Remote Revenge

An LLS Production

Dedicated to deathnoteno1fan-codegeasslover for the 50th review to The Paths of Destiny

Written in John Marcone's POV because I'm trying my hand to it. Takes place after Small Favor.

"As the Archive, I concede an impairment of judgement against one of the conflicting parties," the little blonde girl that served as the human repository of all written knowledge reported to us.

Us, being members of the Unseelie Accords gathered here to hear the case of the Freeholding Lord John Marcone vs. the Order of the Blackened Denarius. As typical of Accorded members, amongst them included the Winter Lady Maeve in all her icy beauty, contrasting with the Summer Lady and the genteel air about her, the White Council duly represented by the imposing young Warden Commander Ramirez, and my own champion, Ms Gard of the Monoc Foundation, as well as a disarming young lady who was doubtlessly older than she looked and host to a Fallen to boot. I cannot begin to tell you the price Monoc required for her services. Due to my inability to leave Chicago, the meeting was held in the city itself in one of my offices under the neutrality of the Accords.

I cannot begin to imagine what would happen if the local Warden Commander got wind of this. Suffice it to say that Harry Dresden's temper tantrums could and did burn buildings. Nevertheless, diplomacy was not his strong suit, or else the war between vampires and wizards would not have happened in the first place, presumably the reason why Warden Ramirez was standing in instead of Chicago's local wizard private investigator. I shudder to think what would happen if Dresden did caught wind of my attempt to bring a host of Fallen-allied psychopaths to justice of the Otherworld kind.

Unfortunately, we have hit a snag.

There are very few arbitrators amongst the list approved by the Unseelie Accords that are absolutely impartial. When we factor in exactly how many could stand up to the Fallen, the list decreases drastically in impartiality and intelligence. Short of a charmingly timeless fellow that I shall refer out of politeness to as Mister Ferro, the Archive was the only other most impartial party capable of maintaining her vow of neutrality. Nevertheless, we must consider that the Archive was still an eleven year old girl and thus prone to trauma after her treatment of those Fallen-possessed psychopaths.

The Lady Maeve gave the arbitrator a disarmingly charmed smile. "Of course, Lady Archive. Take as long as you need as we adjourn this hearing. We can wait until the sun burns cold."

That... Being the only mortal Freeholding Lord is occasionally problematic, being that I did not have the luxury of time, unlike the Order of the Blackened Denarius. Even as mortal as the arbitrator was, I did not doubt that somewhere, somehow, there would be another waiting in the wings to take over if need be. This situation can be distilled into this: the defence could wait until I keel over from old age and drag this situation on forever until the hearing had to be closed with inconclusive conclusions. There was no such thing as a statute of limitations; when nearly every signatory was immortal, the point of such a thing could hardly be seen.

The Archive cast a look over at Rosanna, before coldly replying: "That is no matter. I have already complied a list of potential arbitrators who are assuredly impartial enough to suit the needs of both parties. I trust that there is no problem if the hearing is conducted by the Herald of the Gentle Darkness?"

A clipboard immediately broke in Ms Gard's grip, Rosanna instantly looked flummoxed, Ramirez confused (understandable – that one is barely in his twenties yet) and the two Ladies slowly blinked.

"Is that... advisable?" Gard managed to ask.

"The Herald of the Gentle Darkness goes where he needs," the Archive serenely replied. "And what we require now is an impartial judge capable of coming to a decision quickly."

"That... should be fine..." Rosanna quickly decided, seeing as the Ladies of Winter and Summer were also arbitrating.

My eyes must have bugged out of my head when a brown-haired boy, little more than a teenager, in a red jacket and jeans with red boots strolled up onto the podium, a general air of being vaguely lost about him. Were the supernatural world really so keen on placing minors in vital positions? Next thing you know the fate of the world would rest on the shoulders of an infant.

"Shall we begin?" the boy looked at me, and all of a sudden I acknowledged his power. Brown eyes spoke of pain and loss and sacrifice. Eyes of a fighter.

Just like Dresden.

The teenage boy, to my surprise, doesn't take shit from either Maeve or Lily or even Rosanna. The one time the demoness tried to come onto him, thorned vines twine around her and dig in deep and John can actually see blood thick and red flow.

"You know," Brown eyes that seem to flash gold look at the entire proceeding, amused. "This is the sort of thing that doesn't endear any judge to the defence. All in favour of pronouncing the Order of the Blackened Denarius guilty?"

There was hardly any contest.

"I will hunt you down and feast on your blood one day," the demoness snarls.

His eyes turn to her and she blanches, turning an interesting grey. "I am the darkness," he replies. "When we meet again, you will die. That is the inevitable."

Silence echoes as the Archive, observing coolly through the whole proceeding, wraps up the meeting.

"Who is he?" I whisper to Gard, who had remained silent when not required to speak throughout.

"Someone important," she reply hesitantly. "There has always been agents of light, and agents of darkness that maintain everything. They appear at the times of change of the crossroads, but few are so overt."

"A teenager?" I could not help but ask.

"Pain and sacrifice make themselves apparent," She simply replied. "There are many facets of darkness."

We stopped as the very same arbitrator wandered about, disarming my receptionist with a secretive smile that nonetheless hid a threat as he wandered about even more. His casual wear looked very out of place in the establishment.

"I don't get it, really," the boy was speaking to thin air, or something he can see, presumably an imaginary friend. "Why did I end up arbitrating between a Mafia Don and a bunch of fallen angels again?"

Silence. "Well, it's not like I'm really needed, right?"

The receptionist give him an odd look, but did not do anything. The boy could have passed for wearing an earpiece if no one looked at his ear.

"The war will end soon, Yubel," he states, much softer. "Aslla piscu mentioned it. Their story is opening already. John Marcone, you really shouldn't try to hide."

I wince. There are mobsters who would be surprised that I take lip from a child, of all things. "I thought you were done."

"I go where I am needed," he simply replied. "It's funny, really. I once woke up in a bayou."

"So you'll stay until you... are needed?" I enquired.

"I am apparently still needed," the boy vaguely replied. "What was it... Got a clue, Yubel?"

"What are you talking to?" I asked.

The boy snapped out of his daze to look at me, them turn to regard Ms Gard. "Mortal," he flatly replied. "The einherjar thing? Again?"

"The Allfather wants what he wants," Gard replied tersely. "What will you do?"

"Nothing," he replied. "He signed it. But the souls..." His eyes flashed gold again as he smirks. "I see. Don't take that attitude with you to Japan. There's a supernatural civil war at the moment."

"Excuse me?' I blurted out, but then I realised that, before my very eyes, the boy had disappeared.

It disturbs me that when I looked up the term einherjar, I am faced with a sudden moment of clarity that makes me wonder if it was possible. I'll just have die peacefully to avoid the fate Vadderung has in store.

Nevertheless, I find myself in one of my clubs, and the very same brown-haired boy in the same bright red jacket plops down on the seat. "Hi there."

I look at him, then very slowly turn my head to regard my protection detail and the bouncers. My bodyguards are all frozen in their seats, eyes wide, the the bouncer is doing the same wide-eyed impression. All of them carry the same expression of terror.

"I presume that you require something?" I very carefully ask.

"Big, world-changing stuff," he fiddles with a deck of cards I recognise from a children's card game which was apparently more dangerous than first thought. "Mind if I whisk you out of this world for a secret chat?"

I briefly considered the merits of telling a young boy capable of freezing my protection detail to go boil his head, but common sense took hold. "Suit yourself."

"Excellent," he fingered a card. "Neo Space."

Around us danced translucent colours, like a psychedelic veil had descended around us that we were the only people, sound, touch, smell, cut off from all around. I briefly remembered about a man who was said to be able to summon dragons, and resolved to stay further away.

"With that done," he sighed. "What to cover... oh, yeah!" he snapped his fingers. "Next year, Harry Dresden will die."

For the information that the city's greatest supernatural protector was about to die, I remained outwardly calm. "And what would this have to do with me?"

"If Dresden dies, a power vacuum happens," the boy mused.

Right here in Chicago. Harry Dresden had power and influence, despite his low-paying job as a professional private investigator. The supernatural community would go back into hiding as the predators Dresden kept at bay declared open season on the city. There was only so much I could do.

"And?" I asked lightly. "I cannot prevent a man, much less Dresden, from dying."

"Keep the city together while he's gone," the boy smirked. "Chicago would not let her champion die. This is all part of a plan greater than you see."

"So you would have me stand in place of Harry Dresden?" I asked incredulously. "Quite a tall order." That classically quixotic wizard would leave huge shoes to fill. He would. I know it. "And since when did I agree?"

"A long time ago," he shrugged. "You wanted to take on the supernatural world and keep the mortal side of things safe. Dig your own grave, lie into it."

"I could refuse," I replied, my tone potentially acidic.

The boy's brown eyes flash gold again, and I get the feeling of utter, primal dread of the inevitable that reached down to the extremities and locked down muscle. "If you do, I will come to your city. Do you know why they call me the Herald of the Gentle Darkness?"

Numbly, I shook my head.

"I come, and where I go, something will end," he whispered in reply. "Something will begin in its place, something may not. At the end, I am there, and I will welcome it."

I instinctively shivered, only just realising that the faint curtain of lights had disappeared, as had the boy, and I was standing at my place.

"Boss?" Obviously, my protection detail was waking up.

"Call Gard," I stated, taking a long drink. I would probably need it.

"Take his advice," she said once I had finished summarising the situation. "Agents of darkness are a lot like archangels in a sense. He is... a entity far apart."

"He is a child," I protested.

"He is a child who has faced down gods," she snapped back at me. "He arbitrates between different realms of the Nevernever. Cross him and no one would ever find your body. That is a fact. There are such children who are born to responsibility and duty and sacrifice for betterment of the masses who never remember. Be thankful that you are considered important enough to receive a warning from them."

Her advice stung, but I took it anyway. There was hardly any better option.

Harry Dresden was going to die, and I could not do anything.

Okay, I was half-dreaming when I wrote this, but fine.

By the way, the boy is Judai Yuuki.