shaped who he was today, and trivial as it may seem, he did not want it being subject to well-meaning sympathy. So if he were to remain silent, it would mean weeks of understanding glances when they thought he wasn't looking. How troublesome.
Well, there had always been one subject he'd never feel averse to talking about.
"I have a younger sister," he said without notice, gaining the attention of everybody in the room. "The most – and I do not use hyperbole here – wonderful sibling one could ever ask for."
"You sound like you love her very much," smiled Rias. "What is she like?"
He closed his eyes while he reminisced, smiling. "Kind-hearted, patient, and ever so understanding. Always able to see the good in someone, no matter how deep it was buried. Quite similar to you in that regard, Asia."
She blushed deeply at his praise, waving it off with both hands. "I'm not, I mean, ohhh…"
"What is she called?" asked Akeno.
"Nunnally." A name he would never grow tired of saying.
"Nunnally Lamperouge," Kiba tested the words. "A beautiful name."
"Sister…" mumbled Koneko.
"Is she living in England?" enquired Asia.
"I must confess that I'm not quite certain," he lied. This one, at least, was unavoidable. "We remain separated by some rather extenuating circumstances."
"We could help you find her," offered Rias. "I kind of want to meet her."
"Thank you, but our circumstances go beyond mere location. Wherever she is, however, it is enough for me that I know she is happy."
"Don't worry, Lelouch," reassured Issei. "I've got your back. If you ever get lonely, you can stay over at my place; Matsuda and Motohama do it all the time. I'll lend you my-."
"Thank you," he replied, a little too quickly, "but no. I'm quite alright."
"Speaking of which Issei," said Rias, "I've just remembered. Your mother told me over breakfast this morning that a foreign exchange student would be boarding with us for a while. Apparently they're a friend of an old playmate of yours. The house renovations I ordered should be done within the week, so they'll be living in one of the spare bedrooms."
"Old playmate?" asked Issei. "Oh, you mean Shidou-kun? Man, we did everything together as kids. Sweet! Any friend of his is a friend of mine!"
He blinked. Surely this was a coincidence? Fate could not be that cruel. Well, no. It could be, and had been. Often to his disfavour. But why did it seem as if Issei was the source of all his recent inconveniences? This was no great setback, if a setback at all, but he was struck with the sudden urge to commit some petty vengeance nonetheless. He reigned it in, though. He was decidedly above that.
"Do you have a picture of Nunnally, Lelouch?" asked Asia. "I wonder what she looks like."
"She probably looks like Lelouch," said Issei. "But with bigger- "
"Don't ever refer to my sister in such a vulgar manner, Issei Hyoudou."
The cold in the words caused Issei to flinch slightly, propagating a strained silence within the room. He fixed the boy with a glacial stare, but to his surprise, Issei didn't look away.
"…Sorry Lelouch," the Pawn apologised awkwardly. "I wasn't really thinking."
"No," he dismissed, after a moments consideration. "No harm was done. I was a little too harsh with my tone."
"If that is a little," said Kiba, "then I shall endeavour to not get on your bad side. I swear I felt a chill down my spine."
"Me too," came Akeno's amused voice. "Though it was more of a shiver. Protective, are we Lelouch?"
"…Sis-con," said Koneko.
"Pardon?" He raised an eyebrow at the white-haired girl, not having caught the word.
She placed both palms over her mouth and shook her head, golden eyes failing to betray any emotion.
"Do be careful Issei," said Rias half-jokingly. "I'd hate to see what nefarious revenge Lelouch would concoct if you rubbed him the wrong way."
The way her eyes gave a flicker of concern showed him the true meaning of her words. Waving it off lightly, he accepted in good humour. "Oh, it would be nothing too grand. I believe there are only two major bookstores in Kuoh. I could have them closed down in under a day."
"Hey, wait," said Issei. "But that's where I buy-"
"Well," he interrupted. "I think I'll be making my way home for today. Unfortunately, I don't share the same affinity for the night that devils have."
Akeno chuckled behind her raised hand. "Good evening, Lelouch."
"Lelouch?" said Issei, a little louder. "You wouldn't really do that, would you?"
He nodded his farewell and made for the door, a chorus of goodbyes coming from behind him, courtesy of each member of the Occult Research Club. Before he left the room entirely however, he could not resist thinking aloud.
"I believe a novel in a series I'm following comes out today. Perhaps I should go pick it up before it is too late."
Issei, still attempting to catch his attention, gave a nervous laugh that followed him as he left.
"Lelouch, you were joking before right? Lelouch? …Lelouch?"
"I'm telling you Issei, Prez wins ten times out of ten."
He turned his head to the side and looked at Saji pityingly. "No way. Buchou beats her in every category, top to bottom."
They were walking alongside each other through the woods behind the academy, stacks of files and folders in their arms. Part of the historic school building that the Occult Research Club resided in was also used as storage, so when Sona had asked for some old club budgets for reference to, it fell to the Pawns to do the grunt work. Dusk had already gone its course, but their enhanced vision ensured their footing in the dark of the night.
"Can she cook?" asked Saji stubbornly. "I don't think we're going to agree on physical taste, so let's compare skills."
"Of course she can," he nodded enthusiastically. "In fact, she actually made lunch for me and Asia today. It was so delicious I cried!"
He ducked his head to avoid a protruding tree branch and his blonde compatriot did the same. While he looked up afterwards, however, Saji did not.
"Saji?" he said. "You alright?"
The boy was staring down dejectedly, and mumbled something he didn't hear.
"What was that?" he asked.
"I want to eat president's homemade cooking…" repeated his fellow Pawn.
He shifted his load to his left arm as he used the other to pat his friend on the back. "Don't worry man. It'll happen one day."
"Somehow, being comforted by you doesn't help that much," sighed Saji. "Do you think Kiba or Lelouch would give me girl advice if I asked?"
"Hey!"
"Kidding, kidding," laughed the blonde. "Thanks Issei."
"Nah, it was nothing," he said, scratching his cheek.
"Speaking of Lelouch though, he wasn't hanging around you guys after school like he usually is. I think Prez wanted to use these as an excuse to try get him to join us again," Saji indicated the documents in his arms. "I keep telling her it's never going to happen, but I'm pretty sure she knows. I think she just finds it fun at this point."
"Oh," he said. "Yeah. He told us he got a part-time job recently. I think he's there today."
"Did he say what it was?"
"Don't think so. Only that he found it 'pretty fulfilling.'"
Frankly, he didn't care what Lelouch did in his spare time as long as the upperclassman didn't follow through with the threat from a few days ago. He didn't know how Lelouch could even suggest something like that. Access to porn was a basic necessity of humanity! Emphasis on 'man'!
Speaking of recent events, he wondered what kind of person the exchange student would be. They were meant to be arriving tomorrow, so-
Without warning, a brief flash of scarlet lit his surroundings as Boosted Gear formed onto his left arm. Scraps of paper fluttered to the ground, torn to shreds by the sharp edges of the gauntlet.
"Aw, Ddraig," he complained. "Tell me when- "
[Albion.]
The name was snarled with such bestial ferocity that it stunned him into silence. He didn't think he'd ever heard Ddraig express any measurable degree of emotion, so this anger-
"There you are," came a voice from high up in the trees. Leaves rustled and branches snapped as the speaker leapt onto the ground. Keen blue eyes observed them from underneath a wild curtain of dark silver hair, and a young man in a leather jacket stepped forward, hand outstretched in a fist.
"Let's go, Welsh," said the newcomer. "I hope you haven't been lazing around."
No more notice was given, and he instinctively jumped back as the stranger came rushing towards him. The punch barely grazed his cheek as he jerked his head to dodge, and he heard the bark of the tree behind him shatter from the force of the blow.
"Whoa! Wait! Who are you?!" he yelled, scrambling to the side. "What kind of person- "
[Do you not feel it, Issei Hyoudou, how we yearn for this? Can you not hear Albion's taunting?]
The stranger had temporarily ceased the assault, and he backpedalled as he processed Ddraig's words.
"You didn't tell me I'd have to fight him this soon!" He'd been told of Albion. The Vanishing Dragon, the White to Ddraig's Red, but in his mind a confrontation had been a long way off. "What's he even doing here?!"
"Vali Lucifer," introduced the young man. "Land a good hit and I just might tell you."
This time he attempted to preemptively dodge the punch, but it never came. The newcomer's arm had been pulled to the side, constricted by a pale, vine-like length of ethereal matter. It originated from the mouth of a shadowy black lizard head perched on Saji's hand, and the Pawn gave them both an irritated glare.
"Longinus this, Longinus that," the Pawn said. "I'm sick of it. You guys aren't the only Dragons around, you know!"
The stranger examined the bound arm, attempting to wrest the binding off, but hand only met air as it passed through the line. "A power absorbing type?" Vali gave a fierce grin. "Perfect. This would have been boring otherwise."
"Genshirou Saji, Pawn of Sona Sitri," declared the blonde. "I don't know what problem you have with us, but as a member of the Kuoh Student Council, I'll be damned if I let you rampage around here!"
Man, he couldn't let Saji of all people show him up, not when their masters had a rivalry. From the look of it Vali wasn't taking them seriously, so the guy would probably leave after, right?
"Alright Ddraig," he said. "Let's do this!"
[Boost!]
He dashed madly forward, trying to catch Vali off-guard, but his clumsy punch was avoided with ease. The silver-haired youth swayed right, lazily, and sent a fist into his gut that blew him back several metres and across the ground.
"That the best you got?" asked Vali. "You might want to boost a few more times before you even try."
He picked himself up, wiping dirt from the corner of his mouth.
[Boost!]
"Issei!" yelled Saji. A second vine latched onto him, glowing upon contact. "Take it!"
The influx of strength pumped into him steadily, coursing through his muscles. "Thanks Saji!" he returned.
[We will not win.]
"C'mon Ddraig," he smiled defiantly. "What happened to that stuff about what being a Dragon means?"
[You did not allow me to finish. We will not win.]
He felt the emotion burning within him, a raw eagerness for combat that was only partially his.
[But we will make him work for it.]
[Boost!]
He went in again, doubling his speed from before, and it showed in the way his fist whistled through the air. Vali avoided it again, but it had come an inch closer. Gritting his teeth, he prepared for the inevitable counterattack. It crashed into his chest, and his shoes carved shallow furrows into the soil as he skidded backwards.
"Oi, oi," said Saji. "I keep draining and draining, but it's not working on him at all. Tell me you've got something up your sleeve, Issei!"
The blonde pawn had his free arm gripping the one bearing the lizard, and was straining to pull against Vali to no avail. The silver-haired delinquent stood unmoving, expression growing more annoyed by the moment.
[Boost!]
Going head-first wasn't going to work. Their levels were too different. Vali hadn't even brought out a weapon. He cast his eyes about, searching for something, anything he could use to gain an advantage. They caught sight of broken branches and scattered leaves littered across the ground, and he glanced up.
"Ddraig," he smiled. "Can you do it?"
[You have already given me a limb. A poor partner I would be if I did not return the favour in kind.]
A Devil's greatest gift was their creativity, and it was that trait he called upon to shape his Sacred Gear. His gauntlet shone as it melted into radiance, swiftly spreading to cover his entire arm. But it did not stop there, continuing its path across his upper chest, then finally consuming his other arm. It coalesced into solid plate, encasing his upper body in segments of deep crimson, with only his head was left bare.
And that was only the beginning.
A slight offset of weight on his back, as armour flowed into the cast his mind had designed. Two imposing, polished wings formed, composed of seamless metallic sections that endlessly shifted and morphed. Rias had told him that he would come to have a grasp on a Devil's wings in due time, but these, he already understood with every fibre of his being.
[Wings are a Dragon's freedom exemplified. Use them well.]
"Saji!" he called out. "Pitch!"
[Transfer!]
Even as he sent power back through his link with the blonde, Saji's eyes had lit up in understanding. The pawn heaved on the line coiled around Vali's arm, the sudden shift in force sending the silver-haired youth off balance. The bearer of Albion regained footing almost immediately, but it was enough of an opening already.
He barrelled into Vali, locking his arms around his opponent in a vice grip. A single, hefty beat of his newly-formed wings shot them both into the air, overshooting the tree canopy in a matter of heartbeats.
His arms were pried apart with ease. "You really don't think I have wings too?" asked Vali. "What is this meant to achieve?"
They were terrifyingly high now, giving him a bird's eye view of Kuoh. Before Vali could push away from him, he smiled. "This."
His wings enclosed his opponent, locking together and pinning Vali's arms to his sides. Almost at once, they began to drop, falling towards the ground with increasing velocity. It was crazy; suicidal even. He'd have to angle it exactly right so that Vali hit the ground first. But it was the best he could come up with on such short notice. If he couldn't hurt the silver-haired youth, he'd let something else do it for him.
An unexpected sound caused him to stare disbelievingly. Vali was laughing. What the hell was wrong with this guy?
[Divide.]
The screech of friction on metal deafened him as his wings burst open, releasing his opponent. He levelled off his descent, bringing himself back upright.
When he recovered, he was treated to the sight of Divine Dividing in all its glory.
It took the form of shimmering, cerulean pinions, covered in flecks of brilliance that imitated the backdrop of the starry night sky. At times it seemed almost white, the colour of freshly-fallen snow.
"Issei Hyoudou," said Vali, hands in pockets. "Looks like this wasn't a waste of time after all. Ready for round two?"
"Can't we just talk this out or something?" he suggested, unwilling. "I don't even have a reason to fight you."
"Albion and Ddraig," returned Vali, "is reason enough."
[He has the right of it. The White is and always will be our inverse.]
He was about to respond, but a torrential pillar of water came gushing from below, the condensed liquid spraying forth like a geyser. He manoeuvred to dodge, and Vali did the same.
"There will be no round two," a girl's terse declaration sounded.
Sona Sitri ascended on bat-like wings, placing herself between him and his rival. "Vali Lucifer. What business does a ward of the Grigori have in Kuoh? I hope for your sake that I deem your answer satisfactory."
"Or?" asked Vali coolly.
Sona adjusted her glasses with a dexterous hand. "Or I will be sending a strongly worded missive to Azazel using my full rank as Kuoh's overseer. I do not believe I am the only one to think of doing so; your notoriety precedes you. How many has he received from others airing their grievances, I wonder?"
He watched the two match stares, one rebellious and the other authoritative. It ended with Vali conceding, shrugging off the tense atmosphere.
"Just sightseeing," Vali said. "Before I leave the country. I'll be out of your hair by tomorrow."
"See to it that you are," Sona said firmly.
The silver-haired youth turned, throwing a set of parting words back over the shoulder as he made to leave.
"There's a couple of stray ants crawling around your town, Miss Overseer. They're not worth my time, but maybe you'd be interested."
"Devils?" Sona asked quickly.
"Exorcists," said Vali. "Later, Welsh. Get stronger."
And the next moment, Vali was a streak in the distance, a testament to Divine Dividing's alacrity.
Sona turned to face him, and he suddenly felt very uneasy.
"Uh," he said. "I can explain?"
She gave him a clinical smile, descending and beckoning for him to follow. "Saji has already informed me of the situation. I cannot really fault you for acting as you did, so I'll let it pass. For today. In the future, remember that your first priority should go to reaching Rias or I."
They touched onto the ground, his Sacred Gear fading upon contact, and he was immediately assailed by Asia pulling him into a tight hug.
"Oh, Issei!" she said. "Are you alright?"
"We heard everything," said Rias. Surrounding them was every Devil of Kuoh Academy, expressing varying degrees of concern. "I can cover the east side of town, Sona, if you cover the west."
"No," said Sona, after some consideration. "There is no reason to believe urgency is needed. We should allow these two to rest. We can move out in full force tomorrow."
Saji gave him a wave from where the blonde was being fussed over by fellow members of Sona's peerage, and he returned it. He was grateful for Sona's offer; he was already feeling exhausted from the match.
Absentmindedly reassuring Asia's worries and tuning out Buchou and Sona as they planned for tomorrow, he fell into a half-daze that lasted until he landed onto his bed at home. Falling asleep immediately, he didn't even have the time to freak out over Buchou sleeping next to him. A common occurrence it may be now, but he would still never get used to it.
It was only when he woke in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom that he addressed the vaguest sense of unrest eating at him. Kiba. That was it. When he'd landed with Sona, Kiba had been devoid of the usual polite smile. Weird. He couldn't quite remember what expression the Knight had been wearing instead, so he decided it wasn't worth worrying about.
It was probably nothing, anyway.