Chapter 7: Blood and Ambition
The overcast sky pressed down upon the cemetery like a heavy shroud, its bloated clouds threatening rain that never came. A profound hush blanketed the mourners gathered around the open grave, broken only by the priest's solemn benediction.
"He was a precious soul," the priest intoned, his voice trembling with quiet reverence. "He sought God in all things—a friend to us all. To his wife, a devoted husband. To his child, a loving father. May he now find eternal rest in the bosom of our Lord."
Heads bowed in unison, black veils dancing in the cool wind.
The scrape of shovels against earth cut through the silence, followed by the first hollow thuds of dirt striking the coffin lid—a sound that seemed to shatter something in the air itself.
"No!" A woman's scream tore through the solemnity as she stumbled forward, her grief raw and desperate. "Stop—don't bury him again! Please... he's suffered enough!"
Her knees struck the ground with a dull impact, sobs muffled behind trembling hands. Beside her, Shirley knelt gracefully, wrapping protective arms around her mother's shoulders.
"Mom... he's gone already. Please," she whispered, her voice soft yet steady, though tears shimmered in her own eyes like captured starlight.
The crowd shifted uncomfortably, their murmurs swallowed by grief's oppressive weight. In the background, a figure leaned casually against a distant oak—Blue, his white hair gleaming even in the dim light, observing with unsettling calm. His black suit hung sharp against his lean frame, dark sunglasses masking his gaze while he sipped from a soda can with absurd normalcy.
One by one, the mourners drifted away like autumn leaves, until only Shirley remained with her closest friends.
Kallen stared at the freshly turned earth, guilt etched deep in her features. "I'm sorry this happened," she murmured.
Shirley's response came swiftly and gently—too gentle. "Oh, stop. What do you have to apologize for?" Her voice carried an eerie calm, as if sorrow had hollowed her out from within.
Rivalz shuffled forward, rubbing the back of his neck as words tumbled awkwardly from his lips.
"We just... feel awful. When the hotel hijacking was on TV, I thought the Black Knights were... You know, heroes. The news twisted it, but still... and when Narita happened, I even posted online about how it was kinda... cool." He broke off, shame bowing his head. "Forgive me."
Shirley touched his arm, offering a brittle smile. "Don't be silly. That has nothing to do with this. Even I was saying how Narita—"
"Shirley." Milly's voice cut like a blade. She stepped closer, her expression grave. "Stop. I'm worried about you. Have you even cried yet? If you keep locking it inside, it's only going to hurt worse later."
Shirley's gaze dropped to her clenched fists. "You don't need to worry. I'm fine... I've cried plenty."
The wind picked up, and Suzaku's restrained fury finally erupted. His fists clenched at his sides like stones.
"Cowards," he spat, venom in every syllable. "Zero and his people—cowards. He doesn't get his hands dirty. He hides, stirs his pawns into frenzy, throws the world into chaos, and then... congratulates himself. Nothing will change from that. Nothing gained through those methods—"
A sharp crack against the back of his head silenced him mid-sentence.
"We're at a funeral, boy. Show some respect," came a gravelly voice that carried the weight of authority earned through violence.
Suzaku turned and froze.
Commander Red stood there like death itself made manifest—a compact, muscular figure whose presence seemed to compress the very air around him. His military uniform was immaculate black, adorned with crimson ribbons that caught what little light filtered through the clouds. A white eyepatch covered his left eye, while the remaining brown orb gleamed with cold calculation. In his gloved hands, he cradled a bouquet of white lilies with surprising gentleness.
He stepped forward with the measured pace of a predator, each movement economical and precise, before laying the flowers atop the coffin with unexpected tenderness.
For a moment, he stood in absolute silence, his good eye fixed on the grave while his scarred hands clasped behind his back—a gesture that somehow conveyed both respect and barely contained violence.
The others watched in stunned disbelief. Only Shirley moved, taking a hesitant step forward.
"Thank you... For coming, Commander," she whispered, bowing her head with genuine gratitude.
Red's scarred face softened almost imperceptibly, his gravelly voice dropping to an uncharacteristic whisper. "My condolences, child. Your father was... a good man."
Gasps rippled through the group like disturbed water. Kallen's eyes blazed with barely restrained fury. Lelouch's dark hair fell across his face, shadowing the dangerous glint in his violet eyes. Suzaku's jaw tightened as recognition dawned—this was the terrorist leader whose Red Ribbon Army had carved a bloody path across the world.
Yet none dared challenge him.
Gradually, the others drifted away, leaving Red alone before the grave. Milly cast one last concerned glance over her shoulder before departing.
Only Lelouch remained. He and Red exchanged a quiet, measured look—a silent conversation passing between them—before both moved toward the ancient oak.
Blue greeted them with his characteristic lazy grin, crushing the empty soda can between pale fingers.
"Hey, boss. Bit of a snooze-fest, wasn't it?" He turned to Lelouch with an amused smirk. "And you must be the infamous Zero. Though I gotta say, you're shorter than the reports suggested."
Lelouch's composure cracked like ice. "I am not—"
Red's calloused hand fell on his shoulder with surprising gentleness. "Easy, boy. Blue's mouth runs faster than his brain most days."
Blue chuckled, clearly savoring the reaction. Though Lelouch's glare could have melted steel, he gradually forced his anger into cold calculation. His mind drifted backward—
Back to yesterday.
Back to the first time he sat across from Commander Red.
Ashford Academy — Yesterday
Rain streaked the windows in silver rivulets, the storm outside drowning the world in shades of gray. Inside the quiet room, the air carried the gentle scents of polished wood and steeped tea—a stark contrast to the dangerous man seated across from him.
Commander Red poured with surprising delicacy, his scarred hands steady despite their obvious familiarity with violence. Steam rose from delicate porcelain cups like incense offerings to forgotten gods.
"Been a while since I had proper tea," Red mused, his gravelly voice incongruously gentle. "Amazing what passes for civilization these days."
Lelouch's hand hovered uncertainly over his cup, sharp eyes studying the compact man before him. Everything about Red seemed compressed—concentrated violence wrapped in military precision.
Red noticed his hesitation and barked out a harsh laugh. "Son, if I wanted you dead, you'd already be bleeding. I don't waste time with poison—too impersonal."
Reluctantly, Lelouch sipped. The warmth steadied his nerves, though his gaze never left Red's weathered features.
"You mentioned partnership. I have no intention of serving Britannia."
"Good," Red replied immediately, setting his cup down with a soft clink. His remaining eye gleamed with approval. "Wouldn't want you if you did. I'm offering something different—an alliance between the Red Ribbon Army and your Black Knights."
Lelouch's voice turned sharp. "And what weakness do you perceive in my organization?"
Red leaned back, his compact frame radiating coiled tension. "You're running a gang of idealists and terrorists—passionate but undisciplined. They'll follow you into hell, sure, but they'll question every order along the way. What I bring is different." His scarred lips twisted into something approximating a smile. "Real soldiers. Men who understand that war isn't about pretty speeches—it's about who's left standing when the smoke clears."
Silence stretched between them as Lelouch processed this. Finally, he looked up, violet eyes calculating.
"You command armies, resources that dwarf mine. You don't need my Geass or my revolution. So why this offer?"
For the first time, Red's confident facade cracked. His eye dropped, shadows playing across the ruined half of his face. When he spoke again, his voice carried unexpected weight.
"Tell me something, boy." He looked up, his brown eye intense. "Is she here? The girl—Nunnally?"
The question struck Lelouch like a physical blow. His heart hammered against his ribs as he stared at this compact killer who somehow knew his most precious secret.
Red's voice softened, becoming almost human. "Can I see her? Won't say a word, I promise."
Every instinct screamed danger, yet something in Red's tone—a note of genuine pain—made Lelouch hesitate. Against all logic, he found himself nodding.
They walked through corridors that suddenly felt too narrow, too exposed. Red moved with a soldier's awareness, yet his steps were unusually quiet.
Nunnally's room lay bathed in gentle twilight, her small form peaceful beneath soft blankets. Red approached her bedside with surprising reverence, his combat boots silent on the polished floor.
He pulled out a chair and sat, studying her sleeping face with his single eye. For long minutes, the only sound was the storm outside and Red's controlled breathing.
When he finally spoke, his gravelly voice was barely above a whisper.
"I failed you both. When the assassination happened, when you were cast out—I was too weak. Too focused on my own ambitions to protect family." His scarred hands clenched into fists. "I may not give a damn about most of our bloodline, but you two... You deserved better."
Lelouch's throat constricted. "Our bloodline?"
Red's eye met his, unflinching. "You're my nephew, boy. Charles is my brother, much as I despise the fact."
The revelation hit like a thunderbolt. Lelouch staggered, gripping the doorframe for support.
Red continued, his voice heavy with old pain. "She lost her sight, her legs. And I..." He gestured to his eyepatch, then to scars barely visible beneath his collar. "Lost more than I care to count. But we're still breathing, still fighting. That's what matters."
He stood slowly, moving to the window where rain painted abstract patterns on the glass.
"That's why I need you, nephew. We're cut from the same cloth—survivors who refuse to accept defeat. We both want the same thing."
His reflection in the glass showed a man carved by violence and loss.
"We both want to watch this rotten empire burn."
Present Day
The memory coiled through Lelouch's mind like smoke from a funeral pyre. His uncle's words had burrowed deep, and though strategy demanded alliance, something primal whispered warnings. Commander Red's offer felt as dangerous as any trap Britannia could devise.
Blue's lazy drawl broke his contemplation. "Anyway, boss, got word from base. Gero's flying in with some new toys."
Red's scarred face twisted into a scowl. "Tell me it's not more of his damn androids. I need him coordinating operations in the European theater, not playing mad scientist."
Blue's grin widened with obvious amusement. "Relax, it's business. That prototype Knightmare took some hits in the last engagement. Still functional, but needs fine-tuning. Plus, he's bringing upgrades for your personal unit."
Red's irritation dissolved into grudging acceptance. "Fine. But if this is about his obsession with creating the perfect soldier, I'll use his head for target practice." He turned to Lelouch. "I have to go. Tell C.C. I said hello. Your reinforcements will be waiting at the harbor for tonight's operation."
Lelouch raised an eyebrow. "And you're confident in their loyalty? You speak of them as mercenaries."
Blue's lazy expression sharpened. "Hey, kid. We may work for money, but we honor our contracts. Once Red Ribbon takes a job, we see it through. No exceptions."
Red raised a scarred hand, calming the tension. "The boy's got reason to be cautious, Blue. He's never worked with professional soldiers before." His single eye fixed on Lelouch. "But you'll have no problems with my people. They understand the stakes."
Lelouch nodded slowly, still processing the weight of family revelation.
Victory Palace
Marble steps gleamed like polished bone beneath the afternoon sun as Commander Red stood before the royal palace's landing pad. His military bearing was impeccable despite his compact stature, radiating authority that made taller men unconsciously step back.
Flanking him were his sisters—Euphemia and Cornelia—their royal composure intact despite the tension that crackled in the air. Suzaku waited at attention, hands clasped behind his back, while Lloyd lingered nearby with arms crossed and expression increasingly sour.
The whine of engines cut through the courtyard's tranquility. A military transport descended like a steel vulture, settling onto the prepared landing pad with mechanical precision.
The cargo bay opened with a pneumatic hiss. Red Ribbon soldiers marched out in perfect formation, their uniforms crisp and weapons gleaming. Then a tall figure emerged, adjusting wire-rimmed glasses with one hand while carrying a metallic briefcase with the other.
Dr. Gero.
He approached with the measured gait of a man who viewed everything as data to be analyzed. His elderly face showed no emotion as he offered a perfunctory bow.
"Commander Red. Princess Euphemia. Princess Cornelia." His clinical gaze shifted to Suzaku. "And the famous Knight of Seven. Your combat data has been... illuminating."
Then his eyes found Lloyd, and his expression cooled to absolute zero. "Asplund."
Lloyd's smirk turned predatory. "Still playing with dolls, I see."
The temperature in the courtyard seemed to drop ten degrees. The two scientists faced each other like competing theories of destruction made flesh.
"They're called androids," Gero replied with icy precision. "Though I suppose distinguishing between advanced technology and children's toys might challenge someone whose greatest achievement is glorified rollerskates with weapons."
Lloyd's eye twitched. "At least my 'rollerskates' don't malfunction and turn on their creators. Tell me, how many of your precious androids have you had to scrap due to... behavioral issues?"
Gero's aged hands clenched around his briefcase handle. "My creations learn and adapt. Unlike certain static designs that require constant piloting because they lack any form of independent capability."
The hostility was so thick it could be cut with a blade. Euphemia shifted nervously. Cornelia's eyes narrowed dangerously. Suzaku glanced between them, recognizing the legendary rivalry that had poisoned scientific conferences across three continents.
Red's gravelly voice cut through the tension like a chainsaw through silk. "If you two geriatric children are done comparing the size of your equations, we have work to do."
Both scientists fell silent, though their glares could have powered a small city.
Victory Palace — Laboratory
Gero stiffened under Red's rebuke, adjusting his glasses with mechanical precision.
"My apologies, Commander. I've brought the requested modifications."
He approached a laboratory table, setting down his briefcase with reverent care. The locks opened with satisfying clicks, revealing components that gleamed with technological perfection.
"Enhanced targeting systems for your personal Knightmare, plus improved armor plating. With these modifications, you'll achieve optimal combat efficiency."
Red examined the components with an expert eye, his scarred hands moving with surprising gentleness. "Impressive work. I assume you remember your way to the guest quarters?"
Gero nodded curtly. But before he could be dismissed, his clinical voice dropped slightly. "Is... Android 18 here?"
A weary sigh escaped Red's lips—he'd expected this question. "She's in the training facility."
Something almost human flickered across Gero's aged features as he bowed and walked away, his footsteps echoing with renewed purpose.
Training Facility
Android 18 moved through combat forms with inhuman grace, her blonde hair catching fluorescent light as she demolished practice targets with casual efficiency. When she noticed Gero approaching, her lips curved into a sardonic smile.
"About time you showed up, old man."
Gero's usual clinical composure softened marginally. "Delays were unavoidable. I encountered... complications."
She stepped closer, wiping sweat from her brow with a towel. "Let me guess—Lloyd again? You two really need to get a room and settle this once and for all."
"The thought has occurred to me," Gero replied dryly. "Though I suspect only one of us would leave alive."
18's laugh was like crystalline bells with sharp edges. "My money's on you. Lloyd talks too much."
But their moment was interrupted by a slow clap echoing through the facility.
They turned to see what appeared to be Princess Euphemia applauding from the observation deck, though something in her posture seemed... off.
"Such touching reunions," the figure called down. "Though I have to say, android romance is weird even by my standards."
18 rolled her eyes. "Knock it off, Blue."
The "princess" chuckled as their form shimmered and dissolved, revealing Blue's white hair and amused grin.
"Couldn't resist. You should see your faces—priceless."
His voice shifted seamlessly to match Suzaku's earnest tones. "Justice this, righteousness that... honestly, the kid makes it too easy."
18, Gero, and Blue shared a moment of dark amusement—just as reinforced doors opened. Yellow emerged from the shadows, his blonde hair perfectly styled despite having materialized from nowhere.
"Are we socializing or working? Red wants to see everyone in the war room."
They followed him into a chamber where others waited in silent anticipation. Around the polished table sat Android 19, his pale features expressionless, and various Red Ribbon officers whose names were whispered in fearful tones across multiple continents.
As the doors sealed with finality, the room dimmed. Then he entered.
Commander Red, now wearing enhanced combat armor that gleamed with technological menace, stood like concentrated violence given form. His presence commanded absolute attention, turning whispers into silence.
He placed both hands on the table, leaning forward with predatory intent.
"Listen well. I've gathered intelligence that changes everything. I know Zero's identity—he's my nephew, Lelouch vi Britannia."
Shocked murmurs rippled through his assembled forces, but Red's raised hand demanded silence.
"We will not expose him. The Black Knights serve our purposes perfectly. My soldiers will support his operations while we observe his methods. We'll test his resolve. Study his tactics. And when the moment comes..."
His single eye gleamed with ruthless calculation.
"We'll be ready for anything this world can throw at us."
Tokyo — The Shipping Docks
The acrid smell of oil and brine hung heavy in the night air. Cargo containers loomed like monolithic shadows, their surfaces bathed in the harsh glow of industrial floodlights that carved darkness into stark geometric shapes.
Within a hidden warehouse, Zero stood before his assembled Black Knights. Their Knightmare Frames waited in silent rows, armor gleaming dully like sleeping metal predators. One man—Diethard—knelt with a rifle trained on his back, yet his expression remained eager, almost hungry.
Ohgi spoke up, uncertainty coloring his voice. "Wait, Zero. Kyoto's request aside, I think we can handle this ourselves. The Japan Liberation Front—wouldn't they prefer fighting alongside us rather than fleeing abroad?"
Zero's mask turned toward their captive, voice sharp as winter wind. "You brought this intelligence. Diethard, wasn't it?"
Diehard bowed his head with genuine reverence. "Yes, my lord. It is an honor beyond measure to serve your cause."
"Cornelia will deploy the Royal Marines against General Katase?"
"Correct. My media network stands ready to broadcast the moment combat begins."
Zero's tone hardened like tempered steel. "Lieutenant General Tohdoh will never reach him in time. The JLF is broken, leaderless. Their only remaining asset lies in the liquid Sakuradite they carry."
Ohgi interjected quickly. "Which is precisely why we should help Katase escape, not engage Cornelia directly."
Zero turned slowly toward him, voice dropping to dangerous levels. "Ohgi... who are we?"
The man swallowed hard. "...We are the Black Knights."
Zero's voice rose, cutting through the warehouse like a blade through silk.
"Then we have only one sacred duty. We will destroy Cornelia's forces and rescue what remains of the JLF. Tonight, we reclaim the honor lost at Narita."
Ohgi hesitated. "What are our chances?"
Behind his mask, Zero's smile was sharp as broken glass. "Need you ask?"
Confidence rippled through the Black Knights like electricity, transforming doubt into steel resolve.
But before Zero could dismiss them, a voice called from the shadows.
"Well, well. The famous Zero."
Weapons rose instantly, Black Knights training rifles toward the darkened entrance with military precision.
Figures stepped into the light—soldiers in Red Ribbon uniforms, moving with the casual confidence of professionals who had made peace with violence long ago. Their equipment gleamed with technological sophistication that made the Black Knights' gear look primitive by comparison.
Zero's mask tilted slightly; Commander had warned him of this moment.
The squad leader stepped forward, his scarred face splitting into a predatory grin.
"So, boss..." His voice carried the rough cadence of someone who had never known defeat. "What's the mission you got for the Red Ribbon Army?"