Code Geass Megiddo

by Wing Zero Alpha

After the Black Rebellion, the world became a different place from what people knew it for. But in spite of that, there was still one who wished to change it for the better. This is the story of his crusade...

17. Chapter XVII: Declaration

"All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players."
- William Shakespeare

Chapter XVII: Declaration

Earth, Sol System, Milky Way Galaxy
April 11, 2025

With those three single words, the Earth became still. All across the globe, the human inhabitants of the blue planet looked up to their televisions, computers and smartphones, all wearing expressions of shock and disbelief at what they saw on those respective screens. There, standing before a silver banner with a very familiar black, tridented sigil at its center, stood a man that for the last eight years had been believed vanquished. Some had believed he had died in the Devastation, others had believed the Britannians had captured him and executed him, and even more had believed had been imprisoned anonymously in the Falklands. But now, as the people realized, all of those assumptions had been wrong, leaving only one simple, yet all too certain, reality.

Zero lived on.

"People of the world, I have returned!" the masked man bellowed, reaching his arms out wide as he did so, revealing his black and gold uniform for the world to see. "Hear me Britannia! All who disjoin remorse from power, heed my words carefully!"

With that, he settled his arms down again. Then after a brief moment passed, he turned his head to the right and reached his right hand up to his mask, his fingers touching the purple orb. "I am burdened by a great sorrow as war and discrimination continue unopposed and deeds of great malice are carried by the strong to exploit the weak!"

He then waved his hand outward, causing his cape to flutter again. "In China, Britannia's occupation forces under Viceroy Reginald Calares, supported by the turncoat administrators of the former Chinese Federation, execute their unjust will on the beleaguered populaces without remorse and exploit the land of what little treasures it has remaining! In the Far East, the legions of Princess Marrybell mel Britannia march through the plains and sew death and destruction in their wake, while the defending armies stand alone and unsupported against their wrath! In Africa, the Imperial armies, formerly under the command of Prince Lelouch vi Britannia, continues to surge through the north without pause, regardless of whatever man, woman and child may be caught in the crossfire! And in Eurasia itself, the overwhelming forces under Prince Schneizel el Britannia sweep through one nation after another, enslaving their citizens and desecrating their cultures while the inept and powerless leaders of the Eurasian Union remain safely tucked away in their Central Hemicycle in Berlin!

"Yet worse still are those of malign intent within their own supposed compatriots. Groups that have taken their people's lives for granted as bartered for pieces of silver and a fief, while the rest suffers in squalor. Others still who twist the lives of their youth with a deluded dream of afterlife, filling them with religious zeal to further their own ends. And still that pales in comparison to supposed democracies with the power to challenge this evil empire yet are bloated by arrogance and complacency and continuously squabble amongst themselves for political gain and petty greed, all the while their nations burn before them!

"Eight years have gone by since the Black Rebellion was silenced with the Devastation that shook the Earth itself at its foundations, killing countless in its wake and leaving an entire nation desolate and lifeless, and yet the same horrid interplay of tragedy and comedy moves on throughout! The world has not changed, the systems have not changed, and the people still suffer. And as I slumbered, mangled and brutally dilapidated by the onslaught of fire and brimstone, I could not find solace nor peace, as the voices of the downtrodden and oppressed rang in my ears with such vehemence and fury. With that fervor, I was reawakened from the abyss to wage battle with this evil once more!

"And so, my rebellion began once more, when exactly sixteen days ago on the day of Britannia's founding, my Black Knights laid siege to the Imperial capital city of Pendragon, only to continue onto this very night, when just an hour ago, those same forces laid waste to the Britannian naval basin of Pearl Harbor in the Sandwich Islands!"

And just like the bullet that claimed the life of Emperor Theseus so long ago, that one revelation seemingly caused the entire world to step back and gasp, cold realization now running through the veins of almost every human being on the planet. In turn, those words were complimented by the images of the Pearl Harbor ruins that were being broadcast in the background of his declaration, all recorded live from after the battle itself. "By our hand we have delivered a grand gesture: a raging hellfire upon this callous and oppressive empire for all the world to see! Countless numbers of Britannia's own have paid for their nation's greed and corruption with their lives, all the while many of the Empire's mightiest warships lay at the bottom of the harbor and the island itself burns in their collective pyre! And thus, this evening is the most glorious evening yet in the history of our people."

Yet another dramatic pause. "From here on, I and those who follow me shall fight against all those who abuse their power! Whether they be Britannian or Eurasian or Chinese, it is for their avarice that they will suffer our wrath!

"Therefore once again, here and now, I... no, WE declare war on the Britannian Empire and all of those who stand beside it! As the main instigator of the Devastation of Japan as well as the Great World War, we who have suffered from the Empire's corruption will act in the manner of the Four Horsemen and rain Conquest, War, Famine and Death upon this evil nation, until its crimes are paid in full! That will be the struggle. In that supreme emergency we shall not hesitate to take every step, even the most drastic, to call forth from our people the last ounce and the last inch of effort of which they are capable. The interests of property, the hours of labor, are nothing compared with the struggle of life and honor, for right and freedom, to which we have vowed ourselves. And in our renewed crusade, we will not tire, we will not falter, and we will not fail; whether it last one year, ten years or even a hundred years, we will continue our fight to the bitter end, when we march on the Imperial Capital once more and dictate Britannia's unconditional surrender from the Emperor himself!"

Upon that word, Zero once again reached his hand out, as if offering it. "To those who wish to join us in our war for justice, we welcome you! We have before us an ordeal of the most grievous kind. We have before us many, many long months of struggle and of suffering. You ask, what is our policy? I can say: It is to wage war, by sea, land and air, with all our might and with all the strength given to us; to wage war against a monstrous tyranny, never surpassed in the dark, lamentable catalogue of human crime. That is our policy. You ask, what is our aim? I can answer in one word: It is victory, victory at all costs, victory in spite of all terror, victory, however long and hard the road may be; for without victory, there is no survival. Victory not just for our people but for the rest of the world! We shall bring them to their knees, cut off their head, and pierce their hearts!"

And with that, his outstretched hand closed into a fist, the leather glove making a dull crunching sound as the fingers enclosed. "Rejoice to the meek children of the world! The blood of your oppressors will flow and centuries of tyranny will finally come to an end! Tomorrow the sun will rise on a new world, and a new people forged from the ashes of the Devastation! They shall call us by many names; we shall be known as terrorists, extremists, radicals, and even invoke the name of the beast itself. But soon they shall call us nothing for there is none left to brandish those words against us. They shall fear me, like a force of nature, a dealer in shadow and death.

"For I say unto you: I am Zero! We are the Black Knights! And we have...!" the masked revolutionary shouted before thrusting his fist into the air and crying out with all of his being.

"...RETURNED!"

---

Britannian air cruiser Avalon
County of Crusoe, Area 7 (Sandwich Islands), Britannian Empire

To the occupants of the Avalon's bridge, that last word might as well have been the sound of a gunshot. The entirety of the bridge crew, as well as Schneizel's own personal guard, could only stare in clear horror at the bridge's main monitor, a horror that completely dwarfed what they had held before, upon coming here and finding the wreckage of their once proud naval basin. For several moments after, nobody spoke, until Kanon finally uttered a single sentence, his voice trembling throughout. "How...?"

The desperate inquiry hung in the air like a foul odor, further punctuating the horror that was present amongst those gathered, as well as indirectly signifying the thoughts that were more than likely now running across every Britannian's mind, both those now holding watch over what had once been Pearl Harbor and those elsewhere. It was truly a terrible sight to behold, seeing so many in one place holding the same horrified thousand yard stare, asking the same horrific question in their minds, and much more, wondering what would happen further down the line.

And yet, one man stood out amongst their number. Remaining seated in the throne-like command chair at the rear of the bridge and completely unnoticed by the rest of those present, Schneizel held no evidence of horror or bewilderment in his form. Instead, all that could be seen upon his face was the deep gaze that was locked onto the masked phantom upon the monitor toward the front; a gaze that showed a mixture of discontention and intrigue while completely lacking the horror and fear that those around him were showing. Underneath that gaze, his mind, ever restless and ever calculating, analyzed the events at hand.

And so, the Black King reveals himself at last. he thought poetically, resisting the urge to smile amidst the current company and emotional atmosphere. Everything was clear now, even more than it had been in the aftermath of the Pendragon strike when he had accurately deduced that his enemy was the Order of the Black Knights. The enemy's agenda in Pendragon itself, the Black Battleship's miraculous escape from his trap, the two pronged attack on both Kimmel's fleet and Pearl itself; it all centered around the very man that Schneizel saw before him, the man that had brilliantly led a campaign of insurrection against Britannia and nearly liberated a nation. And from this broadcast alone, Schneizel had no doubts that the masked phantom on that screen was the genuine article; only those with a proper appreciation of theatrics would understand how such a "playact", as it were, could simultaneously inspire fear to one side of a conflict and hope to another, especially when made immediately after the battle had taken place. And if there was one thing Schneizel knew about Zero, it was he was an outright connoisseur of theatrics.

This of course meant one single thing to Schneizel, one thing that mattered to him far more than anything else: the game had changed, truly and undoubtedly. For Schneizel, everything that mattered in life, whether be it war or politics, social standing or outright survival, was a game, and the current war that encompassed the Earth was no exception to him. And in these games, any move could be a game changer, any tactic or strategy could alter the course of the board and morph a destined winner into a fated loser, as well as vice versa. However, this was the first time that, again for Schneizel, the game had changed to such a degree, enough to hold great effect over him and make him question what would have been his and Britannia's assured victory.

Now he no longer faced half-witted Generals or egotistical politicians that thought they could run wars. Nor did he no longer face a half-beaten army that was in continuous retreat as with the Eurasian forces, nor broken remnants of a former order that had lost all hope of triumph as with the Chinese Liberation Army or Zulfiqar. No, the man before him, the man that had labeled himself Zero and hid his face from the world, was a man that was truly attuned to warfare and victory, just as his own armies were attuned to fighting and winning their battles. Together they made an opposing force that was indeed worthy of Schneizel's own praise, as well as his desire to completely destroy. Collectively the perfect opponent to face the White King and his own army on the chessboard.

And that of course, led to another question that rang out in Schneizel's mind: what was Zero's next move? What next course of action would he take in his renewed war against Britannia? Obviously he would not make another strike against the Britannian homeland or any such direct moves, now that all the world knew of his existence as well as that of the Black Knights'. That only left the option of afflicting Britannia's forces abroad, which would in turn create a greater support base from the newly liberated Numbers for the Black Knights to employ, but how would Zero go about that? Would he stick to hit-and-run tactics as were utilized in Pendragon and here at Pearl, snuffing out Britannian bases in Eurasia and Asia one at a time before disappearing back into the shadows? Or would he simply join with a larger force, such as the EU, and work aside them in their own campaigns?

Either way though, until Zero did actually make his next move, Schneizel could only guess at his agenda now and how he did plan on accomplishing all those things he had just proclaimed. In that case, he would have to be patient and see what would happen for the time being, before creating a new strategy for which to trap and eliminate Zero and his army of black and silver avengers, as well as the survivors of Area 11 that supported them, once and for all. And even then, he would have to do it with the Emperor looking over his shoulder, just as His Majesty had done the following night; that alone made Schneizel's stomach actually turn, something that Zero's reemergence and declaration of war had failed to do.

At least there's one thing that has worked in my favor from all of this... Schneizel thought, finally allowing himself to grin.

The game has finally become interesting.

---

Slumped in his temporary quarters aboard the Avalon, freshly stripped out of his pilot suit and holding an equally fresh cup of coffee in hand, Gino visibly shivered as he watched the speech come to a close, quickly followed by the sound of cheering from beyond the camera. Against every ounce of his being, he had kept his eyes glued to the screen and listened to the masked man's words, all the while ignoring the sting left behind from the earlier defeat. And even as the speech ended and the thunderous cheers and applause began, he retained his gaze and listened.

Amongst the cheers of Zero's various followers, some crying out in Japanese while others shouted in Britannian, his far sharper than average hearing could just pick out the "Remember Japan!"s amongst the other chants. This in turn caused his memory to flashback to another speech that had been made not too long ago. A speech that, much like this one, had been made in the aftermath of a tragedy, in which the speaker spoke of inequality, progress and evolution, and had militantly ushered those before him together, causing them to cry out in unison "All Hail Britannia!". It was only at that memory that Gino chose to look away and finally allow himself to cringe; two entirely different speeches before the world, both holding to two entirely different sets of things, yet it seemed like they were spoken by similar people before a similar audience.

And yet again, he felt that voice nagging at him, reminding him that the one who had just spoken represented an army of formerly oppressed survivors who had literally lost everything they had, and that the country that they had just declared war on had been the one responsible throughout. Gino felt his heart become heavy as he thought about that, while the same voice once more reminded him that he was on the side of the aggressor, and that everything he done and will do from now on would be for the aggressor's benefit. And at that knowledge, the Knight of Three felt his body tighten all over, but he still refused to give into the voice.

"It doesn't matter how justified they are," he muttered to himself, trying to silence the voice. "All the Black Knights will do, all Zero will do, is mess up this world even further than it is now!"

Indeed, the last thing the world needed now was another vengeful army out to conquer it. It had been bad enough with Britannia and its drive through Eurasia and Asia, made even worse by the EU's activities throughout. But now there was another faction involved, one that had been renowned for invoking chaos wherever it went, as well as led by the devil incarnate himself. Two thousand, four hundred and two men and women had died from their attack on Pearl alone; how many more would die as they went to war against Britannia, and how much damage to the Earth would be done in the process? At the very least, Gino had enough reason to fight the Black Knights for that reason alone, to prevent them from causing further harm to an already beleaguered world.

So... the voice in his head, his conscience, countered. You say you'll fight against one army to prevent any more death and damage, all for the benefit of another army that has already done great amounts of both?

Gino inwardly growled as he felt his resolve begin to break again, in turn throwing himself against his bunk. Immediately his mind raced to counter that voice, claiming that regardless of what Britannia had done in the past, the Black Knights were still the more volatile and unstable of the two, and therefore the more dangerous. Britannia might have caused the Devastation, but that didn't guarantee Zero wouldn't repeat it somewhere else.

Deep down however, Gino knew he was only grasping for straws, as the other side of the argument's point still stood. It certainly didn't help that Gino remembered that for all the people that had died at Pendragon and Pearl, most of them were soldiers as opposed to civilians, and that while the Black Knights did have the capability to have leveled either places with those sakuradite based missiles alone, they refrained to do so on either occasion. But then he thought, how long would that last with the enemy, before they decided that leveling cities and killing innocents wholesale was a more practical means to fighting their war?

At that point however, he decided he wouldn't think any more on the matter; he had done his part for Emperor and Country during the last battle, so for the time being Zero, the Black Knights, Britannia and the whole war itself could go take a flying leap. And if the world could not do without the Knight of Three for at least a few hours, well, then such a world only deserved to fall into ruin.

---

"You summoned for me, Dame Anya?" spoke the young Lieutenant as he stood at picture perfect attention before the Knight of Six.

Anya did not respond, but instead continued typing on the laptop computer she had been given by request; at the moment she was updating her personal website over the recent events at hand. The Lieutenant, in turn, did well to remain at attention in spite of his curiosity over what exactly the Knight of Six was typing; after all, one did not break from posture in the presence of a Knight of the Round until ordered to. For some time it remained like that, with only the sounds of keystrokes breaking the silence between the knight and the officer.

However, after that time passed, Anya paused her typing and took another moment to look over what she had written. Then when she reached the bottom line of the last paragraph, she closed her eyes and let out what was close to a dejected sigh. "I can't write like this," she spoke, sounding as frustrated as an emotionlessly taciturn woman could sound like. "Not without actually feeling, and I can't do that while you're still inside of me."

At that last part, the Lieutenant looked down, confusion completely over his expression. "Ma'am...?"

"Besides..." she spoke, still in monotone. "I want to talk to you directly."

Before the Lieutenant could inquire any further, Anya suddenly looked back up and opened her eyes, revealing to each hold a glowing red bird-like sigil in their irises. The very last thing the hapless Britannian officer saw was the Knight of Six gazing at him, the sigils seemingly coming alive and flying directly at him.

Illuminate scarlet rings freshly placed around the young man's eyes, Marianne let out a breath of air as she stretched the Lieutenant's arms outward. "Ah, it's good to be out every once in a while," she spoke in a lighter and disturbingly more feminine version of the man's voice. Upon hearing "herself" speak, she sighed. "But really, couldn't you have gotten me a female host? Men are always so awkward to possess."

No answer came however, as Anya was preoccupied clutching her head in her hands, her small body shaking with near violent intensity, all the while what sounded like barely contained cries escaped from her. Upon observing her predicament, Marianne frowned. "I told you, my power only suppresses the emotion of a host; when I'm out, there's nothing to hold those feelings back any more. And it doesn't help that you just came out of a battle..."

"DAMN YOU!" Anya cried out while tears streamed from her eyes; far more emotion than anyone would have expected the Knight of Six to display. Had these been normal circumstances anyway.

Sighing again, Marianne walked forward, slowly removed the computer from Anya's lap and placed it to her side. She then moved over to the opposite side, sat down and placed a comforting hand on the overcome Knight of the Round's back, trying to soothe some of the tension off. "So..." she began, keeping her own tone light as not to upset Anya further. "...what did you want to talk to me about?"

It took a little more time for Anya to calm down, to let the energy run out of her now wild and free emotions, but once she managed to get herself into a relatively stable mood, she answered. "Those images I saw, when that knightmare made direct contact with the Hector," she spoke evenly now, though there was still a tinge of anger. "Those were your memories, weren't they?"

Marianne blinked at the inquiry. "Yes they were," she replied. "What are they to you?"

Anya looked at up in her with a deep glare. "What do they mean to me...?" she repeated the question with an edge. "For fifteen years since you first possessed my body, I've had to live without my own memories, and you still ask me that...!"

"Well..." Marianne took a moment to choose her words carefully. "...it's not like you'll be able to find any usage out of them, unless you want to write my biography on that website of yours."

The Knight of Six responded by slamming her fist onto her leg. "I can't remember anything!" she nearly shouted. "Where I was born, who my parents are, if I have any brothers or sisters, where I went to school, or even if 'Anya Alstreim' is my real name!"

Again she looked up at the "late" Empress with teary eyes. "And when I finally do get to 'remember' something, anything, those memories turn out to belong to someone else!" she glowered. "Can't you understand how I feel!? What it's like to remember nothing beyond the last few years, only to live someone else's memories, someone else's life, in just a few seconds!?"

Marianne said nothing, instead rubbing her borrowed hand along Anya's back, soothing her in that motherly form most people had associated to her. Of course, Anya knew that for all of her gifts and talents, Marianne was anything but a good mother; good mothers didn't allow their children to live in the belief that they were dead, nor did they put their surviving children aside for whatever grand scheme to be involved in. But even so, Anya allowed herself to relax into the Empress' touch, even if it was with a man's hand, thereby causing the tension to drain away.

"What you saw before..." Marianne suddenly inquired after a few minutes, a little more directly than Anya liked. "Can you remember any of it?"

Anya blinked for a second in an attempt to recall, but then she shook her head. "No, it's all gone," she moaned. "It's like waking up from a dream. You know you went to sleep before and had dreamed something, but when you wake up, you can't remember what the dream was."

"Heh." Marianne replied, covering a sigh of relief while simultaneously changing the subject. "An apt description, just as I would expect from a talented writer. If you weren't a Knight of the Round, you would have made a good poet or novelist."

"Just tell me one thing, 'Your Majesty'..." Anya quietly snapped, being in no mood for that kind of conversation. Instead, she looked back up at Marianne with fire behind her eyes and went straight to the point. "How much longer do I have to live like this?"

Despite the intensity behind that question, Marianne smiled reassuringly. "Not much longer my dear," she spoke. "As I promised you, once the Emperor's plans are complete, both your body and your memories will be returned to you, and you will be free to do as you wish from then on."

Slowly, she tilted Anya's head up so that she stared directly into the Lieutenant's eyes, and the Knight of Six did well not to flinch from the eerie gaze they cast, especially when illuminated by Geass. "But for now, you must remain patient and continue being my vessel and the Knight of Six. For my sake, as well as Lelouch's."

The utterance of that name caused Anya to look away as a tinge of red came across her face. It figured that the undead witch of an Empress would know of the crush she had been nursing for her son all this time, just as it also figured that she would use it to her advantage, eliciting all sorts of emotions from within her. In a drive to push those emotions back, the Knight of Six reach out and tapped a key on her computer, revealing a Youtube page which held Zero's declaration. With another tap of a key, Anya began replaying the video, though at lowered volume. "I don't suppose this has anything to do with 'the Emperor's plan' as well?"

"It could," Marianne replied with an air of bemusement. "Though I remember also telling you something else: that you were better off not thinking about such things."

"Even though I already know you have some kind of supernatural power and have been using it on me?" she stated bluntly. "Even though I already know you're involved in some big, dark conspiracy to...how did you put it...save humanity from complete destruction?"

"Yes, and you only know those things because it is necessary for you to," Marianne stated in turn. "Beyond either of those however, I assure you, you do not want to involve yourself."

"And I haven't," Anya replied, anger welling up now. "I've behaved like a good little Regan McNeil, continuing to be the Knight of Six by day, while by night you use my body for god knows what." she narrowed her gaze in return. "But even so, I'd like to think I've earned some right to 'be in the know'."

Marianne frowned, but decided the girl deserved a break. "Very well then. Yes, the return of Zero and the Black Knights are part of the plan, as is their declaration of war against Britannia. Beyond that however, it's better for both of us that you do not know anything else."

"Not even if they're supposed to win in the end?" Anya demanded.

"Not even if they're supposed to survive past this point," Marianne stated firmly. "The only thing that need concern you is the plan is moving forward, which means you'll get your body and memories back sooner now."

Anya glowered in response. "That's unfair."

Marianne only smiled in turn. "I think you and I can agree that life..." she looked back at her borrowed hands. "...and fate are both sadistically unfair."

Silence reigned between the two for a brief moment, before Anya closed her eyes again. "Fine." she replied, before slipping the computer onto her lap. "I'll need a few minutes alone, to finish this page."

The "dead" Empress arched an eyebrow. "You sure you want to write at this time? After all you've been through...?"

"I need to!" Anya snapped again, once more near the verge of tears as all the accumulated feeling leftover from the battle reemerged. "I just witnessed and endured one of the greatest defeats Britannia had seen since Trafalgar! I saw firsthand an entire fortress laid to waste, four of our airships destroyed or disabled...and three Knights of the Round defeated in battle!"

She took a moment to calm herself down again. "I need to write this, both for myself and for those at home that have lost loved ones. And in order for it to be relevant to both me and them, I need to feel; so that I may put those feelings into my words."

"Heh, again very apt," Marianne said, having her new body stand up. "In that case, I guess I can have the Lieutenant hear go for a coffee break..."

Anya looked up at her in annoyance, though once more she managed to fight back the tension. "I think a 'pea soup break' would be more appropriate."

Marianne sighed at that comment. "You know, I would rather you not compare me to a demon," she said, only for another thought to occur to her. "But then I supposed I'm not much of an angel either."

"Angels don't take possession of little girls," Anya shot back. "Neither are they what priests tend to exorcise."

The Empress only shrugged. They called her son the Demon King, so it would only make sense for her to be a demon herself. "Don't disappoint." she said simply, before finally making way out of the room.

With her gone, Anya quickly brought her webpage back up and deleted her entire previous entry. Upon seeing the resulting blank page, she again remembered exactly what she was about to write on, causing her to cringe once again as the emotions threatened to resurface in her. Yes, as much as this hurts, I need to feel it. she thought, flexing her fingers over the keys. Pain, fear, fury, sorrow...everything a human feels upon defeat. I need to feel all of them and savor them...

She then looked back at her page as a tear slowly ran down from her right eye. Before I stop feeling again...

And with that last thought, she began to type, all the while the video of Zero's declaration continued to play in the background.

---

Xiaopei Fortress
Duchy of Jiangsu, Area 22 (China), Britannian Empire

Situated toward the eastern Chinese coast, the land of Xiaopei had a long and many times troubled history. First settled and established during the Han Dynasty, Xiaopei was originally a small farming village under the jurisdiction of the Xu Province, and was a frequently visited site by governor Tao Qian. It was in this area where legendary general Liu Bei initially stationed his army to support Tao Qian against ambitious warlord Cao Cao, and years later Liu Bei, having seceded Tao Qian in governorship of Xu, would return to this area once more to flee the wrath of his usurper Lu Bu, who had just days before launched a coup in the capital city Xiapi.

In the modern day, just over a thousand years later however, Xiaopei was little more than a barren desert. The land, for whatever fertility and resources it once possessed, was now completely dried up, while the original town now only existed in deserted ruin, its inhabitance having moved on to other parts of the country long ago. Plants no longer grew in abundance, and very few animals dwelled here. A complete wasteland through and through, just like the rest of China by extension.

The reason for this, as it were, was strewn out across the land as far as the eye could see. Since its inception a lifetime ago, the Chinese Federation had overharvested this land and many others like it for vital crops and resources in order to increase its economic base, leading to artificial soil degradation and faulty irrigation all throughout the territory. Initially, the government tried to cover for this by applying a new form of irrigation soil across the area, but shoddy construction and the inferior materials used to create the soil all but completely assured nothing would ever grow from this land again. In the end, specifically in the aftermath of the Second Sino-Japanese War, the Chinese, in an effort to conserve whatever budget they had left, decided to cut their losses and completely abandon the area, evacuating the local populace elsewhere and leaving the rest to nature. And so it was that Xiaopei existed now, in long abandoned and completely forgotten ruin.

And it was for these reasons, among several others, that this land was now home to the Chinese Liberation Army. The forgotten lands and ruins of China, the places that no one, not even the daring Britannians, ever went or searched through; these were the places that the CLA indeed called home, and Xiaopei was far from an exception.

While the surface of Xiaopei was indeed a desolate and hopeless setting, what lay underneath it was a far different type of landscape: a series of metal catacombs, hangars and storage bays that were merged together complete an entire fortress, one large enough to literally hold an army. While one catacomb might have held knightmare frames and some of China's former landship fleet in makeshift hangars, another catacomb would be used for barracks and recreational areas, as well as training grounds for new recruits. These catacombs in turn were spread out across the entirety of Xiaopei, ensuring that no matter what the number of soldiers and vehicles would be, there would always be room enough to hold them here until the next battle. Yes, it was here that the last remnants of the China's military force, the People's Liberation Army, dwelled and prepared for the continued struggle, as well as found safe haven from the chaos that had encompassed the surface. It was here that the war, for whatever direction it was moving, continued on.

Only now, for the first time in years, it seemed as though the war had finally turned toward a hopeful direction. Throughout the base, Zero's image and metallic voice rang out on whatever screen was used to project him, and wherever that was, CLA soldiers would gather and watch with waiting hearts as the freshly undead phantom made his statements to the world. Such as it was in Xiaopei's central command post, where in the central meeting room, the commanders and higher officers had watched as the Demon King had declared his renewed war against their own hated enemy.

"I have to admit, he sure leaves an impression," a rather portly looking officer with an elongated brown beard and bangs, dressed in the CLA's standard issue green uniform, one retaining a commissar cap and the green and gold outlined pips - both holding an equally golden star at their center - of a Major General upon its collar, whistled impressed. "First Pendragon, now Pearl Harbor? That's one helluva 'grand gesture'."

"Don't tell me you actually admire this hun dan, General Hong," spoke another officer amongst those gathered.

Major General Hong Gu, commander of the 2nd Armored Brigade, immediately twisted around and fixed that particular officer an arched eyebrow. "And why shouldn't I admire the man who just wiped out the most heavily fortified Britannian base in the pacific Major?" he replied back inquisitively. "You have to admit, that and Pendragon were both great accomplishments."

"What I want to know is what does this mean for us," another officer spoke up, a tinge of uncertainty in his voice. "He spoke of the Britannians here as well as the traitors from the Guowuyan... Does that mean the Black Knights will be coming here as well?"

"I really hope not," yet another spoke up with agitation. "We already have enough problems to deal with. We don't need Zero and his jun dai interfering and making things worse."

"How would their interference make things worse exactly? Surely whatever they could do to Calares' forces would be to our benefit," spoke another just as blatantly.

"We don't even know if they would ally with us to begin with!" the previous speaker countered. "For all we know, Zero could want us to be wiped out as well!"

Hong sighed as the various officers began to bicker over the subject, so if only to at least try and attempt to settle the matter, he turned around toward another member in the room. "General Zhou..." upon the mention of that name, all the voices went silent. "...you have been rather silent for the last few minutes. Perhaps you could give us your opinion?"

Sitting toward the back of the room, Lieutenant General Zhou Xianglin looked up with a narrowed gaze, her shoulder length brown hair shifting as she did this. It was obvious that she hadn't wished to contribute to discussion at hand, but now that Hong had brought her in, she had no choice. "I believe that if what Zero is speaking is true, then the Black Knights will eventually come here to China," she spoke simply and steadily. "And while I can't say whether they will choose to ally with us or fight the Britannians themselves, whatever harm they inflict on Calares and the Eunuchs will indeed only benefit our cause all the same."

"But what will happen if they do succeed?" someone spoke up again. "Will they reinstall the Federation, or will they create a puppet regime of their own?"

At that, Zhou's gaze narrowed even further. "As I said, I don't know what choice Zero will make. All we can do now is wait and see..."

"...but not without making our own actions in the meantime Xianglin." a new voice suddenly spoke from the now open doorway.

Immediately all eyes turned to see four people enter the room. At the lead of the group was a single man who, to say the least, everyone gathered was quite familiar with. He had long black hair, hawk-like brown eyes and a relatively muscular physique; all qualities that clearly marked this man as a warrior. He also wore a CLA uniform, his own green and gold collar insignia proudly displaying three golden stars, thereby identifying him as a full General.

"Shangjiang!" someone called out in recognition, in turn causing the entire group to rise to their feat at perfect military attention. Even Hong and Zhou scrambled at the presence of their direct superior, the CLA's legendary military leader and the bane of the Britannian's occupation of China, General Li Xingke.

Beside Li, the other three officers each came to his side, all looking toward the assembled group with mild bemusement and curiosity. These three, two men and a woman, in particular were easily definable, but ironically by the similarities they shared with each other: they were all of exact similar height and build, while possessing identical facial structures, black hair and styling. They too wore the CLA uniform, with rank insignia identifying two as Captains and one as a Major. Yet in spite of these similarities, one was able to distinguish between the three if only by the expressions that they wore: one male wore a taciturn, serious gaze, while the second male wore a more vindictive expression, while the female had an outright violent look to her.

For a short moment, Li and his three subordinates simply waited and watched as the last officer finally shifted to perfect attention, thereby completing the line as it were. Once all attention was on him, he continued. "Our spies in Luoyang have reported in: the Britannian command structure is in complete disarray and much confusion has been sewn into their ranks. So regardless of what many of you may think of Zero and the Black Knights, their actions have already influenced our own war."

The General added a cruel smile as he spoke the last part. "In other words, they have presented us a perfect opportunity at this time."

Hong was the first one to catch his superior's intent, and as such was the first to gain a smirk of his own. "What will we be hitting sir?"

"Beijing." Li said simply. That single word was more than enough to cause the entire company to light up with attention. "It will be a standard hit-and-run operation of course, as we do not have the manpower to occupy it. Regardless, I trust none of you have objections?"

The question was redundant of course, evident by the near hungry gazes that the cadre were now giving off. There was good reason why: Beijing was one of the most heavily militarized regions of China and was a key sector for Britannia's administration. Normally it would have been suicide to attack there, but now that the Britannians were disoriented, it was made a truly inviting target.

"Good," Li stated, nodding in confirmation. "Assemble your commands; we deploy within the hour. Tianchao Wan Sui!"

"Tianchao Wan Sui!" the assembled officers acknowledged, before turning and moving out of the room. In turn, Li nodded toward his subordinates, who returned it before moving out with the rest.

Before he himself departed the room however, Li took a moment to look back at the display screen, which now held the still image of Zero, his fist firmly raised upon the completion of his declaration. At that image, Li's gaze turned into a baneful glare, before he himself exited the room.

---

Dhofar Base
Dhofar Mountains, Duchy of Oman, Area 18 (Middle East), Britannian Empire

"Well, that is certainly a good way to return from the dead!" one of them—a wiry, middle-aged man wearing tribal garb—called out, his bearded face grinning from ear to ear. "What a spectacle!"

The man opposite him, clad in the dark robes and hat of a marja, shot him a disgusted look. "You sound remarkably happy to see the return of an infidel, Khaznadar. One who insulted us, no less."

"Hah! Any man who can cut off Britannia's sea lanes across the Pacific, smash their fleet, slaughter their men right under their noses with impunity, rub said noses in it before the entire world, and then disappear, nowhere to be found—that is a man I can respect, Mojtahīd al-Ansari!" The warlord reached for the teapot, poured himself a cup, and raised it towards the television in salute. "May you kill many more Britannian jackasses, Allah willing!"

"I think we can add another item to our talks," another voice cut in before another clamor of protests from those assembled could break out. Abdulmalik bin Abdullah al-Saud, the heir to the throne of Riyadh, folded his hands in the lap of his white royal robes, and cast a sharp glance around the room from underneath his coif. "But that doesn't particularly change why we're here."

"Oh, you were always one for jokes," Ahmad Khaznadar interrupted, his dark eyes glinting fiercely as he sat up, filling the room with his presence while addressing those around him.

Deep within the Dhofar mountain range, the leadership council of the largest pan-Islamic army to ever exist and the last true resistance to remain in Area 18, had now come together in one of the most secret, and therefore riskiest, meetings to ever take place. Over two dozen men—all of them leaders of their people in one way or another—had been assembled here, in one of the most elaborate underground bases ever constructed, to discuss future strategy.

Or at least, that had been the meeting's original purpose. That changed completely when they were all interrupted by a harried messenger telling them of the attack, the young fighter connecting the old television at the end of the room to their hacked satellite signal. They had all listened in silence as their enemy's greatest foe had announced his return. And now that the war declaration was over, Khaznadar was doing everything in his power to make sure they didn't stray off the subject.

"This bloodbath, brothers?" Khaznadar went on. "This is the greatest defeat Britannia has suffered in over eight years, and it was done at the hand of its greatest and most feared enemy, a man they believed they had killed and buried. This changes everything."

"Not for us," the man opposite him retorted. Grand Ayatollah Mustafa al-Ansari shot an irritated look at the television screen, which showed stills of a destroyed Pearl Harbor, and grimaced, his long, grey beard twitching. "The men that enforce Britannia's oppression are still there. Their weapons are still loaded, their planes still drop bombs, and their knightmares are still poised to destroy us everywhere they can find us. This is hardly an improvement."

"The Britannians will be on high alert for any treason now," Ali al-Maliki added morosely, adjusting his glasses. "It will make building up and smuggling our stocks out of Baghdad that much more difficult."

His neighbor, Ibrahim al-Faiz, nodded and turned to address Khaznadar. "It might be a while until we can resupply you with explosives and cartridges again. Our apologies."

Khaznadar waved it off, still grinning. "Not to worry. If I run out, I will steal from the Britannians or anyone else I run across. I have done it long before this council existed, after all."

"Your arrogance and recklessness will only hurt Zulfiqar's cause," al-Ansari admonished him, and there was a murmur of assent from those assembled.

Khaznadar found himself inwardly sneering as the name of their little army exited al-Ansari's mouth. Zulfiqar. The sword Allah's prophet had given to his cousin and son-in-law Ali to wield in defense of all believers. It was both symbolic of the army's basic strategy as well as its creed: to battle any and all who would threaten the freedom of the ummah, whether they were Britannian, Chinese, or Eurasian.

Founded just after Operation Lionheart—the grand conquest of the Muslim states by Cornelia li Britannia, who renamed the entire subcontinent 'Area 18'—Zulfiqar had initially consisted of no-one but the followers of a charismatic fanatical preacher, a man who declared himself to be the new caliph in opposition to the invaders. Over a remarkably short amount of time, that man had gathered more and more acolytes around him, able to rally more and more disaffected victims of the war around himself—soldiers, merchants, and orphans. The name of Ali's sword became the rallying cry for Muslims everywhere.

Many different groups competed for interest in the newly formed organization. The caliph died under mysterious circumstances a while later, the group descending into bloody infighting soon after—a chance the Britannians used mercilessly to consolidate their hold on the region.

By the time a compromise had been reached, the decision was made that no more caliphs would be elected or proclaimed. A council of leaders took their founder's place as the head of the organization, decisions being made by consensus and majority vote. It made for slow action—but at least the enemies they fought were those who occupied their home, not their own brothers and sisters. And so Zulfiqar would (supposedly) live up to its title as the harbinger of death upon the infidels.

To Khaznadar however, it was as pompous a title as it was ill-fitting. To him, the name Zulfiqar was to be reserved for a true army of Allah, an army that could not only fight the western infidels on equal ground, as the armies of Salah ad-Din had done nearly a thousand years ago, but could do so without employing such heinous tactics as suicide bombings in public squares or poison gas attacks on cities they were supposed to be liberating. That being said, however, as far as Khaznadar was concerned, a pitifully weak army with an impressive but ill-fitting name was better than no army at all. Much as it galled him.

"Confidence is not the same thing as arrogance, mujtahid," the warlord retorted, his smile disappearing. "And our causes align only so much as they involve me killing Britannians to get them to return to their country. Nothing more, nothing less."

The preacher's mouth became a thin, flat line of disapproval. "So you would turn yourself away from Allah's will?"

"No, I merely have no interest in prolonged alignment. Once I've freed my home from the threat of Britannian bombs and mines, you can do as you like." Khaznadar raised his cup in mocking politeness. "As long as you don't come to visit, of course."

"Enough of the cockfighting," Gamal Abdel Nasser, the Levant representative, cut in. A former Colonel of the long defunct Royal Jordanian Army - such that he still retained his well-worn brown uniform - Nasser was the only actual "military man" within the council, and so was as much an advisor in that capacity as he was a field commander. "I didn't cross three thousand kilometers and four ambushes in a single week to watch you lot bickering. I came here to hear of the progress of our cause."

"Why don't you begin Colonel?" another asked, speaking for the first time since his arrival. A small, balding, and unassuming man, he looked up to see the assembly peer at him warily. He smiled politely, raising his clean doctor's hands. Clad in a suit and tie, he looked meek and out of place in this gathering full of grizzled warriors. Yet though he spoke quietly, people strained to listen. "This is why we braved the dangers of long travel and imprisonment to come here, no? It would be a shame for us all if we had wasted our time."

The Colonel nodded sharply, his back becoming ramrod straight as he rattled off all too recent events: how two bases in former Lebanon and Jordan had to be abandoned before a Britannian armored battalion could utterly smash them, how they had built their underground staging grounds and training camps in the far-flung deserts and hills to avoid detection from both the Eurasians to the west and the invaders in the east, and how they had begun smuggling explosives and weapons into designated cities to ambush enemy patrols and outposts, with mixed success. Casualties were high, morale low.

The sheiks Al-Maliki and Al-Faiz were next, speaking in turns of how the Britannians and their local helpers had begun on a campaign to comb through Baghdad's districts street by street, house by house to find Zulfiqar's hidden factories, and then reassuring their brethren that the things they produced—everything from ammunition, explosives, and radios to clothes, boots, and canned foods—would still be available, if only with a little delay.

Bashar al-Rashid spoke next, clinically explaining how the Britannians had bombarded another three villages in Syria into submission. Luckily, the artillery and armored vehicles the Eurasians smuggled to him across the Turkish border were enough to inflict enough damage on the Britannian knightmares that they had to halt their advance.

Nobody dared ask aloud whether the destroyed settlements had been friends or foes to the Alawite politician, but he finished his report with the cheerful expectation that he could push the Britannians back while they reeled from the shock of Pearl Harbor. An uncertain enemy was an unbalanced enemy, after all.

Al-Ansari spoke unwillingly about the fact that the Britannians had well and truly overrun the eastern frontiers, namely the city of Qom. Even so, there still remained able-bodied fighters taking up resistance, and that many citizens had freely joined the cause to martyr themselves against the hated enemy. They would support them however he could, he finished, but they would do so only to the extent as not to endanger the holy city and others like it, Allah willing.

Khaznadar snorted aloud at those words, but remained quiet until he was asked for his report. The Kurdish guerillas, scattered and prone to argue as they were, had managed to cut off the Britannian occupiers inside their cities along de facto Kurdistan, blocking the roads and forcing them to be costly resupplied by air. The foreigners left their fortified bases and observation posts only rarely now, and then only in strength, preferring to hunt Khaznadar's well-trained militia by plane and knightmare. More often than not, they found nothing to fight.

Khaznadar proudly recited a list of all the planes and VTOLs shot down with smuggled rockets, knightmares destroyed and incapacitated with mines and bombs, and outposts overrun through sheer numbers—though he also admitted that the Britannians had forced millions to flee the country in terror of their 'punitive expeditions', making hiding more difficult and resupply even more complicated. Hundreds of thousands had died in air raids and artillery strikes.

A dozen other leaders and representatives from all over the Middle East rose and spoke, telling tales of glum desperation: refugee Eighteens were cramped together in camps and ghettos throughout the region, dying by the thousands of malnutrition and disease. Others had scattered, fleeing either toward Sinai to the west or the Turkish border to the north, hoping to find shelter in the EU. One representative spoke of hunger and poverty as Britannian warships and planes indiscriminately sank any ships suspected of piracy on the open seas, even fishermen. There was also talk of mass bombings and death squads.

Many of them held fiery speeches lauding their deeds and those of the dead, but as the stories went on and on, it became clear only temporary successes, stalemates, and fighting retreats where higher casualties could be avoided were counted as 'victories'.

After the last representative sat down, the hall became silent again, the only sounds being the clink of teacups and the television squawking out speculative diatribes by a panel of vacuous IBC pundits.

Finally, Khaznadar turned to the two men who had yet to give their own reports. "Well? We have fulfilled our duties, brothers. It's your turn now. Abdulmalik? Hassan?"

The Saudi sheik sighed loudly, nodding. "I suppose I will go first." He looked around the gathered council, trying to meet as many eyes as possible. "You all know why I cannot fight openly against the Empire. When they attacked us nine years ago, my country was one of the first to fall. They had stationed an aircraft carrier in the Persian Gulf and land battleships in the desert, all of them carrying missiles. Our air force was annihilated by cruise missile, bomber and fighter attacks. You know what happened next."

"They threatened the Kaaba," al-Ansari spoke icily, and the sheik's shoulders slumped.

"They did. Even after they forced me to sell my country's riches for nearly nothing, the abuse they subject to my people, the hostages they took from my family… They still invite me to visit one of their damned land fortresses every year, showing me how precise their weapons are. 'We can hit a target eight by six inches wide from a thousand kilometers away, Your Highness! Wonderful technology, no?' Hah!"

"It is a godless and cruel thing to do," al-Ansari announced loudly, prompting furious nods and agreeing murmurs. "Allah will punish them for their heresy."

"So far," Khaznadar threw in, grinning bitterly. "it seems that someone favors them more than us. Perhaps you should pray more earnestly, Mujtahid, it might help."

"I won't even consider your blasphemy," al-Ansari said, glaring at him. "A man who does not put his trust in Allah is not worth listening to."

"Oh, but I do put my trust in Al Fattah!" Khaznadar answered, smiling fiercely. "Before I go into battle, I beg Him to protect my men and I, for us to succeed, and for the enemy to die screaming." He patted the curved sword at his belt. "But I trust the sword at my side, the rifle on my shoulder, and the counsel of the men at my side just as much. And of all those gathered here, Allah seems to favor only my hand with true victories. How is this blasphemous, Mojtahīd?"

"Brothers, brothers!" Abdulmalik called out, raising his hands in supplication. "This is really not the time to argue!"

"It really isn't," al-Rashid added, smiling mildly. "For the first time in eight years, the Britannians have stumbled, unsure of what to do. We need to decide now how we should proceed."

"Agreed," Nasser threw in sharply, frowning at the imam and the warlord in turn. "I respect you both, gentlemen, but now's not the time for this sort of pointless argument."

"You would call debating a matter of Allah pointless?!" al-Ansari asked loudly, scandalized.

"I never said anything like that, and I'll thank you not to put words in my mouth," the former Colonel retorted calmly. "But I am a worldly man of strategy and tactics, which we can both decide now. I'll leave asking for Allah's blessings to learned men like you, as is proper."

Al-Ansari's dark eyes narrowed, the man keenly aware that he was being mollified, but he settled down again when all eyes were on him. A sharp glance from Abdulmalik, and Khaznadar rolled his eyes and demonstratively removed his hand from the sheath of the scimitar lying by his side. People breathed again, and calm settled over the hall.

"Thank you both," Abdulmalik spoke, folding his hands again in his lap. "Now, as I was explaining—I cannot fight the Britannians directly because of the threat to Mecca and Medina."

"And we have no way of destroying a land battleship," Nasser continued, scowling. "Those monsters are heavily guarded by knightmares, foot patrols and air cover. Not to mention that even if we managed to destroy those, we would still have the carriers and submarines off our coasts to contend with. We have no ships or aircraft that could deal with any of those."

Al-Maliki ran a hand through his hair, sighing. "We could probably overrun them through sheer numbers, I think. But the death toll would be astronomical, and there's no guarantee those Britannian bastards won't simply glass our cities with artillery and bombs. They've done it before, after all."

Images of the Devastation flashed through the minds of all those assembled, and a shudder ran through the room. One man, however, was unfazed.

"So that is our strategy?" al-Ansari asked, his voice thick with contempt. "We fight for eight years, trying to thwart the Britannians at every turn, just to give up because they might destroy us all?"

"And what does a man with such great experience in the warrior's arts like you propose, then?" Khaznadar asked idly, smirking.

Al-Ansari scowled at him. "I propose we fight and drive these infidels out. Our way of life is threatened down to its very bones—there is no clearer case of jihad. Allah will grant us victory."

"I'd rather he grant us guns and allies," Khaznadar grunted, and then his eyes narrowed in a frown. A slow grin grew across his face, and his eye lit up. "Actually… Who says that he hasn't granted us those?"

"Speak plainly, Khaznadar," al-Faiz said, impatience in his voice. "Not all of us have your grasp of strategy."

"We cannot attack the Britannians on their own strengths," Khaznadar said, his voice growing excited. "They have better guns, better armor, better training, and they are more organized and more mobile than us. We cannot destroy a warship, or face an entire army head-on." He pointed at the television screen. "But they can. He can."

There was thunderous silence for a moment, and then a clamor of protest and denials broke out. "You would have us ally with an infidel?!" al-Ansari cried out. "A man who styles himself after Shaitan? Who openly despises us?"

"Does it truly matter whether he believes Allah to be true and only or not?" Khaznadar retorted, jabbing a finger at the image of Zero on the television screen. "Zero destroyed an entire fleet of these scum, annihilated one of their most fortified bases, and humiliated them! He has the ships, the weapons, the training, and the mind to drive the Britannians from our lands. What more do we need or want to ally ourselves with him!?"

Nasser hummed thoughtfully, scratching the stubble on his chin. "It is an interesting proposition. And it's clear that Zero is looking for allies—he wouldn't have made such a public statement of intent otherwise, I think."

"The longer our people are harassed, hurt, and killed by the occupiers, the sooner they will break under the strain," al-Faiz spoke, nodding eagerly. "I approve of allying with the Black Knights."

Al-Maliki shot a nervous look at al-Ansari, who scowled back. The Shia sheik nervously adjusted his glasses again and gulped, glancing at his neighbor. "…We share a common enemy, and unlike us, they can destroy them. And our people are suffering greatly." The next words were hesitant. "Since we have no other options… I say we should contact them."

Bashar al-Rashid linked his fingers, his cufflinks glinting in the light. "So far, all I have achieved in Syria is holding the line across the Kurdish mountains, and that was only because the Eurasians wanted me as a buffer between the Britannians and Turkey. I'm sure Zero could come up with a plan that would wipe out the Britannian presence in the region entirely." A small smile played on his lips. "I approve wholeheartedly."

Abdulmalik shot a look at the last man who had not yet spoken once since his arrival. "Your thoughts, Hassan?"

Saleh Hassan was a large, big-bellied man who wore a simple white shirt, trousers, patent leather shoes, and who was rarely seen without a pair of wide sunglasses on his nose. An innocuous man who didn't grab much attention, he hailed from Sana'a—and was well-known there as the highest light of the Yemeni underworld. His enterprises included (but were not limited to) smuggling everything from marijuana, heroin, and small arms to Refrain and stolen surplus military equipment in and out of the Middle East, running protection rackets, the forgeries of passports and documents, the illegal exchange of currency, and gambling of all sorts. Hidden in the shadow of former Yemen, his ears and eyes caught everything, and the combination of his deep pockets and the greed and corruption in Britannia's colonial administration had saved Zulfiqar from destruction more than once.

He fingered his mustache thoughtfully. "The Britannians have been interfering with business more and more lately," he spoke in a deep, rumbling bass. "The taxes and expenses they demand have grown exponentially over the years. I don't approve."

Smiling faintly, he added, "I would bet a very large fortune that the Britannians and their Asian allies are scared ass over tits by Zero's reappearance alone. If his existence alone terrifies them so much…" Hassan shrugged. "As long as business continues as usual, I will say nothing against this plan."

Hassan shrugged at the thought. "As long as business continues as usual, I will say nothing against this plan."

"So we are in agreement, then." Abdulmalik turned to look at Mustafa al-Ansari. "What do you say, Mojtahīd?"

The marja scowled. He still had enough pull with certain other council members that he could quite possibly block this decision. He had done it often enough in the past, especially when it involved decisions by the members he disliked—that barbarian Khaznadar, those arrogant and misguided caretakers of Mecca, and the godless fighters that cared little for the ways of Allah.

But there was little point to it now, was there? Mecca and Medina threatened by rockets, the Holy Land nearly fallen into the hands of infidels, Britannian troops virtually everywhere else… Something had to be done.

"I will agree to allying with the infidel Zero and his Black Knights," al-Ansari announced, and there was a relief of tension until he continued to speak, "on two conditions. One, they will only help us drive out the Britannians. They will not remain here after that has occurred—I want them as far away from our lands as possible. And two," and here he frowned at Abdulmalik, "they will not set a step inside the Holy City, or any other sites of pilgrimage and veneration." He crossed his arms. "These terms are not negotiable."

"Reasonable enough," Nasser cut in. "Keeping an outside force at arm's length is just good common sense."

"So are we all in agreement, brothers?" Abdulmalik called out to the room at large, and there was a resigned mutter of acceptance from the minor delegates and nods from the major ones. "Hassan, can you find a way to contact Zero and his allies?"

"Sana'a is a city of over nine million souls," the mobster said with a smile. "I am sure there are quite a few who can lead us toward the devil's den."

"These are not exactly encouraging words," al-Ansari grumbled.

"If you ask me, brothers," Khaznadar announced with a wide grin, picking up his scimitar and rising to his feet, "I much prefer to fight with the devil at my side than to face him myself."

---

Eurasian 10th Army HQ
Yekaterinburg, State of Ural, Eurasian Union

The wind howled across the darkened sky as the first traces of bitter rain began to fall. Despite the fact it was early April, the coming storm held all the fury and cold of a blizzard in its build, almost as if the last vestiges of winter were now reaching out over the city of Yekaterinburg, holding one last hurrah before the warmer climates of Spring set in. As a result, were it not for the lighted buildings that made up the city of Yekaterinburg, the entire area would surely have been plunged into the night. A frightening notion to some, but at this time it would have been a preference for one other.

Standing in the midst of the night and the storm, General Sergei Vladimirovich Zhukov, commander of the Eurasian 10th Army, could only let out a breath of cold as he continued to observe the city from the balcony outside the main office of his present HQ. While those who inhabited the buildings had long since took shelter from the bitter freezing wind and rain, the grizzled, seasoned commander, characterized by his aged yet well-structured face and the single whitened burn mark across his left eye, had decided that now as the perfect time to get a breath of air as well as a moment to himself, if only to think. And he had much to think about, as symbolized by the still active television set back in the office, which was currently tuned to Vesti, where news anchorwoman Galina Zakharova was reporting on the certain recent events. The transposed image of Zero holding his fist held up high in the background only inspired more reason for Zhukov to take the moment to consider.

As the voice of the blonde newswoman carried out from the office and into the outside to Zhukov's ears, the General let out an airy sigh, which formed into a small white cloud in front of his mouth. The wind seemed to pick up after that action, as he felt his grey uniform greatcoat rustle from a sudden gust, in turn causing him to tuck his gloved hands into the coat pockets for additional warmth. It was times like these where Zhukov truly felt old and powerless, an old general standing in the middle of a new battlefield meant for younger and more capable men than himself. And once again, that still image of Zero on the television screen, raising his fist in triumph while declaring his renewed war against Britannia, certainly didn't help Zhukov's spirits, outside the knowledge that a critical blow was struck against their hated enemy anyway.

Much like the rest of the EU's war against Britannia, the Eastern Front of the war could only be characterized by a series of setbacks and failures. From the initial landings and conquests of Anadyr and Petropavlosk to the recent occupations of Abakan and Kyzyl, the Britannian legion had all but entirely marched on Far Eastern Eurasia - no, Russia - with imperative, while the beleaguered defenders fought back to barely hold the line. Yes, the Britannians had yet to conquer all of the Far East - or the Motherland, as Zhukov and several others still thought of it - and with Zhukov himself taking part in the fight, they would definitely not be able to so easily, but he and the rest of Eurasia all knew it was only a matter of time.

Certainly the Britannians weren't winning because Zhukov and his troops were weak soldiers. No, he was not the most favored of Eurasia's Generals, nor were the bulk of his troops, in spite of proclaimed Eurasian equality, well regarded amongst the Union's armed forces. In spite of those facts however, he had molded the 10th Army into one of the most disciplined, organized and highly trained units in existence; an entire force to be reckoned with in battle, especially in its Motherland. The fact Britannia had yet to conquer the entirety of Far East, even though it was the first part of Eurasia to be invaded in this new war, was testament to his and his soldiers' will to resist. Or so he liked ot think.

Despite that however, the 10th Army, and other such units in the Far East, were also among the most underequipped military forces in the EU. In spite of the obvious vitality of the Eastern Front, the bureaucrats of Berlin preferred to focus the logistics flow back home as opposed to the EU's "outer" member states toward the east and south. The result was quite evident, with Zhukov's troops barely retaining hand weapons and body armor, let alone the likes of tanks, aircraft and knightmares. From this and many other factors, forces of the Eastern Front had fought its war with little to no support from their masters in the West, and were systematically being beaten back by a combination of attrition and superior fighting power in the hands of the Britannians.

Zhukov soon found himself tilting his head and squeezing his eyes shut as that line of thinking continued; the sight of a man who indeed knew he was fighting a losing war. A man who, in spite of all of his gifts a soldier and a commander, felt truly powerless in the face of his enemies, entirely unable to change the tide of the war while knowing that his nation would soon fall. All that, while elsewhere in the world, a once dead army led by a once dead revolutionary struck at the very heart of his enemies, gaining the victories and triumphs in little more than two weeks that Zhukov was unable to gain in five years.

As such, it was only too fitting that he stood out in the cold now, just as a certain past leader, as well as a man that Zhukov had admired since childhood, had done in the face of his own losing war. At times like these, he wondered if George Washington had felt the same things he felt now, as he made his famous prayer at Valley Forge.

"Father." Zhukov heard a voice speak behind him, causing him to look up from his thoughts. Behind a young man with cropped brown hair, dark blue eyes and the picturesque profile of a youthful soldier stepped out of the office, the wind also causing his own military greatcoat to flutter. The rank tabs on the greatcoat's shoulders indicated the man as a Colonel.

Zhukov allowed himself to smile at the man's presence. "I thought you would be celebrating with the rest Andrei."

With a flat smile of his own, Major Andrei Sergeiovich Zhukov regarded the man standing on the balcony. The man who was both his father and his superior officer. "I do not have the stomach for victory celebrations, especially when the victory is not ours," he spoke, stepping out to stand beside Zhukov. "Besides, I figured you would like the company."

Truthfully, Zhukov had preferred to be alone, but as long as it was his son beside him, he didn't mind. "Have we heard anything from Berlin yet?"

At that, Andrei's smile disappeared off his face. "Unfortunately, yes," he said bitterly, as he reached into his coat pocket to produce a flask of vodka. "It hasn't reached the news, but Zero's declaration has incited a fair amount of people; riots and protests against the current administrations are breaking out all over Eurasia."

Zhukov closed his eyes as the information sunk in. "Any on our end?"

Andrei was just as grim, as he took a sip of the vodka. "Archangelsk, Kirov, Kursk, Chechnya, Murmansk and so on. Martial law is being implemented as we speak."

"Heh." Zhukov laughed bitterly, once more looking out at the storm. At that point, Andrei offered him the flask, and so the General took a swig of his own. "Well, at least we have the benefit of this storm; what's the point of protesting when even the weather is not on your side?" a thought then occurred to him. "What about Volgograd?"

At the mention of that name, Andrei's expression became all the grimmer. "Nothing, as usual." he spoke, feeling a chill run down his spine. "We can only hope that no one is stupid enough to speak out, not while they are there."

Zhukov nodded in agreement, and then forced the memory out of his head as he handed the flask back. Like it or not, there was nothing he could do about it right now, and he had other things to worry about anyway. "And what of Berlin itself?"

Andrei knew that his father had deliberately changed the subject back, but answered anyway. "President Kessler is calling an emergency meeting in the Hemicycle, obviously to discuss the EU's stance on Zero and the Black Knights. The meeting should take place within the hour, and it will be televised; I don't suppose you'll want to watch it?"

"What for?" Zhukov replied. "It's just going to be a stage act for the citizens of the EU, both to calm them and reassure them that their 'elected' officials are talking about the problem." he looked back out in the darkened sky. "In reality, Kessler has long decided our beloved Union's stance."

"And what is that?" Andrei questioned.

Zhukov sighed. "I do not pretend to know what's really going on in that tyrant's head, but if I had to guess, he'll take a neutral position for the time being. From there, he'll wait and see what the Black Knights do next before determining if they're a threat or not."

"...wouldn't it be wiser to seek an alliance with the Black Knights?" Andrei inquired. "Surely they could greatly aid us against the Imperials."

"They could, but you have to remember that Zero spoke out against Berlin in his declaration. Yes, he didn't declare hostilities on them directly, but he still labeled them as cowardly and inept..." Zhukov explained.

"...which they are." Andrei added.

Zhukov continued. "Regardless, that will not gain him favor with Parliament, nor will the declaration that he will not necessarily fight against Britannia alone. Our 'beloved' President will surely see that as a challenge to his power; the question is how much of a challenge."

Upon that explanation, Andrei found himself groaning at the thought of it all. "You know, sometimes I think the restorationists are right," he stated. "Sometimes I really do think our Motherland would be better off properly reborn and on its own. Free of Europa and its tyrants."

All Zhukov could do was smile bitterly at his son. "We're already on our own, Andrei." he said. "Yet even so, all we can do is fight the enemy in front of us, and save who's behind us for another day."

Andrei nodded in acknowledgment, while folding up the collars of his greatcoat. The storm seemed to grow even more intense at that moment.

---

Imperial Palace
Pendragon, Grand Duchy of Pennsylvania, Area 1 (North America), Britannian Empire

It was never a pretty sight when a grown man broke down and cried. And it was far less a pretty sight when that grown man just happened to be the Crown Prince of Britannia, the first in line to the throne were the Emperor and the Chancellor were both unavailable. And now, with the Emperor having disappeared, as he tended to do during situations like this, and Schneizel having gone out to the warzone himself, it was outright terrifying to think that the man who was now in charge of bringing order to Britannia in the advent of a great disaster was now sitting at the end of the Court Conference Room table, with his head in his hands and the muffled sound of tears streaming down his eyes.

"An entire fleet, sunk." Prince Odysseus eu Britannia moaned into his palms, feeling as though the walls were closing in over him. "Pearl Harbor laid to waste. And to top it off, our worst nightmare has come back from the grave and has just invoked the Black Rebellion all over again." he looked up, his eyes clouded with tears. "How could all of this have happened in just one night?"

Of course, the other Princes and Princesses who were now gathered around the conference table were hardly inspirers of hope themselves. "We cannot let this stand!" Princess Carine ne Britannia bellowed as she slammed her fist down on the table, blood boiling and eyes filled with rage. "We have to strike back, here and now!"

"How? We don't have a target!" one of the other princes glowered in frustration. "Their fleet could be anywhere over the pacific by now, and even if we did locate them, only god knows where their main base is located!"

"And Schneizel's taskforce is still recovering survivors, while the rest of our forces in the pacific are in complete disarray..." Princess Guinevere su Britannia added in a snarl.

Odysseus opened his mouth to speak again, but before he could, a military official with a datapad moved up at the end of the conference room, then stood by and waited until the imperials were aware of his presence. Then, with great hesitance, the official looked over his datapad and read its contents. "Your Highnesses, we've just received several reports from Area 22 and elsewhere." he stated to the rest in the gravest of tones. "Our forces in Beijing are currently under attack by the CLA. As well, separate rebellions have been reported in other Areas, namely those in Western Eurasia."

"And the EU?" Carine demanded.

The official read through the data more. "No obvious developments. President Kessler is holding a meeting in the Hemicycle, while their military forces remain on standby." he added. "Even so, MI6 believes that several EU commanders are preparing counteroffensives across the Western Front."

Carine snarled through clench teeth as she closed her eyes. "...they all smell blood in the water." she looked back at her other siblings. "If we can't strike back, then we must secure our territories. I recommend we declare Martial Law throughout the Areas, and the Homeland if necessary."

The other siblings looked up with clear hesitance at that idea. "Do you realize what you're suggesting?" one of the princes let out. "The last time we declared Area-wide Martial Law was eight years ago, following the Devastation!"

"And if you recall, that led to a lot of bloodshed, especially from the resultant ghetto purgings!" someone else pointed out. "Do you really want to subjugate our people to that all over again!?"

"We don't have a choice!" Carine shot back. "It's either we clamp down on the Areas and maintain control now, or we risk global rebellion later! If that means we have to kill a couple Numbers to keep all that we've gained, then so be it!"

Guinevere sighed at that notion herself, part of her wondering how much of Carine's inherent love for war and violence had influenced that idea. But even so, she was right about one thing: it was their only choice. "It's your call Odysseus..." she stated, looking back at the head of the table. "With the Emperor and Chancellor both out of reach, formal leadership of the Empire falls to you, the Crown Prince. Therefore, what would you have done, my liege?"

Odysseus cringed at the stated question, as well as how everyone was now looking to him for an answer. Yes, he was the Crown Prince and the technical first in line to the throne, but that didn't make him a leader like his father or Schneizel, much less inclined enough to make such a hard decision. For the third time that night and counting, he wished Schneizel were there now instead of him, as he could speak the words he couldn't and make the ultimate decision he doubted himself on; he of all people could give the command without hesitation.

But once again, Schneizel was not present, which meant Odysseus had to speak the order in spite of all the doubt and torn conscience he possessed. "We will declare Martial Law." he stated, before looking back to the military official. "Send the command out to all outer Areas, and have the local garrisons mobilize immediately."

"Yes, Your Highness." the official replied with a salute, then made his way out to follow his new orders.

After that, with the exception of Carine and a few others, the entire room sunk into despair as they knew what was going to happen next. And all poor Odysseus could do was hope that, in the end, the Empire was preserved amongst the blood and slaughter, as it had been from the Devastation.

And the Black Knights were still out there...

---

Black Knights High Command
Naha, Okinawa, Ryukyu Republic

"...RETURNED!"

That last single word seemed to float in the middle of the main lounge as all of the occupants reflected upon what they had just seen for themselves. Several wore looks of mild shock and awe upon their faces, while others held lighter expressions of clear anticipation. The most prominent however, of which there were seven, with one sitting at the back end of the room with his arms crossed, seemed to hold more measured expressions, though one could tell that they too were taken by their apparent leader's message to the world.

Obviously, all of the room's occupants were Black Knights, as they each wore the reborn organization's black and silver uniform. Even so, there was a noticeable characteristic to each uniform, besides the signature commissar cap: collar rank pips that each displayed triple stripes and anywhere from one to three diamonds each. Yet more distinguishing, besides the fact that they were all either Britannian or Japanese respectively, were the commanding presences that each one possessed; it was clear that these men and women were well acquainted with war and leadership, whether it be the Japanese Insurrection, the Second Pacific War or any other in between, enough that their individual experience seemed to emulate from them directly. Needless to say, this made them quite ideal for their ranks as Generals and positions in the Black Knights' command structure, and even more so gave them the right to assess their current leader and the course he had just placed them all on.

"Well..." a rather handsome looking Japanese General with thick black hair coming out from his commissar cap spoke up as the cheers began to erupt on the display screen in front of them all. "We're certainly committed now."

"It can't be helped," a Britannian female General with long dark brown hair and hazel eyes stated as well. "We all knew this was going to happen; General Ohgi already stated as such years ago, when he announced the intention to recover Zero."

"Why is that buffoon the Vice Commander anyway?" a gruff, narrow faced Japanese General stated bitterly in a deep voice. He clasped his gloved hands together under his chin as he went on. "Tohdoh I could understand, but Ohgi couldn't even lead his pissant resistance band, let alone an actual military. Zero should have fed him to the dogs a long time ago."

"Actually, I think he deserves more credit than that," another, rather young looking Japanese General spoke up as well. "After all, it was he who proposed reforming the Black Knights to begin with, and it was by his influence that they had stayed reformed up to Zero's liberation..."

"That's beside the subject at hand," a bald and bulky Britannian General with a prominent brown goatee stated matter-of-factly, holding a similar bitter tone as his square faced Japanese counterpart. "As brilliant as Zero is and as spectacular a feat as sieging Pearl was, are we really prepared to fight against Britannia at the level he stated? Most of our forces aren't even battle experienced yet."

"If they aren't, then they soon will be," a blonde haired Britannian General at the far end of the meeting area reflected. "As General Hijikata just said, we're committed now, regardless of what state our current forces are in. All we can really do at this point is follow Zero's lead."

"Geh," the narrow faced Japanese General let out. "I'll hand him Pearl myself, but in my opinion, that boy is well over his head. Perhaps if he weren't blinded by his vendetta toward the Britannians..."

The blonde haired Britannian General quickly fixed his counterpart with a small glare. "Don't kid yourself Hayate; every man, woman and child on this island has a vendetta toward Britannia, and rightfully so. At least with Zero, we have a fair chance."

"Are you saying that because he just happens to be...?" the narrow face General began to counter.

"Moving on." the brown haired woman General interrupted before any potential squabble could erupt. "At this time, we have three armies in full operational condition, and two more that aren't at full strength but still capable of deployment. In a normal combat scenario, that would certainly be too small a number to wage a full war with... but then you have to remember the Black Knights had a lot less during the Insurrection, and yet still managed to beat back the occupation under Zero's direction..."

"Even so," the thick haired General spoke up again. "We're up against an enemy that literally rules over most of the planet's surface. While I do not doubt Zero's abilities either, this is still a tall order he's making the Black Knights fulfill, especially with an operational force of three fleets."

Before the conversation could continue, the young looking General turned toward the corner of the room, where another one of their number was currently leaning against a wall. "You've been rather silent all this time," he began in that drawn out way of talking. "Surely you have something to add to the discussion, sir."

At that, the man in the corner uncrossed his arms and let out a sigh. "If you really want to hear it Shinobu..." he said with some agitation, as he came into the light.

After another moment passed, the man revealed himself to be one of the Japanese Generals, and in turn easily distinguished by his jet black "chin curtain" beard, slightly tinted eye glasses and somewhat stern expression he gave off. It was also noteworthy how the other Generals, despite being of equal rank, seemed to look back at him with great respect. "I will be frank to you all. I will not pretend to know what Zero is planning, nor will I try to assess our chances of success based on our current strength. That being said, I do believe that our best hope for victory is to do exactly as Zero has stated: take the fight directly to the Britannians and liberate the world one area at a time, before launching a direct attack on the Imperial homeland."

His eyes narrowed behind his glasses. "And even then, once we invade Britannia, the only choice left to us will be to completely conquer it. It would not be enough that we take the Eastern or Western Coasts, nor the industrial centers of California, Castor and Pollux, nor even the secret sakuradite reserve that may or may not be out there. No, for victory to be certain, we must take Pendragon itself and, just as Zero has already declared, dictate our terms directly to the Emperor."

Silence reigned after the General made his statement, before he followed that up. "That is my own analysis of the situation. I trust you are all satisfied with it?"

"Indeed," the young looking General Shinobu Okita, commander of the Black Knights' Fourth Army "Narita", replied rather lightheartedly. "I must say sir, you still have your knack for monologues. But I guess that's as good an explanation as any."

"Meh." the narrow faced General Hayate Saito, commander of the Black Knights' Fifth Army "Yokosuka", let off. "I guess if you're for it, sir, then I am as well. But I still think that boy's in over his head."

The thick haired General Toshiro Hijikata, commander of the Black Knights' Third Army "Kawaguchi", again closed his eyes as he replied. "I'll follow your assessment of this as well, sir."

At that, the bespectacled General turned to the others in the room. "And what say the rest of you?"

A collection of acknowledged from the other Generals of the High Command followed, while the brown haired, tan skinned General Luther Jackson, commander of the Black Knights' Sixth Army "Shikine", let out a small laugh. "Far be it for me to be in agreement with the former enemy commander, but as fate has cast us into the same trench, there really is no other choice but to go forward with all this."

"I think it's all the better myself," the blonde haired General Roy Longstreet, commander of the Black Knights' Seventh Army "Kyushu", added while tipping his cap down. "No way we're going to win by hiding out on this island and letting everyone else fight."

"Though we still don't know where this will all go," the brown haired General Jessica "Jess" Stuart, commander of the Black Knights' Eighth Army "Tokyo", also stated.

"Indeed," General Izanagi Kondo, commander of the Black Knights' Second Army "Saitama" acknowledged, while pushing his glasses up with a white gloved hand. "But we will strive towards it all the same."

He then let himself smile a little. "And who knows? We might actually win this time."

---

Arima Onsen
Naha, Okinawa, Ryukyu Republic

With a small bit of drawn breath, Sayoko slowly stepped into the warm water and dropped down until the water nearly reached up to her collar line. Feeling her body and muscles relax from the warmth, she let out a small sigh, while closing her eyes and leaning back against the side of the hot spring. All that remained for her to do was to listen to the sound of the nearby crickets chirping.

Usually she didn't like taking bathes at night, or at least those of the public variety, but tonight she just needed to get out for a bit of fresh air. Like everyone else, she had seen Lelouch's declaration of war to Britannia and by proxy the world, and as a result of it somewhat minute celebrations were breaking out across Ryukyu as a result of that as well as the Black Knights' latest victory. The living establishment that Sayoko had been in was no different, as some of her younger colleagues couldn't help but bring out the sake in recognition of their army's accomplishment; as a result, Sayoko decided that then was the time to slip out for a moment to herself, as she wasn't much of a party person. Besides, the owner of the Arima Onsen owed her a favor, and was now in the process of repaying it by having his establishment closed down and reserved the spring just for her.

As such, all that remained was Sayoko, the water and the surrounding life. And that was all the maid who had a nightlife as a kunoichi needed, especially in the light of all that had has happened. This was also where the second reason for her going to the hot spring came in: the relaxation also helped her thoughts drift away until there was nothing but a blank state, which is something she needed at this point. If only for a few minutes or so, she wanted to forget everything: the state of the world, her previous mission to Britannia, her race's exile on this little island south of their original homeland, their last hope being the boy prince that just wanted to do a good thing for his now missing sister. All of it.

Unfortunately, it was not to be, as Sayoko's far sharpened hearing picked up the sound of feet landing on a nearby tree branch. Feeling her eye twitch in annoyance, the kunoichi burst out of the water just as a pair of kunai came streaking down at the area where she had been; had she remained, both kunai would have pierced her from behind the skull. She quickly landed across the spring and, cursing herself for letting her guard down so easily, reached down and snatched a nearby rock between her right index and middle fingers.

At that, another kunai came streaking out from the darkness. This time however, Sayoko was more than prepared, as she shot her own impromptu-kunai directly at the incoming blade, resulting in both projectiles impacting on another and rebounding into different directions.

From this, the sound of light chuckling suddenly came from the shadows. "You're as sharp as ever Sayoko," the voice stated as a form leaped down from a nearby tree branch. "Glad to see your playing maid hasn't dulled your senses."

Sayoko immediately frowned; she knew that voice and the lighthearted attitude it projected, just as she knew its owner inherently. And so it was, as the form stepped out of the shadows, revealing a young man, a little older than her, with the same black-grey colored hair and pale brown eyes that she possessed, only on a masculine frame. Said hair was kept in two equal length bangs on either side of his face while the rest was tied into a ponytail that went down his back, while his face itself was a lot like hers, only less seamless in order to fit his gender; a classic stereotype bishounen. However, what struck Sayoko more wasn't the man's face, but rather what he was wearing: a Black Knights uniform with the rank tabs of a Major on his collar.

At the man's full appearance, as well as that shuriken insignia, Sayoko felt her lips twist into a defensive sneer. "Setsuna..." she spoke in a low growl; a warning more than anything else.

"Come on, that's all the greeting I get? Not even an onii-chan for old times' sake?" Major Setsuna Shinozaki in turn grinned in a fashion which showed just how unserious he was taking the whole situation, in spite of his naked younger sister looking more ready to tear his head off. "Bad enough that you haven't gone to Kumejima since your return."

Sayoko sighed, but didn't lower her guard. She decided to cut to the chase. "I'll start calling you onii-chan when you stop fretting over my state of affairs." she stated venomously. "What do you want Setsuna? Did father send you here to kill me?"

"Now why would father ask for a thing like that?" Setsuna replied nonchalantly. "I mean, sure, you went against his orders by allowing Lelouch to live, and you did stop reporting back to him two years into your cover as Sarah Beckett, and let's not forget the part where you have yet to return to Kumejima. But other than that, I can't imagine..."

"Father's orders no longer matter." Sayoko shot back pointedly. "Now that Shinozaki Ryuu has been absorbed into the Black Knights as its special operations force, father's orders are subordinate to those of the High Command's, and they ordered me to keep Lelouch alive."

"Heh. You possess quite the tongue when it comes to curling round the truth; befitting of a Shinozaki." Setsuna laughed again. "Unfortunately dear sister, that excuse isn't going to fly, especially not with father. Commands from the standing Master of Shinozaki Ryuu are always absolute, no matter what his rank and position in an outside army maybe."

He fixed his sister a deep stare. "Besides, we both know you weren't just following orders, and that you allowed Lelouch to live because of your personal connection to him and Nunnally. Just as I know if it came down to it, you would take on the entirety of the Ryuu if father chose to seriously enforce that kill command."

Sayoko's leer only deepened in response. "Very well," she spoke evenly. "You're not here to kill me; otherwise you would have made a far more serious attack by now. So what are you really here for?"

"Impatient aren't we?" Setsuna replied in turn. "Fine then. I'm here to pass along what you'll likely find as good news."

He continued to speak nonchalantly. "Your sweet prince's latest victory has apparently impressed our father. He's decided that he will follow Lelouch's lead for the time being, and has so ordered the Ryuu. And while he's still not pleased about you breaking away, he's willing to let you stay by Lelouch's side, on the condition that he will send a detachment to support you."

"You mean to keep me under watch alongside Lelouch," she stated once more with venom, not at all seeing the message as 'good news' considering the original sender.

"As the Britannians like to say, 'whatever floats your boat.'" Setsuna replied as he casually flicked imaginary dust off his uniform sleeve.

Sayoko decided to settle for a frown. "I suppose father has already sent them?"

"Well semantics aside, yes they'll have replaced the household staff at the Kururugi mansion by the morning." Setsuna explained, which caused Sayoko to fix him with a peculiar look. "Oh relax Sayoko, they're only going to dismiss them, not 'disappear' them. As well, they've all been charged with Lelouch's protection from on high, so you don't have anything to worry about."

"When it comes to our father, Setsuna, there's always reason to worry," Sayoko replied back. "And don't think I'm going to let down my guard over this."

Setsuna grin deepened. "You wouldn't be a Shinozaki if you did so easily. At least cut the old man some slack; he could have just as easily decided he would take full command of the Black Knights and have your prince and everyone else removed for it."

"I'm aware of that." Sayoko replied. "At the very least I know where he stands in all of this. The real question is, where do you stand Setsuna?" she brought up the rock between her fingers. "And speak clearly. Depending on your answer, I may just end up removing you, even if you are my brother."

The older sibling only shrugged. "Kowaii kowaii... As amusing, albeit unchivalrous, as it would be to fight a naked woman during her bath, you have nothing to fear from me little sister." he replied. "I have no wish to kill the man that haunts the dreams of our enemies."

His eyes narrowed into Sayoko's as he continued. "In fact, I'm rather intrigued; just what is so great about this prince that it would cause my own dear sister to betray her family and her oath to the Shinozaki Ryuu, if only to remain his personal handmaiden?"

Sayoko only remained silent, causing Setsuna to sigh in response. "At any rate, Zero will be launching his next move soon, and when he does he'll more than likely need our support. And as I just told you, father is willing to let him lead us for the time being; as long as that is, we will be bound to protecting him and executing his command. So rest assured, little sister, your prince will not be harmed, so long as he remains in our favor."

"...and if he were to fall out of favor?" Sayoko asked, her voice now gaining an edge.

In response, Setsuna regained a grin, but now it too held an edge. "Well..." he said, flicking his arm forward and drawing a kunai seemingly from thin air. "...that will be a very interesting day, won't it?"

Silence reigned from that point on, as both siblings stared down the other, their respective weapons drawn and seemingly ready to be used. As such, Setsuna decided then was the time to leave, and he began doing so by backing away. "With that, I think I've overstayed my welcome. Ja ne, Sayoko."

He quickly withdrew his kunai and started to move back into the shadows. "Oh, and visit the old man at some point! Otherwise he just may send a retrieval squad for you." he stated before disappearing entirely.

For a few more moments, Sayoko remained on guard, until she verified for herself that Setsuna was well and truly gone, and that there were no other intruders in the vicinity. After this, she stood back up and slowly sank back down into the spring. Only this time however, her mind was completely active as it continued replaying her brother's message, and what it meant for her and the man she had chosen as her master.

---

The Red Sun
New York City, Grand Duchy of New York, Area 1 (North America), Britannian Empire

"With respect, Your Grace, I don't like this." spoke the chauffeur Roberto as he slowly parked across the street from a particular drinking establishment that his liege wished to visit. "This area of town always seems to attract the less desirables; not a proper place for a lady to move about alone."

In the backseat, Milly's expression folded into a rather annoyed sneer as she replied. "I've been through far worse places than this in my lifetime Roberto; in fact, the land that my grandfather built Ashford Academy on was originally a red light district. Try surviving a place like that as a ten year old."

Roberto replied himself with a fixated stare. "Even so Your Grace, I do not see why you must visit this...den after hours." he gestured toward the tavern across the way, at the same time reading the business hours sign. "It's not even open at this time of night!"

"Not to normal people Roberto." Milly corrected. "As for me however, it just so happens the owner is an old friend of mine; one I haven't seen in a long time. That said, I assure you he'll let me in to at least say hi."

Roberto tapped his fingers on the steering wheel for a moment. "If that is the case, then I must insist that you allow me to accompany you, as neither of us know what kind of scum of the earth may be lurking out there, or around."

At that, Milly rolled her eyes, even though Roberto was unable to see it due to his head being turned. As if I didn't know you were MI5. "As I said, I've been in worse places than this and I've managed to survive thus far. Have a little faith in me."

With that, Milly quickly opened the door and let herself out before her chauffeur could object any further. Straightening out her maroon dress, she quickly made her way down the street toward the tavern in question. On the outside, the establishment looked like any other building in the districting: it held an 1800s architectural design, with a prominent red and white outlined exterior that held several fixtures that were common among Industrial Age buildings. The most distinguishing of which was the neon lit sign sign that hung over the door, which displayed a red tinted sun while the tavern's name was written above and below in white lettering. Milly smiled at it, as she knew the real meaning behind the tavern's name and symbol.

Inside, the tavern looked just as "historic" as it did one the outside, retaining the cultural themes of an old Britannian pub, yet holding onto some new modern conveniences. The walls were painted in a deep maroon with wooden finishings, while black and white checkered tiling was laid across the floor. Several black and white photographs adorned the walls, usually of old patrons that had visited the establishment once upon a time, alongside other painted pictures from famous New York artists. And all around there were wooden tables and booths that held cushioned seating, while the bar counter was placed at the back corner of the room, which held a line of stools in front of an even longer line of drinks in the cabinet behind. And in the opposite corner, a jukebox stood playing out a jazz tune that Milly couldn't place. Overall, the tavern, quite unlike Roberto's impression of it, came across as a warm and cozy setting, the kind of place one could get a drink or hold a conversation in peace.

As she continued to move, Milly studied the pictures one after the other as she made her way around the tables and up to the counter. One in particular held her interest, as it was a colored photo of herself and the rest of the Student Council standing in front of Ashford Academy, back in its hayday. Milly let her eyes skim across it for a brief moment before turning and making her way toward the counter, where she took a bar stool and waited for the owner to come out from wherever and finally notice her presence. She also did well to notice that her face and folded into a lowered frown just after she had gazed at that picture.

"Well, this is truly an honor." a voice spoke from the side, as the barkeep emerged from the back. Despite his entry, Milly didn't look up at him; she couldn't bring herself to do so just yet. "We don't usually get nobility here, especially one as fine and beautiful as yourself Duchess Ashford. Perhaps I could offer you a drink to celebrate the occasion?"

Milly ignored the playful sarcasm and simply placed her order. "Bacardi, on the rocks."

"That's not a very lady-like drink." the barkeep replied.

That brought back to mind her recent argument with Roberto, and as a result Milly could almost feel the vein in her temple begin to swell as her eyes fidgeted closed. "Do I look like a lady to you?" she replied in a more agitated tone than she wanted.

"Whoa, okay!" the barkeep held his hands up in defeat, immediately setting off to fulfill the order.

As he began to work, Milly at long last looked up at him, her eyes falling upon a blue haired man that was slightly taller than she remembered, yet in her mind's eye looking the same as he had eight years ago, especially when he was dressed in a barkeep suit. After he finished fixing her drink, he turned around to present it to her, revealing that his blue hair had become somewhat ruffed over time, while his face was much more structured than before; overall, he was a far cry from the young and trouble prone boy she had as her dedicated henchman. "On the house."

"How very kind of you." Milly replied, now allowing a smirk to form as she took the drink and gulped it down. A moment later, she put the glass, which now only contained ice, back down before moving on with a smile. "It's been a long time Rivalz."

Rivalz Cardemonde could only smile as well. "A blink of an eye Milly." he replied, drawing her into a hug from across the counter, much to her surprise. "I'm glad to see you've stayed healthy without me." His smile increased as he felt Milly's breasts squeeze against him. "...in fact, I would say you've gotten healthier, your ladyship."

Milly sighed as she returned the hug. "And you still don't know anything about women." she replied jovially before moving back, adopting a serious expression momentarily. "I trust it's safe to talk shop?"

Rivalz's smile enlarged. "Don't worry, I swept for bugs before you got here, and if I missed any, well..." he gestured toward the jukebox. "...I really hope they like the music, because that's all they're going to hear."

Milly listened to the song playing for a moment. "This music... I've heard it before..."

"Of course. It's Toshihiko Sahashi," Rivalz explained, causing Milly to turn and look back at him peculiarly. "Japan might be gone, but a good portion of anime, manga and music has been floating around the internet lately."

"You do realize if you're caught with any of it..." Milly started.

"What are they going to do, arrest me for listening to music?" Rivalz retorted. "Good luck linking me to the Underground that way. For all they'd know, I'm just reminiscing the good old days."

"Please, there's always reason to suspect you Rivalz. And the Empire has incarcerated people for far less." a new voice stated as another individual came walking out from the back area. That individual, as both Milly and Rivalz observed, was a tall woman with long, bright orange-red hair and vibrant yellow-green eyes over a porcelain-like face, while her clothing consisted of pink sleeveless top and a white miniskirt with blue designer shoes. With an air of confidence in herself, the woman strolled out into the main area and up to where the other two people were, her long hair waving as she walked.

At her appearance, Milly adopted a mock astounded expression. "My God, is that Shirley Fenette? The Shirley Fenette?" Milly spoke in the tone of a fangirl. "I can't believe it! In this decrepit joint of all places! It's like all my dreams are finally coming true...!"

"Don't you start now." Shirley stated jokingly as she came up. "It was hard enough to get here from Hollywood without half the world knowing it. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to be a celebrity?"

Milly only smiled back. "Noble."

Shirley rolled her eyes with a sigh. "Right, sorry." she said, as the two women gave each other a warm hug. "It really is just like the old days now, Madam President."

"Heh." Milly replied, as she closed her eyes in remembrance. "Not quite Shirley, but close enough." she then ended the hug to look back at her former junior. "How've you been? I heard you got another big movie role..."

"My Fair Lady. Filming starts in a few weeks." Shirley confirmed with a nod. "Between that, my singing and modeling jobs, and all that I've been doing on the side, I barely have free time anymore."

"I bet. But that's probably a good thing..." Rivalz said, as he reached under the counter and pulled out a Sports Illustrated magazine, one whose cover depicted a certain someone lying on a beach in a revealing blue bikini. He quickly opened it and began flipping through pages. "...because at this rate, you'll be spending your breaks fighting off horny fanboys..."

"Give me that!" Shirley, now quite red-faced, hollered as she snatched the magazine away from Rivalz's hands. Milly couldn't help but laugh as the actress/singer/model rolled the magazine up and pointed it at the barkeep. "I should charge you with sexual harassment Rivalz!"

Rivalz looked back dumbfounded. "For buying a magazine!? A magazine that you willingly posed for!?"

Shirley opened her mouth to respond, but Milly silenced her. "Alright you two, as much as I would like to really catch up, we don't have much time." she started, adopting a serious expression. "Let's get to business at hand, shall we?"

The other two adopted similar expressions straight off. As well, Rivalz reached down under the counter again and, after taking hold of a remote, tapped a button. Behind the bar, a large mirror hung in a space centered between the store cabinets, as part of the general atmosphere of the bar; however, upon Rivalz's pushing the button, the mirror retracted upward to reveal a modern flatscreen TV behind it. Once the mirror had fully retracted, the television activated and formed a picture to BNN, in which a reporter was going on about Zero's reemergence; an accompanying image of the masked revolutionary was transposed in the back corner as well.

"As usual, he sure knows how to make a splash." Rivalz said, as he and the two women all looked over the report. "If this doesn't rattle the nobles' cages, I don't know what will."

"Shouldn't we be feeling bad...?" Shirley inquired. "I mean, a lot of people died in all this..."

At that, Milly adopted an ice cold sneer. "They knew what they signed up for." she stated. "And they were our enemies anyway. As far as I'm concerned, they got what they deserved."

Rivalz frowned at that. "I don't think any of those soldiers were involved with the Devastation, Milly... They were just following orders."

"Doesn't matter." Milly replied straight off. "They were fighting for the same people that ordered it. That makes them just as legitimate as targets, whether for the Black Knights or for the Underground." the fury behind her gaze increased. "Besides, we all should know a thing or two about being at the mercy of men 'just following orders.'"

Upon that declaration, Shirley looked back at Rivalz with a somewhat concerned glance, causing the barman to merely shrug in response. Well before the current meeting, both had known their former Student Council President was carrying an eight year chip on her shoulder, one that stemmed from the Ashford students and corresponding families that weren't rescued before the Devastation had occurred, among whom were Milly's own parents, grandparents and extended family. As the last surviving member of the Ashford family and Ashford Academy's administration, the young heiress had never forgiven Britannia for their deaths, and as a result had developed a certain cold temperament that had not previously existed in her character, even if she did manage to keep it buried from view most of the time. It was only at times like these, namely during her administration of the largest and most effective resistance cell in the Imperial Homeland, that she allowed it to shine through her usually jovial and mischievous self.

And that was where the Underground, or the Ashford Underground as Rivalz and several others called it, came in. Formed from the remaining student body of Ashford Academy and administrated directly by Milly herself, the Underground had come into existence some months in the Devastation's wake and had grown more and more powerful over the years, especially into the Great World War. This was all due to the reintegration of the surviving Ashford students into multiple levels of Britannian society; some had gone onto working class jobs like Rivalz, while those who held noble backgrounds like Milly went on to become integral members of higher society, and even more had gone onto specialty areas like Shirley had. But despite their different paths in life, none of them ever forgot September 13, nor the friends and family members that they had lost on that dark day, and much less those that had been responsible for their deaths.

As such, while the undead Black Knights took action against Britannia from the outside, the members of the Underground had infiltrated the Empire on virtually all levels, sabotaging it from the shadows quite effectively. Among its other unknown accomplishments, one of the Underground's most pivotal victories was instituting the delay in eighth knightmare frame production, all through a collection of organized labor disputes, political tampering and more direct acts such as the destruction of key assembly lines and manufacturing materials. Because of this, many experts believed it would be months, if not years, before the first Exeters made it to the frontlines en masse, which in turn leveled the playing field with the EU who were having just as much trouble with their own Loewe.

Because of this and many other things, Milly truly felt that this was a crowning moment for her and the Underground. Shirley and Rivalz could have mixed feelings about it, but she refused to even consider it, as tonight could be considered the culmination of her efforts over the last eight years. Not only was Britannia now facing an enemy that they could not directly contend with, but that enemy was led by the one man who well and truly reserved the right to administer its destruction. The same man that, only several nights ago, she had risked herself to intervene against his worst enemy, thereby assuring his resurrection as Zero.

After a few moments of silence, save for the reporter's voice coming from the television and the music still playing from the jukebox, Shirley spoke up again, albeit a little uncomfortably. "So... what do we do now?"

Milly looked back at her, her cold expression causing a chill to run up Shirley's spine. "The same thing we've been doing all along." Milly stated, her voice even. "Lulu might have gained a great victory tonight, but he's not going to win this war without help from the inside. That's where we come in."

Rivalz interrupted. "I think what Shirley meant was do you have any specific plans in mind?"

"A few. One of which you'll like Rivalz." Milly replied. Suddenly regaining a bit of her usual self, she flashed a vindictive smile toward the barkeep. "You get to step things with a certain Baron's daughter."

"Ah, not her again!" Rivalz stammered, face turning to disgust. "You promised me that was a onetime thing!"

"Well, now I'm upgrading it to a twotime thing." Milly shot back, enjoying the sight of Rivalz squirming. "Rumor has been going around that Britannic is stepping up its attempt to produce the Exeter large scale, and her father, as you recall, is on the Board of Directors."

"And you really think she'll know anything about it?" Rivalz retorted.

"No, but a date on her family's estate will give you access to her father's office." Milly explained. "You can figure out the rest."

"Man...!" Rivalz whined softly. "I hate dealing with nobility...!" he didn't need to look back down to feel Milly's gaze on him, which caused him to adjust his collar. "Present company excluded of course."

"Good." Milly replied, before waving him off. "Now, go fix dinner. We've got a lot to discuss, and I heard your fish and chips are the best in the Empire."

Rivalz looked less than pleased, but he knew better than to argue. As such, he turned around and made his way to the kitchen in the back of the tavern, where he began muttering select curse words while working on making the night's entree.

Thus for the next few moments, Milly and Shirley sat at the counter by themselves. For a while, the two remained silent, both intent on watching the BNN reports on Pearl Harbor, Zero's resurrection and other developments in the war. And as one such video played out, displaying a group of Sutherlands charging through a city, gunning down Ritters and EU soldiers in their wake, Milly finally spoke.

"Eight years, Shirley." she said simply at first, causing Shirley to turn and look at her curiously. "In just eight years' time, so much has changed from what we knew. Britannia, the world at large, our own hopes and dreams..."

Milly looked down, back at her empty glass. "It's times like these I miss Ashford Academy the most. Back when our lives were so simple and peaceful, when we could watch news reports like this one and not think anything of them." she stated solemnly. "Back when 'war' was just another subject we read in books and did reports on."

Shirley, however, took it in stride. "I miss those days as well Madam President." she also looked down in thought. "Back then the most I was ever concerned with were my studies and my...feelings for a certain boy." Milly did well to notice the actress fidget at that last part. "I never cared about what was going on elsewhere in the world, or how Britannia had a hand in it..."

It was Shirley's turn to cast a downturn expression. "And yet, here we are now. Members of a resistance, fighting against our own nation for the fate of the world. We, former prep school students who just happened to get caught in the middle."

"That we are, as sickening as it feels. Especially how we're talking about the 'good old days' like a bunch of old ladies." Milly acknowledged with a sigh. "But enough of that. How are things really going in your world?"

Shirley pursed her lips at that question. Due to her choice career and her success, she, unlike most of Ashford's student body, held great presence in both Britannia's upper and lower societies; on one end, being an actress and socialite allowed her to interact with much of the Empire's nobility, while on the other her singing, beauty and participation in outreach programs allowed her to hold a connection with the commoners as well. Needless to say, this made her the ideal spy for the Underground's purposes, as Shirley possessed a unique access to some of Britannia's secrets through her noble "friends", as well as the influence over the masses to drive her cause forward, even if indirectly. As such, Rivalz had once claimed her to be a modern Mata Hari, and while Shirley did not wish to share that particular fate, she had to admit that her occupation and activities weren't too far off base.

"Nothing new to report I'm afraid." Shirley replied, taking a sip from her drink. "There's been something of a news blackout since Pendragon, so I haven't been able to get any new information. At least nothing beyond baseless predictions and theories from drunk nobles."

"Yes, I've been having the same problem myself, complete with the 'drunk nobles' part." Milly replied bitterly, with a shrug. "Between the two of us though, I thought you would have the better chance at getting something."

"Sorry Madam President, but there's only so much I can do with my position." Shirley stated, feeling repulsion at the very idea.

"That's alright. You've already done so much already." Milly replied, reaching a hand out to Shirley's shoulder. "Even Lelouch would be impressed with all of your accomplishments."

"Yeah..." Shirley trailed off in thought.

Again noticing hesitance in her young charge, Milly turned to face the actress with a small smile. "You still love him, don't you?"

At the intent of that question, Shirley looked away again, as if trying to gather her will to answer. Before she could do even that however, Rivalz quickly reentered with three plates of fish and chips in his arms. "Dinner's up!"

Milly cast an annoyed glare at him. "Your timing is poor, as usual."

"You're welcome." Rivalz shot back in stride, before putting the plates down on the counter and then getting everyone drinks. "And on that note, since we're on the clock, I guess I should mention this next bit of news..." he stated as he finished the last of the drinks, past them out and then got himself a stool. He then turned serious again. "We found Nina."

Instantly Milly and Shirley's heads turned around, utmost concern present on their faces. "Where?" Milly almost forcibly demanded.

In response, Rivalz reached over and under the counter again, producing an envelope. "One of our guys sighted her in Dallas." he said, as Milly opened the envelope, producing the photographs onto the counter.

From there, the three gazed down at the images of a bespectacled woman with black hair and mouse-like eyes, dressed in a standard blue uniform. The green rank pips on her collar - each of which contained a single golden Bath Star - easily distinguished her as a Major of the Imperial Army. She appeared to have been sitting down at an anonymous cafe, sipping on tea in between the shots, completely oblivious to the photographer and everyone else.

Instantly memories came flooding back to all three Underground members of, again, eight years ago. The sight of the Ganymede emerging from its underground hangar with a strange cylinder attached to its chest, the sound of Lloyd's voice calling out in warning, claiming that the device could easily destroy the entirety of the Tokyo Settlement. The girl demanding to know where Zero was, while her thumbs twitchily hovered over a trigger assembly. And then the collective held breath of all those present when the uncontrollable girl, at long last, pressed the button...only for nothing to happen. From that point, the last any had seen of Nina Einstein was of several guards hauling her away to an unknown location onboard the Avalon, so that she may eventually be shipped away to other parts unknown once the airship had returned to Britannia.

And now there she was, in the open once again. On one side, Milly was happy that her young friend and de facto protégé was in good health, at least on the physical level. On the other side however, the sight of her in a military uniform greatly disturbed her. "Do we have any idea what she's doing down there?" Milly inquired.

"Well, obviously she's working on a weapon for the Imps." Rivalz explained. "The Army operates a testing ground outside of Dallas, and there's been a lot of brass sighted there lately."

Milly looked up again. "I meant do we know what she's working on?" Shirley looked up as well, swallowing as she did so.

Rivalz was just as hesitant to answer. "It took a bit of effort, but we got a name..." he said. "Project Gogmagog."

Immediately Milly found she didn't like the sound of that. The fact she had been able to construct a bomb back at Ashford Academy, one that would have used sakuradite-fueled atomic energy for power as she later learned from Lloyd, had been frightening enough. One could only wonder what kind of weapon she was making now, with the vast resources of the Empire at her disposal.

"...our agent down there thinks he can grab her at the given opportunity." Rivalz went on to say. "He just needs your order to do so."

Shirley looked back at Milly as well, almost expecting that order to come. However, Milly only closed her eyes, in a subconscious effort to push back the temptation, before she replied. "No, that won't be necessary. Just have him observe her for now, and try to get more information on Gogmagog."

"Are you sure?" Rivalz asked.

"Too sure." Milly stated, pointing at the Major rank tabs on her uniform. "If she's that high up in the military command, then it means she has a noble or imperial pulling for her." he looked at the image more deeply. "My guess would be Schneizel, given his habit of funding R&D projects."

She then looked back at the two of them. "Either way, if we grab her now, we'll be attracting unwanted attention. And I don't want to willingly tip the bad guys off to us."

"But if we leave her be, won't she eventually complete her weapon?" Shirley inquired herself.

Milly gave a nod. "It's another risk we're going to have to take. Besides, I have a feeling that this 'Project Gogmagog' can be completed at this point even without her." she said. "So for now, we'll forget about Nina and focus on the things we can do. And if you two are willing to listen..." at that, her mischievous nature finally returned. "...I'll gladly line it all out for you."

---

Eurasian Union Africa Command HQ
El Alamein, State of Egypt, Eurasian Union

The sound of military boots impacting down on hard tile echoed throughout the corridor as Colonel Hans Ulrich walked across it at a rapid pace; if he had moved any faster he would have been running. Usually the veteran officer of the 1st Panzer Army, distinguished by his thin yet well built stature, short and spikey blonde hair and pale green eyes, would have moved more casually down the halls to his intended destination, but given the insanity that had been happening over the last few hours, he found heightened mobilization to be prudent for the situation. It also helped that most of the headquarters staff were now gathered downstairs in order to watch the newsfeeds of the now in session Hemicycle deliberations, leaving the halls clear for Hans to proceed forward. To the office of the one man that was notinterested in the latest feeds; at least the kind that were centered around Berlin.

Soon enough, he came to his destination and, in standard protocol, knocked twice on the door. However, no reply came, and as Hans listened closer to the door, he heard a distinctive sound on the other side of the door: a certain voice speaking, but not the one owned by his superior. Biting back whatever thoughts he had on that, he turned the knob anyway and opened the door, proceeding into the office within.

"...our hand we have delivered a grand gesture: a raging hellfire upon this callous and oppressive empire...!"

As Hans half-expected, the room's occupant was not sitting at the desk at the center; rather, he was sitting on one of the couches that had been placed at the side of the more comfortable and furnished than average office, face turned away from the door and up at the big screen monitor on the side wall. And on that monitor, a certain declaration was being replayed, complete with surround sound to accompany the speaker's metallic voice tone.

Without saying a word, Hans took two steps into the office, only to halt in his third step as he watched the screen pause. At that, his eyes closed shut out of reflex as he realized the occupant had long noticed his entry; he just hadn't overly concerned himself with it.

"I do not believe I gave you permission to enter, Oberst." a deep Germanic voice spoke up from the couch. Despite those words and the intrusion itself however, the voice spoke with great amusement instead of offense.

Out of reflex, Hans stiffened himself to military attention. "My apologies Herr General, but you did send for me." he stated knowingly. "In a time of crisis no less."

"Crisis?" the General let out a short, roaring bout of laughter. "Nonsense! This is a time celebration! Our enemies are routed, we are regaining the initiative, and above all else, a strong newcomer has entered into the game!" his eyes actually gleamed. "In short, wunderbar!"

Hans rubbed the back of his head cautiously. "I do not think 'wunderbar' is the most apt word Berlin would use to describe the current situation..."

"Bah! As if I care of what those spineless Arschlecker think. After all..." the General said, his dark green eyes narrowing onto the screen in front of him while a predatory, almost manic grin broke onto his face. "...Der Wüstenlöwe thinks for himself."

And with that, General Joachim Rommel, commander of the 1st Panzer Army, sat back further onto the couch, as Hans came around the opposite end and observed his commander. In spite of the current time, he still retained his grey uniform, which held perfectly to his massive frame and save for the unbuttoned collar, was also in precise order right down to the array of medals that were strewn across its front; all that was missing was his usual greatcoat and sand visor covered commissar cap. His trademark long dark red hair remained in its usual mane structure, giving him the lion-like characteristics that served as one of the origins of his nickname, while his face remained clean shaven as always. At the current time, he was sitting with his booted right leg crossed over his left leg, while his leather glove covered hands remained on either side of the couch top; the kind of pose one held when watching a home movie or observing a sports match in consideration.

After a moment, Rommel reached back and took hold of the nearby remote. "And now it's your turn Hans. Tell me..." he asked, before pressing the play button. "...what do you make of this?"

"...for all the world to see! Countless numbers of Britannia's own have paid for their nation's greed and corruption with their lives, all the while many of the Empire's mightiest warships...!"

Hans took a moment to watch, arms crossing over his chest, before answering. "It's a war declaration." he stated with a frown. "I don't know what else to think about it."

"Oh come on. Put some effort into it at least." Rommel replied with mock disappointment, before turning back to the screen. "First he comes back from the dead, which alone comes across as someone's worst nightmare come true. Then he wipes out an entire enemy basin in a single night, likely with the same precision and destructive force that he used in his offensives in Japan..."

Rommel then took a moment to pause, as if in thought. "And then, when the calm resettles on everything again, what does he do from there?" The predatory grin returned. "He stylishly rubs the Britannians' faces in his victory, goes onto claim his intention to completely destroy the Empire in the manner of the Biblical apocalypse, and then challenges them and the rest of the world to try and stop him! All with the flair and drama to match!"

The General then leaned forward and gestured toward the screen. "That, Hans, is exactly how wars should be declared." he stated with appreciation. "No political correctness, no admittance to the heinousness of it all, no feigning of humanity. Just the pure will to utterly dominate your foe and obtain complete victory, in such a way that your enemies shake from your words alone."

Hans only responded with a small frown. "I think you've gotten too engrossed in this, sir."

Rommel frowned in return. "You know, if you ever plan to make General someday, you really need to learn to appreciate these things Hans. Even in war, one must see art for what it is."

"Heh." Hans chuckled. "Only you would consider a war declaration a form of art, Herr General."

"Art takes many forms, Oberst." Rommel replied back smartly. "Very few find the beauty in this, and most of them don't even realize it when they do. Fortunately, Zero thinks that way as well."

That piqued Hans' curiosity. "How do you figure that?"

"Because he clearly doesn't see what he is doing as mere 'war' like any other in his position would." Rommel explained, resting his chin on his knuckles as the message played on. "In fact, by his past and present actions, I would surmise that to him, what he is doing is more of along the lines of acting in a play." The General then began using hand motions to emphasize his explanation. "He enters on stage, delivers his lines in the most dramatic ways possible, uses accompanying gestures to woo the audience into following him, and then, upon delivering his final line and act, he takes his bow and exits the stage to thunderous applause."

Rommel's mouth folded into a smirk, while pausing the broadcast again. "Do you understand Hans? He isn't just fighting a war; he is putting on a show for all the world to see, and his usage of military force is only one element of that show. Even his strike at Pearl was meant for that; sure, on the surface one would see it as a strike against a vital Britannian port and nothing more, but following his mindset, Zero had another purpose in mind for it. And do you know what that is?"

Going by what Rommel had just told him, Hans looked at the still image of the masked revolutionary while is mind reeled under the assumption that he was fighting a war as part of a playact. In his opinion, that was as farfetched a conclusion as Hans could think of, but then he also knew that in spite of it, Rommel wouldn't make such a wild claim from the imagination. Not when the Desert Lion himself was among the EU's most brilliant military minds, as well as its main authority on several forms of warfare, including knightmare combat.

After a moment passed, Hans finally realized what his commander was going for. "Are you saying he attacked Pearl simply to reestablish the Black Knights as a major force? An 'opening act' as it were?"

"Correct." Rommel replied, smirk increasing. "See Hans? Even you can figure things like this out, once you put your mind to it."

Hans ignored the jab at his intelligence and continued. "But what about Pendragon? Wouldn't that have done the same?"

"Ah, but there's a twist there." Rommel pointed out. "Pendragon was entirely a hit-and-run operation in which the Black Knights moved in, accomplished their objectives and disappeared just as quickly. They announced neither their existence nor the reason of their attack; as such, Britannia and the rest of the world naturally assumed that they were a terrorist force of some kind. And when one thinks of terrorists, one sees them akin to vermin, a far cry from a powerful military force to be reckoned with."

He looked back at the image. "And now the world sees him as exactly that, and will act accordingly on that image; whether it be Berlin, Pendragon or elsewhere."

The General soon gained a thoughtful expression. "But now that he has established himself and his army as a viable threat, the question remains, where will he go from there? How will he go about decimating Britannia in the manner that he spoke of? And once that is accomplished..."

Certain intensity flickered through the Desert Lion's eyes as he continued. "...what kind of world would he establish in its place...?"

Hans however, had just enough. "I think I need a drink..."

Rommel turned back with a mock disgusted look. "Of course you would turn to alcohol in place of understanding. Maybe I made a mistake promoting you to Oberst, Hans..."

"I'll take that as an accomplishment." Hans shot back as he started to exit. "If only because, Herr General, you finally admitted to making a mistake." Just as he made it to the door however, he stopped and spoke once more. "You do realize that Berlin just may declare him an enemy of the union."

A dark look crossed Rommel's face as he turned back around. "The thought had occurred to me."

"What would you do if that happens?"

Rommel considered that. "Well, at the least he would make a worthy adversary, should the Hemicycle send me to hunt him down. And if there is one thing I'm always looking for..." the smirk returned, once again denoting a predatory nature. "...it is worthy opponents to completely ravage."

Hans nodded. "As you say sir."

And with that, the Colonel saluted and departed in equal measure, not even bothering to wait for Rommel to dismiss him. But even then, the abruption in military protocol was hardly a concern of the General's, who simply shook it off. "And for the record Hans, all men make mistakes..." he spoke to no one in particular, as he picked up the remote again. "...it's just my mistakes are so few and inconsequential, they are seen as successes anyway."

He then fast forwarded to the last part of the message. His favorite part.

"For I say unto you: I am Zero! We are the Black Knights! And we have RETURNED!"

And once more, a full grin eclipsed Rommel's lips. "Tatsächlich..." he spoke almost subconsciously. "Eine hervorragende Kriegserklärung, 'Eure Hoheit'..."

Indeed, a most excellent war declaration, 'Your Highness'...

---

Black Knights mobile battleship Izumo
Pacific Ocean

Once again greatly damaged but still managing to remain mobile, the Izumo continued to inch its way west along the Pacific, with Mikasa and Hiei flanking her on either side to provide escort. Despite earlier fears, the mighty battleship's back up drive system remained active to this point, and though her speed was greatly reduced due to a combination of battle damage and the main drive being knocked out, the black warship was still afloat and maintaining its course back to Ryukyu. Overall, the aptly named Taskforce Izumo was wounded, but in no way out of the fight; especially not now, when their leader had just finished declaring war on their enemies.

The latter point, of course, caused other alterations as well. In spite of the taskforce's current condition, great celebration had overtaken the three warships as their respective crews went out of their way to commemorate their newest victory, all the while the ships themselves remained on course by automation. Choice alcohol was given out in batches, "victory" music was played over different stereo systems, crew members laughed and joked with each other in the various lounges while the surviving knightmare pilots toasted those who had not returned from the battle. Even the respective command staff, who usually held a staunch policy on "wild parties", were taking part in the celebrations; the only noticeable absences were the Ohgis and Sugiyamas, who both had chosen to opt out of the main festivities and retreat to their respective shared quarters for the remainder of the return trip, to "celebrate in their own way" as they had each claimed. As such, the lingering anxiety from the past battle was soon forgotten and replaced with remembrance and joyousness, as the entirety of the taskforce reveled in their victory and, above all else, what was to come.

All except for one man. In turn, the very same man that had given the victory that they all celebrated.

With a final sweep of his cape, Lelouch entered into the Devil's Den, his boots making a dull thumping noise across the metal floor while the equally metallic sound of heavy breathing emanated from his mask's audio system. Only a few moments after the doorway closed, Lelouch stopped before the center table and slowly removed his mask, revealing his bloodshot eyes and sweat covered face to the world. From there, he placed the mask on the table before removing his cape, which he allowed to fall to the floor without a second thought. Thus, Zero, with his grand role completed for the time being, was effectively retired, while a completed exhausted Lelouch vi Britannia took his place in the world.

For the next several minutes, Lelouch simply stood there in the middle of his quarters, choosing to retain his uniform for the time being instead of wasting what little energy he had left shedding it. His eyes, both his normal right eye and his eternally alit Geass eye, remained on the floor, seemingly staring off into space far beyond the physical, while his body subconsciously balanced itself whenever the Izumo made any sudden swaying motions. Only the sound of the former prince's breathing, which had calmed down somewhat but still came out in small pants, gave any indication that he was still very much alive, as well as kept the room from being drowned in complete silence. Or more specifically, the kind of silence that would have been "heard" by the ear, rather than the mind.

"I killed my father... for you and Nunnally!"

If Lelouch had gained any joy and jubilation from his victory over Britannia, both at Pearl and afterward, his memory of recent events kept him from feeling any of it. Even now he could hear that single claim play out in his memories, followed by the desperate explanation of the entire truth the man who he had once called friend snapped yet again. He could still see the madness in his eyes as he put the Lancelot into a total offensive against him, followed by the uncoordinated and unrestrained attacks he made with the white knightmare's remaining MVS. His muscles subconsciously tensed and his fists tightened as he recalled how he was beaten back with the vicious assault, barely holding the Mordred in place from the wild sword swings. And all throughout he could hear the manic, crazed voice of Suzaku Kururugi ring out like a deranged cry of an animal; full of rage and no longer able to control.

"Go on Lelouch, laugh at me! Tell me I was wrong! Call me a fool! Explain how you, the great Zero, would have done it all differently!"

Tears soon began to reemerge from Lelouch's eyes as he remembered it all, and the true cause of it. For many years, he, like the rest of the world, had believed Genbu Kururugi had committed senppuku in order to silence the pro-war faction of his government, only for that explanation to be denounced when Mao revealed Suzaku had murdered him. And even when that half-truth had been given, he had simply taken it at face value, believing then that Suzaku had committed patricide for the sake of his country and his people, so that they may live past the bloodshed even in the bonds of slavery. The former prince never suspected, no matter how illogical Mao's claims sounded, that there was any other explanation for Suzaku's crime; that Suzaku had murdered his father for far more personal reasons than had been stated.

But now the truth had been revealed at last, and once again Lelouch had learned that he had been living a lie. All this time, he, as well as Nunnally, had been at the center of Suzaku's ultimate sin. His mere presence in the Kururugi household had changed Suzaku's entire destiny for the worst, forcing him to choose between the lives of his own father and his friends, and equally forcing him to act on that choice. Yes, in the end it had been Suzaku that had committed the crime, but Lelouch could no longer deny his own involvement in his murder; that Genbu's blood was on his hands as much as it was on Suzaku's. Nor that because of that choice, because of that decision to preserve his and Nunnally's lives, Suzaku began his long fall into the darkness of his own soul, having now resulted into the mad beast that Lelouch had just dueled with mere hours ago.

"If only I had known then what I do now...! If I had known what you would become...! If I had known what I would lose...!"

"Suzaku..." Lelouch murmured painfully, feeling as though he were slowly being impaled by a sword. His teeth soon grit together as he tried to stifle back any more tears. It hurt to remember now, even more so than when C.C. had forcibly restored him. Yet the memories continued to play out, and at the images of the maddened, pained Suzaku, Lelouch only felt great remorse at what he had driven his friend into becoming; at how he had driven his first true friend into slowly losing his sanity, all the while instilling him with complete rage and hatred through his own actions.

"...I WOULD HAVE LET HIM KILL YOU!"

"Lelouch…" another voice suddenly broke the flow of memories from behind. Momentarily readjusting his stance, if only by instinct alone, Lelouch turned around with a glazed eye to see Kallen standing behind him, having somehow entered without his realizing it. Even though he was looking at her with a corner glance, he could almost feel the look of concern and sympathy on her face, as if she were radiating that emotion. Yet even so, aside from speaking his name, she said nothing more afterward, instead choosing to wait for her leader's response.

Realizing that much, Lelouch turned his face forward again, while adopting a more serious demeanor, though the tears remained. "I trust you 'saw' everything that happened before?"

Kallen's silence was all the answer he needed, and so he continued with a short, rueful laugh. "It's funny. All this time, I had believed the first life I had taken was Clovis'. I remember how I struggled with the guilt afterward, how I felt like I was drowning in myself for taking another life. There were times I couldn't sleep without seeing his face in my dreams, and there were times where I couldn't eat without feeling nauseated."

Lelouch tilted his head down a little. "And now I learn even that's not the truth." he went on. "That it wasn't through Clovis that I lost my innocence, but my best friend, whose life I ruined at the mere age of ten."

"You didn't kill him..." Kallen stated as fact, holding back her own emotions while doing so.

"I might as well have." Lelouch claimed, closing his eyes again. "Because either way, the Suzaku I knew and grew up with died alongside his father, leaving only an empty shell behind. All because of the friendship and love Nunnally and I shared with him... And everything that happened afterward..."

At that, Lelouch let out a bitter laugh that caused Kallen to cringe. "And do you know what the worst part of it was?" he let out. "I would've done the same thing."

Lelouch sneered at the thought. "Had it been reversed... Had my father ordered Nunnally's execution back then..." he admitted. "I would've done the same..."

And once more, Lelouch's eyes fluttered open as he let out a small sigh and stared forward again. "I've given you what you wanted Kallen." he suddenly spoke with a more hardened voice. "It took whatever I had left of my former life, alongside my identity as Lelouch vi Britannia, but tonight I've given you and the Black Knights exactly what you all wanted. A renewed war with Britannia, and the hope for a peaceful future."

His hands, still covered by the black leather gauntlets that were part of his Zero ensemble, flexed as he spoke his next few words. "So I ask you now Kallen..." he continued without pause. "...was it worth it? Are you satisfied with what I have done, for you and the remnants of Japan?"

Kallen opened her mouth to respond to that inquiry, but when she realized that doing so would cause her to lose her own self-control, she closed her mouth before a single word could be uttered. In that moment, she wanted to let it all go, to tell Lelouch that he was punishing himself for a crime that wasn't his. That regardless of the reasons behind Suzaku's actions in the death of his father, Suzaku was still the one who made that choice and performed the stabbing, and that whatever happened afterward was also a product of his own decisions. And most importantly, that regardless of what became of Suzaku, Lelouch's efforts and sacrifices were not in vain; that win or lose, he had secured more for her and the rest of Japan than he could ever realize, and in return they would all follow him to the end now, in his own quest to exact justice on his former country.

But Kallen knew better than to say those words, and much more project that temperament, with the way Lelouch was now. She knew that her words wouldn't reach him; that no matter what she claimed about Suzaku, Lelouch would not accept her explanations, and that he would only continue to subconsciously punish himself for the Knight of Seven's growing insanity and all the events that led up to it. The former prince's selflessness dictated it, just as it had forced him to live down the Devastation as if that offense had also been his own. Just as it had forced him to live down Euphemia's slaughter before that.

As such, Kallen felt her own anger well up at Lelouch's blind selflessness, but at the same time she refused to curse him for it. After all, that very selflessness was one of the reasons that she had...

Along that line, a memory came to mind, and all at once, Kallen realized what she needed to say. As such, she relaxed and slowly let her own anger drain away, until all that remained was solemnness. "Eight years ago..." she began, her voice now much more tempered. "...I asked you similar questions to what you're asking me now."

Lelouch remained with his back turned to her, but he listened regardless. Thus, Kallen continued. "I told you that up to that point, I had believed our cause to be right, only for Narita to make me question everything. I asked you exactly that: was what we were fighting for real? Would our struggle, and the sacrifices we would make along the way, be worth it?"

A minute glimmer entered Kallen's eyes as she went on. "And do you remember the answer you gave me?"

At that inquiry, Lelouch finally turned to face her expectedly.

"You told me that what we did wouldn't simply change the world, but rather it had to change the world. That there would be sacrifices, both from those who would fight us and those who could not." Kallen continued. "Yet even so, we had no choice but to continue on, not only for all those that were already lost, but for those who would die as well. That no matter what happened, we had to prevail, or risk all the blood we had spilled being in vain."

Hesitantly, she took a step closer to Lelouch. "And now Lelouch, I give you that same answer." she spoke, sounding more determined now. "No matter what has happened before, no matter what sins you think you have committed, you have no choice but to go on..."

She soon came near face to face with the former prince, and both commander and soldier soon felt the heat between them. Yet even so, Kallen refused to look away from his eyes. "...because what you have done tonight, and what you will do in the future, is worth the cost. The world and the future that you have dreamed of is worth fighting for. Even if it means having to turn against your own friends and loved ones, even the ones you think yourself responsible for, you have to go on believing that in the end, you will change the world for the better."

From there, Kallen lowered her gaze down to his chest. "You've already come this far and you've done so much Lelouch." her voice now turned into a near murmur. "And that's exactly why you can't falter now; otherwise you admit that Suzaku sacrificed himself for nothing, and that all you have done to this point, whether good or bad, was meaningless."

So focused was Kallen on his chest that she did not see Lelouch's eyes widen in realization.

"And that's why... Even if you start doubting yourself like I had at that time... I refuse to give up my faith in you, or allow you to give up on yourself." she stated, again staring back into his eyes. Only now instead of hesitance, her eyes held fiery determination, while her voice gained an edge. "So if you ever ask me a question like that again, I will personally beat the words into you, until you remember exactly what you told me in that hangar and get back into the fight! Zetai ni!"

At first, Lelouch was taken aback by the force behind Kallen's statement to him, so much so that he nearly took a physical step back from the intensity of her gaze alone. If Kallen's words had not reached his being, then her force of will certainly did, and Lelouch found himself in shock at it all. Too shocked, in fact, to realize that had it been eight years ago, he would not had tolerated such statements from his subordinate, and would have easily found her out of line. Yet, here and now, she had managed to get through to him, and before her words and her will, Lelouch suddenly felt powerless and unable to respond.

However, upon looking down at her, he noticed a peculiar detail: her left hand, still balled into a fist, was trembling. It was from that little detail that Lelouch realized that, all this time, Kallen had been afraid for him; afraid that he would turn into exactly this, that his fight with Suzaku would strip him of all of his willpower and leave him as an empty shell. As such, she did what she had to do and reminded of his own advice to her, as well as the resolution he once held so long ago, in the face of another personal sacrifice. Inside, Lelouch cursed himself for forgetting all of it, as well as forcing Kallen into having to drill it all back into him, all the while holding back her real emotions as he surmised.

As a result, he felt even more worn now, as Kallen's mantra had molded effectively with his already present battle fatigue. But even so, while he still felt sorrow for Suzaku, what had become of him and his part in it all, he knew that sorrow was a secondary concern now. Yes, his guilt and anguish were far from gone, but he now remembered that he had already sacrificed, among other things, his friendship with Suzaku so long ago, when he had executed Euphemia and finalized her knight's hatred toward him, all so that he could continue to lead his revolution. All so that everything he had done, including the murder of his own beloved sister, would not be in vain.

And so it was, he understood, for Suzaku's degrading mind; just one more sacrifice in an already large number. How could he lose his will over something like that, when he had held onto it through so much worse?

"Sickening." he suddenly spoke in near monotone, feeling as though the air had been knocked out of him. "Being lectured by a subordinate, having to be reminded of my own words...as well as the worth of my own cause. Truly sickening." he then muttered as his fists tightened again. "Has the world really been distorted so much?"

At that, Kallen let out a breath of air as a reassured smile came across her lips. "That just means we have a lot of fixing to do."

Upon that reply he looked back at her, violet eyes never flinching. Silence dwelled between them for the next few moments before Lelouch spoke up again. "And the worst part of it is..." he began with a mock frown. "...it all had to come from you of all people. I don't know whether to be thankful or disgusted."

Realizing that Lelouch had regained the sardonic part of himself as well, Kallen quickly adopted a pout. "What's that supposed to mean? I thought, as your Knight of Zero, one of my obligations was to 'talk sense into my liege.'"

"A knight does not question his liege." Lelouch pointed out, feeling some amusement at the sight of a put off Kallen. "Nor does she point out any foolishness on his part, and she especially doesn't 'talk sense into him'. No, the role of a knight is to follow the orders of her lord and nothing more."

Kallen fixed him with a challenging leer at that. "Then I guess I make a very poor knight..." she shot back. "...because the last thing I will ever let you do is wallow in yourself like a bad anime character."

Lelouch chuckled silently. "A statement like that would easily earn you contempt had we been an actual prince and knight." Kallen opened her mouth to respond, but Lelouch continued, fixing his eyes back on her. "Even so... once again I am grateful to you Kallen."

This time however, Kallen was unable to meet the warmth of his gaze or the small, apologetic smile that had formed as well. Nor was she able to prevent the tinge of red to appear on her cheeks as she looked away. "Baka..." she muttered simply.

And as their conversation went on, C.C., who had been standing behind the doorway all throughout, allowed a smile of her own to come upon her face.

---

Location Unknown

V.V. fought down the urge to slam his fists into the arms of his throne as he watched the overhead monitor flicker off.

Rarely over the Grandmaster's immortal life had he lost control of his emotions and allowed his anger to show upon his face. But after this line of intolerable events, even he was unable to keep his wrath in check. By completely destroying Pearl Harbor, the Black Knights had proven more formidable than he had anticipated, and Lelouch himself had shown to be more ambitious along the way. Before, V.V. would have assumed that, for whatever dangers either the Black Knights or Lelouch presented, they would have followed their original modus operadi from the Japanese Insurrection. That being, the BKs would only harass Britannia in a series of hit-and-run strikes, through which Zero would accomplish with his usual "miracles" in order to promote his name as a "savior" to Britannia's enemies, from which he would seek alliances with before doing any direct damage to the Empire.

Yet this was not the case, much to V.V.'s ire. The attack on Pearl Harbor not only showed that the Black Knights were able to fight in the open field, even without their leader's guidance, but that Lelouch was not going to hold back in this new war. This time he was going to attack the Empire directly and in its most vital areas, and he was going to do it in ways that would inflict great damage to Britannia's infrastructure as well as establish himself and his army as the last great hope against tyranny. All this while Britannia was distracted in its war with the EU, and he and his followers were distracted with their hunt for the final Code Bearers among various other secret agendas.

What was even more intolerable was that, in concept, it was all following Charles' plans to distracting world attention while Ragnarok was carried out in the background. Indeed, one did have to admit that whatever Lelouch did as Zero was always followed upon by the masses; even his relatively small rebellions in Japan were enough to draw attention from virtually all portions of civilization. But even so, V.V. knew better; for whatever benefit Lelouch would provide to Ragnarok's building execution, he was still too dangerous an element to utilize for it, and Pearl Harbor's destruction only emphasized that fact even more so. And yet, even after all that has happened, Charles still refused to have Lelouch and his little army disposed of.

As such, V.V. clenched his fists around the arms of his throne. If his apprentice wouldn't do what needed to be done, then it came down to him to perform the deed. The completion of Ragnarok, humanity's salvation and the birth of the new world to come were all far too important to fail, and V.V. was not about to allow let even the possibility of that to happen. And that was where he came in.

"So, that is why you have summoned me." spoke a voice from the darkness beyond the throne. Slowly, a figure emerged from that darkness, who then knelt down before the presence of the Grandmaster.

"Indeed," V.V. replied, finally calming down. "Lelouch has been allowed to exist for far too long. He must be terminated."

"By me?" the figure spoke. Though subtle, one could sense the traces of an edge in his tone. "I cannot say I am pleased with this. The idea of even dirtying my hands on that mongrel's blood is revolting alone."

"We cannot take any more risks, not at this time," V.V. replied staunchly, before getting up off of his throne and wandering to the side in thought. "For over two millennia we have been preparing; entire wars and nations were started and ended for that purpose, and many more sacrifices were made along the way. All for the true salvation of man."

He then turned to face the figure. "And that is exactly why I am sending you after Lelouch, as there is far too much at stake to allow his rebellion. If he continues on now, he will eventually extend his war to include us, and while we may yet triumph, we may also lose too much to go on ourselves."

He then turn around, his voice taking on a solemn, resolute tone. "By all costs, Ragnarok must be carried out..." he stated grimly and seriously. "...before the coming of Armageddon."

The figure was silent for a moment as he considered. "Very well. I may not be...overly fond of the task you have given me, but it will be carried out all the same," he stated, lowering his head down a little more. "Lelouch vi Britannia will die, so that the twilight may commence. You have my word on this, Grandmaster."

V.V. smiled as he turned back to face the figure. "Yes, I know I can count on you," he responded. "After all, it is, among other things, what you were meant for."

At that, the figure looked up. His right eye shone crimson with the mark of Geass.

---

END OF ACT I