Request: I have a request. It's obvious that the request is a Lulu x Euphie story. The idea is that Lelouch and Nunnally are discovered by Cornelia, after the end of the Second Pacific War, and she has them brought back to Pendragon. Lelouch has decided that he will destroy Britannia from within, and he will also use his resources as a prince of Britannia to create a kinder and gentler world for Nunnally. The main pairing is Lelouch x Euphemia.

Title: The Dove and the Raven

Summary: "Your Majesty," Lord Waldstein hailed. "It's Her Highness, the Second Princess Cornelia. She says it's urgent." He hesitated, before reporting, "She says they found Lelouch and Nunnally vi Britannia, Your Majesty. They're alive."

Alternative Summary: "We were silenced, Cornelia!" he snapped; and perhaps it was his voice, but Cornelia bowed her head in shame. It was Euphemia who spoke up and implored, "But it doesn't have to stay that way, please! We need you—I need you!" "Euphie—" "Come back with us," she begged, grabbing his shoulders. "The war is over! You're safe now. Please, come back to us."

Main Pairing: Eventual Lelouch/Euphemia.

Disclaimer: I don't own Code Geass.

Prologue:

"We killed them, didn't we?"

Pendragon Military Base, August 2010 A.T.B.

Cornelia stood among the generals of the army as they awaited their emperor's appearance. When his Knight of One had called them at their base and informed them that Emperor Charles would issue an official, royal decree soon, Cornelia hadn't known what to think. All she could remember was the fear roiling in her gut as she pulled her military uniform on and stumbled out the door, into the dark hallways in which soldiers were already beginning to gather. Her fear had heightened at the sight of all her men outside her door.

They'd all been summoned. From the highest-ranking general in the army to the lowest-ranking field soldier. She wasn't sure what that meant, only that it was nothing good.

And now, standing at attention in front of a stage empty of people, she began to fidget as she scanned the multiple screens occupying the walls on either side of her. On each screen reflected a similar scene to the one she was in now; each screen displayed an array of colors, ranging from the royal blue of officers to the stark gray of infantrymen, and Cornelia stared at the ocean of visored soldiers with dread.

There were very few occasions that warranted the presence of the entire Britannian army. And right now, only one immediately came to her mind.

War.

She swallowed roughly, her chest tightening. Did her father intend to declare another war? The man handed out orders to attack with an effortless ease that never failed to frighten her—did he even care what he was sanctioning? Did he even think about the families that cowered against his might, the people whose lives they could not even imagine?

Did he ever wonder if he killed children too, daughters and sons who laughed and chased their fathers around emptying parks soaked in sunlight? If he killed pregnant mothers, stomachs stretching and aching with the weight of a new life? Or newborn babies and doting older siblings, smiling down at painted cribs with the moon behind their eyes and the stars in their adoration. Best friends fresh from school, skipping down the sidewalk with scarves around their necks and earbuds bringing their heads bumping. Women oppressed by the hate of men, unable to weather through life without those greedy eyes assessing their every move.

Did he think about them? The hearts he'd grab in his greedy hands and the hearts he'd squeeze? The hopes and dreams and ambitions? The weak smiles, the suffering laughs? Did he care enough to spare them his prayers before he set his torches upon their streets?

She doubted he did.

The door positioned to the right of the stage swung open with an almost inaudible hiss. Her father entered first, his imposing stature and wide girth only furthered by the deep crimson of his royal cloak and the thudding of his boots. A group of straight-backed, grim-faced knights filtered through after him. She recognized them immediately, drinking in the way their customized capes all flared outwards with every synchronized step each took.

She refocused her eyes on the emperor, whose amethyst glare was visible even from her position. The entire room, and indeed every other room connected to them through video, stilled and fell quiet, as if their ruler's appearance sucked the life out of them all.

The emperor didn't even glance at his subjects as he strode onto the raised dais. Lord Bismarck, the esteemed Knight of One, and his comrades obediently followed their emperor onto the stage. Bismarck's grave countenance was mirrored by the other Knights of the Round as they took their seats on either side of the makeshift throne.

Emperor Charles turned to face them all, and his very gaze commanded everyone's undivided attention. Cornelia stood straighter, feeling his eyes press into her and judge her, condemn her.

"All men are not created equal!" he began his address as he often did, with the same cruel line that had instilled into his people the idea that Cornelia's common-born siblings deserved their exile.

"And it is for this reason, that we must seek to continue reaching for the future and evolving as an empire. It is for this reason that we must not give up. The world will one day be ours, men! All you must do is grab it!"

All we must do is raise arms against brothers and sisters much like the ones you stole from us.

They could have the future, he meant to say, so long as the thought of emptying civilians' brains out didn't empty their stomachs. All they had to do, his smile said, was pull the trigger.

Over and over again.

"Today our cause is once again renewed," he carried on, swift and merciless. "We will paint our name upon new soil, for today, Britannia sets her sights on Japan!"

Japan...

I have to save them. Nunnally—Lelouch.

She didn't dare look into his eyes as she knelt and recited a soldier's oath. As the voices of her peers roared in her ears, undecipherable in her anguish, she curled her fist to her chest and closed her eyes. She couldn't look because she knew what her loyalty meant. She knew. She'd seen those violet eyes before, after all, on another.

On a brother.

No, Cornelia decided. Her father was not someone who looked out the window, spotted a shooting star, and thought to wonder, Who am I stomping beneath my boots?

But who was she to judge him, when she was prepared to gun them down despite knowing what worlds she might be ending with every bend of her finger? When all she cared about, at the end of the day, was her siblings' survival and no one else's?

Area 11, Government Bureau, October 2010 A.T.B.

"A time will come when we are family again, I promise."

The princess pressed her face close to the large window, her breath fogging the glass. She could see her own trepidation reflecting back at her. She ignored everyone else in the office, her mind already beginning to wander, as she had taken to often during the last few months.

Tiny specks danced in the distance—people screaming and hiding and fleeing a thousand feet below her, so far away they didn't seem real. She was untouchable here, inside her brother's temporary palace. But she didn't want to be untouchable. She wanted to be down there, to feel unmistakable fear run through her bones as she was sure it was running through his. She wanted to feel the chaos hum inside her, knowing that somewhere, he felt it too.

"Your Highness."

She wanted to see him again, to gaze at nothing but the majesty in his eyes, so violet they reminder her of their father's. All Euphemia wanted was to run her hands through his hair, confirm he was solid—real—and hold him close.

She closed her eyes and imagined his arm around hers. "You look like you've seen a ghost," he'd joke, and she'd hit his shoulder and they'd laugh and everything would be alright.

But no, nothing was fine, because they didn't know where he was, and what if he was dead?

"Your Highness," her brother's general prompted a second time.

She didn't bother looking back at the rotund general, but she did put her half-siblings' fates away from her mind long enough to humor him. "Tell me, general," she began softly. "What did the first Britannian airstrike hit?"

The first airstrike had soared into what was once known as the Land of the Rising Sun almost two months ago—a declaration of war if any had been made. What had occurred after could barely even be called one such conflict; Britannia was both ruthless and powerful, and it showed in how effortlessly the emperor's soldiers had invaded and conquered Japan. During what was perhaps the shortest war in Britannian history, Japan fell to Britannia's might within the course of one month.

One month.

One month, and a hundred million lives forsaken. More than a hundred million. It made Euphemia's stomach turn.

Now Britannia continued to terrorize the native-born Japanese people as her own people flocked to and began to occupy the renamed nation: Area 11, Britannia's newest colony. Britannia's army generals, her sister included, searched for their men, all those unaccounted for, uncaring of the civilians they caught in the crossfire; civilians who were left to move on, to pick up the shattered pieces of a once proud land. Meanwhile entire cities were set to undergo rebuilding—starting with, of course, the capital and the Government Bureau, which would be remodeled to the tastes of her half-brother, as the newly-instated Viceroy.

Euphemia shook her head and redirected her attention to said brother's general. She could tell that he was puzzled. He hesitated long enough that she didn't have to turn around to understand his confusion. "The Prime Minister's house, of course," the general answered hesitantly.

"And what do you think of that?"

"It's not my place to have opinions, Your Highness," he answered automatically. She said nothing, and he continued to mull over the strange suddenness of her question. Finally, he shrugged, figured she's just the puppet princess, isn't she? and said confidently, "But it was a strategic target. There's no doubt that the Prime Minister's house is a symbol as well as a residency. The people will fear us—and they will soon see why they have every reason to."

A small, bitter smile spread across the princess' face. She knew it was sincerity she could hear in his voice. She had no doubt that he believed every word he spoke—still, it didn't lessen her anger. No matter how much she'd been prepared to hear his words, her rage still burned bright, not diminished by prior knowledge.

This was Britannia, after all. No, rather—this was Charles zi Britannia. His influence, his doing even if he wasn't here himself.

She'd only recently begun to understand the depths of her father's insanity. She'd first been privy to a glimpse of his cruelty almost a year ago, when a hail of bullets claimed her stepmother's life and her father remained untouched by grief. His favorite wife, dead, and yet the tragedy tore apart all but him.

She remembered it vividly, the shock on her sister's face when their father chose the mask of the king over the duty of the father. Because a king was all he'd been, in that moment—when he'd faced them all in the eye and dismissed all investigations into his wife's murder, he'd been no father, no husband. Only the king.

She shuddered, thinking of the way her brother had frozen at Nunnally's bedside and howled in anguish when they relayed the news to him. It had taken the combined efforts of Cornelia and Clovis to hold him back from storming into Emperor Charles' chambers. They'd realized the next morning that it had all been for naught—the moment they'd left the hospital suite, Lelouch had filed a request for an audience with His Majesty.

She shook the memory away. It was too—too real. All of it. The fury that had slashed his face apart in an openmouthed scowl, the way his shoulders had shaken so visibly she'd briefly feared he would start crying—but of course, that's ridiculous, Lelouch doesn't cry—the intensity in his mad gaze, so unnatural she'd turned away. And through it all, the regal purple of his eyes had gleamed like a message, a warning—a promise.

He'd been exiled the next day.

"And this strategic target," she said lowly, barely able to suppress the despair she could feel begin to simmer inside her bones, "you don't suppose it had anything to do with the fact that my royal siblings were located there, do you?"

Euphemia turned around finally, quick enough that she managed to catch the general as he stiffened, eyes wide like gaping holes puncturing a marksman's wooden target. He opened his mouth as if to deny her words, only to close it again in defeat. "I hadn't realized," he admitted ashamedly, cheeks flaming with color. "Forgive me for my ignorance, Your Highness."

If only ignorance was the worst of it. "My siblings will be found, general," were the only words to fall from her lips. She needed it to be true.

He couldn't do anything but nod in agreement. "They will be found," he echoed.

"I have no doubt in Cornelia's skills," Clovis cut in. He smiled warmly at his sister, who pointedly ignored the cheer in his expression. "And neither should you, Euphie. Now, that's about all the dreariness I can take in one day. How about I have one of the assistants prepare some tea for us?"

She nodded her assent, watching wordlessly as Clovis waved a maid over. The smile on his face sickened her to no end. He was too familiar with this post, acting as if he'd played leader a dozen times before despite his inexperience, and she hated it. He was no leader—to her, he had always only been a brother.

And she didn't want to lose another one.

I wonder what you'd think of him now, Lelouch. Clovis used to be the sore loser, the one who couldn't take a defeat with dignity. He used to throw tantrums. And now he's left to play on the national stage, a Viceroy to the conquered. It was hard to see him stepping into the position when just last week, he'd treated her to her favorite macaroons as she posed for him and he painted her into being. He wasn't Schneizel, wasn't even Guinevere. He shouldn't be Viceroy, especially not of an Area that had almost taken their siblings from her—from them.

Almost. She refused to believe that Lelouch and Nunnally were dead. Lelouch was too smart for that, and Nunnally... she knew that Lelouch would sooner die than let Nunnally's life be snuffed out. Lelouch would gladly burn the world down if it meant saving his sister's life, and she knew better than to assume that their bond had changed.

She turned back around, returning to searching the streets for her siblings. But there was nothing, not even the barest flicker of familiarity. No head of silky raven hair, held up high as though a crown adorned there. No angular amethyst eyes, narrowed and cunning and all-knowing. No nothing.

Clovis' employer returned, carrying a tray of tea and cookies. Euphemia obediently took the unspoken invitation and glided across the room to her brother, who sat on one of his high-backed, cushioned chairs, his posture perfect as always. She lowered herself onto the seat across him and picked one of the teacups up gracefully, as she'd been taught by her multiple etiquette teachers.

You are not just a woman. You are a princess, here and everywhere, now and always. You must carry yourself with elegance and poise befitting of your station. Do not fail us.

She frowned at the memory, her teachers' strict voices drilling into her mind with that soft tone of voice all nobles knew to use. You are a princess. She was her father's daughter, as she had to be. That was the truth she'd been taught, every second of every day she'd been alive. Here and everywhere. Now and always.

She paused. Always? No—that was hardly true. The second she showed weakness, she'd be disinherited and thrown out into the streets. Her brother had shown her that much. After all, she had no doubt that he'd heard his own teachers say those same pretty words to him: you are a prince, and forever will be. And yet he'd been disowned, declared dead and worthless. All he'd done was plead for his mother's justice—and apparently, that was enough to convince the king to banish Lelouch from the only home he'd ever known.

"Do you really believe Cornelia will find them?" Euphemia asked her brother eventually, tears peeking out of the corners of her eyes, hidden by the pink of her hair.

Clovis smiled slightly, a flash of white teeth against unblemished skin. "I do."

Clovis was not like her, Euphemia decided. She'd been wrong. He was no brother—first and foremost, he was a prince. A prince with assertive blue eyes and hair so golden it blinded her. But she didn't say any of that. Instead, she smiled, sipped at her tea, and relished in the feel of the liquid searing its way down her throat. The burning sensation dulled her emotional misery. "So do I," she said, because she wanted to believe it, more than anything.

Maybe if she thought it enough times, it would become true.

Please find them, Cornelia. Find them alive.

Area 11, Kururugi Shrine, October 2010 A.T.B.

"Princess!"

She couldn't hear her soldiers' shouts, couldn't hear anything but the roaring in her ears as disbelief swelled inside her. Her hands quivered on the controls of her Knightmare as she eased the hulking machine forward, its lumbering steps echoing the unsteady thumping of her heartbeat.

No... no! Her eyes snagged on a flash of metal amongst the wreckage. Fear shuddering through her like a tsunami, she wrenched the cockpit open and leapt down from her Knightmare. No. The word repeated itself over and over in her mind, a continuous march that drummed and shrieked and hated. No.

Her legs moved where her mind remained blank, unthinking and unresponsive in the face of what lay before her. The glimmer of silvery light against the backdrop of carnage, against the withering fire and debris, acted as a magnet to her brain, calling at her to check it out.

She stumbled across the rubble-strewn ruins, hands steadying herself in an effort to keep from tripping over the remains of what was once the Prime Minister's house. Her foot caught on what seeming like a broken pole, and she glanced down to find a leg trapping her. Her insides froze and her blood curdled.

She shuddered and kicked the leg away instinctively, watching in horror as a face blackened with ash followed the body out of the pile. Glassy, unseeing eyes stared back at her, surrounded by bubbling skin, sunken bones, and bleeding scars. She had to clap a hand over her mouth to stifle the scream that threatened to escape. Shaken, she shook her head roughly and swallowed down the bile rising in her throat.

That could have been either of her siblings.

No, she fired back at the tiny, horror-struck voice in her mind. Her fear wiggled in response, a living thing that responded to the lifeless gaze keeping her rooted in place. No. They're alive; they have to be.

She refused to believe that they'd met their deaths. She'd come here to rescue her siblings, and she would. She couldn't fail them—couldn't fail her hero, whose death still weighed heavy on her conscience.

"Princess..."

She snapped out of her trance, eyes darting to the left to see one of the soldiers standing tall above a pile of stone—his arms were slack by his sides as he peered down at the same patch of land she'd spotted from her Knightmare. The hesitant apology in his voice was all that kept her from barking a snappy order at him. "What is it?"

His head tilted to face her. She couldn't see his face, not with the customary infantry mask hiding him from view, but she noticed his sorrow nonetheless. In the way his shoulders slumped and his head hang regretfully, she could see his sadness. "We're too late," he whispered, too out-of-it to even remember to tack on her title.

Her heart dropped to her feet like lead. "No," she gasped. "You're—you're lying." But she ran over to him either way, her feet falling fast on cracked asphalt before she could change her mind and cower behind the leg of her Knightmare.

Lying in a heap of twisted metal was a familiar contraption. She stared in plain, openmouthed shock. What she'd seen earlier from the confines of her war-machine, what he'd been struggling to let fall from his opening and closing mouth—"It can't be," she whispered hoarsely, furiously shaking her head in abject denial. "I—no—Nunnally—"

Nunnally's wheelchair, broken and bent into something almost unrecognizable, something so mangled she shuddered at the mere sight of it.

"I failed," she breathed, her heart trembling in her chest, pounding against the bones of her ribcage. Her misery begged for release. "I failed them."

Area 11, Government Bureau, October 2010 A.T.B.

"Prince Clovis! Princess Euphemia!" an out-of-breath secretary slid into the room, eyes wide with urgency. She came to an abrupt stop as soon as the royal siblings were within sight, bending over and holding herself up by her knees. She heaved a shuddering breath and looked up through thick lashes.

Clovis arched a bemused eyebrow. "Yes?" He raked a critical eye over her condition, but she was so rattled by the news she intended to deliver that she hardly noticed her own state, much less his appraisal of it.

"It's Princess Cornelia!" she managed to convey. "There's a call waiting for you two, Your Highnesses! The princess insisted it was of the utmost importance."

Clovis had the time to exchange one curious glance with Euphemia before she leapt from her chair and bolted across the room. He sighed a little, but a fond smile was fastened in place as he followed her into the next room, where their elder sister's exhausted face stared them down.

Clovis motioned for the assistant to close the door and leave them be as Euphemia clasped her hands together, eyes teary with hope. "Nelly? You found them already?"

The older princess' composed expression faltered slightly, and dread sank into Clovis' stomach. With growing fear, he noted the fading redness that surrounded her eyes, and the puffiness of her cheeks. Eyes that usually held nothing but love for the youngest li Britannia sister were creased with hesitation and regret.

"That was fast," Euphemia remarked with a smile that refused to fall. If anything, the smile only seemed to widen with glee. "I knew you'd do it."

"E-Euphie," Cornelia muttered helplessly. It was the terrified shaking of her hands that cemented their half-siblings' fate in Clovis' mind. "I'm—so sorry—" she choked out. She dropped her head into her hands, and for a second all was silent as Clovis watched the purple of her hair bounce and bob with the force of her convulsing shoulders. Even through the distance of their video conference, Clovis could sense the depths of her despair.

Cornelia, you're joking, right? Clovis thought in disbelief. Please say you're joking.

But she never did, and before Clovis could speak up and say something (say anything), the weight of Cornelia's apology formed meaning in Euphemia's mind and she collapsed to her knees. Her hands, once linked together to form a prayer, dropped listlessly to her sides. "N-No," Euphemia mumbled to herself, face paling and eyes welling with tears. "No!" she shrieked suddenly, twisting further into herself. "You're lying! You are!"

Cornelia stiffened and hugged herself tightly, her sobs silent whereas Euphemia's were loud and hiccuping, unrestrained. "I—I tried, Euphie," she said earnestly, but even then Clovis could see the shame that colored her gaze like a fresh bruise. "I was too late—I couldn't—I didn't find—I—" Cornelia struggled with her words, and Clovis' jaw dropped. His sister was fearless; she was everything all Britannians aspired to be. She was the reflection of every royal's greatest desires, and no one had ever seen her have trouble with anything, much less delivering news.

"I'm sorry," was all that finally left her lips. She raised her head to look at them through watery eyes that glistened like Lelouch's once did when he walked in on his mother's bullet-riddled body. She shook her head stubbornly, refusing to break down in tears in front of her sister who looked up to her, her brother who thought the world of her. "They're... they're gone, Euphie. There was nothing left."

Nothing but our sister's broken wheelchair.

"Nunna..." The name leapt from Euphemia's tongue, caught between a strangled cry and a despairing bleat. "Lelouch." She rocked back and forth as reality made a prince-shaped dent on the surface of her fragile skin and settled in.

They were dead and gone. Not even their remains were spared. No—you can't be dead—please, Lelouch—you promised!

"Euphie..." Cornelia murmured her name as something to be treasured. And now that Lelouch and Nunnally were lost to them... No. Stop it. They're—they were still writing letters to us just yesterday. It was so difficult to wrap her mind around. She could still hear their voices when she glanced down at the words they'd written to her. She could still hear Lelouch's arrogant checkmate echo in the deep recesses of her mind, surrounded by Nunnally's soft, tinkling laughter.

And when she closed her eyes, they were all she could see. Nunnally's innocent smile that shone bright even as her end approached in the form of a gun-toting madman. Lelouch's all-knowing smirk that morphed into a cold, judging snarl—he condemned her even from the grave, damning her sins and her failures.

You let us die, Cornelia. You let our mother die and now we are next to fall.

You let us die.

"Nelly," Euphemia whimpered, breath stolen. Her siblings' deaths cut into her with the force of a dozen bulldozers; she could still feel her heart shattering, ripping apart over and over again without end. They're gone was the trigger that set off an explosion powerful enough to reduce her to a blubbering mess. Haunted eyes stared up at Cornelia through a curtain of wet, sticky lashes. "Nelly," she repeated, beseeching. "We—"

You're going to Japan, Lelouch?

Yes. I'm sorry, Euphie. Our lord father commanded it, and you know I can't disobey him.

Why not? she'd begged him, crying and shaking with fists that pounded on his chest. Please? Just this once?

"We killed them, Nelly," Euphemia said brokenly. "We killed them, didn't we?"

Euphemia's question dropped an asteroid onto Cornelia's porcelain mask. She wasn't like Schneizel, she thought bitterly; she couldn't smile and laugh and wear her poker face during an apocalypse. And Lelouch and Nunnally's deaths were an apocalypse, to her. She couldn't lie to the sister she loved most (Nunnally isn't here anymore to share that position with Euphie, after all) and pretend that everything was all right.

Because nothing was all right.

Because you let us die, Cornelia! We were your siblings and you killed us both.

"I—no—you're wrong," Cornelia stammered, her voice high-pitched and terrified, full of denial. "I'm so sorry, Euphie, I can't—"

She lunged forward and jabbed the keyboard with her finger, cutting the connection between them. Euphemia and Clovis faded from her direct line of sight, and all alone now save for the blinking lights, Cornelia caved in on herself and wept.

I'm so sorry, Lelouch. I—I failed your mother, and now I've failed you.

The long beep that sounded to signify the video call's end was nothing less than what she imagined her siblings' failing hearts would sound like as they flatlined.

I failed you and Nunnally both.

Area 11, Kururugi Shrine, the G-1 Mobile Base, October 2010 A.T.B.

"E-Euphie," Clovis tried, testing her familiar name on his tongue tentatively, as though it was foreign to him despite the number of times his mouth had caressed its shape and sound. He took a faltering step towards her before hesitating.

She crumbled at his call.

"W-We killed them!" she shrieked through her sobbing. Her words were almost incoherent, but their message was so powerful that Clovis heard the accusation through her nearly inaudible poison-coated words, and he flinched. "We killed them!"

"No," Clovis snapped. He turned away from her, refusing to let her see how much she'd rattled him. "It—it wasn't us, Euphie. It's not our fault! None of it!"

"We killed them," she repeated, pulling desperately at her hair. Her nails clawed and scratched at the unmarred skin of her arms. "We killed them... we killed Nunnally... we killed Lelouch...!"

"Euphie—"

"We killed them, Clovis."

The insanity in her voice silenced him.

Area 11, Exact Location Unknown, October 2010 A.T.B.

"We have to keep running," he gasped, panting for breath. His grey shirt, streaked with brown dirt, clung to his skin. A light sheen of sweat covered his face, and his usually curly brown hair was presently matted and plastered to his forehead. His friend's bony arms sunk deeper into his neck and shoulders, heavy now instead of the light, barely felt burden she was when he'd first offered to carry her a few hours ago. "We have to—have to—"

The other boy beside him grunted in agreement. "Don't stop now," he heaved as he struggled to keep pace with his more athletic friend. He kept tripping over cracked pavement, but still he ran, terrified to even look back over his shoulder. "We can't stop."

Together they sprinted across the length of the road, the sound of their soles slapping on concrete filling their ears. They drew closer together as the call of war continued to follow them away from the battlefield. And behind him, hulking Knightmares roared and thundered as they crashed into mutilated buildings just before their large metal hands crushed human bones between squeezing fingers.

They stumbled, fell flat on their faces, and rose again. The ear-splitting screams of the dying chased them through the ruined city.

A/N: This is only the prologue, so following chapters should, hopefully, be longer in words. Again, this is just the prologue so yes, the characters still think Lelouch and Nunnally are dead. That should change sometime in the next chapter. Also, I hope you don't think the whole "We killed them" is too extreme. I don't have much else to say, except I hope you enjoyed reading (and to Kaiju Slayer, I hope this was somewhat as you might have imagined), and feel free to leave a follow, favourite, or review. Thank you.