Author's Preface: Apologies for the long wait, I ran into a long period of writer's block with a section.
Nevertheless, I am back and back to writing. Hopefully I won't go into hiatus as I did last time.
A clarification: "George Ashford" has been replaced with "Reuben Ashford" to conform with Canon. A mistake on my part.
Chapter 6 - Zero Eos
Saturday, February 6th, 2010 A.T.B., 0900 Hours Tokyo Time
Kururugi Family Compound, Nation of Japan
The green-haired woman watched from among the primroses[1] as the two boys ran off towards their home.
"He's a willful one," she muttered to seemingly nobody in particular, shaking off a few loose dead leaves as she stood up.
Smiling wryly, C.C. brushed a few clinging bits of debris off the traditional yukata she wore[2]. "That would be his father's genes speaking, wouldn't it? You were rather good at hiding—" her voice trailed off as she turned her head towards the vague outline in the trees.
"You're rather good at hiding your presence."
"Does it disturb you?"
"Not particularly. People will think you're of the shady sort if you hide in the trees, though."
"Sorry, I'm not very used to being in the spotlight," the figure said as she walked out from the tree line.
"I don't think the ancient Japanese intended a Yukata to be worn with a leather jacket."
Ryougi Shiki shrugged with a careless grin as she brushed a dead leaf off her yellow Kimono. "I think it looks cool."
C.C. plucked at the fabric of her Yuakta. "I suppose, given that I am wearing your Yukata, that I shouldn't be questioning your concepts of 'cool.'"
"It's fine," Shiki replied breezily, "It's the one I was summoned in. Blue's not really my color ya know."
C.C. smiled maliciously. "It's a little tight around the chest, though."
"Do you want to get cut?"
"A joke, a joke," C.C. said quickly.
"Don't forget you're prisoner #2," Shiki said with a rather dangerous grin.
"Hopefully we can change that," C.C. muttered to herself.
"Oh, by the way, where is Prisoner #1?"
"He'll be back soon," C.C. clarified. "He just went to get directions."
Shiki thought about it about a moment and then shrugged. "Ahh. I don't have a time limit, and I'm not in a hurry to go home, I guess…" Pausing, she flipped open what looked like a switchblade with a rather angelic smile. "…but I do hope you're not trying to escape."
"Of course not. It's rather hard to run with a Yukata anyway."
"Yeah. Also, legs come off pretty quickly."
"My, my, aren't we enthusiastic," C.C. sighed. This trip was already turning out far more exciting than she had bargained for.
1313 Hours Tokyo Time
Chuo expressway, Tokyo Outskirts
"Drive 4 kilometers, and then turn left at Exit 13 onto National Route 137. Conduisez-vous cent mètre, et apres tournez-vou—"
"Maiya, do you even speak French?"
"Turning left at exit 13 onto national route—."
"Yes, I heard. Follow the directions to Raiga's safe house."
"Acknowledged."
Emiya Kiritsugu silently examined his AUG in order to distract himself from the uncomfortable silence in the APC. With all hatches and the defensive cupola closed, the inside or the Type 96 APC was lit only through the four side-mounted firing ports, none of which were particularly large.
The atmosphere was less one of awkwardness than exhaustion. The Britannian boy and girl both seemed to be asleep. In contrast, the two Japanese children looked wide awake, though the boy was seemed to be shaking a little.
The term used to be Shell-shock, though the more correct modern iteration would a Combat Stress Reaction. Given that four children with no training had been thrown into a combat situation, he was surprised things weren't worse. Kiritsugu was no military psychologist, and outside of the bare basics he lacked the skills to deal with CSR. The faster he got them to their destinations and out of his hands, the better for them.
Then again, maybe it was better they live with it. With Britannian invading, their previously safe, tranquil lives could be expected to get violent real fast, and perhaps it was better they learn how to live in that kind of world.
The younger children were, as is, liabilities. They weren't at an age where they could be expected to function in a combat situation even if they were trained and a weapon. The operational and logistical costs would far override the military benefit.
The oldest one, though…
Immediately, instantaneously, he rejected the idea, and almost instantly realized how illogical that was.
She looked to be 16-18. That was the perfect age to start military training, and she looked as if she was in good physical condition, and showed traces of having participated in martial arts—if worst came to worst, she was probably the best candidate is he really needed fire support.
Yet, for some reason, it was the absolute last thing he wanted to do.
Something about her reminded him too much of something he had long since thrown away.
"Standing" up in a low crouch, Kiritsugu walked through the open hatch that led to the crowded driver's seat. Crowded against the left-sided engine, which filled what would normally be the shotgun seat, this modification of the Type 96 carried a bulletproof window as opposed to the safer but more restrictive periscopes used on battlefield models. A cheap GPS had been stuck to the bulletproof glass, from which an obnoxiously calm female voice spoke in a mix of Japanese and French. Normally, Kiritsugu would not have done this kind of thing until he had thoroughly researched his route—but he had been in worse positions before, and given the urgency, he would hope that the legal protection Fujimura Raiga gave him would be sufficient to justify him stealing a JSDF APC.
"How long until we get to our destination?"
Maiya took a quick glance at the GPS. "20 minutes."
"Get off the highway as soon as you can. Too many traffic cameras." Raiga had assured him that those would be taken care of, but Kiritsugu disliked trusting the word of any person, regardless of how powerful he was.
"Roger," Maiya replied, voice as neutral as ever. It was a testament to the JSDF's efficiency that the highway remained largely clear save for military convoys, many of which were carrying a rather sorrowful mix of civilian families. With the specter of the mass downing of the Chinese and Japanese forces in the Coral Sea, the roads were now the only reliable way with which troops and equipment could be moved.
Aware that a mass exodus by private car would have completely closed down all the highways to military use, the Japanese Government had rapidly moved to close down most of the major highways in the greater Tokyo Area, managing evacuations through military transports where absolutely necessary, clearing the highways for motor vehicle use. Kiritsugu and Maiya's APC looked just like the many others that were streaming back and forth.
Maiya drove in silence—she was never the talkative type, and there was no real need to do so.
Kiritsugu took the time to watch Maiya.
Maiya had first picked up a gun far earlier than that girl in the passenger's compartment—in fact, before Kiritsugu had even met her. Through Kiritsugu's training, she had become the perfect partner for him—an unquestioning, skilled and efficient fighter and magus, the perfect soldier.
In terms of compatibility, she and Kiritsugu, whether by training or circumstance, were perfect for each other.
Yet, Kiritsugu had felt something when he had seen that girl, ready to pull that trigger on the Britannian soldier. Something that made him wish that she and Maiya would never be the same.
"Table for six, please."
"Of course, this way."
As he followed the (rather small) waitress to his table, Emiya Kiritsugu examined the interior of Wagnaria Family Restaurant.
As expected with the current war going on, the restaurant was empty save for a few waiters and waitresses cleaning the (already largely-spotless) tables.
There was nothing that suggested any association to the Fujimura group. Yet, for a small suburb and a private business, the rather elaborate wooden décor and rich lighting seemed somewhat high class.
"Sit," Kiritsugu quietly ordered as he stood aside for his four charges, who sat down with a mix of weariness, nervousness and suspicion.
Ignoring the glares from the Britannian boy, Kiritsugu accepted the six menus from the cheerful waitress and passed them around.
"Order something."
"I'm not hungry," the Britannian boy snapped.
Kiritsugu withdrew a cigarette from his box, and then clicked his tongue with a hint of irritation as he noticed the no smoking sign and the stutters of the almost-tearful waitress.
Returning the cigarette to the box, Kiritsugu glanced at the Britannian boy's sister, who seemed to be bashfully holding her menu. It took Kiritsugu a second to remember that she was blind.
"Get something for your sister then."
As the suddenly-reinvigorated waitress tottered off happily with the orders for five platters and a glass of orange juice, Maiya gave Kiritsugu a short nod.
For all intents and purposes, this particular "safe house" seemed just like any other family restaurant.
Then again, with a several hour drive ahead, food would quiet the children down…hopefully.
Childcare was not one of his strong points, Kiritsugu reflected.
"Eat," he ordered as the short waiter unloaded a few trays.
He was met with silence, as the Britannian boy shot a glare at the others, causing them to stop their tentative first bites.
Kiritsugu tried to hide his sigh. This child had the trust issues of an African Warlord.
Ignoring the boy's glares, he picked up a fork and took a bite.
As the others looked on, Kiritsugu chewed as silently as he could, a habit he had picked up when Jubstacheit von Einzbern made a point of outdoing Kiritsugu in excessive chewing noises at the table. For a man 250 years old, the head of the Von Einzbern could be awfully petty.
As expected, the smell of the food combined with Kiritsugu's chewing was enough to convince the children to tentatively begin poking at their food. Maiya, on the other side of the table, looked almost amused as she, too, began to eat.
"Excuse me, sir?"
The employee who stood in front of Kiritsugu wore a small placard that identified her as the chief of staff.
"The Manager would like to have a word for you," she began gently. Blonde, with a face that seemed to have been designed for smiling, Kiritsugu felt underwhelmed. The staff chief was the first line of defense when it came to an unruly customer. Having somebody who looked weak…
Then again, the sword at her side that Raiga's granddaughter was eyeing with interest helped.
Putting down his fork, Kiritsugu stood up with a meaningful look to Maiya, who nodded in response.
"Please hold on a moment, sir,"
Passing through the kitchen, the chief of staff stopped to pick up a sundae or some sort from the cook before continuing onto the staff room, all the while humming happily.
"There you are, Yachiyo."
If it were possible, Kiritsugu could have sworn that the chief of staff had glowed as she and Kiritsugu turned to the bored-looking, dark-haired woman Kiritsugu took to be the manager.
"I've brought the customer and your parfait, Kyoko-san!"
"Thanks. Get back to work."
Taking the rather large cup of frozen cream, strawberry and sugar, the manager waved the chief of staff off, who happily acquiesced.
As the door closed behind them, the manager regarded Kiritsugu.
"You have Raiga's granddaughter?"
"She's eating outside."
The manager took a look at the door, as if hoping to see the girl in the doorway. With an uninterested shrug, she spooned a mouthful of the parfait into her mouth.
"Raiga told me to call him the moment you got here," she said dryly, bits of cream and melted ice cream dribbling out her mouth as she spoke.
"I…see," Kiritsugu responded.
"Not an expressive one, are you?" the Manager remarked as she reached for the nearby phone.
"You're one to talk," Kiritsugu replied as he took the phone.
"Kiritsugu!" The gruff, demanding voice on the other side of the line was tinged by what seemed like panic.
"I have the children—" Kiritsugu began, but what followed was cut off by what sounded like the bastard child of a laugh, a cough and a wheeze at the same time, imbibing the approximate sound of a man choking.
"Oyabun!"
"Boss, are you alright?!"
"Sir, is everything alright?"
The other line was instantly crowded by the sound of concerned men.
"Yohane get off me fer god's sakes! I'm fine!"
Kiritsugu tried not to sigh in the phone as he smiled. It appeared that the Fujimura Group was functioning in the same state of controlled chaos it always had.
A moment later, a slightly hoarse-sounding voice came back on the line.
"First Vladivostok and now this—once again you save my skin," Raiga almost roared into the phone. "I owe you."
"It was on the way—"
"None of that now, Kiritsugu. I'm sorry I made you go through that for that idiot."
Kiritsugu frowned. Raiga had certainly expected him to have to fight against the Japanese troops that were present, but…
"I'm sure you already know this, Fujimura-san but there were Britannian special forces at the Kururugi compound that appeared to be targeting the children."
For once, Raiga sounded contemplative. "I heard. So somebody on the other side was moving to get the children as well. It's worrying."
"Where should I drop off the children?"
"Wait at the restaurant with Kyouko," Raiga replied gruffly, "I'm on the way with my boys. I can clear things up with the JSDF or the old guard, but I don't know if the Britannians will give up after this. We'll escort you to Fuyuki afterwards. We'll be there in an hour or two."
Kiritsugu consulted his watch. He was still ahead of schedule—after all, he had not expected to reach Fuyuki until early tomorrow morning.
"Alright. I'll make sure the children don't run off."
"And, Kiritsugu."
"Yes?"
"Thanks. You know, Taiga might be a moron, but she's still my only granddaughter."
Kiritsugu felt himself smiling slightly. For the wizened leader of a crime organization, Fujimura Raiga seemed to be having some trouble expressing himself.
"B-but it's not like I like her or anything! N-not at all!"
Kiritsugu's smile melted into a disgusted grimace as he hung up the phone.
It is not the business of seventy-year old men to act tsundere[3].
"He tends to do that," the Manager remarked through a mouthful of parfait as she noticed Kiritsugu's expression.
"You've known Fujimura for a while?"
"I worked with him in the past," the manager responded.
Kiritsugu blinked. Though the general impression of the manager had been someone unconcerned with the running of her business, her atmosphere, at least, did not seem like that of a delinquent.
On the other hand, it was a lot easier to transition from a delinquent to a functioning member of society than for someone who had been trained to kill magus to rejoin. Interpol wasn't nearly as forgiving.
"You seem to be doing pretty well," Kiritsugu noted.
"I help deal with some of Raiga's stray dogs," the manager said with meaningful glance at Kiritsugu, "and I get a bit of money. It's worked like that for a decade now."
"A decade? Then you're actually pretty ol—"
Kiritsugu's sense of danger lit up.
Ah. There's the atmosphere of a delinquent.
"—pretty young-looking."
"Ah. Well, I want something to eat, so don't let me keep you. Yachiyo, something to eat!"
Kiritsugu returned to a table that seemed quite as it had been when he had left.
It was, however, a differently quality of silence, less the silence of distrust than the silence of fatigue.
"They're asleep?" Kiritsugu asked as he sat down.
Maiya nodded from across the table.
Picking up his fork again, Kiritsugu reached across for his plate—and frowned as it came up empty. He didn't recall eating all that much before he left.
"They were hungry," Maiya stated simply.
"I see." Kiritsugu checked his cup. At least his coffee had not been taken. "Maiya, I'll be staying here for an hour or two. Go ahead of me to Fuyuki and then pick up Iri."
Maiya nodded, and then stopped. "Is it alright for you to not be there?"
Kiritsugu closed his eyes. "This was how we planned to fight this war. Iri will understand."
"Of course." And with that, Maiya was gone, probably off to commandeer some kind of transport to the private airfield chartered by the EU Embassy.
Kiritsugu leaned back as he took a sip out of his cup.
Once he arrived at Fuyuki, he would immediately have to get into the job. The servants had already been summoned—and the war may have already started in his absence.
This hour would be a good time to unwind.
1300 Hours Tokyo Time
Greater Tokyo Area, Nation of Japan
"You know you look really dumb in a suit, right?"
"And you look like a Britannian tourist in that Yukata."
"Can't be helped. You know how she is."
"Fair enough." Sen, Immortal of the Khagan Thought Elevator, muttered as he adjusted his natty-looking suit. C.C. suppressed a grin. Today Sen had exchanged his (rather loosely-worn) suit for an old relic that looked like it should only come in shades of black, white and faded sepia. On the former Mangudai it looked like a poorly-knit sweater on a wolfhound.
"The irony is that it's still younger than you, Sen."
"Silence, witch."
"Having fun down there, Prisoner #1 and Prisoner #2? Not planning to escape, right?"
"No, of course not."
"Good, good, carry on then."
C.C. watched the girl in the orange yukata skip up the long temple steps, humming happily like a child let loose in a field of dandelions.
Ryougi Shiki—a girl who seemed more interested in finding something interesting to eat than her self-proclaimed mission.
Shiki stopped to turn around with feigned annoyance.
"Aren't you worried about being late?"
"Yes, yes," C.C. replied with a smile she couldn't help.
Her attitude of seemingly perpetual wonder seemed far more appropriate for a much younger child (or, as Sen remarked, Yunyun).
It was hard to imagine that the girl who was currently beaming at her with a carefree smile was her captor.
And yet, this girl reawakened a fear that C.C. had not felt in several centuries—the fear of death.
After all, this girl had managed something that many had tried and failed to do for centuries.
Ryougi Shiki could kill Immortals.
Mai Mai had already been killed by Shiki's own admission.
And C.C. and Sen were next on the list along with the other Immortals for reasons Shiki had not adequately explained.
"I need to kill you, or else you guys will be used to make something really bad happen," in her own words.
C.C. chewed on her lip contemplatively.
It seemed like Shiki was, in a very abstract way, aware of V.V.'s plan, the plan that the Immortals had split apart to prevent.
The Activation of the Sword of Akasha—the centralization of all humanity into one mind, one moment, one location.
And yet, had not Shiki already ended that?
After all, he had already killed Mai Mai—C.C.'s contacts in the Queen's Rangers had confirmed the body. While each of the immortals controlled a thought elevator, all seven of the Codes Geass were required to gain access to the Sword of Akasha.
With Mai Mai's death, one of the codes should have been permanently destroyed.
It should be theoretically impossible for V.V. to go forwards with his plan.
Yet Shiki seemed confident that her job wasn't over.
"I'd know when it's done," she had said with no further explanation.
And then she had received information from informants in the Directorate that V.V. had left for Japan.
"I'm surprised you listened," C.C. thought out loud.
Shiki turned around midhop. "Say something?"
"Seems rather odd that you'd prefer to go on a road trip with the people you're supposed to kill. Not that I'm complaining or anything," she added.
Shiki thought about it before shrugging with a boyish grin. "Eh, I miss Japan. It's not quite the one I left, but that's fine. The order with which I kill you folks isn't important to me. If all of you are getting together for me, I'm not complaining."
Looking through the outstretched hand she used to block out a beam of sunshine, Shiki's grin slackened for a moment to be replaced with a contemplative expression.
"It's not like I'm in a rush to go back anyway."
Going back? C.C. wondered as she walked past Shiki towards the end to the line of stairs.
"Well, no matter," Shiki said to herself brightly. "Well, Prisoner #2, where are we going?"
"We're almost there," C.C. replied.
Sen grimaced. "C.C., maybe I should wait outside."
"I'm sure she would consider your absence a greater rudeness than your presence."
Sen only grunted in response.
"I'm being left out of the loop here, aren't I," Shiki remarked. "Who are we meeting?"
C.C. took a deep breath as she neared the clearing. "An old associate."
"Milady, sometimes I really can't understand you."
"What's that supposed to mean, Sasaki?"
"Disqualified? For the color of your shinai, of all things?"
"It's my Tora-Shinai! It cheers me on!"
"Milady, you probably could have won the tournament if you hadn't insisted on using that."
"Sasaki, there are some things a man must stand for!"
"…Milady, I think I question your priorities—ahh, the Oyabun is here."
With a polite bow, Sasaki held opened the door as Fujimura Taiga seated herself onto the Fujimura Group's car.
For once, Fujimura Raiga did not spontaneously combust into old-men scented flames of rage as soon as the door closed.
"Back to the residence, Fujyou," he quietly ordered the chauffeur, who obeyed silently.
Though the silence remained, the undercurrent of tension within the cramped compartment could have probably powered an apartment building.
Fujimura Raiga broke the silence first. "You were disqualified from the nationals?"
"You mad?" Taiga responded with a smile that bore little mirth.
Raiga looked out the window without much response.
"If you're holding it in, you may as well let it out now," Taiga prodded. "I know you wanted me to win it."
"I've long since learned not to expect anything from you."
Silently and all-too-quickly, Fujyou rolled down his windows to show his identification to two old guard soldiers, both of whom saluted with blank expressions.
Something seemed off about the maids and manservants as they bowed, though it didn't seem like Raiga had noticed.
"Ah. Here's Sergeant Kikuchi to greet us."
With an electronic drone, the passenger seat window rolled down as Sergeant Kikuchi walked over with a quick bow.
Wait, that's not quite right.
"A long trip, Fujimura-san?"
"Nothing special sergeant," Raiga replied with a laugh.
Kikuchi couldn't possibly be there.
"Ahh, the young master is with you."
"Unfortunately. Taiga, say hello."
With a growing sense of dread, Taiga turned slowly to face a sight she somehow guessed she didn't want to see.
After all, Sergeant Kikuchi was—
"Good to see you again, Young Lady," Sergeant Kikuchi said, his head bent slightly in a way that would have seen quizzical or intentional if not for the bullet hole on one side.
Now that Taiga thought about it, how was sergeant Kikuchi speaking when his jaw looked like an accident in a butcher shop—
Fujimura Taiga awoke with a start.
How long had she been asleep? When had she fallen asleep?
She had planned to watched over Suzaku and the two Britannian children.
Upbraiding herself, she looked around—and, with a flood of relief, saw Suzaku's tousled hair laid out on the table, his mouth slightly greasy with food. Across from him, Nunnally's head rested on her brother's shoulder, both of them also fast asleep.
"You're awake, Fujimura-san?"
Taiga looked up and blinked.
The man who had essentially abducted them from the Kururugi family compound looked up from over a pair of slightly antiquated-looking reading glasses[4]. Though his expression remained severe, it seemed less unfriendly than more preoccupied, partly due to the sheaf of papers he held in his hand.
With his long jacket folded on the side and his dress shirt and tie slightly loosened, he looked more like a clerk or office worker than a man who she had already seen kill several people.
"Are you alright?"
Taiga nodded silently.
"Your grandfather will be happy to hear that. Don't worry, he'll be here in a bit to pick you up."
...The Old Man again.
"…Are you sure he isn't just here to pick up Suzaku?" Taiga muttered glumly.
The man looked up from over his paperwork.
"Why do you say that?"
Taiga blinked. She hadn't expected the man to respond. Sasaki, whose girlfriend/wife always seemed to be having trouble with basic housework, rarely had time to notice.
"Well, you know, the old man and I aren't exactly peas in a pod," she said with a hasty laugh. A better comparison would be crude oil and sea water.
Fujimura Raiga and Fujimura Taiga had never quite managed to work out that grandfather-granddaughter bond business.
Since childhood, Grandfather and Granddaughter had lived together.
Raiga's consistently high expectations for the daughter of his favorite (and, as Taiga often mentioned, only) son rankled with Taiga, who had consistently failed to meet them, more out of spite than out of lack of ability.
Perhaps it was their proximity that had bred their animosity—Sasaki often joked that "One mountain cannot hold two Taiga[5]." Regardless, the two Fujimura could not sit in a room together without an argument.
"Trust me," the man replied as he flipped through one of his many printouts, "I wasn't on very good terms with my old man either."
"Can't be as bad as me and the old man," Taiga muttered.
"My old man was the one who got me into this job."
Taiga laughed, slightly awkwardly. That was a misstep. Sasaki's expression darkened whenever fathers were mentioned. "Well. That's pretty bad."
The man pushed his reading glasses up as he looked outside the window. "I guess what he saw as important and I saw as important were different."
Taiga said nothing—though there was no perceptible change in tone, she felt as if the man believed what he was saying
"But at the end, now that I look back, I do think that he believed what he was doing was best for me."
Setting down his sheaf of notes, the man looked up for the first time, directly at Taiga.
"I believe that, at the root of things, that all fathers do what they do for their children."
Taiga blinked, almost with a snort. That statement was evidently absurd at face value. There were thousand cases of parental neglect, honor killings, and child abuse around the world.
This grown man, however had declared that statement with a sincerity that struck Taiga as almost childlike.
Almost as if he wanted to convince himself.
Taiga looked down, as if embarrassed at seeing something she shouldn't have.
Though he looked reasonably old, this man felt as if she were the older one.
Right now this man seemed less like the soldier who she had seen gun down men than a slightly-awkward man-child caught outside his depth.
It was almost kind of sad.
How could someone so childlike, who could make such a ridiculous, juvenile statement forgive himself for taking the life of another?
Without warning, the man chuckled with a self-depreciating "tch" as he scratched his already-messy hair.
"Ah, who am I kidding? I'm probably the person least-qualified to say these things…"
The man's awkward chuckles slowly died off, to be replaced by a seemingly even more awkward silence. As if trying to break that, the man looked at his watch.
"Hm, your grandfather should be here in a whi—"
"Why did you stop me?" Taiga blurted out before she could stop herself.
The man blinked and stopped midsentence. "Excuse me?"
"At the Kururugi compound. You gave me that handgun and taught me how to shoot, right?"
The man nodded silently, as if a little confused.
"So why did you shoot it out of my hand? Did you expect me not to shoot?"
The man said nothing for a moment, his expression empty in a silence that seemed to last forever.
"…It wasn't that I didn't expect you to shoot," the man said slowly, contemplatively. "It was more like I was afraid that you would shoot."
"Huh?"
"I was afraid because I knew already that you were going to shoot."
And then, abruptly, without warning, the man broke into a smile—a self-depreciating smile, but one that also showed, for the first time, the same relief and happiness that he had shown briefly at the clan compound.
"I was scared because you were about to take the first step on the road I took."
And, in that moment, Taiga realized—that this man had never forgiven himself for killing men. Somehow, looking at that sad smile, Fujimura Taiga knew that this man regretted every life he took, hated himself for it.
Through that brief smile, Taiga saw the man-child who had hid himself behind an apathetic expression and a handgun.
And, before she could stop herself, Taiga spoke.
"Umm, mister…your name…"
"Emiya, Emiya Kiritsugu," the man replied, his voice quizzical.
"K-kiritsugu-san, I think that you're a good person!" The moment she said that, Taiga felt her face heat up as she immediately looked down.
What the hell was that?!
Taiga felt like slamming her head on the table, preferably hard enough that she could forget ever saying such a kitschy line. She didn't know anything about this man, and they had known each other for all of several hours, most of which she was asleep.
But at the same time, she felt that she really believed what she said.
Slowly, she peeked up to look at the Kiritsugu's reaction.
For a moment, he looked dumbstruck, as if he had no idea how to respond. And then, slowly, he broke into a smile.
"Thank you, Fujimura-san. That meant a lot."
"T-taiga is fine," Taiga mumbled under her breath.
"Ah, then thank you, Taiga."
He heard?!
Thankfully, the sound of a breaking plate from a purple-haired waitress turned Kiritsugu's attention away from the steam hissing out of Fujimura Taiga's ears.
The shrine looked ancient and yet pristine, as if it had been forgotten by time. It had.
And the long-haired woman who was tending to the grounds with an incongruously modern leaf blower, C.C. knew, was nearly as old.
"You look just as beautiful, C.C.," former Immortal of the Kaminejima Thought Elevator Nene spoke with a soft, slightly hoarse voice. The long veil of dark hair that covered half her face in a Ring-like fashion aside, her appearance echoed the voice, beautiful in an incredibly low-key, nondescript fashion, the kind of face you would appreciate in a clothing store brochure and forget a moment after.
"Enjoying your retirement, I see," C.C. responded, taking careful care not to stare to carefully at the wall of dark hair.
"The leaves don't blow themselves." Looking up, Nene smiled as she caught sight of the man desperately trying to look less awkward in his mothball-scented suit. "Ahh, Sen. It's been a while."
"mm," Sen grunted in response.
"I trust Yunyun is doing well in your care?"
Sen's mouth twitched slightly. "She's dead."
Somehow, C.C. couldn't think of some snarky way to break the silence that followed.
"Hey, you look like Sadako from Ring!"
C.C. felt the sick urge to laugh as Shiki skipped up the steps and grinned at Nene. This is going great.
"…I get that sometimes," Nene finally said lightly. "Perhaps we could catch up inside."
"I see," Nene said finally as she put down her ceramic cup.
C.C. bowed slightly. "What happened to Yunyun was my fault."
"No matter," Nene replied evenly, "people are born and die every day."
Nene glanced across the table at Sen, who fidgeted. "I must say, though, Sen, you are rather good at this apprentice business."
Shiki shot a sidelong glance at Sen, who was looking distinctly and unusually uncomfortable.
"What's with them?" she whispered to C.C. as she leaned over.
"Nene and Sen have some history together," C.C. replied.
"Sen was the one who gave me my Geass," Nene said. Refilling Shiki's empty cup along with her own from across the table, Nene brushed aside her veil of hair, momentarily flashing the malformed mess of burnt skin that lay behind it before hiding it again.
"…and that. Before I gave my code to my apprentice Yunyun, I asked that Sen treat her like he did me. I'm very glad he did."
C.C. winced as she watched Sen almost wilt. The fact that Nene had managed that without an ounce of hostility seemed to make it sound even more damning. All the upbringing of Edo-era court culture was not sufficient to smother Nene's (in C.C.'s opinion terrible) personality—it had simply taught her to express it in characteristically Japanese way.
"But enough about happy memories," Nene commented as she sat back down. "So V.V. has come to Japan knowing one of the codes is lost?"
"His men were the one who went after Mai Mai, and he's most certainly dead," C.C. replied. "His plan should have been foiled then."
"As the guardians of the Sword of Akasha, we Immortals have always had the road that reaches directly into Akasha, if we ever had the will to reach into it," Nene noted with a smile, "but there have been people who have been trying to reach it without us since we were born."
C.C. nodded slowly. "One wonders whether our existences ever stopped the Magus."
The associated academics, madmen, prodigies and innovators who were covered under the blanket term of Magus had always had a poor affinity with the Immortals and Geassholders of the Geass Directorate—only natural, given that the former were those who sought to reach Akasha, the Root, for humanity, and the latter were those who were tasked with protecting it from humanity.
"The Magus have tried for millennia without succeeding," Sen growled.
"You know, they say that an infinite amount of monkeys typing infinitely into typewriters would someday replicate all the works of Shakespeare," Nene noted. "We the Immortal are meant to protect the road to Akasha into all infinity. Statistically the odds favor the Magus…eventually."
"So V.V. has found a way that works, then."
"Assuming that Shiki-san is correct and suffering from some religious Hong Xiuqian-esque delusion[5.5], then we can assume she has," Nene replied with a smile at Shiki.
"I don't think I'm delusional," Shiki replied brightly.
Nene's smile didn't waver. "That's what delusional people say, dear."
C.C. furrowed her brow. "So the magus have managed to circumvent us? In Japan?"
Nene looked up. "Have you ever heard of the legend of the Holy Grail?"
"I've watched Indiana Jones, if that counts."
"Close enough. It's kind of low-key in the association, but apparently some very dedicated magus have been trying to summon it."
Sen's eyebrows twitched skeptically. "Here?"
"It happens every sixty years or so, starting 1830 ATB. Allegedly, the Holy Grail will materialize in a small town south of the Capital after a battle of some sorts."
"…I can see why it's pretty low-key," C.C. said. Even in the world of immortals and magus, it seemed rather inconceivable that anybody would decide to bring the cup from the Last Supper to an island in the Far East.
"If the explanation sounds sketchy, that would be because it is," Nene commented. "There probably is no real grail involved—the Fuyuki Grail War has been an attempt, like so many others, to reach the root."
"…and they have succeeded?"
"We would have known if they had," Nene replied with a smile. "This has happened three times already, without result. But it seems V.V. believes that it'll work this time."
C.C. looked at Nene. "And do you believe it will?"
Nene shrugged. "Doesn't concern me. I'm just an old woman living out the rest of her days."
C.C. laughed wryly. "That sounds a little strange coming from an old lady with the body of a twenty year old."
"You're one to talk."
"I must ask, though. This seems like a random bit of trivia to carry around."
"It's not exactly a conversation starter," Nene agreed as she poured a fifth refill into Sen's cup the moment he had put down his cup. "Oh, whoops," she added pleasantly as, with a hiss of steam, half a cup's worth of boiling tea tipped onto Sen's suit, filling the already musty-smelling room with the sharp smell of mothballs.
C.C. gazed at Nene pointedly. "I assume you didn't pick this up from gossiping with the local housewives?"
Nene laughed. "Tactful. I heard it from V.V., of course."
Sen's hand strayed towards his coat pockets, but stopped after a glance from C.C., who continued smiling. "V.V. was here?"
Nene nodded. "Two hours or so ago. I wasn't aware bloodstained shirts were in vogue with the Britannian Nobility."
Unbidden, the image of a bloodstained V.V. and Nene with half her face in its usual medium rare quality having a tea party raced across C.C.'s mind. Noting Sen's discomfort as he fidgeted in his wet suit, C.C. decided to suppress her laugh. Her code could heal wounds, but it wouldn't fix a ruined Yukata, and she wasn't sure to what extent she could test Shiki's patience.
Sighing, C.C. stood up. "…Well, we've imposed on you for long enough and drank two kettles' worth of your tea, and it seems like we have to get back on the road."
"V.V. wants you to chase him, you know," Nene remarked as Shiki yawned and Sen stood up with an expression of relief. "After all, both of you hold the two remaining codes. And who knows, maybe seven are enough."
"We won't be able to stop him just hiding," C.C. responded.
Nene almost seemed to show concern as she escorted C.C. and the others outside. "You're fighting him and two immortals and the whole Geass Directorate. You know how the last immortal who tried that ended up."
C.C. shrugged. "I won't have to worry about that if V.V. succeeds, will I?"
Fujimura Raiga seemed to be trying to dig a well, judging by the double-time allegro his walking stick was beating on the parking lot pavement.
Emiya Kiritsugu felt a twinge of amusement at the Oyabun's obvious anxiety as watched a hastily assembled fleet of motorcycles, sedans and trucks rolled into the parking lot behind Raiga's tame-looking sedan. Judging by the expressions of some of the men dismounting, they had been expecting a battle. A few units of JSDF soldiers looked ill-at ease from their IFV's.
"Is that where they're holding the young mistress, boss?!"
"We'll tear it down right now!"
Kiritsugu took a quick glance at the manager, who seemed to have produced a bat studded with nails with all the skill of a master faker and the expression of a nuclear reactor on the verge of meltdown.
"Taiga, could you wake up the other children?"
"O-of course," a slightly-flustered Taiga replied as she began shaking the Japanese boy's shoulder.
Donning his jacket, Kiritsugu walked out the automatic doors towards the crowd of what seemed to vary from professional-looking men in suits and sunglasses to what looked like glorified street thugs.
The silence that followed Kiritsugu's entrance died almost instantaneously as the various members of the Fujimura Group turned their attention to Kiritsugu.
"You the bastard that took the young mistress?"
"Want to die?"
"—Wot 'choo starin' at? You 'avin a giggle there mate? I'll bash ye fookin 'ead in I sware on me mum"
"Will all of you be quiet for a minute?!"
The raucous and somewhat bloodthirsty catcalls and jeers coming from the crowd was instantly silenced as a scratchy voice echoed in the sudden silence.
The crowd parted silently like the red sea as Fujimura Raiga stepped out.
Though this was the first time Kiritsugu had seen him in several years, the Oyabun looked the same as he had in Vladivostok, a hunchbacked old man in a brightly colored tiger print Haori.
With a mobility that seemed beyond his age, Raiga hobbled rapidly towards Kiritsugu, followed close behind by his bodyguard, a young-looking man in a suit.
"Is she here, Kiritsugu?" he demanded with no preamble.
"Of course," Kiritsugu replied with a smile. "The Britannian children and the Japanese child are here as well—"
"Yes, yes," Raiga replied distractedly as he stalked towards the automatic door, "I'll deal with them once I'm clear about the safety of my grandaughte—"
With an electronic beep, the automatic door slid open.
"Old Man?" Fujimura Taiga blinked in surprise, Suzaku and the others in tow.
"Taiga?" was all Raiga could manage, his expression complicated.
"Old ma—Grandfather, what you said earlier…"
Fujimura Raiga's expression remained unchanged, but his ears reddened, a little bit.
Taiga slowly looked around at the surrounding Yakuza. "Did you call together all these people…?"
As if sensing the awkwardness, the surrounding Yakuza also lapsed into a silence that lasted several moments.
"O-of course not!"
Even Kiritsugu almost spat out the cigarette in his mouth.
"D-do you think I would have gone to such great lengths to rescue my worthless granddaughter? I was only thinking about the feelings of my favorite son! Yeah, that's what it is," Raiga rattled off with a voice that was a bit louder than what was necessary.
For a moment, Taiga looked a little surprised—and then she broke into a grin. "That's what I thought. I was worried you were getting daft, old man."
Raiga turned to his bodyguard, carefully avoiding all eye contact with his granddaughter. "Yohane, help the children to get onboard, I want to speak with Kiritsugu."
As Fujimura Taiga walked past Raiga, Kiritsugu saw her whisper something at her grandfather.
Blinking, Raiga turned towards his granddaughter as she walked towards a waiting (and expensive-looking car). "You say something?"
Halfway into the car, Taiga turned with a grin that seemed far more mischievous than touched. "Nothing!"
Emiya Kiritsugu smiled. They both had their doubts at times, but Fujimura Raiga and Fujimrua Taiga were definitely family.
"She's a strong one," Kiritsugu remarked as he walked up to Raiga.
Raiga laughed, a rheumatic wheeze of a laugh. "Too strong for an old man like me to keep up. I really don't know what to do with her anymore."
Leaning on his cane, Raiga chuckled.
"Nor, for that matter, what to do to repay you, Kiritsugu. Have you ever considered replacing me?"
Kiritsugu had considered shooting him in Vladivostok when they had first met, but perhaps this was not the time to mention that.
"I'm actually thinking of retiring soon, once this job's done," he said instead.
"Ah…got money and a woman or two waiting for you already?"
"Yes, something like that."
Raiga laughed heartily. "I was hoping you'd take over so I could do that. I'd have retired years ago if my subordinates weren't blithering idiots." Walking over to his own car, he opened the door and gestured towards Kiritsugu to enter. "Ride with me for a while. I'll escort you to Fuyuki."
With their summons complete, the Yakuza returned to their vehicles, some slightly disappointed by the lack of bloodshed.
Though many of the Yakuza fanned out to return to their homes, quite a few various motor vehicles continued, a de facto honor guard that combined strangely the JSDF IFVs that escorted the small convoy.
In the large group of moving vehicles, nobody noticed that the occupants of one vehicle had never come out.
"Target moving."
"Alright, keep tailing them. We're on the warpath."
1638 Hours Tokyo Time
Japanese Coast
While it lay roughly between Hiroshima and Tokyo, the city of Fuyuki lay some distance away from either the vast metropolis that was the capital or the city centers of Hiroshima. Quite a large portion of the route consisted of small highways along the coast.
"Quite the view, huh?" Fujimura Raiga remarked as a few flashes of the late afternoon sun shone through on the bayside road.
Kiritsugu nodded. It was certainly scenic, though he could identify that this would be an easy road to obstruct if the situation required it. Moreover, this road would be a good place for an ambush. If he had to go to Fuyuki alone, he would have preferred a less scenic but safer inland route.
"This is the Japan I prefer to remember," Raiga said. "Back before the Sakuradite boom. When the world ran on Petroleum, we could always just blame Britannia or the Middle Eastern Federation if the oil didn't flow. The Britannians left because they felt there was little of value in Japan.
That's what has managed to protect our independence for so long—because there was little value in claiming us, not to justify the military cost. Once the world switched to Sakuradite, we suddenly became valuable again."
Raiga leaned back onto his seat. "We've been bluffing them since. We've played nice with the EU and the Chinese Federation and even Britannia at times—but we knew that we would get swallowed up in an instant the moment any of them knew we needed them. Even if we win this war, the Chinese or the EU will be next up to try to take us over."
Kiritsugu said nothing, but he knew the truth of it. He had fought in Georgia, Egypt and Ceylon, all nations that had tried to stay outside the influence of the three great powers that had remained following the end of the USSR. Each one had fallen eventually. Without the USSR as a common enemy, each of the three powers had been left with a huge military force that needed resources. Seizure of what had once been called the "Third World[6]" provided an easy alternative—by using your military assets to seize territory, you gained the resources necessary to maintain your military assets. As of now, Japan and the Middle Eastern Federation remained the only nations that had managed to maintain their sovereignty—until now.
"The EU and China will not come," Raiga sighed. "If they come, it will be to pick up the scraps and do what Britannia is doing now. Even if we win now, there is no guarantee that China will not turn on us. "
"…Do you not think the JSDF and your men will be able to win?"
"They might," Raiga conceded. "But when they do, what then? Will we fight the EU or the Chinese next? On Japanese Soil?"
And then the sedan rounded a bend in the mountain road—
It was a scene Kiritsugu had seen in Chechnya and Ceylon.
Smoke billowed up from where they had been concealed by tree cover.
What had once been a rather scenic seaside town seemed to be hovering under a heavy layer of black smoke.
Kiritsugu looked around. There seemed to be no living individuals or emergency services to be seen—it appeared that the military had already evacuated this particular town.
Watching it all, Raiga closed his eyes.
"My father told me all about the firebombings in '45. Whole cities burnt to the ground. What use will it be flying a Japanese flag over a pile of rubble? Japan will have to choose a side eventually. Why not Britannia…"
Raiga glanced at Kiritsugu, who kept his expression neutral. Though he was Japanese by race, he had spent most of his life outside of Japan. The concept of Nationalism meant very little to him—and if more lives could be saved by caving to Britannia, Kiritsugu would prefer Japan surrendered on the spot. But he knew things rarely worked that way. Sure enough, Raiga broke into a rueful laugh.
"…is what I would say if I believed it for a moment. But even if we know it's the truth, it's impossible for us to accept it. We Japanese are too prideful for that. We'll fight back. Eventually we might win. My job is to make sure that one day we do so. No matter what we have to do now."
Kiritsugu said nothing. He could say nothing, for only a few hours ago he had been guilty of the same crime.
Sometimes knowing justice was not the same as following it—
Kiritsugu froze. Despite the clear traces of a battle, the lack of bodies was suspicious. The main road thus far had remained suspiciously clear of debris, despite all the destroyed buildings in the vicinity. As if they were expected to go down this road—
Holding up a hand in front of Raiga, Kiritsugu pointed at his gun.
"Stop the car," Raiga murmured. Nodding, the driver whispered something into his headset as he removed a handgun from the glove compartment.
Leaning towards the tinted windows, Raiga glanced at Kiritsugu, his usual lively vigor replaced by deathly calm.
"The Russians again?"
"Someone else," Kiritsugu replied with conviction. The Russians who had fought with Raiga at Vladivostok could not be responsible, as Kiritsugu had been responsible for killing all of them. Not that anyone knew.
"I'll check," Kiritsugu whispered as he quietly unlocked the door.
For one, if this ambushing party was hostile, Kiritsugu was the most likely to be capable of surviving it. Moreover, if the situation became too dangerous, it would make more sense to flee the scene. Being trapped in a car was the worst place to be in a firefight. It was just enough metal to be insufficient to defend against bullets and yet too much to be able to throw aside easily when things went bad.
Kiritsugu closed his eyes.
"Time Alter—double Accel," he muttered to himself as, instantly, the world around him seemed to dim, and the last remnants of Raiga's words of caution slowed to an incomprehensible drawl of sound.
With speed that probably shocked Raiga, Kiritsugu pushed the door open with all his might, the sudden application of force causing the door to groan in protest as he rolled out.
The impact, combined with the stress of double accel hit Kiritsugu like a sledgehammer. Ignoring the insistent pain in his chest, Kiritsugu stood up, taking a quick analysis of his surroundings.
—Raiga's young bodyguard Yohane switching off the safety of his handgun as he pushed the children back—
—A roadblock ahead of them, ready to be rolled to stop the convoy—
—A dark-skinned man in the one of the cars talking into a phone, his eyes wide behind his sunglasses—
—A man in a black vest watching from the roofless building, some kind of rifle in his hand—
—A rather well-dressed man who seemed to be making a "stop" motion in the distance—
—And then, with a blast of light, time returned to normal with a blast of pain.
Gritting his teeth through the pain, Kiritsugu let his weapon fall to an at ease position. It seemed like these men—a private military contractor, by appearances, didn't have attentions to kill them, at least not in the immediate present.
With a roar of anger, Yakuza members barreled out of their vehicles, looking around nervously with self-encouraging roars as the JSDF soldiers trained their weapons in a desperate attempt to find a target.
"Don't shoot," Kiritsugu yelled to the panicked Yakuza as Raiga barreled out behind him, his hand holding a shotgun that looked way too large for the diminutive old man.
"You heard him," Raiga yelled as he stood up. "I hope you meant what you said," he muttered quietly to Kiritsugu.
"Not bad," a woman's voice echoed in heavily accented Japanese.
A figure leapt out from the window of a building, landing nearly soundlessly on the ruined road, a paper box of "melon milk" clutched in its hand.
Kiritsugu appraised the figure as it stood up. The figure belonged to a rather well-built, dark-skinned woman. Like the others, she seemed to be dressed in the black vest and pretentious Operator sunglasses that seemed to be the uniform of this particular defense contractor. Her expression radiated a smug kind of confidence.
"Those were some reflexes there," she said with a nod to Kiritsugu. "You looking for some better employment?"
Kiritsugu said nothing—it was better to give as little as possible away.
"Oh, the silent type," the woman replied with a smile. "I don't mind those either—" midsentence, she nodded to Raiga as he stepped out from behind Kiritsugu. "Ah, personal life later. Fujimura Raiga?"
"That would be me," Raiga replied calmly.
"Ah." Rummaging into one of the vest's many pockets, she removed a rather pleasant-looking business card that she offered to Raiga. "Misae Sabe, BlackHills Services LLC. We do personal security, investigations, tracking, that kind of thing. Consider hiring us if you have the opportunity."
"I assume you didn't stop us to ask for a job, Miss Sabe?" Raiga replied in fluent English.
"Just a bit of self-advertising," Misae replied with a cheerful smile. "Every girl is a self-producer, you know."
"I assume the man with the rocket launcher on the rooftop helps with the production," Raiga remarked dryly.
"All pleasantries aside then," Misae said with a chuckle, "Please leave behind the Britannian boy and girl you picked up from that mountaintop pagoda."
"You don't appear to be his parent or legal guardian. Something about the skin tone."
"If you're his parent, he certainly didn't get your eyes."
Kiritsugu sighed. Raiga could be petty when he wanted to be.
"Ms. Sabe, may I ask who your employer is?"
Misae shrugged. "Sorry, can't tell you that."
Raiga chipped in with a trace of anger. "Then may I know why you want these children?"
"It's bad business to give away anything about your client, you know."
"And if we refuse?"
With a loud sucking time, Misae sucked empty her small carton of melon milk. "Then might we interest you in a sales demonstration of the services we offer?"
For all its lighthearted tone, the sound of gun butts touching shoulders suggested that the defense contractor meant what she had said. The dry, scratching sound of swords clearing their sheath suggested that the Fujimura Yakuza were also preparing for the worst.
Raiga smiled a smile that didn't give away vein pulsing in his temple. "How do you know we won't kill the children?"
"I'm interested in watching you try."
Kiritsugu's finger played with the trigger to his handgun. If worst came to worst, he would try to get the children and Raiga out—if he could get all of them out.
If it came to down to it, the children would be easier to rescue than Raiga. If it came to it, he would be saving more people leaving Raiga—
"Misae, stand down!"
Misae and Raiga both turned as a softspoken voice that bore a hint of nervousness cut through the sour-tasting tension in the air.
It was the rather well-dressed man who until then had been watching from the window. Dressed in a rather fancy coat and sporting a row of carefully combed greying brown hair, the man fit the spitting image of an aristocrat.
"Apologies, Raiga-san," he said with a bow and perfect Japanese. "I did not intend for this to become a confrontation."
"I may have reacted in the wrong way as well," Raiga muttered. "Finally, someone who speaks Japanese," he murmured under his breath.
Walking in front of Misae, the old man offered a hand.
"Reuben Ashford."
Raiga's eyebrows jumped a little. "Lord Reuben Ashford? Of House Ashford?"
The man laughed wryly. "Not a Lord anymore. Just an old man with too much money."
"I can relate," Raiga replied. "though I hope you have not become overfond of the children."
"Pedophilia is a crime in every country, Fujimura-san," Ashford responded pleasantly. "I would rather not spend my not very hard-earned money on bribing the authorities—not that it would be a problem if I wanted to do so."
"Ahh. I've managed to keep my head above the legal water line," Raiga noted with a humorless laugh and a pointed glance at the car from which the children watched.
"It becomes harder and harder to do it as you grow older, you know. It wouldn't be in either of our interests that it happen again," Ashford replied, with his own glance at the Britannian children."
Raiga sighed. "…It seems like we both could benefit from some mutual discussion."
"It seems we will stay a while then."
"I apologize for my rudeness there, Fujimura-San," Reuben Ashford sighed as he watched the cleanup from the rooftop of a (relatively unscathed) office building. "BlackHills has not failed me yet, but I would not trust them with my secrets just yet."
"It's fine. I had JSDF soldiers with me as well," Raiga replied gruffly as he watched a Yakuza member carry a white, limp sack towards a fenced-off area near the edge of the highway. The bag fell with a small plume of dust and a thump that seemed a little louder than it should be.
"It's better than leaving them out there to rot," Ashford muttered.
Raiga sighed as he watched a PMC officer drop another white body bag onto the pile. "It's out of both of our hands not, isn't it?"
Ashford smiled a tired, bitter smile. "An Oyabun sidelined by the Prime Minister and a former noble whose benefactors are political hostages—two useless old men."
"Two RICH useless old men," Raiga corrected him.
Ashford laughed. "I stand corrected."
"Onto business, then. I suppose you want the Prince and Princess?"
Ashford nodded with a bow. "I'd like to thank you for taking good care of them in Japan."
"'Good' may be an overstatement," Raiga sighed, "we only protected them to ensure the protection of our hostage in Britannia."
"And it was the same for us," Ashford replied as he watched Lelouch Lamperouge and Suzaku Kururugi where they stood watching the slow procession of the pallbearers, "but it seems like the children have gotten used to their lives here."
"…My granddaughter will be a little disappointed to watch the children go."
Ashford blinked as he stared at the wrinkly old man. He had seen the tall girl who had been trying to protect the children, but nothing would have suggested to him that she was the descendant of this raisin of a man. "That girl is your granddaughter?"
"Taiga is the only thing I'm proud of," Raiga replied with a toothless grin.
"You should be," Ashford replied. "I hope my granddaughter will grow up to be like her."
"If this war ends, they may have a chance to meet."
"I will make sure it happens. After all, both of us have a lot to gain from working together."
Raiga smiled as he watched Lelouch and Suzaku below.
"I remember back when I was that age."
"It was a long time ago," Ashford said with a laugh. "I can hardly remember it."
Ashford turned back to the soon-to-be funeral pyre below, now bathed in the golden light of the setting sun. "I will guarantee the safety of Princess Kikyo Sumeragi and protect anyone you need protected."
"And in return I will return you Nunnally and Lelouch Lamperouge," Fujimura Raiga confirmed.
Ashford smiled as he extended his hands. "It's settled, then. Let us work together to end this war as quickly as possible."
Clasping Ashford's hand, Raiga nodded solemnly. "Of course—for the safety of both our granddaughters."
With a roar and a burst of heat, the funeral pyre burst into flame as the JSDF officer who had lit the flame saluted silently.
Suzaku Kururgi averted his eyes silently. He had seen the PMC, JSDF and Yakuza members drop bags of every size, from bags quite a bit larger than him to bags smaller than he was.
And all because the governments of two countries could not agree.
And, as the son of the head of the Japanese government, Suzaku Kururugi could not help but feel that he and his father were responsible for those body bags now shriveling under the kerosene-powered fire.
"I…"
Suzaku said nothing as he heard Lelouch's voice. That voice held a bitterness that he had never quite heard before—the bitterness of someone who knew exactly how powerless he was.
For some reason, it drove that shard of guilt deeper into Suzaku's chest.
Lelouch Lamperouge was a political prisoner who had been traded off to Japan, a prisoner. His powerlessness was a given.
But unlike Lelouch, Suzaku was the son of the Prime Minister, Genbu Kururugi. If only he had done something—
"Suzaku…"
Suzaku looked up as Lelouch spoke again—this time not simply with bitterness, but something else. Anger, almost rage.
"I'm going to destroy Britannia!"
"…Was it alright not telling them?" Misae asked, a box of Soda milk in her hands.
"I'm fulfilling my promise, Kikyo Sumeragi and her daughter will remain safe." Reuben Ashford replied. "What they don't know won't hurt them."
"From my experiences, it generally hurts after you say that," Misae remarked. "So we going back to the Rangers? I'm not sure they've forgiven you for last time."
"We're heading to the Landing Zone. We're taking the first transport to Hong Kong or Manila. Our job in this is done."
Misae shrugged as she clambered into the shotgun seat of several converted pickups. "As you wish."
Opening the door of his own vehicle, a SUV that seemed rather large for the other vehicles on the road, Ashford clambered in. Eyeing him suspiciously was the older of the two children he had travelled to Japan to protect—Lelouch Vi Britannia, Eleventh Heir to the Britannian Throne.
"Your highnesses," Ashford said with a curt bow.
The boy did not seem mollified. "Who are you, and why do you refer to us as loyalty?" It seemed like a year as a political hostage had hardened this child from the bright child Ashford had seen from a distance in the past.
"You need not worry," Ashford replied with a warm smile as he settled into the front seat, "I used to work for your mother." Technically that was only true after she had become Emperor, but Ashford chose not to point that out.
"Where are you taking us?"
"To the Ashford Foundation," Ashford replied. "I have a granddaughter back at home. I'm sure Milly will be happy to have a friend or two."
Saturday, February 6th, 2010 A.T.B., 2349 Hours Tokyo Time
Shinto District, Fuyuki City
"Attention Citizens of Fuyuki City, this is the JGSDF 15th Infantry Division. Martial law has been declared, and a curfew is currently in place from 10 pm to 6 am. I repeat, a curfew will remain in place from 10 pm Tokyo time to 6 am. Please remain in your homes for the duration of the curfew."
Under the street lights, a group of JSDF Soldiers escorted a Komatsu IFV through the (already largely-empty) streets. After all, war had been declared, even if it had not touched the quiet town of Fuyuki.
Kirei Kotomine watched, his face blank, from the top of the Center Building, the tallest structure in Fuyuki.
From the point of view of a Church member, the curfew was useful—it would help to limit the rampant casualties that had been seen in grail wars in the past—and it was fairly relaxing.
With the streets largely empty, Fuyuki lay refreshingly silent under the cloudless night—almost as if a battle was not happening at that very moment.
Huff huff—
With all his strength, the White-masked man threw himself to the side with all his strength.
With a metallic whine a spear screamed past the space he had occupied a millisecond before.
And then a roar as, with the force of an artillery shell, the spear impacted the dirt, sending the masked man flying in a burst of shattered cobblestone and dirt.
Kirei shivered slightly. The unusually warm day had given way to the usual February chill at night, and the weather reports predicted that the weather would return to subzero temperatures by the next morning.
In the distance, Kirei could see the distant lights of the residential homes. Divided by a river, the City of Fuyuki was divided into two sections—the growing economic center in the Shinto district and the residential district of Miyama. From here, the various houses and streetlights of Miyama looked like a patchwork of tiny yellow stars.
From here, Kirei could make out the splotch of yellow lights of the Foreigner's district, seemingly wrapped in the same tranquil silence that covered the rest of the town from this altitude.
"— —"
With the dexterity of a spider or a particularly rabid squirrel, the masked man landed on all fours, twisting to avoid an axe that buried itself where his head would have been.
With a hiss, a Chinese Dao slammed into the ground near him incinerating the little petunia bush that stood in its way instantly.
And then, abruptly, the rain of destruction stopped as, finally, the masked man looked up to face his assailant.
"My compliments to you. You may be an insect, but you are tenacious insect."
The haughty tone certainly fit the speaker.
Golden Armor, golden hair, and an aura that seemed to itself shine gold—the man who stood among the innumerable cloud of armaments, Servant Archer, seemed to glow like a second sun in the night.
"But you are starting to bore me, and your strength is flagging."
Servant Assassin said nothing. Archer was right. He would not be able to dodge the man's seemingly endless supply of weapons.
If he could get through those weapons, he would have a clear shot at his enemy.
The smile on Archer's face was not cruel. Nor was it pitying or even hostile. It was the smile of a god looking down at a termite.
"You know, Mongrel, a moth blazes brightest after it has flown into the flame. Would you not rather perish in a blaze of glory—however petty—than be slowly chased into a corner and squashed like a bug?"
Under his mask, Assassin smiled.
It seemed as if the enemy Servant had let down his guard.
His master knew a secret that the enemy servant didn't know had been compromised.
After all, Assassin thought to himself, the man who summoned Servant Assassin surely shared some of the duplicity of the legendary Hashashin.
Archer's master had been a fool for entrusting this information to his master—and it would come back to bite him now.
Within his mind, Assassin ran through the plan through his head once more as he crouched.
Servant Archer raised his hand as several swords, spears and warhammers primed themselves.
Assassin would only get a tiny window of opportunity. But it was enough. After all, he was one of the Hashashin—and the Hashashin didn't need second chances.
With an oddly loud crack, Archer snapped his fingers as the weapons behind leapt to life—and as Assassin burst into action.
With a reflexes that seemed to defy human capabilities, Assassin leapt onto the hilt of the Dao that had buried itself near him, and then to a taller Longsword, and then some kind of polehammer, each step bringing him closer and closer to Archer.
And then, a Chakram whizzing under him, he was clear, a projectile shooting towards his enemy.
"Shah e mardan,
Sheir e Yazdan,
Quwat e Parwar digar,
La Fatta illa Ali,
La Saif illa Zulfiqar,"
Assassin muttered with a voice as deep and parched as the cliffs of Alamut themselves.
Archer's smile widened as he personally pulled a sword and prepared to throw it.
Under his mask, Assassin smiled. This was his chance.
With a burst of dirty linen, the blackened bandages that covered his left arm burst away as his hands tightened on a hilt hidden within.
"Sword that Shatters Heresy – Zabaniya Zulfiqar!"
As Archer hurled his sword, Assassin swung with his own, a bifurcated scimitar that shined with a glow that rivaled that of Archer's armor. With a deep, bone-chilling clang, the two swords connected—and then, with a supersonic whine that resembled a scream, both swords shattered in a blast of ejected prana. As Assassin charged through the blast, a second blade extended from his arm as he closed in for the kill—
Kirei shivered slightly as a gust wind cut through his coat with little difficulty.
The weatherman had predicted that it might snow sometime during this week.
"—!"
With a silent cry of pain and shock, Assassin slammed back into the dirt, a spear pinning him to the ground through his shoulder.
"…how dare you."
Assassin looked up in shock at Archer. His expression was no longer that of passive condescension, but of anger, of disgust.
"How dare you defile one of a King's treasures?"
Silently, Assassin writhed as he scrabbled against the spear that transfixed him upon the ground.
He needed to get out—to tell his master that his intel was incorrect.
All those armaments that hung behind Archer were not the manifestation of one noble phantasm, as his master believed. If they had, all would have shattered the moment he unleashed Zabaniya Zulfiqar.
Unbelievably, amazingly, each and every one of those weapons was own Noble Phantasm in its own right.
Archer raised his hand once again, as a new barrage of weapons primed themselves.
Assassin desperately yanked against the spear in his shoulder. If he could get out, he had a chance, a chance to warn his master that his act of subterfuge had magus—
And then he froze.
It had only been there for a second.
But he had seen it far too many times not to recognize it.
A white mask, forever bound in a skulllike smile.
The same mask he wore.
And, at that moment, Assassin realized that he didn't have to tell his master anything.
He understood why his master had sent him, what role he had to play.
Assassin loosened his grip on the spear that dug into his shoulder.
Truly, his master was an Assassin in his own right. With such a crafty scheme, Assassin knew that his master would be the one who would win the Holy Grail.
It was a pity, Assassin reflected as the rain of swords came down, that he would not be alive to see it.
With a rustle of ragged cloth, a white-mask form landed next to Kirei, her head inclined in a respectful bow.
"It has been done, my master," she murmured.
"Good," Kirei said simply.
It was, after all, necessary. The fact that Tohsaka Tokiomi had taught Kirei Kotomine as an apprentice only days before the war was, while not unusual in the world of magus, certainly more than enough for the other masters to take notice.
Indeed, it would bring unwanted attention both to Kirei and his servant—hardly what the master of Assassin, the servant most in tune with anonymity and the shadows, needed.
Now, under the protection of the Church as a defeated master, Kirei would have far greater freedom movement, under the eye of the other servants.
"Is this alright?" Kirei mused aloud.
"Rest Assured," the female Assassin as she stood up. "He was the first, but he won't be the only one. Look."
Following the Assassin's hand, Kirei focused on the JSDF soldiers escorting the IFV—or rather, the soldier who had been doing so. Now they lay scattered across the ground.
Slowly, as if waking up from a dream, they stood up, picking up their weapons—and as one, they turned upwards towards Kirei Kotomine.
Kirei had been trained to be emotionless, but he could not stop his eyes from widening slightly as he looked down.
On all their faces was the white masks of the Hashashin.
"Assassins may die, but Assassin will not."
Kirei could not see behind the white mask, but he suspected he heard pride as the Assassin spoke.
Noble Phantasm: Zabaniya Zulfiqar
Title: Sword that Shatters Heresy
Owner: Assassin
Type: Anti-Unit
Rank: C+++
Range: 0-10 m
Maximum number of targets: 1 people
Dsecription: A type of Sword Breaker based on Zulfiqar, the sword used by Alī ibn Abī Ṭālib. A sword given by the Archangel Gabriel to Ali when his strength shattered all other swords he wielded. A two-ended scimitar that, in its original form (Rank A+), would shatter any noble phantasm below rank A and lower the stats of all noble phantasms above by one stat. However, Assassin's version is a lesser iteration, a copy of the version that is famous in Islamic mythology. In its altered form, used by Assassin, it functions similarly, but will shatter in the process. Meant to be used on an enemy servant's trump card to allow Assassin to make the best use of his close combat/assassination abilities.
Chapter Notes
[1]Primroses – Yes, I know in the anime they are sunflowers, but sunflowers don't bloom in winter, and the Holy Grail War has traditionally taken place in winter, so I had to make do with a winter flowering plant.
[2] Yukata – a lighter version of a kimono, commonly for more casual use and for the summer. She wore it in Episode one for reasons I don't really know in canon. It was, after all, summer in Code Geass Canon?
[3] Tsundere – a term used to refer to anime characters (generally female) who initially may act disgusted or hostile towards a love interest. They may not be capable of adequately expressing those feelings once they have developed and may attempt to hide it with their previous hostility (usually without success). Characters that exhibit this in this universe would be Tohsaka Rin and (depending on the power of your homo goggles) Waver Velvet in relation to Rider.
[4] Reading Glasses – a personal preference on my part. I think Kiritsugu'd look good in glasses. His dad did.
[5] A Chinese Proverb: "One mountain cannot hold two tigers," bearing a similar meaning to "there cannot be two suns in the sky"
[5.5] Hong Xiuqian – Founder of the Taiping movement, a scholar who failed the Chinese Civil Service Exams and, after a nervous breakdown, awoken convinced he was Jesus' younger brother. The movement he bred would kill more people than World War I around the same time as the American Civil War, which is quite an achievement (but not so much in light that it IS china)
[6] 1st World, 2nd World and 3rd World: these terms used to denote the three sides in the Cold War Era: NATO and its affiliates as the 1st World, the Warsaw Pact as the 2nd World, and the Unaffiliated nations (India, Egypt, etc.) as the 3rd World. This is a simplification (i.e. France did not hold itself as part of NATO, Red China and the Warsaw Pact did not consider themselves friends, etc). Nowadays "third world" is just a term used to vaguely refer to developing or unindustrialized nations.