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Chapter 39: The Light Will Shine Through
🕑 Added 2025-08-16 20:28:28 +0000 UTCWhen one fights monsters, they should be careful not to become one: Such an easy thing to say, difficult to do when you're faced with them.
(Previously)
Waking up again, Lelouch hardly noticed how sore he felt as he raised his arm, seeing it had healed. It felt…stronger. Enough so that he could press his hand to the ground and effortlessly pick himself up.
Like the first time, he saw something of the size, which seemed to be a mask made from the hide and bone of the wolf's skull. Not bothering to test it when time was short, he picked it up and put it on. Breathing through it, he found that his sense of smell was much stronger, giving him access to an entirely new and vibrant world of smells.
It would be another boon that served him well.
"I should get going." Without a second thought, Lelouch continued, it was approaching what felt like afternoon, and he still had a long way to go.
Line Break
Only as Lelouch continued his trek up the mountain did he notice that the shadows had shifted and that more time had passed. Along with that realization came another: the fact that for the first time in years, he was awake, and yet he didn't hear it. He didn't feel the throbbing; piercing paid in his head as what seemed like a mad sympathy played followed by a raving choir.
It was unnerving to have silence in his head, made all the more annoying by his building anger. He could feel it bubbling just beneath the surface, and with it, was the violence, the lust for the blood of his enemies. He was alone, and yet he still wished to just point one of his newly acquired weapons and shoot, and hear the pained cry of those he hated as they went down.
With each step, each pat of his bare feet on the stone paved path, he felt like his desires, his need to see his father dead rose. Just like that day when he saw what his father truly was when he experienced how fleeting and vapid the imperial court's compassion, decency, and morality could be.
He wanted his father dead; he wanted to kill him with his bare hand if he had to. He wanted to watch his arrogant, uncaring bastard of a father’s face didn’t just shift at his anger, but morphed into agony as he beat him, as he crushed his bones, split his blood and made him watch, listened to him beg as he burned Pendragon and all of Britannia to the ground.
He yearned to see those same nobles who shunned them, or mocked them, who couldn’t even spare a single word of sincere condolence faces go from those indifferent, smug expression into looks of fear, fear which grew into an all-encompassing dread as one by one, they were hunted down, humiliated, and slaughtered like far dirty pigs they were. Knowing that their wealth, their power, their power…all of it meant nothing when the crow flew, and the wolf hunted.
"Calm," Lelouch had to pause, or his anger would get the better of him. "Control the beast, you're not there, not strong enough…not yet."
He focused on testing out his arm to keep from falling deeper into his stewing rage. As he already knew, he felt stronger, but it also looked different. He knew he wasn't anywhere near as fit as Suzaku, but he was in shape. His new right arm seemed like nothing but lean, refined, beastly muscle—a limb covered in a noticeable increase of hair, almost like fur.
He hardly cared for appearances, less so when he could stop, look at a tree to the side of the road, and punch it with his right arm. Instead of busting his knuckles, he cracked and cratered the thick, strong wood, leaving a fist-sized dent, while, in turn, his knuckles felt fine.
“Could I kill with a single punch?” He found himself asking as he continued up the path, his gaze locked on his fist clenched around one of his 2 pistols. He had already slain though gun and steel, but the idea that he could find his mother’s killers, and hand down justice not through strangulation but through breaking their bodies with his bare hands…it was an exciting idea.
He came to another stop, this time because his new mask picked up a scent, one different from the mist and shrubs of the mountain path. He wasn't familiar enough with different scents to place it immediately, but as he took in the scent, closed his eyes, and focused, he realized why it stuck out so much.
The rest of the mountain was, for better or worse, natural. All that existed in this realm was things which would exist in the real world, in the natural word. But this scent, the smell of fire and steel, this was man-made.
It didn't belong; people didn't belong here. Did that include him? He didn't know, but he knew this would be a challenge he would again need to handle. With the nose of a wolf and the eye of a crow, he was much better equipped than any human and made full use of it. Slowing his approach, he stacked forward, low to the ground, guns ready as he followed the scent up the path, as it grew stronger, he stepped off the paved road and into the tall, unruly brush.
His focus was so strong that he hardly noticed when he stepped on sharp, pointy stones, thorns, and fallen twigs. His only consideration was where and how he stepped, ensuring that, like a true predator, he made as little sound as possible.
Peering through the bushes, he saw a spot in the road opening into a small clearing. In it, a group of people camped around a large fire, their weapons, swords, axes, and spears lay at their sides, or stabbed into the ground as they loudly talked about their latest hunt. Looking further, he couldn't spot the fruits of their hunt, but he could spell them. Through slow, controlled sniffs of the mountain hair, he could pick out the scent of several animals, from something as small as rabbits and hares, to as large as deer and even bison.
He wondered why they were here, but not for long. In the end, they were in his way and would be handled accordingly.
Glancing about the group, he quickly picked the furthest one that he believed his weapon could hit, and aimed. He didn’t feel a thing, nor a shred of remorse or hesitation as he pulled the trigger, and with a bark of gunpowder, a lead ball found its way into the chest of the man, who went down with a cry of shock and pain, followed by another who only had time to stand before Lelouch put a bullet in his back, right where his heart was.
The rest were shouting, grabbing their weapons and looking about for the source of the kill, for the beast that now hunted them. Slowly, Lelouch pulled back and shifted his positions. There was no rush, no place for haste, even as they heard the tick of his pistols drawing their firing mechanism back, another shot ready.
Drawing closer to their camp, he used the mist for cover, took aim, and fired another shot, followed by another body dropping, its head snapped to the side from the lead ball now buried in its skull. There was another cry, another shout; he had struck again, for them to search the pushes. Still, Lelouch only listened tangentially to keep track of where they were and where they were.
Seconds later, another tick, and his other hand raised. A shot, a new corpse to feed the earth. His only issue was that the smell of smoke and ash irritated his enhanced sense of smell, but he would grow used to it.
This wasn't a battle, but he was well accustomed to ambush hunting. With a superior sense of smell and sight, he was easy to avoid detection as the remaining five spread out. Even as they realised it was not a beast that was hunting them, he didn't shift his style.
‘4 down, 5 more to go. They’re growing close, amateurs, so used to beasts they can’t handle a human…wait,’ Lelouch had to pause. Closing his right eye, he focused on the bodies. He was sure he had only killed 4, yet he was seeing more. At least a dozen or so, was this a trick of the mountain? Part of the test?
Wary but ignorant of the truth, he slowly approached, sniffing every few moments to keep track of the hunters' scents. He passed by one of the dead, focused on approaching their campsite, where the scent of humans grew strong—far too strong to just have been a 9.
He gasped when he saw why: among the beasts’ carcasses lay human bodies. Ordinary clothes — the sort you’d spot on any street — were torn and stained crimson, rents and punctures marking how they’d been felled. Pallid from blood loss, they’d been flung into the dirt with no respect; the eyes still visible were glassy, frozen in horror and a plea that never came.
Lelouch had seen death often and thought himself hardened. This was different. These were faces he knew—people he’d once prayed over, their killers he’d hunted and slain through shot and rat. Now the same bodies from that old Shinjuku warehouse lay before him, their gazes snapping to him like accusations: judgment, sorrow, fury.
"What…is this?" Lelouch asked, breaking his hunter's silence as he looked at the body he passed, looked at it, and recognized it. That face, he had seen it on one of those royal guards he killed.
Frozen, he barely saw something move in the corner of his vision and reacted. His shifting body saved his life, but it didn’t mean he escaped unscathed, as the spear pierced through his back, puncturing his stomach and slicing his kidney open something fierce before punching through his front.
“I got it!” The hunter-no, the royal guard who impaled cried in glee, only for Lelouch to turn, still impaled and fire his pistol point blank into the man’s face, the lead ball smashing up his skull and making pulp of his brains.
‘Sloppy-utterly sloppy!’ Lelouch hissed, using his other gun to blow the spear shaft off, leaving just what was in him and the protruding tip to worry about as he vanished into the mist again. But he wasn’t in top shape-he could feel his body weakening from the damage, while his blood left a clear trail which the remaining 4 could follow.
With the advantage lost, Lelouch could only bite his tongue and rely on his hate to both dull the pain and give him strength to keep moving. He was wounded, but he would be damned if he was out. His opponents thought themselves in the clear, but he answered with a shot through the mist, dropping another, followed by a second shot that hit one in the arm, Lelouch ticking his teeth as his aim grew wobbly.
“Why did you kill them? Clovis is dead! His secrets are out in the open!” He yelled into the mist, his eye tracking them far better than they could him, but he was slower, his blood leaving a trail for them to follow.
“Because we’re loyal knights of the crown!” Come the first response, sounding less like a man and more like an obedient dog’s bark.
“Because we’re superior to those beasts, they might talk, they might beg-but they’re just numbers!” Another proclaimed as they charged through the mist, their spear ready to impale him. Still, he saw them coming, and even with his vision growing blurry, he couldn’t miss at this range and fired while jumping to the side, letting the dead man fall.
"Because we are the glorious soldiers of Britannia!" Another bark from his other side forced him to twist his body in a way that only highlighted the spear shaft still in his side as he got a bead on the charging soldier and fired.
Seeing his head flick back as the dead man dropped, Lelouch’s rage kept his strength up. This…this wasn’t like then, when he had been taken by the ecstasy of combat, of being able to bare his fangs. Now he was burning with wrath at their responses. His breath came out harsh and angry, and he was less of a man and more of a bloodthirsty animal on the hunt.
His mask enhanced mask, picking up the smell of his own blood and stomach acid. Still, even with that, he could track his remaining 2, knowing one was growing close, and his guns still drawing back to prep the next couple shots, Lelouch’s eye shot to the spear shaft and point sticking out of his.
Without only a moment’s hesitation, his gaze hardened as he dropped one of his pistols and grabbed the protruding and pulling it through his torso with a roar of fury and agony, a spray of blood and bile following it as he turned on his heel, and stabbed it through the heart of the second last man who was trying to sneak up on him. Lelouch snarled as he looked the man dead in the eye, before twisting the spear like a knife and pulling it out, burying it into the dying man’s head as he collapsed like a house of cards.
Tackled from the side, which was run through, Lelouch let out a gasp of air, iron on his lips as he was driven into the dirt, his head bouncing off the hard, cold earth. His vision was too blurry to make out anything more than the figure on top of him, a glint being the only thing to tell him he held a sword and was moments away from driving it through his chest.
Lelouch didn’t think, he didn’t plan-he just acted.
With what little strength he had, he flipped the one pistol he had in his hand so that he held the barrel and swung it at the blob’s head area, managing to score a hit if that thud and yelp of pain was anything to go on. Ignoring the pain, ignoring the weakening breaths, Lelouch pounced on the concussed man, who looked up and saw a bloody beast, a bony wolf’s skull, piercing eyes burning with nothing but desperation, madness, and hatred, and his pistol held up high like a club.
Lelouch swung, hitting the blob in the head, getting a cry of pain.
He swung again, hearing the captain's voice he remembered well, begging for mercy.
He swung again, and the man’s voice faded away, replaced with a panicked, pained pig’s squeals.
He answered it with a mad, fury-riddled bark as he swung his pistol club again, the smell of blood growing as he continued to club the man.
“Squeal-that’s all you’re good for, you damn, dirty pig! You call them animals when you snort and oink, squeal for your butcher!” Lelouch continued barking and snarling, his face and chest growing wet with the man’s blood, before, with one last hit, he couldn’t lift his weapon up any.
Barely awake and zapped of his strength, it took all his will just to climb off the man and roll onto his side. Lelouch’s limbs felt like stone, his chest hurt with each breath as his wound, grievous and mortal, grew numb, and his body started to shut down. So…so much pain and fighting, and this was the result? Seeing the same corpses, killing the same monsters? It could just feel…like he should do more.
‘I…I will do more, I can cut the grass as much as I like, but if the roots remain…’ His mind was getting foggy, his vision little more than blurs of light and colour, no details, even with his enhanced left eye.
The smell remained as potent as ever, and with a soft sniff, he could pick up the smell and steel and iron growing stronger, before he heard the corpse to his side shift with the snapping of broken bones.
“From my hands — take these arms. Let the makers pay with their own steel.” The pink and red blood of a pig soldier hybrid told him, carrying in its mouth a shiny glint of grey, its sword perhaps? He had no reason to refuse, so with what little strength he had left, he reached for it and grasped the blade, the fine edge cutting into his palm. He blacked out before he could see the rest.
Line Break
Opening his eyes once more, he found himself in another flashback. Again, he viewed things from the side, unable to act, unable to help as he watched his younger self plan his mother’s funeral.
Such tasks would conventionally not be performed by a single grieving individual, especially a child. Still, Lelouch knew them as he knew now that he had no such luxury. He could not act like a child, nor enjoy such benefits and privileges. Even if he could, he refused to allow those who hated his mother, those who did not care for her, to have any role in her final send-off. He refused to surrender that, and while he had little power, he knew he would have tried to kill if even the Emperor wanted to strip him of that.
He had no means to know that, his…the Emperor had already added insult to injury when he replaced her body. No, he believed at the time, the only mockery the so-called ‘strongest’ of the empire had was offering no imperial resources for the funeral. His mother left no will, no instructions regarding her wishes for her children’s fate should such a fate befall her. Why would she? She was so strong. She had allies, she believed the Emperor loved her, that he would protect her…
Lelouch held some hate for his mother, as ashamed as he was to admit, because she believed that. Maybe…maybe she was delusional, perhaps the Emperor deceived her.
It mattered not to the boy who stood in the Royal Undertaker’s den, browsing through the electronic tome containing centuries of patterns, motifs, and epitaphs that had graced the memorials and tombstones of many of the empire’s greatest.
From this new perspective, he could see how the Royal Undertaker, a man older than the Emperor, looked at him with pity as his younger self performed this duty. Yet, he was still so small that he needed a stool to see the tablet on its stand. Lelouch resented him for it, as he could express pity but not to his face. He can tell he felt sympathy for this child, yet it wasn’t helping.
Pathetic, a relic befitting the dazzling, decadent, scheming, and rotten hell that was Pendragon.
When the man spoke, he tried to steer his choice towards sweet, innocent angels, claiming it was a favourite of many because it spoke of the place those who died went to.
His younger self scoffed at the notion, as if most nobles would end up in such a lovely place. He rejected it, as such imagery didn’t fit how she had been killed, so he chose something else. The Undertaker tried to stop him, framing it as asking if he was sure, but fell silent when his younger self turned his gaze at him, all while his bubbling shadow seemed to only pulse and vibrate harder.
When the funeral day came, the skies had been grey, and a lingering drizzle had latched onto the land, leaving no sunlight to speak of. He watched his younger self, not even 10 years old, rise early, prepare breakfast, and dress in funeral-appropriate garb. He made the point to reject the cape and its noble ties and instead wear a hoodless black cloak.
Throughout the morning, not a single servant was seen. Why would they be, when in a few days, he would be gone? Why would they bother staying to help the commoner prince when he couldn't even pay them?
Despite the concerns of the attendants who had been assigned to his mother's funeral procession, he sat not in the sedan. Still, he rode along next to his mother's coffin in the hearse. It was cramped and unpleasant, but he refused anything better. He had to be with her and stay close to her.
Her funeral procession wasn’t big; it was tiny and had not been announced to the general public; thus, the 2 vehicles of the procession drove down damp, cold streets without anyone even knowing who was inside. As they arrived at the county cemetery, where several others waited to unload and bear his mother in this final part of her journey to her final resting place, Lelouch couldn’t help but burn with hate.
This was it.
No memorial at the Pendragon Imperial Cathedral was performed by the Archbishop of Canterbury. No national address, no moment of silence. No honor guards on foot and horse, no rider horse signifies his mother's service to her country and the Emperor. Marriane the Flash, consort Marriane vi Briannia, an extraordinary woman who amazed all who saw her, the woman who rose up from nothing to a warrior on par-no, greater than the Knight of One, who had managed to gain the Emperor's attention and become his beloved consort…and this was it.
She would be denied all that was owed to her. She would be denied even the right to have any royal titles on her tombstone. She would be buried as another commoner of no achievement, merit, or worth, as Marriane d'Aubigny, a name she had told him had made it all the easier for those pigs and bastards at court to shame, mistreat, and demean her for its French origins.
His rage was only partially soothed knowing that she would be laid to rest in the small plot of land she had secured for his grandparents, a fenced-off and separate plot from the rest, with vines and an oak tree offering shade.
As the workers carefully hoisted her coffin up, he felt a bitter shame knowing he could not help, that he was too small, too young, too weak. And thus, he could only trudge along, their boots grinding against wet gravel as the drizzle left them all wet.
Not a word was spoken, and he self-watched as not a single hand was given to him. There was no support, no sympathy, but he hadn’t expected such.
Three days. Three days, his mother lay in repose. Three days he sat with his mother's closed coffin, ordered sealed by the Emperor and locked to ensure the order was followed. For three days, from sunrise to sunset, he remained at her side. He took his meals at her side, sang songs to her as she used to do for him and Nunnally, hoping that someone would arrive and join in.
But it was for naught, as day in and day out, the once vibrant and bright villa remained dim and silent. He recalled feeling a deep, biting grief and misery over it; he nearly drowned in the realization that Clovis hadn’t brought some piece of art he made, that Cornelia didn’t appear to offer a hug, and that Schneizel didn’t try to understand. He had dropped to such a low point that he had hoped that the Emperor would appear, reveal that he did care, and only needed to act so cold in court.
These hopes went nowhere, for they never came. The only visitors he got were the birds who flew in the open windows and the rodents who snuck in, many carrying single petals or full flowers they had picked from the gardens.
He had cried seeing it, and even as he watched, he couldn't help but tear up as his younger self had used their gifts to create as good a wreath as his inexperienced, young hands could. That ugly, misshapen wreath made from crocuses, winter aconites, sun stars, and snowdrops had been the only thing that could ground him then.
The only thing that kept him from screaming, crying, or some other pointless outburst was when it came time to lower her into the earth, and he placed his final gift onto the coffin’s lid; all those festering emotions, loss, grief, and anguish seemed to finally make their way to the surface.
He hardly recalled the vicar’s words as he read his mother’s last rites; he didn’t feel the rain on his face as he stood there. He hardly felt colt-how could he when he burned so hot, when his wrath seemed to numb all else, and from his shadow, a black, clawed, sludge hand broke free at last.
He felt nothing but hate as it ripped and clawed into existence. For His mother's killers, for the nobles, for Britannia, for the world, he just hated, hated and hated…till that was all he felt.
Borrowing a shovel, he tossed the first pile of dirt onto his mother’s coffin and continued even as the workers started. None tried to stop him, even when his pace was pathetic compared to theirs. Maybe they saw he needed it, perhaps they thought he wouldn’t listen, or maybe they didn’t care.
Even with the benefit of hindsight, knowing this only took a few minutes, it still felt like an eternity until the last dirt was thrown.
“My son,” Lelouch’s younger self looked up to the vicar, a young man maybe a little older than brother Schneizel. The man must have seen it in his gaze: not anger, not righteous fury, but…a hollow loss. Yes, he had hate, but that was all he had, and he didn’t know what to do.
He had expected the man to turn away from him, or offer some unwanted words that she was in a better place when his mother should be alive, with him and unharmed Nunnally.
So he didn't do that. Instead, silently, he reached for his neck, pulled off his silver cross necklace, and placed it into Lelouch's hand, closing it for him. His eyes were full of life, and sympathy and empathy conveyed what he wished to see before leaving.
Lelouch remained, for how long he didn’t know. He just stood there, his clenched hand holding onto this new thing while he gazed at his mother’s headstone, which simply read:
Marriane d'Aubigny. Beloved mother of two. Taken too soon and shall forever be missed by those who loved her.
Standing there, he felt his shadow lean onto him. She appeared like a small child, just like him, with long ankle-length hair but skin that burned. Her scent of sulphur carried with it, and her fiery red eyes seemed to wish death on everything.
Her presence gave him the strength to make his vow as he clenched the cross in his hand so hard it hurt. “I will not forget, mother. I will not rest till those who took you from us lie dead at my feet, and all those who shunned, belittled, and mocked you have been made to suffer tenfold.”
“On my life…they’ll all die.” He promised, itching it into his very bones.
“Lelouch?”
Oh yes, he recalled it now. He had been so wrapped in his grief and vow for revenge that he hadn’t noticed someone approach. It was odd seeing a younger Cornelia, dressed in mourning black, a veil covering her face, while a younger and yet still old Dalton stood at her side, wearing his officer’s uniform as he held an umbrella over his princess’s head.
Leaning over his shoulder, the little monster born from his shadow whispered into his ear. ‘Cornelia, who arrived late. Cornelia, who hadn’t shown up for 3 days…’
"Sister... Princess Cornelia." Lelouch had corrected himself, the older princess frowning as she surveyed the scene, before she focused on the lone, drenched, pale-faced boy. Funny, Cornelia's fuchsia hair had once been his favourite colour, and seemed so vibrant, but now looked so dull to him.
"Lelouch, why are you here by yourself? Where are the others?" His gaze seemed to flash to life, matching that of the beast latched onto his side, holding him up and giving him strength.
"There are no others. Either they were not told or did not care, I can’t say which." The disbelief on Cornelia's face came as a slight surprise to Lelouch-
‘She’s lying, she’s merely acting like she cares. If she did, she would have been here. She would have brought Euphie.’ The monster whispered to him, suppressing his surprise or affection for the princess, not his sister, just the princess.
“Where is Princess Euphemia?” He asked, not seeing any trace of a small pink figure at her sister’s side.
Again, she frowned at his choice of words, but he didn’t care then and hardly cared now. “She has kept to her room since empress Marianne’s tragic passing. Mother would not let me bring her, she is only nine.”
‘And so are you, and yet you could show respect and your love by attending…’ His beast snarled into his ear, its form that of a little girl, hiding its proper form and purpose.
“Lelouch, are you all right?”
No, he wasn’t. His mother was dead, her killers unknown and free, his sister blind and crippled in a hospital. They were all alone, with nothing and no one to their names.
Looking back, he thought she was right to ask such a foolish question. He showed no tears, trembling lips, or red-trimmed eyes, and she could have easily heard his vow, which should never come from the lips of a child.
“I am fine…” But he couldn’t say that, he couldn’t act like a child, and he indeed relied on her. So, he lied; he knew it wouldn’t be the first time he would lie, and in time, he would become a master of it. But now, he was still a child and knew he had to leave before his anger got the best of him. He couldn’t afford to be punished when he needed to be there for Nunnally.
As the guards around the villa had once done, Lelouch saluted this princess, a woman with a higher status than he. “I thank you for being here. Mother would be pleased to know a princess graced her funeral with her presence.”
With his head bowed, he didn't see how Cornelia fisted her hands before her chest, but he could see it now. He wondered what she thought, but ultimately it didn't matter. "Why?" Cornelia breathed out, sounding shocked and heartbroken, emotions he almost believed at the moment. "Why do you speak to me as a stranger?"
He felt pain in his chest, guilt forming in his heart. Still, his beast calmly reached for his chest, her hand passing through without issue before she grabbed his guilt, a weak, useless emotion, and tore it from his being, leaving only the clarity and strength of hate.
He stepped back, closer to his mother’s grave and away from this imperial princess. “Your highness, you are risking your family’s reputation by being here. Associating with the fallen name of vi Britannia can only bring you infamy, ruin, and death…those who called themselves out friends have distanced or disavowed us for that reason.”
Blunt, to the point and without emotion….no, he was wrong. Even his younger self must have known how his lingering resentment bled into his words, punctuating each syllable with a harshness comparable to a winter’s storm.
Moving past her, his younger self kept his gaze on the path. “Your condolences are appreciated, but you should go.”
He never got past her, as she grabbed his shoulders with her strong hands and whirled him around, bringing him face to face with an angry Cornelia. A sight that once scared him, now he just met with a passive, almost bored look, anger burning beneath the surface, which she must have noticed.
He didn’t fight it, though he expected a slap, even a punch, but the hit never came.
The hands that gripped his shoulders so tightly it hurt lost strength as Cornelia pulled him into a hug. Her arms wrapped around him as she ignored how she was ruining her dress by kneeling in the muddy soil.
At the moment, he had no clue what to make of it, which gave his sister enough time to commit a follow-up. Princess Cornelia li Britannia praised for her courage and potential, laid her cheek against his, allowing him to feel how the warm liquid passed between them, nothing like the cold rain.
Still, he watched as his arms remained at his side, his younger self not daring to move, not when his beast glared at Cornelia for such a pointless, deceitful act of-
"You are not alone, Lelouch."
His current sigh sighed, as he had been so used to hearing Cornelia issuing commands, being strong, assertive, and uncompromising, only softening with Euphie and Nunna, that hearing her use that tone with him nearly buckled his knees. He never gave in, he never cried like the brat he was. He latched onto this warm, genuine person.
But he couldn’t, not when he and Nunnally were to be shipped out the following day.
So, he watched his younger self break her weak hold, apologise for taking up her time, and walk away. As far as the two knew, that would be the last time they could speak as siblings.
Line Break
When he came to, it was with a large gasp of hair, his body filled with an unstable, itching anger. He snarled as he got up, gazing at his healed naked body, and then to the spear he carried. Even as each breath seemed to stroke his fury, he could recognise the spear as a halberd. A heavy, razor-edged axe, paired with a barbed spear point and stout rear hook, a shaft wrapped in fine leather and reinforced with brass bands, with beveled edges and subtle fluting, cutting weight, yet despite how heavy it still looked, he found he could handle it as if it were a dagger.
Looting the dead soldiers, he took their pants and belts to fashion makeshift holsters for his pistols.
"Another challenge handled…" Lelouch muttered, fixing his bone mask, taking a deep breath through his nose before he walked ahead.
Line break
As he continued his ascent, he faced more challenges, whether in the form of man or beast, and each time, something was taken from him. In the next, he faced a giant eagle, its talons seemingly made from steel, as with a single pass, its foot reached out for his right eye, crushing it and ripping it out. When he finally brought it down, having shot and impaled its body several times, he was sent back to the day he arrived at the Kururugi shrine.
As he walked up those damned stairs, Nunnally secured on his back, his beast walked alongside them. Dressed just like him, and yet with a look on her face that mirrored how he felt about it. He didn't dare let one of the Japanese touch his sister, a decision only justified to his beast's joy as he got his first look at his…host. Kirihara looked at him like he was an unstable tool he was considering the uses for. Genbu looked like a waste of space, an insult given form. Kaguya hid behind her uncle, terrified as if he were some mad dog, while Suzaku was much like his father, angry that they were even there.
He had to hold back the gasp, the growl, and a scream of indignation when he saw their 'housing and how it was little more than a tiny storehouse off to the side, out of sight.
He had to lie once again to his sister, restraining the beast that seemed eager to be let loose and spinning a story about how they were being treated with even the barest decency for children. Suzaku ruining that, being too stupid to realize Nunnally was blind before he opened his mouth and exposed it…well, he didn't regret charging him, even if he got him but kicked him.
'They didn't see you as royals; they didn't even see you as children. They saw you as things, unwanted by your father, only sent to mock them.' His beast sighed into his ear as he watched Suzaku run off like a coward…he never did apologise for his brazen rudeness.
Coming to, he now had another eye, but hardly spent time considering it as he kept on moving.
Time passed, and he continued onward. As he lost another part of himself and gained a replacement, his wrath only grew more concentrated as he was forced to relieve the past. From his other meetings with Suzaku, the brat always treated him like his existence was an insult, to how whenever he left the Shrine, he almost always got beat up by local boys.
Suzaku's surprise at his jailor's refusal to step in only made him seem more like a prideful idiot. What? He didn't see an issue with two children being housed in a shed and needing to handle most of their chores, but he drew the line at direct physical violence. After he had beaten him up on their first day.
‘He's a hypocrite, a fool, and a threat.' His beast sang to him as he recovered from another beating, picking up his groceries.
As the sun set, he hardly noticed as he continued up the mountain, his mind focused on what lay ahead. Further trips took him down his past. His deal with Genbu was spurred on by his decision to try to marry his sister to prevent war. He hated that man for it, loathed him to a level he didn't think possible for someone not named Charles zi Britannia. And yet, like before, he caged his beast who wished for him to kill him, and instead worked with him, selling something precious for his sister; he didn't care that the deal marked him as a traitor, for he had already been betrayed.
As the challenges grew in intensity, and he found himself struggling against stronger beasts and greater numbers, his blackouts took him out of that Shrine and into the war. He even vividly remembered those days; he saw them in his nightmares. He knew, he felt it in the moment, that no matter what happened, even when Nunnally's life was in danger, he did not feel fear; he had not felt that since his audience with his father.
No, he felt the beast, felt it caress him, hold him, support him, and through that, he experienced nothing but hatred, raw, uncontested hate. When he killed his first man, he hated him for being a threat. When he killed his 10th, he hated him for having supplies they needed.
Even when the fighting stopped and Japan fell, his beast never left him but grew with him like a twin. Keeping him sane and yet never giving him peace, fuelled by those he saw around him in the newly built Tokyo settlement, their pride and vanity on full display as they mistreated the Japanese, and abandoned decency and compassion out of pride, out of laziness, or fear.
After a while, he stopped thinking. He merely moved, dodged, and struck out with pistol, spear, rifle, knives, guns, and, at times, his bare fists. His sense of hearing, smell, sight, and touch became more refined with each kill, stepping away from the boundaries between man and beast as shots ripped, tore, slashed, and broke everything in his way. At a point, he stopped passing out, only absorbing the essence of his fallen foes and moving on.
With the moon's light shining on the mountain, he prowled. A hand holding his sword, another a pistol, while his other weapons were primed and ready. He couldn't hear, smell, or see so much, yet he didn't feel anything. He didn't feel warm; he didn’t feel love or compassion, empathy, hesitation, or regret.
His head snapped back and forth as he searched for the next target, the next thing to hate, to kill, he needed it-he desired it, the bloodshed, the madness, and desolation of his foes when they realized they couldn’t stop him, that he wouldn’t let them escape.
He crept up the path, sending him rushing ahead, his sword already pulled back to bisect whoever or whatever happened to be waiting. He smelled it before he saw it. It smelled weak, small, and pathetic. Was this all that remained? Well, no matter; he'll slay it like he handled everything else.
Rushing in, he moved like a charging bull, finally spotting the small pup left in the middle of the path, its eyes closed as it let out such pitiful cries, sniffing for its mother. Lelouch nearly drove his sword through its chest, ended it but for a moment-just a moment, he didn’t see a pup, he didn’t see another animal or person to slaughter…
He saw something new. A memory that didn't bring him pain. Didn't bring him fury. It was raining then, and he had just returned from another job; he had just picked up groceries for him and Nunnally to have a full dinner, their first since they moved into the abandoned subway station he found when he heard soft whines and cries from an alley. In it, he found a beat-up, starved beagle.
He could have left, given it something to eat, or even brought it to an animal shelter, but instead, he left.
“Would you like to come back with me? I can take care of you.”
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With a hard clang of steel against stone, his blade was stabbed deep into the paved path, having missed the pup by mere inches. Lelouch's hand shook, his entire being in turmoil…what…what did he nearly do? It was hard to think, he could barely see past the red, but…no, he-he could n't-he refused….but he nearly did.
“Big brother can be a little silly,” His breath hitched, his body started as he heard a familiar voice through the fog. “But I know he’s a good person,”
“n…Nunnally…” He asked, his voice rough, harsh, and inhumane, yet still him. Still Lelouch.
“She’s dead weight.”
"You are not alone, Lelouch." No, that wasn't Cornelia. She couldn't be here,…that was a memory, like the rest.
“She’s a liar.”
“There’s nothing we can’t do together.” He fell to his knees as he remembered that. Suzaku and he became close, seeing past their differences and committing all sorts of stupid stuff just because they could.
“He joined the empire!”
“Hey, Lulu!” Shirley…how can someone like her exist? So kind, so patient. She could see what he was like, just a glimmer, yet not be turned away. She could care for him…and he for her, like he cared for the rest.
“Weak!” It felt like his beast was slamming into his skull, its claws carving at his brain as he fell into the foetal position, clutching his head to try and stem this agony.
“Lelouch, ole buddy!” Rivalz, a simple man, a dependable man. Perhaps one of the few bastards he knew who loved Milly for Milly, and saw all that she was a feature to be cherished. A good friend.
“Coward!”
“My mother puts her faith in you. Milly and the rest of the council see you as their friend. Sancia, Dalque, Alice, and Lucretia see you as their savior. You are Nunnally's big fucking brother! I'm not about to rob them of you." Kallen's outburst, as was typical of her, had been both violent and loving.
“Shut up!”
“You want to see me happy? Then don’t you die on me, you hear me? I order you to live, Lelouch vi Britannia.” Remembering that day, the look in C.C.'s eyes, the softness of her words, and the love and desire she had for him to live, to make her happy just by existing. It was like a lightning bolt that supercharged him.
With it, a sense of clarity fell over him, forcing his hatred to the wayside as he recalled why he was here—why he had decided to accept the challenge, why he had preserved this long. When the beast moved to denounce Chantal, he roared even louder.
“No, you bite your damned tongue!”
Splitting from him, his shadow formed itself into a separate body—one that looked like a matured version of what he had seen birthed the day of his mother's funeral. Like him, she was naked, beautiful, with a full figure, soft, flawless skin, and a face befitting a nymph.
But now, that face was twisted into a terrifying visage as her eyes burned like the inferno. “You fool, do you even-!”
“I don’t care!” He slapped her hand away from him. “I won’t let you turn me into something like that, something that would hurt those I care for.”
“You think you can get anywhere without me?” She laughed, pointing at herself and then to him with a look of utter contempt. "It was I who gave you clarity when your father exiled you. It was I who gave you strength when you buried your mother. I gave you patience as they beat you simply for being Britannian.”
She seemed to teleport, closing the gap between them and grasping his head, holding it so tight that it was like she wished to crush it into fine dust.
“It was I who kept your blade steady as you took your first life. When the screams of the dead and the damned became too much—when their pain, loss, and rage flowed into your soul—it was me who kept it at bay." Just for a moment, her fury seemed to abate as she gave him such a seductive, arrogant, and yet friendly smile. She whispered into his ear, trying to draw him close, pressing herself against him.
“Face it: you and I are linked, for I was born the day you were exiled. I’ve grown with you, been nurtured by you, loved by you—and in turn, I made you strong. And I’ll never leave you, not as long as you live; you'll never be without me." She cooed, mocking him, trying to make him angry- to make him accept her and allow her to take control once more.
“…I know,” Lelouch surprised her with how fast he seemed to give up, only for him to run her through on his sword. The beast let out a surprised breath as she looked at her stomach and then at his face, seeing his controlled wrath but also something else.
Kicking her off him, he pulled his blade free at the same time, sending an arc of fiery black blood across the moonlight path. Putting his back to the pup, he made his declaration. “But even so, I’m more than just a rampaging beast, I have things I must protect, a world I must destroy, a reality I need to see built, and enemies to slaughter.”
The beast narrowed its eyes, wound closing up as she pulled out her mirror version of his sword. “A contradiction.” She dismissed, to which he smirked.
"Is it? If you're born from me, then you know what I know. You know you can't achieve anything without the strength and the will to see it done. And thus, I need you, but you'll bend to command." He declared, getting an amused burst of laughter from her.
Reaching for her pistol, she asked. "Do you think you can make me yield? Do you think you can make anything worth a damn when you're a half-mad, blood thirsty little fool?”
“Are you going to talk, or fight?” Lelouch replied with a question of his own.
Line Break
The sun peered over the rim of this strange and unfamiliar world, pouring a narrow strip of honeyed light across the mountain summit and its slow, covered earth and green.
At the very top sat a clearing that gave one a view of the world, though they were so far up that only other mountain tops could be seen. To the rear, there was just the lone path leading up to it, flanked by a dense forest of snow-capped firs and pines that leaned inward like a congregation. Their branches bowed under the white weight.
The Caretaker of Spacetime stood at the edge, watching the clouds as they floated by beneath her, the winds carrying the sharp scent of resin and snow. She had been here for a little while now, unable to interfere or observe the human through his trials and battles. But now that the sun was rising, she wondered if he had failed.
"Wouldn't that be a wonderful thing?" She asked herself, only to frown as she heard something crunching through the snow. Turning her head, she looked down the path and was surprised by what she saw.
She saw the beast approaching, greatly wounded and heavily bleeding boiling black blood into snow covered path, each drop sizzling on impact. Her body was covered in cuts and slashes, great and small, and if she wasn't mistaken, she was missing an eye and part of her left hand.
But she wasn't surprised by that, but instead by the fact that learning against the beast was the human. He looked similar beat up, his naked body covered in bullet wounds, while it looked like his rage had sliced and slashed at him with reckless abandon.
As they crossed into the clearing, she turned to them fully.
“You were meant to defeat all that you encountered.” She reminded him.
Lelouch, sleep-deprived, hungry, thirsty, exhausted, and feeling every little wound crying out across his body, didn't get scared or nervous at that statement.
“I did.” He started. “I’m filled with hate; I hate so deeply it could be called monstrous. I want to slaughter, to maim, to kill and burn all that I hate.” His beast rolling her eyes but not letting go of him, smirking at the supernatural, otherworldly being judging them.
His grip on the beast grew stronger, surer as he meant the Caretaker of Spacetime’s unamused face. “But I’m also filled with love; I love so dearly it can bring me back from the brink. I wish to nurture, cherish, shelter, and protect all I love."
"It's through my hate that I have strength, but through my love, I have charity to see the difference. I will burn this damned, bloodstained, twisted world to the ground, and I'll create a better one. For those I love and don't know, for everyone so that another twisted world doesn't rise." Lelouch declared, not a hint of hesitation or deceit in his thoughts or face.
The Caretaker of Spacetime's frown grew at that, as this was not what she was expecting or wanting. “To do that, I needed power…that is why I am here.”
“And what of you?” Caretaker of Spacetime turned away from the human to the beast, to his rage given form. “Isn’t what he says the antithesis of your very being? Don’t you wish to just destroy and kill?”
“I do,” The beast admitted without shame, her teeth flashing as she envisioned such violence, seeing Pendragon burn. But that murderous joy dimmed as she felt the sheer will of her master. "But he's proven worthy of the crown and himself above the beasts. As long as he remains worthy, I will continue to support him."
Caretaker of Spacetime turned away from them, lost in thought for the longest time, the rising sun framing her body. Eventually, she smiled as this…this could prove different. "What a surprise…but not the worst one either. You're quite an interesting one, Lelouch vi Britannia. Perhaps…hmm, what were the odds of 2 beings and yet with 2 different philosophies and methods?"
Neither knew what she was talking about, but she turned to them again before they could think to ask.
Rising her hand to him, her body started to glow bright pink and red, the air swirling around her as she tapped into a power humans should never have…but she could make exceptions. "Come, approach me, and you'll gain your reward for your efforts. I shall carve it into your every being."
Line Break
This was taking long…almost too long.
Kirihara remained where he stood, forcing his aging body not to flinch or shift as he kept his gaze on the pool, but he couldn't stop the spark of worry from forming in his heart. All the previous events like this had only taken an hour, and throughout the process, the pool remained active.
And yet, it had been well over four hours now, and for the last three, the sakuradite had been as still as a calm koi pond. He wondered if perhaps he should just accept that the boy had failed and make plans to place Nunnally under his care as promised when something happened.
The pool pulsed, a ripple forming at its centre and traveling across to the edges, before it started to bubble, angry and loud as some drops reached nearly as high as where he stood. Though the angry fluid, he could almost hear what sounded like a crow crying out as the symbol of Tengume form, like a great bird in flight.
He could tell even the mountain's attendants were stunned by this; even if they didn't speak, their body language gave it away. Kirihara was now expecting the boy to burst out, reborn, but instead, the boy rose to the surface like a whale slowly, gently rising to the surface to breathe.
When he finally breached the surface, he was chest first, Lelouch looking asleep, at complete peace as he bent forward, gaining his foot. The liquid sakuradite flowed off him like clam spring water, leaving not so much as a mark. Instead, his veins seemed to glow a soft pink, the only sign of what had mixed into his blood and flesh before the glow faded, leaving him looking as he had before all this.
“And with that, all tasks at hand have been cleared,” He raised his hand, his body bent forward, before in a spark of red and black light, a halberd formed in his hands, a refined, gloriously decorated weapon of war, baring the mark of geass on one side of the blade, and symbol of the Black Knights on the other. “And with this, I have gained the shinbuki: King’s Armory.”
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Another week, another chapter and I really went all the way with this one, both because last chapter wasn’t as good as I wanted it to be, and also because I wanted this trial to be something of a 2 parter. So this came out longer than the norm. I would have started work on this earlier yesterday, but I'm getting reacquainted with how long planning can be for WIPs. Now, I won’t say much about the chapter itself, the name alone should be a clue to what’s gonna happen, but
Also, I went back and edited chapter 32, as sometimes, C.C.'s name was misspelled.
Line Break
Finally, it's done! I could have finished this faster…or not, because I spent most of my time just working on that first flashback, editing and rewriting it at least three times until I settled on the best of the three versions.
This entire two-parter was meant to be something of an example of what Bismarck told Suzaku during their first clash. Suzaku and Lelouch are similar, but their difference is that Suzaku gave in to anger. He abandoned the very qualities that got him that far, which helped him form connections and even grow close to Euphemia to start with, all because he hated Lelouch that much.
For all his faults, Lelouch often can pull back before he forgets why he's even fighting. That's why his connections are his greatest source of strength and weakness. He's a walking contradiction, so his decision against purging his hate or killing it and instead recruiting it…well, that felt like the option that made the most sense.
