Gundam SeeD Destiny: Lion of Heaven

Original idea, story and concepts by Kouryuo Sabre

Re-written by Spiritblade

Disclaimer: Gundam SeeD and Gundam SeeD Destiny do not belong to me. They belong to Bandai. There are also other game, comic and anime genres in this story, each of which belongs to someone and to their respective companies.

Author's foreword 1: In the next two chapters which form the interlude, I will turn my gaze on the OCs that will play a part in this story. There will be a good number of them, but circumstance will see their numbers cut down. You have met several of them in previous chapters, such as Taishiqi Shin-Hae of the Earth Alliance Angel Corps, and I will give them some screen-time further down the road. Now, let us sow the seeds of war and reap a whirlwind of fire.

Author's foreword 2: The events that take place in the next two chapters are set between ten and fourteen days from Christmas (i.e.: 25th December C.E. 73).

(O)

History is made, not only by those whose names are immortalized in the pages of history, but also by those millions whose blood and tears had writ the words and made the turning of its pages possible.

Lacus Clyne, Memoirs of the White Princess, Blackstone Books Publishing (C.E. 167)

(O)

Interlude 5.1

Voices from the Citadel – 1 / Embers of Insurrection / Doubts

Knights of Britannia / Frost amidst the Flames / A mother's promise /

Shadows of the Long War – 1 / In the Kingdom of the Blind / Shadows of the Hunt – 1

The Pandemonium Fortress

The Chamber of the Sleeping King

Location unknown

The silence that finally descended within the warded interiors of the Chamber of the Sleeping King was a long and heavy one, broken only by the panting and the muffled curses of those who had been tasked by the Master of the Fortress to calm the raging psychic maelstrom that had suddenly erupted two hours before. It had been an endeavour that had taken all the Pandemonium Fortress's detachment of Magi and Hierophants the better part of an hour to calm, and another fifteen before all psychic activity ceased. The eyes of those still conscious gazed upon the ornate sarcophagus in both awe and disbelief, unable to comprehend how its occupant could have reached the dizzying heights he now stood upon in so short a time.

In the beginning, it had taken but a handful of Librarians to return the sleeping King to dormancy. As the weeks became months, more and more of their number had to be sent. Finally, twenty-seven months after the young King was interred into the Golden Sarcophagus, the leader of the fortress's Librarians was forced to take to the field to prevent a psychic apocalypse.

All within and outside the Holy Kingdom knew that a Chief Librarian was both a mighty warrior and a master of their chosen disciplines. To see such an individual on his or her knees is not a sight soon forgotten, especially if said individual was a highborn scion of the Gear race. Clad in ornate war-plate that had been smote by the power of one far greater than he, his wings torn and tattered, the winged warrior-mage was the very image of defeated angels. The simplest of nudges would have sent him crashing to the floor to join so many others in oblivion.

"I take it, Master Kael-Lantis," the weary voice of the scantily-clad Sidoci psychic several feet away caused the Chief Librarian to look in the direction of the former, "That this time you will accede to our requests to strengthen the psychic wards as soon as possible...? Because if this happens one more time, I swear to the gods that I am taking the first available ship to the Jericho Reach to die on the blades and bolters of the Traitor Legions..."

The Archangel-Gear could only make a wheezing sound to show his amusement, "Come now, Avernia. This is a far easier task than fighting the warlocks of the Traitor Legions, believe me. At least we...can catch our breath without needing to fear a bolt or a blade in our backs."

Avernia conceded the point, before she lowered herself to the floor and rolled onto her back, "Which brings me to my next problem – our Watch Commander. I wish that the Supreme Hierarch had not sent a Purist to oversee our labours. It is hard enough, what with a Black Templar Reclusiarch giving us murderous looks. Both of them seriously need to get laid. I have never seen or felt such frustration in a man!"

The sound of armoured jackboots upon the marble floor turned the attention of both Kael-Lantis and Avernia to the approaching form of Epistolary Arekt, who looked like he had been mauled by a Nemean tiger. Blood leaked from numerous wounds and stained his battered blue and gold-chased war-plate crimson. The defiant grin on his bearded face told the two that it would take more than what he had endured to lay him low.

"The heretic should never call the pagan a sinner, Avernia," the powerfully-built Vyrkul said, "It has not gone unnoticed that you and yours have been spending much time in the presence of our sleeping King. Or that your smiles have become warmer, as of late..."

Kael-Lantis raised an eyebrow at that, "This I did not know. Care to explain yourself, Epistolary Avernia?"

"What my Circle and I do is none of your business," Avernia glared at her compatriots, "Rest assured that I will not do anything that will have the Black Templars putting us square in their gun-sights. If I choose to fuck a man, he will be wide awake, bound and helpless before me," a lustful leer curved the Sidoci's lips, "There is little pleasure to be had in making love to a man I can neither touch nor terrify."

Both men stared at their alabaster-skinned counterpart with no small amount of unease. What the latter had just admitted to being was a nightmare that aroused many men and haunted no few women. Kael-Lantis mentally swore to never get drunk in Avernia's presence, lest he find himself naked and sporting more scars than a Nemean tiger could gift him with the following morning. Arekt shook his head in mock-despair and wondered what possessed the gods to put him in the company of such interesting people; his chances of surviving the tender mercies of a Dark Templar Interrogator-Chaplain was considerably higher than his enduring the eccentricities of his allies!

"But my tastes in bed sport aside," the Sidoci Librarian continued, "Did the two of you read the latest reports from our compatriots within the Earth Sphere?"

Both men exchanged looks before nodding.

"Something strange is going on in that sector. I don't know what it is, but it is making me uneasy," Avernia studied the hexagrammic wards inscribed onto her gauntlets, "Elaine keeps telling me that the reasons for all those strange incidents is because of a secret war known as the Jyhad of Ages."

"...do you have any idea what she is talking about, lad?" Arekt looked at Kael-Lantis with a raised eyebrow.

"A little," the Archangel-Gear replied, "And everything I know comes from what few texts that dates back to the fourth century of the pre-Christian era as well as what happened some three hundred years after the War of Wrath."

"That is old," the Vyrkul stroked his beard, "Well, don't keep us all in the dark, Kael. Tell us. We could all use a good story while we recover our strength."

(O)

Colony of New Verona

Laguna Special Administrative Zone, Kingdom of Scandinavia

Sub-sector Nordheim

Kirihara Yuuki had lived on the colony of New Verona with his aunt ever since his parents were killed in a car accident eighteen years ago. He had watched as the bustling and prosperous frontier colony change from being the centre of interplanetary and interregional trade into an armed camp comprising of those loyal to the newly-crowned King of Scandinavia and those who had sided with the colonial Viceroy, the latter of whom was most displeased with the former regarding the agreements he had made with the Earth Alliance and the policies that were implemented in the aftermath of said agreements. Though both camps had yet to come to blows, Yuuki knew it was only a matter of time before someone, somewhere, did something stupid.

That the Earth Alliance had, several months back and with the permission of the Kingdom's new monarch, sent two battle-groups to the Laguna SAZ only increased the chances of civil unrest. While Yuuki knew that many within the Earth Army rejected the teachings of the Blue Cosmos, these were outnumbered by a larger margin by those that did. Had the Earth Army units sent to the SAZ comprised of those that were of a more liberal bent, it would have gone a long way in alleviating the worries the colonial authorities and administration had in the aftermath of their King's actions. Such was not the case.

Many of the men and women within the Earth Army units in the SAZ were dyed-in-the-wool fanatics. These were offended that Gears, Numans (1) and Coordinators were allowed to live and work alongside Naturals, and had not hesitated to show their displeasure. Rare were the days when the media did not publish stories of Earth Army personnel overstepping their boundaries. No few people had ended up in hospital because of it. That the authorities were unable to punish the ones responsible had caused many in the Kingdom to wonder if their civil rights would be sacrificed on the altar of political and economic gain.

Yuuki hoped that the Viceroy's allies in the administration would be able to do something before matters came to a head, but he doubted it. The latter were caught between the devil and the deep, blue sea. Should they oppose the King in the same way as the Viceroy, they would find themselves in the gun-sights of the Kingdom's Ministry of State Security. Likewise, if they did nothing, they would both lose the respect of the populace and find themselves in the black books of the Viceroy's supporters, some of whom were powerful enough to cause even the King and his lieutenants to tread lightly in their presence.

The young man's eyes went to the stack of newspapers being sold at the small kiosk on the roadside. The headlines all spoke of rising regional tensions and escalating interplanetary wars, a cause of great concern to many living in the Earth Sphere. From the distant Periphery to the core worlds of the former Solar Empire, the deafening roar of ten thousand guns was equalled only in the wrathful sermons of those who desired the utter destruction of their country's enemies and the greed of those who saw profit and advantage in the ongoing conflict.

Was it any surprise that religious groups like the Church of Mesia or the Cult of the White Angel appeared? Regional authorities throughout the Solar System were divided whether to label said organizations as a cult. Both had the trappings of one, but it was the Church of Mesia that was more active in trying to recruit more members. Its preachers were often seen on the streets, distributing flyers and inviting any who showed interest in its teachings to attend sermons and prayer sessions in the renovated cathedral in the adjoining district. Yuuki had once gone to said cathedral upon his classmate's invitation to hear a sermon, and had refused to attend another.

Fanaticism and intolerance had nearly led the Earth Sphere to ruin, and Yuuki had no wish to be a part of any organization – religious or otherwise – that spread either. That it counted among its ranks hundreds of Earth Army personnel had only served to lower his opinion of the Messian Church further. Yuuki remembered what his aunt and his sensei had told him about politics and religion. Few were the monsters of myth that could equal the one born of that blasphemous union. The fangs and claws of said beast had destroyed nations and lives beyond counting, and its thunderous roars had been the sermon and clarion call to arms and atrocity. Faith was power, and power was a thing sought by all.

How ironic that without it, none would have the strength or the tools with which to forge their own destiny.

Pascal, his husky, nudged his hand with a soft whine. His pet dog was big, closer to wolf than dog. His aunt had said that the genes of a Nemean wolf had been married to the genetic helix of a husky, making Pascal stronger and tougher than the average dog. And, if the way he was looking at the nearby hot-dog seller was any indication, one with a bigger appetite.

"Again...?" Yuuki looked down at his pet with a twitching eyebrow, "You finished three whole cans of Misty's Finest and you're still hungry?"

His Nemean wolf-husky yipped.

"You're going to eat me out of house and home, you greedy fur-ball. And here I was, hoping to be able to buy that manga set on sale at the bookshop," the young man grumbled as he walked towards the push-cart and the cheerful African that manned it, "Trust the gods to saddle me with a greedy hound..."

X X X

The Northern Lights Nightclub

The Scarlet Moon District

Ozawa Shingo snarled as his fist smashed into the Earth Army soldier with concussive force, "You Earth-Ass bastards think that just because those gutless pricks in the government bent over and let you help us in the name of 'security', you think got the right to do whatever you want...?"

A hard knee to his gut caused the EA serviceman to fold over.

"Hell, no...!"

The black-haired yakuza gangster dodged a punch thrown his way, and retaliated by sending another white-clad Earth Alliance soldier flying crashing through a table with an expertly-timed throw. It, unfortunately, left him open to a blow from another. He was sent staggering several steps back, as one of his fellow gang-members reduced a chair to kindling and sent the EA soldier to the floor (and hopefully, to the grave).

"Fucking Earth-Asses!" the biker-girl snap-kicked the fallen soldier, "Wherever you go, you throw your weight around like you're some big-shot! You ain't! You hear me, you fuck? You ain't!"

"Damn it, Kari," Ozawa grinned, "Kicking a man while he's down is just hot, but this fight is way over our heads. Grab the guys," the gangster studied the brawl that had erupted in the underground nightclub, "We're getting out of here before the cops get here."

"We'll meet you in the hideout."

"And Kari...?" Ozawa grinned, "Grab their wallets and whatever stuff they got on them. If they got any palm-tops or gadgets, I want them, you got me? Our backer will pay us good money if they find good info in it."

"Got it," Kari grinned.

Ozawa nodded and made his way to the exit, breaking as many heads as he could as he did so. This was the world the gangster had lived in for years. He had long ago known that money and power were everything. It was the way of the world. If you were not on top, you were at the bottom. And people with power made use of those without. The Earth Alliance was the man with the biggest gun and the biggest wallet in the Solar System, and they had their eyes on becoming the power.

The gangster wouldn't mind working for them, but the way they did business sucked. No few people who did business with the Earth Alliance got shafted or shot. The fact that much of the EA was filled to the brim with Blue Cosmos whack-jobs made any job a risky (but profitable) one. For his part, Ozawa didn't care about the shit the Blue Cosmos whack-jobs or the White Fang snots spouted. What he did care about was that he got the cash, the goods and got ahead.

He smiled as he remembered the hidden cache of weapons his backer had supplied him and his gang with. It was only a matter of time before those blue-blood shits really learned that they were no longer in charge, and decided to sell out everyone else. And when that happened, Ozawa would make sure he and his were part of the new order.

Maybe he could get the guy he had seen in the dream he had yesterday night to join him. Ozawa chuckled; he was really getting a screw loose if he was going to owe some guy in his dream a favour. Well, maybe if he made the cut, why not? After all, if you were going to be in charge, it pays to get good and trusted people than spineless wimps to help you. He wasn't going to be like those arrogant highborn shits in the Kingdom's noble houses who needed someone to wipe their asses for them.

X X X

The Grand Plaza

Clarkstown District

Tatsuya Manchester walked with his girlfriend down the shopping strip, enjoying the intimacy and a rare break away from his studies. Rather than wear clothing befitting his station, Tatsuya had opted to dress simply and mingle with the commoners. It was proving to be both an exciting and interesting affair. Sarah was right; this was better than doing it the way he had always done it. He had never visited a fast-food restaurant nor walked in the numerous malls that served the masses. Many of his peers had spoke of their excursions and adventures, and had invited Tatsuya on numerous occasions to join them.

He had never once joined them. Being a noble did not mean having the right to do what one wished. Sarah would kill him, to say nothing of what his parents would do to him. The noble paused briefly as his eyes fell upon a portrait displayed on the showcase of an art shop, as the memory of the dream he had had the night before came to the fore.

Tatsuya had stood within the confines of a ruined cathedral, bathed in the light of the moon and the stars. He could hear the voices of distant choirs raised in praise to the Almighty, mourning lost paradise and forgotten heroes. He had beheld the statues of saints and angels, many of which were shattered by the apocalypse that had reduced majesty to broken rubble. All save two. The first was a Templar clad in robes and armour, kneeling before the relic blade that bore upon its cross-hilt the emblem of a flying sword. The second, embracing him from behind, was a female angel, her head resting upon his and her four wings spread wide. Both had cast Tatsuya in twilit shadow that filled him not with fear, but wonder.

'Ten is the number of the Chosen, though twelve is the Circle counted true.

Nine is the number of the Traitor Legions, whose vengeance has endured a thousand years.

Eight is the number of the Knights and Damsels of the Grail; all to fall, but none will fail.

He knew who they were, these giants crafted in ageless stone. His grandfather had told him about them, back when he had been a child, so as to teach him that there was a price for doing one's duty and doing right by clan and kindred. The older man had asked his grandchild what he would have done, were he presented the choice as the heroes they had been. Clan and country: choose one, and live with the pain of failing the other.

'Seven are the Saviours, gathered before the Golden Throne, their destinies written in stone.

Six is the Number of the Beast, their ambitions driving them to hunt and feast.

Five is the Number of the Kings who march against the Lords of Terra, to set sea and sky aflame.'

Honour and devotion: these were the ideas the Manchester family had lived by for over a thousand years. Though their glory was but a shadow of what it once was, such things still held value to them. He remembered the voices that filled the Cathedral, proud and strong. Though spoken in a hundred tongues, their meaning was clear.

"Tatsuya...?" the voice of his girlfriend broke the young noble out of his thoughts, "What's wrong?"

Tatsuya shook his head, "No, nothing. The painting reminded me of a story my grandfather told me...and a dream I had the night before."

The young woman pouted, before pulling his arm and leading him across the road, "A dream? About...?"

He looked at the small group of Messian Church devotees who stood at the nearby fountain across the road, before turning his attention back to his girlfriend, "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try me."

'Four is the number of the Horsemen,

Tasked are they to deliver the Last Judgment upon Creation.

Three are the Trials given unto the Chosen of Fate,

And thrice-fold the paths that lead from the Illuminated Gate.'

Tatsuya opened his mouth to speak but paused in mid-sentence when he caught sight of a young man his age walk past him. The latter had a husky by his side, whose presence helped to pave the way for its master. The young noble saw for the briefest of moments not a commoner wearing clothing well-suited to the faux winter of the colony, but a hunter clad in crimson, battle-scarred armour.

"Tatsuya...? What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"No. Nothing," Tatsuya replied with a smile, "I'm fine. I thought I saw someone I knew. But to answer your earlier question, I must first ask you one. Do you know about the Ten Chosen of the Holy Kingdom?"

'Two is the number of the Lovers, who wait for their children to return.'

The young woman nodded, "What about them?"

"In the dream I had, I was serving one of them."

'One is the number of the Glorious King.

Standing at the head of a victorious army,

Shall a new age begin.'

X X X

Moonstruck Cafe

Clarkstown District

If there was one thing that Yuriko Hoshigami liked about the Moonstruck Cafe, it was that it had none of the sophistication of high-class bistros frequented by the highborn nobles of the Kingdom of Scandinavia and all of the honesty that came with a family-run business. Everyone who occupied the cafe's numerous tables were regulars to the shop, ones that had already bargained their souls away for all that it offered. The newcomers were but a bite and a drink away from doing the same.

The cafe was located in one of the few places in the entire planetary sector – if not beyond it – where sworn enemies refused to take up arms against one another. The seductive Rogue Trader had once seen an Emissary of the Traitor Legions sit with an Inquisitor of the Lancea Sanctum and proceeded not to kill one another, but discuss on how to deal with an individual who had the brass to antagonize both parties. Yuriko shuddered; whoever was stupid enough to anger both the High Lord of the Dark Templar and the Supreme Hierarch of the Church of Lordaeron was asking for a fate worse than death. It had long been a matter of fierce debate by those who dwelt beyond the Veil as to who was the more terrifying entity, but all agreed that it was in their better interests to avoid the two warring demigods.

Yuriko chuckled inwardly. The idea of sending an invitation to both the Kingslayer and his nemesis to come to New Verona for tea was an appealing one. The ensuing panic and the aftermath of such a meeting was one that would leave her laughing for decades to come, to say nothing of the look of absolute horror her patron and his lieutenants would sport when they learned of what she had done.

But what she was planning to do would earn the dark-haired woman censorious looks all the same. Bitter experience had taught Yuriko to never mix business and pleasure in the same glass, but it had also taught her that she should never pass up the opportunity should such a chance be presented. Increasing regional tensions and the escalating conflict between the signatories of the Treaty of Olympus and the anti-Imperial Coalition had served to give the Ring of Gaea the opening they desperately needed to drive the servants of YHVH from the Nordheim sub-sector. Should they succeed in their endeavour, the cult would have a stronghold with which to counter the growing influence of the Holy Kingdom. There was also the matter of the artefact that the High Confessor of Ivalice was sending his representative in the region – one that Yuriko wanted destroyed, no matter the cost.

She frowned. How? How had the Hierarchs of the Holy Kingdom managed to find and restore that accursed spear? Ose had told her that it had been destroyed in the closing days of the War of Wrath, when the strength of both wielder and weapon had been found wanting. None would forget the day when one of the mightiest weapons forged by YHVH for his champions was reduced to broken splinters. All knew that no power above or below Heaven could remake that which another deity of equal power had destroyed.

As such, the sheer impossibility of it had left Yuriko baffled. No, now was not the time to entertain questions that had no answers. Now was the time to act. And the first thing she would do tonight was to speak to her patron.

The tinkling sound of the cafe's doors opening and the greeting made by its owner caused the female Rogue Trader to look up. Her lips curved into a warm smile, her troubles immediately forgotten. The one she had been waiting for had arrived.

X X X

New Verona General Hospital

Staff Cafe

San Angeles District

Ayase Reiko had lived and worked on the colony of New Verona for over seven years now, having moved there after accepting an offer made her by a representative of the Arima Conglomerate (2) to work at a medical facility they owned. It had proven to be the best decision she had ever made. The lovely, auburn-haired woman had originally intended to take up the offer made to her by the Ascalon Medical Group, but had changed her mind at the last minute when unknown groups revealed damning proof about the secret projects and research that the pharmaceutical giant had done on behalf of their backers within the Earth Alliance government.

Even though AMG had managed to win the lawsuits levelled against them and foist said projects and research off as the undertakings carried out by those who had let greed get the better of them, the damage had already been done. The pharmaceutical giant had lost billions of Earth Dollars and the trust of many of its employees and shareholders. Many of the second had tendered their resignations in the months that followed, and more of the last had pulled out. No one had wanted to be associated with an organization that had already been blacklisted by over a dozen countries within and outside the planetary sector.

But desperation made men do foolish things, especially if said individuals were men of power and position. Their pride would not allow them to be made pale shadows of their former glory. They would do anything and everything to regain that which they lost, even if it meant selling their souls to the devil. And sell it they did. In the space of half a year, the Ascalon Medical Group became a subsidiary of the immensely powerful Atlantic National Defence Conglomerate. In exchange for their return to solvency, AMG would serve as the ANDC's vanguard into the immensely profitable pharmaceutical industry and help spearhead research that had stalled due to many of its scientists being reassigned to other projects.

The female doctor looked down at her palm-top. Many had thought that after their being raked over the coals, that AMG would not do anything criminal. They were wrong. They had gone further than they had before, and in doing so had earned them the attentions of those whose authority surpassed those of the regional law-enforcing agencies. The Deathwatch had not hesitated, in light of such damning evidence, to arrest executives and scientists from both the ANDC and Ascalon. Those were the lucky ones.

The unlucky ones found themselves dragged away by the agents of the Traitor Legions, who cared little for due process and whose tender mercies had left those who had aroused their ire either dead or wishing that they were. The promise of vengeance was, to the Dark Templar, a far more reliable deterrent than a judiciary who had failed their fellow men for more times than could be counted.

What punishment, Reiko wondered, would a man who failed his country deserve? What punishment did a failed King deserve for betraying his people?

Her thoughts were soon derailed when she heard a voice call out to her. The female doctor turned to see a Nazzadi child, red-haired and black-skinned, wheeling herself over to her. The impish smile on the girl's lively face saw to one forming on Reiko's own. The accident that had put her in the wheelchair some four months back had done little to dampen the her spirits.

"Ara...? Is that you Shanya?"

"Could I be anyone else?" Shanya grinned.

Reiko chuckled at that, "Point. I thought you were going to the lobby to wait for your parents."

"I was," the girl replied, "But Nurse Nina told me that my parents had called earlier. She told me that they would be late, and suggested that I come here to wait for them. And besides," Shanya reached into her bag and pulled out her digital sketchbook, "I just finished several drawings just this morning and wanted to show them to you, Doctor Reiko. They're still in black-and-white format; I will start photo-shopping and colouring them in the evening after I show them to my mom and dad."

"And earning yourself a small allowance, no doubt," Reiko reached out and pinched the giggling girl's nose, before taking the proffered data-slate. What she saw caused the older woman's eyes to widen and her jaw to loosen. Her colleague in the Interplanetary Red Cross had once told her in the aftermath of a tarot reading that the day would come when dream and destiny would reach out and drag her, kicking and screaming, into the blazing inferno of anarchy and corruption.

Reiko closed her eyes. That day had finally come. Her eyes fell to the other faces in the montage that Shanya had drawn, and smiled despite herself. She would not be walking into the nightmare alone.

X X X

Rock Town

New Salem District

New Salem was one of New Verona's three industrial districts. Unlike its sister districts, it dominated thirty sub-levels of the colony and encompassed between twenty and thirty square kilometres on each level. The district boasted shipyards and docks both big and small, factories and warehouses by the hundreds and services both base and wholesome for both dock worker and sailor alike. It was a place closely watched by the colonial authorities, as it was one of the major points of entry on the colony for both smugglers and criminals of every stripe.

As such, those who were engaged in the Cold Trade had to know which hands to grease and which life to end. They also had to know when and where they could meet their contacts, so as to avoid official scrutiny and give their accomplices in the colony's security and administrative divisions plausible deniability should anything happen. But recent events the past year had seen to the long-standing compact between outlaw and colonial authority on the verge of dissolution.

The reason for this – a state of affairs which infuriated both parties to no end – was due to attacks on Earth Alliance ships and servicemen in the sub-sector by White Fang (3) terrorists. At least, that was what the media reported to the countless thousands across the planetary sector. The truth, however, was far more insidious – and it was one Red Monika and her clients had met with brandished blade and blazing guns. They were outnumbered three to one, but the terrain in which the former fought their enemies gave them an advantage the latter did not have.

And it was one they exploited mercilessly.

It didn't take long before the Earth Alliance commander directing the operation saw his men fighting desperately to escape the death-trap that was Rock Town. The raid had been the perfect opportunity for the Earth Army and its allies in Kingdom of Scandinavia to capture the leaders of the resistance movement, thus depriving the organization of their leadership and ending a threat to the ambitions of both. Instead, they ended up showing their hand to an enemy who had long suspected that it had spies within its ranks. It was a fiasco, one that would cause the servants of the new power rising on Earth to turn its attention to the sub-sector. Retribution would soon come, but in what shape or form no one knew. But all that did not matter to Red Monika. The only thing that mattered to the voluptuous, red-haired outlaw was that she got paid.

Truth be told, Monika was tempted to ask for more, but after seeing what the resistance was capable of, decided that it was best if she did not irritate them. After all, the first rule of the Cold Trade was to never press your luck when there was nothing to be gained by it. She looked at the leader of the resistance, a young woman who would not have looked out of place amongst the rougher denizens of Rock Town. Brown-haired, gray-eyed, with a sleek yet curvaceous figure, she reminded Monika of a wolf on the hunt. And the way she fought...? Dear Thamar, it had been breathtaking. If the younger girl had not been tied down to her cause of freeing the sub-sector from the ones who were determined to turn it into their personal brothels, Monika would have recruited her and her people.

"So," Monika approached the Coordinator girl, "I take it that that answered your earlier question?"

"It has. I apologize if I have offended you, Monika. My subordinates will pay you as promised, and a little bit more for helping us deal with our...unwanted guests."

What do you know? Christmas had come early.

Monika smiled, "Gratefully accepted. It is good doing business with you, Miss Sarah."

The red-haired woman turned to look at the bodies of the slain Earth Army troopers, all of whom are being stripped of weapons and wargear by the insurgents. She nodded in approval; battles – and thus, wars – were won and lost on logistics. A man with a knife and a full belly could do more than one that was starving and holding a fully-loaded gun.

And speaking of knives and loaded guns...

"It goes against my principles to get involved in the personal affairs of my clients, but I suppose advice is a thing freely given. Be careful, girl. You are up against people who do not like being fucked with. You're not Lacus Clyne. You don't have an army behind you."

The former dancer-turned-resistance leader nodded, "I know. But when the stakes are this high, you do whatever you can to make sure the enemy doesn't win."

Monika nodded. Her former protégé-turned-lover had said the same thing. She wondered how he was, considering that Drangleic (4) had just declared war on Angmar and the Scarlet Moon Empire. There was no doubt in her mind that the Chapter Master of Drangleic's Marshall Paladins would be paying her former student a visit. Garrison was a man with few equals in the Solar System, and his strength would be an asset in the coming days. The question was if he would take up arms to defend his country when he had failed to protect the one he loved was one that had yet to be answered.

Monika remembered the woman her former student had fallen for. Julia was everything she was not. The brown-haired Adoni woman had been a teacher, and had been good with children. Her dreams were simple, wholesome things that could be earned by honest labour. Not for the older woman the thrill of cheating death and causing petty kings to soil their smallclothes, but the comforts of a well-tended home and the laughter of children in her ears. Monika had asked the Gear woman if she knew what it meant to be Garrison's wife. Her former student had made many enemies, none of whom would hesitate to strike at her to get back at him.

And what did that crazy minx do...? She laughed, and said that the day when such men came for her – and Garrison, if they decided to try and kill them both – would be one where she would have to show her husband her true colours.

When Death came to claim her, it had found not a tame and helpless kitten, but a raging tigress who would tolerate neither insult nor ill-intent to her mate. Julia had killed twelve of the fifteen assassins, reduced the house she and Garrison had lived in to rubble, and unleashed a blast that tore through four levels of the colony said house was built on. The sheer devastation had stunned the authorities, to say nothing of the manner in which she had sent her killers to the afterlife. It was only at her funeral did Monika and Garrison learn who Julia had been decades before either of them met her. She had been a Dark Templar, a veteran of the Long War – one whose blades had tasted blood long before Monika's had even taken one to hand.

Damn the Fates, she had been perfect for him.

Monika shook her head and scowled inwardly. Now was not the time to entertain thoughts best left for when she was alone and with a bottle of Valendian spirits in hand. She activated her Omni-Tool and opened up a secured communications channel to her ship.

"Shorak, Monika here. You copy...?'

"I hear you, boss. What do you need...?" the voice of her pilot was distorted by static, courtesy of the jamming devices his sister had installed so as to ensure that any communications from and with the ship would not be intercepted by any outside the group.

"Warm up the ship, Shorak. We leave the colony the minute I get back."

"Roger that," the Valendian pilot replied, "Boss, there is something you might want to tell our client. Kura intercepted two transmissions from the Earth Alliance embassy some three hours back. The first was to the local Earth Army garrison. A company of marines has been dispatched to the Hartmann Conglomerate's Regional Headquarters. Their orders are to secure the premises, and to assist the security troopers there against a possible terrorist attack."

The red-haired woman chuckled. Oh, that was as clear an admission of guilt as could be made. Just as clear was what the EA ambassador was trying to do: he was using the Scandinavian noble as bait to try and capture the resistance kill-team that would be sent, so as to identify its leaders and members. A good attempt, the female outlaw nodded inwardly, but it was one doomed to fail.

"I take it you heard...?" Monika asked the younger woman, who was cleaning the blood from the Valendian scimitar she had used to deadly effect in the melee earlier.

"I did. Fear not. I will put the traitors to grass before the night is through," the latter replied, before pausing briefly, "Your man said that there were two transmissions. What was the second one...?"

"Shorak...?"

"The second transmission was sent to an Earth Army naval base in the Principality of Zion. It is a request for another battle-group to be mobilized to help the regional government crush the insurgency in this sub-sector."

X X X

Hartmann Conglomerate Regional Headquarters

Queenstown Business District

Four hours later...

Edward Hartmann, CEO of the Hartmann Conglomerate, knew he was a dead man. It had been four hours since he was informed of the Earth Army's failed attempt to capture the leaders of the resistance, and three since a voice message from one of said leaders made it clear that he was going to pay for what he had done. The noble had learned long ago to know the difference between an idle threat and one that had weight, and the one that graced his ear fell squarely under the auspices of the latter.

He knew who those peasants would send to take his head, and it was for that reason that Edward had summoned his personal guard from their barracks to escort him to the star-port. The noble chuckled inwardly. Let them try. They would fall beneath the guns of his House Guard. The man turned to look at the men and women flanking him. They were clad in heavy body armour and were armed with the best weapons money could buy. Many of them were the children of those who had served his father, and no few were the illegitimate children of his relatives. All were loyal. None could be bought.

Edward found his thoughts derailed when one of his bodyguards raised an arm to stop him. The question on the tip of his tongue was soon answered when he saw an Earth Army officer emerge from the lift he was being taken to. The latter was a powerfully-built man, clad in body armour and armed with the deadly tools of his trade. Blue eyes came to alight upon him, set upon a face that was stern in its countenance and firm in its resolve. The man was very image of a soldier ready to meet the enemies of his country.

The Scandinavian noble laughed and spread his arms in welcome to the newcomer. The Earth Alliance ambassador on the colony had promised to send his best, and send the best he did: Captain Zachary Winters, company commander of the Earth Army's renowned 7th Cavalry Division. The man's family had served Terra for thousands of years, and their family manse boasted battle-honours that dated back thousands of years to the First Terran World War.

"Captain Zachary," Edward slapped his hands on the bigger man's shoulders, "You are a most welcome sight. I trust you are here to escort me to safety...?"

"I am, sir. My company and I have been instructed by Ambassador Thorman to escort you to the King Albert Starport. He has also told me to thank you for your efforts in crushing the insurgents, and looks forward meeting you again when things change for the better. For my part, I admire what you did. Seeking to slay the lion in its own den takes balls. It is a pity you did not succeed, and that you now stand revealed as a traitor to the insurgents."

Edward snorted, "Taking up arms against the state and its legitimate rulers is the very definition of treason, Captain. The actions of the Laguna Liberation Front (5) are exactly that. To defend king and country, no matter how high the cost and how low the deed, is the duty of all that swear fealty to either."

The Earth Army captain nodded, "Agreed. Come, we had best be on our way. The better part of my company is at the star-port, to ensure that the terrorists make no attempt to sabotage it. And to better ensure that you arrive at your destination, I ask that you change out of your clothes into those of my unit."

"Such a thing...!" the captain of his personal guard snarled, only to be cut off by Edward's raised hand.

"I will comply, Stephen. Captain Zachary speaks with reason. It will please me to slip past the wolves that little bitch will set on my heels, and place myself far beyond her reach."

X X X

It had taken the better part of two hours before the convoy reached the King Albert Starport, a journey made longer by the routes taken so as to avoid the ambushes and traps set by the insurgent groups that have taken up arms against the rightful rulers of the sub-sector. Fear and frustration drove good mood from the Scandinavian noble, which was restored only when he was within the secured confines of his ship and bore witness to the colossal edifice of New Verona far behind him.

Sitting within his palatial quarters, Edward ordered that a bottle of Valendian spirits and fresh clothes be brought to him. The noble intended to celebrate his evading capture, and to answer the message his would-be killers had sent him earlier with derision. Peasants had ever been fools; they never saw the bigger picture as their betters could. He had supported the insurgency not because he believed in a Nordheim free from the rule of an incompetent monarch and the shadow of the Earth Alliance, but because it served him. Had things gone as planned – and if he had not been approached by the Earth Alliance ambassador – he would have been in a good position to become the new governor of the resource-rich sub-sector.

That path was now closed to him.

Or was it...?

His actions had placed him in good standing both in the Scandinavian Royal Court and the Earth Alliance. Both wanted the insurgency crushed, and what Edward had shared had gone a long way to accomplishing that. It was only a matter of time before their secret bases throughout the planetary sector were raided and the terrorist network crushed. The noble looked down at the data-slate on the table; neither the Sentinels nor Cerberus had much patience when dealing with those who were a threat to the fragile peace won in the aftermath of the Bloody Valentine War.

His lips curled into a grin; maybe he could get them involved. A word into the right ears – and a generous donation into the pockets of the right people – would see to it that these rebellious peasants find themselves up against a force they had no hope of defeating. The multi-national anti-terrorist task force was an armada assembled for one purpose: the utter extermination of the terrorist groups in the planetary sector. The powers-that-be had had enough of the latter, and were determined to punish them for their transgressions.

"And I know just the person who can help me," the Scandinavian noble got to his feet and turned around...

...Only to be hurled into the nearby grand piano with bone-shattering force. Something had slammed into him, tearing through his body and organs with ease and stealing away his ability to cry out in pain. A figure materialized before him, one he recognized despite the agony that shorted out his brain. What was she doing here? How did she manage to get onto his ship without anyone detecting her? The answer came the minute Edward's eyes fell upon the armoured bodyglove his killer wore, and the voice of the Atlantean noblewoman he had once danced with many years back emerged from the dusty recesses of his memory, crystal clear and filled with sad disappointment.

'You are what many wish to be. Your flaws are great, but so are your opportunities. Should the first pave road to the second, a vengeful spirit will come to collect the debt you are owed.'

Edward tried to speak, but was unable to. Death had wrapped his steely talons around his throat, cutting off whatever words he might have spoken. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth, before spilling from his lips to further stain the Earth Army uniform he wore crimson.

"Goodbye, Lord Edward," Sarah Burns of the Laguna Liberation Front said as she tore her scimitar out of his body, allowing him to topple to the ground in a broken heap, "Anubis is waiting for you."

The last thing the Scandinavian noble heard in the moments before death took him was the young woman giving instructions to her compatriots to begin the operation to take over his ship, and thanking him for his final gift to the rebellion.

(O)

The Shrine of the Divine Flame

Quantum-Holographic Illusory World

Secured Network, Alpha-Echelon Access

The first time the Masters of the Serpent Lodge and the Lords of the Order of the First Flame had met within the Shrine of the Divine Flame had been four months after the end of the Bloody Valentine War, when they all stood in the presence of the Supreme Hierarch of the Church of Lordaeron and the man the demigod had chosen to be its new Divine Serpent. It had been a moment both of great joy and sadness. Joy, in that a new Chosen had been so quickly found to replace the one that had been slain, and sadness, for they had lost many of their compatriots to the guns and blades of the Archenemy.

Garnet could not find it in herself to mourn the slain Divine Serpent. The latter had clearly been lost to madness. Hatred for humanity, for its greed that had seen to it committing sins beyond counting, had seen to the Chosen subverting the task he had been given to pave the way for the invasion of the Earth Sphere into a bloody crusade that would have turned the stomachs of even the Archdemons of the Traitor Legions. By the time the Alabaster Court had realized what had happened, it was already too late.

The fiery shadows of Armageddon fell upon the ancient throne-world of the Solar Empire, and the last hope to avert it fell upon the shoulders of those who had found a cause greater than the flags they had sworn themselves to. They had numbered less than ten thousand souls, but they accomplished a labour that would see them into the pages of legend. From sun-shadowed Valendia to the far periphery of the Solar System, a thousand voices whispered the names of those who had torn the charred laurels of victory from the unyielding grip of the Fates themselves.

The voluptuous, purple-haired Galamite turned her gaze to a mural – one of several – that now adorned the once-bare walls of the Shrine. Though its creator had taken great liberties on the subject matter, Garnet recognized the faces of those who were responsible for ending the Bloody Valentine War and dealing the Holy Kingdom its greatest defeat in recent memory: Lacus Clyne, the White Princess, crowned in sunlight and clad in twilight; Athrun Zala, the Crimson King, garbed in robes of crimson and gold over gleaming war-plate and clutching a gleaming great-sword; Cagalli Yula Attha, Lioness of Orb, garbed likewise as the Crimson King, but armed with an ornate battle-axe; Murrue and Mwu la Flaga, Commanders of the Sentinel peacekeepers, clad in armour of studded leather, mail and heavy cloaks, were armed with sabre, spear and longbows; Andrew Waltfeld, the Desert Tiger of ZAFT and Supreme Commander of the Clyne faction, clad in the armour and bearing the weapons of a Knight-Commander, the black scarf draped across his shield a contrast to his proud colours.

And the last one, the one whose face was hidden from her, clad in the tattered black-and-gold robes and the battered, bloodied armour of a Knight-Initiate, was the one known as the White Angel. He faced all his compatriots, sword buried in the corpse of a slain, winged serpent, and held in his upraised, bloodied hand a blackened laurel. Garnet smiled inwardly; the Phase-Smith charged with the creation and security of the false world was not one given over to sentiment. What had caused the change, the purple-haired woman wondered. It was highly unlikely that it was a woman; the Phase-Smith was closer to machine than man, even before he made the transition from the latter to the former. She doubted she would ever know.

"Greetings, Commander McClane," a familiar voice caused Garnet to turn to see said Phase-Smith materialize on one of the illusory world's entry points in a flash of light, "It has been twenty-six days, twelve hours and thirty-three minutes since you last came to this place. You are twenty-one days, eleven hours and thirty-four minutes overdue for a visit."

"Phase-Smith Jarkon," the female Templar nodded to the enormous, four-legged cyborg walking towards her in greeting, "You have made some changes to the Shrine since I last walked its halls."

"That I did. I trust you like what I have done...?" the Phase-Smith's armoured head tilted in inquiry.

"I do. Inquisitor Fontaine, on the other hand, might take issue with your growing interest in the Cult of the White Angel," Garnet looked at the mural one last time before turning her gaze onto the armoured exoskeleton of the Phase-Smith, "He and his allies are growing deeply suspicious of the Cult as they have refused to acknowledge the authority of the central Church. Rumour has it that they are petitioning the Inquisitorial Synod to declare the group a heretical cult and to have action taken against both them and their supporters."

The Phase-Smith gave an angry squirt of binary that no one would have mistaken as a derisive snort, "I know. I am not so lost in my work that I forget that there is a world beyond the walls of my forge. Speaking of which, I hear that Ko Shiatar and her protégé have gotten themselves into quite the debacle on Terra."

Garnet rubbed her temples. To call it a debacle was a colossal understatement. While the outcome was one that had earned everyone the approval of both the Supreme Hierarch and the Grand Master, it had left both complaining about that the migraine that the Ravens' overzealous actions had brought about.

"I...would appreciate it if you do not bring up the matter, Phase-Smith. It irritates me."

The long and amused squirt of binary had Garnet swearing to hit the Phase-Smith the next time she saw him. With a shock maul, if one was within reach. Scrambling his circuits would make her day, blue screens of death be damned!

"You cannot deny that despite his being a copy of the original, the Black Lion has done well. He has proven himself time and again to our masters. The Lancea Sanctum is all but gloating over what they see as their impending victory over their political enemies."

"But the Black Lion is not him," Garnet countered, "Neither he nor the White Lion will ever be the equal of their sire! This war is nothing but a waste of time and resources! We would be better off trying to resurrect the real one and preparing for the invasion of the Earth Sphere."

"True," the Phase-Smith replied, crossing his armoured arms, "But this is an argument that must be settled once and for all, Commander McClane. That the Lancea Sanctum and its rivals are locked in a doctrinal conflict serves the Alabaster Throne not at all. Such a division will serve only to strengthen our enemies, and that is why the Council of Hierarchs and the King of Lordaeron gave permission for a War of Assassins to be fought."

"I still say that it is a waste of time and resources."

"You will find no argument from me in that regard, Commander," Jarkon replied with another squirt of binary, "But moving on, do you have the data I requested...?"

"I do," Garnet raised a hand, and a swirling mandala of Egyptian hieroglyphics materialized in the air, "And it is encrypted seven-fold, as you requested. The password is the second paragraph of the first chapter of the Egyptian Book of the Dead. Open a secured data-channel. I will send it to you now."

The Phase-Smith did so, and was soon perusing the knowledge with much interest.

"Tell me, Jarkon. Why are you so interested in the Lioness's DNA sequences...?"

"In Vitae Veritas," the enormous cyborg replied in a reverent whisper, "Truth is in the blood. I have come across a piece of information that has seen my mind wander down paths long forgotten. I have many questions, but will provide all answers as soon as I have all the pieces of the puzzle. As to what the object of my inquiry is, I cannot say. Some things are best not spoken, even within walls as secure as this. The only thing I can say is that it has something to do with what was done to both the Lioness and her twin in the months before they were born..."

Garnet's impassive facade cracked for the briefest of moments, allowing her true self to emerge from behind the veil of steely discipline and seductive menace. In that instant, it was not Garnet McClane, Knight-Templar of the Scarlet Crusade, who was standing before the Phase-Smith. Nor was it Garnet McClane, formerly of the Blackstone Irregulars and now commander of the Murder-class cruiser, Dragon's Crown. This was Garnet McClane, the Blood Raven of Balletros; the woman who had, in a single engagement, killed an entire company of Galam's elite Knights and nearly taken the head of its monarch. Neither would soon forget the soft, sultry laugh that preceded the massacre that followed.

"We may have made a mistake sparing that heretic."

"Whether it is a mistake or not remains to be seen," the Phase-Smith replied a heartbeat later, "But the fact remains that he is far too useful to be disposed of in the manner you and yours desire. He has proven his worth many times over to our masters. Raise a hand against him, and you will find the Throne Guard at your door. Hmmm...," the crimson optics beneath the Phase-Smith's winged helmet brightened thoughtfully, "this isinteresting. But it does not give me the answers I seek. No. No, I need time and access to the Doctrine's (6) libraries. It may be easier if I use those two Lions as the objects of my study, but they are tainted. They're imperfect copies of the original..."

"Jarkon...?"

The Phase-Smith's head shot up in shock, his optics shifting from the multitude of colours that bespoke of his going through the databases of his forge before shifting back to its regular blue, "My apologies, Commander McClane; I was distracted. The data you have so graciously gifted me with is most interesting. You will forgive me if we cut this conversation short. There is much I have to do. I had hoped I would find the answers to my questions, but I have found more interesting questions."

"Such as...?" the purple-haired woman raised an eyebrow. It was rare to see the unflappable Phase-Smith this excited.

Jarkon's answer prior to his disappearing in a flash of honeycombed light had Garnet add fusion bombs to the growing list of weapons she intended to use on the decidedly smug cyborg the next time they met.

"I cannot say."

(O)

RBNS Shield of Athena

Behemoth-class battlecruiser

En route to Neo-Stratos

Lord Commander Adrian Ibn Douta had served Britannia for close to fifty years. More than twenty of those years were spent on the battlefields, protecting both king and country from those who sought the destruction of either. In that time, Adrian had learned that the greatest enemies to a country came not from without, but within. He had also learned that such enemies could not be brought to justice, for these had the resources and the allies to make a mockery of it. It was in the aftermath of one such incident that the man had decided that enough was enough. If justice was thing that could be denied those wronged, then vengeance shall speak in its place.

His actions would bring him to the attentions of one of the Knights of the Round, who not only proceeded to drag the errant noble and his allies into the light of day before throwing them to the wolves, but to elevate him – kicking and screaming, Adrian had to admit with no small amount of embarrassment – to full Knighthood. He remembered the Queen grinning when she lowered the sword to his shoulder, and the words she had whispered into his ear a minute later. Those words had been the motto of one of the most feared institutions in the Solar System...and a royal command to purge the wicked and the corrupt from the Kingdom.

It was a task that had made Adrian had taken to with vigour. In the decade that followed, he had sent many who had been found wanting in their loyalty to the country either to prison or to the afterlife. The Inquisitor of Britannia – that was the sobriquet given to him by both his peers and his enemies. As such, the fact that he had been chosen to represent Britannia and bring the wrath of the Queen down upon those who wished harm upon both, was a great honour.

He...had not expected to share it.

Standing at the observation deck, deep in thought, was a fellow Knight of the Round. Younger than Adrian by the better part of four decades, the latter had seen more than men twice his age. As was his wont, the Inquisitor of Britannia had wanted to know the measure of his compatriot and had been intrigued by what he had learned. All men sinned, this Adrian knew. But the interesting question was why. Many were the reasons. Few justified them. Rarest of all were the ones that vindicated the transgressor.

The young Knight's reasons fell under the auspices of the total vindication. Born the third son of a noble family in the Holy Kingdom of Lordaeron, Terrence Lupercal was bereft of both inheritance and the puissance his siblings were heir to. Everything that he was and had, he earned. His accomplishments would have long ago gained him a captaincy in the Templarate, at the very least, but both the Fates and the machinations of his clan and compatriots have served to drive him far from God and country.

Terence Lupercal – or rather, Terence Logarius – had loved two women, both of whom were responsible for making him the man he was today. The first was Countess Rosaline Farrell-Clementine, wife of Elector Count Cecil Clementine III. Theirs was a fiercely passionate affair, indulged right up to the very night before the former was wedded to the latter. Both had ended it on amicable terms, each promising to watch over the other even though there was little to bind them to it. Or at least, that was what was said. A closer look at the report brought to him by his agents revealed that it was Terence's parents and older siblings had demanded that he end the affair before knowledge of it alighted on the ears of the Clementine family or its agents.

The second woman Terence fell for was one far more dangerous than the first. Beautiful as the latter, more dangerous by far, Glorianna von Einzbern was a dark-skinned, silver-haired temptress whose fiery heart and skill with a blade would equal the Knights of the Inner Circle. And that was if she allowed you to get within blade-range, which all but guaranteed the unlucky soul being sent across the Styx. Glorianna was a senior officer of the Templarate, but the crimson and gold she wore masked her allegiance to an enemy the Holy Kingdom was responsible for creating. Events saw to that allegiance being laid bare, and Terrence was forced to hunt down and kill Glorianna before she succeeded in her plan to destroy the colony that served as the central logistical hub of the Crusader hosts fighting in the Acheros Salient of the Jericho Reach.

There was no doubt in Adrian's mind whatsoever that the confrontation between Glorianna and Terrence had been a bitter one. The two had torn into each other like raging beasts, killing anyone unlucky enough to be caught in the reach of their flashing blades. Terrence had won the duel by the barest of margins, and had torn the fire-blackened laurels from the broken hands of the woman he loved. What words were exchanged between them in the minutes before Inquisitorial stormtroopers and Templarate Knights stormed into the underground complex were ones that would haunt Terrence for the rest of his life and leave a lasting wound that would bleed till the day he died.

And what was Terrence's reward for doing his duty? His Chapter Master had stripped him of his Knight's Cross and expelled him from the Knightly Order he had been part of. His family had struck his name from the rosters and cast him out. Many of his friends abandoned him, for none wished their names tarnished by association with a man lacking in caution and foresight. But there were those who shared not the opinions of their counterparts. Eyes that have watched him and not found him wanting offered the fallen noble a place where he could remain true to the oaths he took.

Adrian's eyes went to the silver pin on the collar of his younger counterpart, remembering what his mentor and superior within the Knights of the Round had told him about God's will. The Almighty works in mysterious ways. And sometimes, time was what was needed for His will to be done.

"Terence...?"

The dark-haired, silver-eyed man turned to look at him, and nodded in greeting, "Ser Adrian, what is it...?"

The older man raised the data-slate he held in one gloved hand, "Something that will make you smile. It is from your mentor, Ser Perceval."

"Oh...?" Terrence walked towards him and took the device from his hand, "What could it...?"

The look on the younger Knight's face was one that almost had Adrian wishing he had a camera with which to capture the moment. The hunted, frightened look reminded the older Knight of how no few men under his command had found themselves facing angry fathers for paying court to women far above – or in some cases, below – their station. Terence was one of the few that did not have that problem, as he kept it in his pants more often than not. Such was his abstinence that it had become a standing joke amongst their fellow Knights that it would take an arch-succubus to get the younger man to drop his trousers.

Such a jest would have fallen flat had they known how many women had turned a covetous gaze on him. Three of these had sent their emissaries and a small detachment of their best to aid the one who had lost limb and nearly his life defending them. They had learned that the Britannian detachment being sent to fight the terrorists in the Earth Sphere was far smaller than was promised, and had decided to make up the shortfall.

"Is this a joke, Ser Adrian...?" the younger man asked with as calm a voice as he could muster. Credit had to be given where it was due; the young Knight was trying to find a way out of the noose he had put his neck into months back when he fought in the Black Hound Wars.

"If it is, it is a good one," the Inquisitor of Britannia grinned, "I must praise Ser Perceval and the Knight of One for their discretion, if not their sense of humour. And give thanks to Allah for His mercy."

"This is not mercy. This is Him asking me to go back to Hell."

"True. But regardless of your opinions, I have ordered the helmsman to take us to the coordinates indicated on the missive. We are in dire need of more fighting men in the days to come," Adrian gave the younger knight a pat on the shoulder, "You might want to prepare yourself for when our allies come on board. I have a feeling that there is much they wish to speak to you about."

"Permission requested to go ahead of the fleet to Neo-Stratos, sir."

"Denied," the Inquisitor of Britannia gave his compatriot a winning smile, and slapping a hand on the latter's shoulder, "In case you did not read the fine print on our marching orders, you are to accompany me to go greet our guests. In the event that they do kill you for your transgressions, I promise to bury you on Mars and ensure that your deeds will be remembered by all of us in the Order. As a personal favour, I will ensure that the eulogy on your tombstone will please your parents and siblings."

"Your munificence would shame the Devil, Ser Adrian," the latter deadpanned as the older man left the room, laughing uproariously.

X X X

Terrence felt a voluptuous form press against his back and slender arms wrap around his body minutes after Ser Adrian stepped out of the room. The Britannian Knight looked over his shoulder to see the sultry, playful face of the female Lucavi he had made a Pact with in the bloody days of the Black Hound War. Rather than binding her to his will as her original captor had done or killing her outright as his siblings and parents would have, the Britannian Knight of the Realm had offered to let the succubus and her kin return to the realms beyond the Veil.

Many had done so, but the female devil would have nothing of it. She wanted a good master to fight beside in the Jyhad of Ages. The Black Mage he had slain had the power to bind several more like her to his will and to considerably increase her fighting prowess, but he was...lacking when it came to the favoured method her kind delighted in when it came to regaining their strength or to hold his own in battle. Terrence was the opposite; his mystical prowess was a fraction of her former master's, but his fighting abilities – and more, besides – far surpassed the latter's.

Terrence placed one gloved hand on the succubus's own; flattery and deceit was ever the way of the Lucavi, but they could be truthful and loyal if they wished to be. And for more times than he could count, the Britannian Knight was thankful that Hellisa of the Sayaad had proven herself to be both. The fact that she was responsible for his current predicament with those brave, lovely women he and his compatriots in the Deathwatch had aided during the Black Hound Wars was one he had mixed feelings about. After Rosaline and Glorianna, he was not keen on letting any woman into the ruined fortress that was his heart (7).

"I take it that our bed is going to get more crowded, master...?"

"A state of affairs that is entirely your," Terrence emphasised the word, "fault. I am not looking to start a harem, Hellisa. Nor do I wish to crown myself King of the Emerald Periphery, as much as you and Sefi wish me to be."

"They do not share your reservations," Hellisa grinned, as she reached up to run a finger along the multi-coloured, hair-cord that secured his mantle, "Nor do they care," the grin faded from the Sayaad's lips, "about who you were and what you have done. A good thing, for I dislike sharing you with those I view as a waste of skin."

Terrence sighed. There was no point in arguing with Hellisa. The succubus was older and wiser than he by far. He turned his mind to other matters.

"Moving on, are there any reports from our allies in the Ring of Gaea?" he asked the dark-haired succubus.

"Yes," Hellisa drew a parchment from her belt, "And they have learned some very interesting things..."

(O)

Western Observation Deck

Castle Machial, Quenelles sub-sector

Kingdom of Britannia

Castle Machial was located on the borders that divided the Dukedom of Quenelles from the Barony of Parravon. Built a century ago and named after one of the oldest noble families in the Kingdom, the enormous star-fort served as the headquarters of the Quenelles Royal Armada and doubled as a way-station where extra-regional merchant convoys could safely dock at should they wish to avail themselves of the services offered by the independent contractors who had set up shop on the star-fort's western quadrant. Many were the occasions when Britannian rescue ships would tow badly-damaged ships into the Castle's massive docks and hurry its injured crew to the nearest medical facility.

Today was one such day. Four of the star-fort's hundred and eighty docks – each of which was capable of holding eight ships each – were filled with vessels that had seen better days, but none could compare to the absolute wrecks that were the Nightfall, the Frostmourne and the Queen's Blade. The first two ships were a pair of Imperial-class cruisers commanded by Ingrid Lightsbane (8), commander of the Stygian Ironclads mercenary company, while the last was a Britannian Behemoth-class battlecruiser that had once served as the flagship of the late Fleet Admiral Gerard Hastings.

Few within Britannia mourned the death of the noble, whose arrogance and lack of foresight had seen to half his command being demolished and the mission he had been tasked with completing almost becoming a disaster. Ingrid did, for reasons that had many within the Royal Navy and Army grinning. The lilac-haired Death Knight had wanted to personally end Admiral Hasting's career by delivering him to the nearest Resocialization Facility to have him reprogrammed as a professional comedian. That the pirates had denied her the pleasure of doing so had annoyed her immensely.

Ingrid ran her eyes over the damage her ships had suffered in the battle to exterminate the pirates whose daring raids had cost Britannia dearly. Her flagship, the Frostmourne, had suffered far more grievous injuries than the Nightfall. High-velocity impacts from gauss cannons had crushed reinforced armour plating and reduced much of the starboard gun-decks and launch bays into smoking craters. Melted – or blackened – armour plating bespoke of hits caused by high-powered laser weaponry, the worst of which was caused by a direct lance strike to the warship's armoured prow. A vicious salvo of torpedoes launched at close range had seen to three of her ship's five thrusters being destroyed, reducing the Frostmourne's ability to fight (or flee, for that matter).

Nightfall had fared little better. After it had finished tearing the pirates' screening force of frigates to pieces, it had turned to attack the ships which the Frostmourne and a squadron of Britannian battlecruisers had been fighting to sink. Within seconds of joining the fray, the Nightfall had found itself on the receiving end of a ferocious barrage of lance and cannon strikes that had all but crippled it. Ingrid would never forget the scream of rage that had come from the lips of her second-in-command, nor what he would do seconds later.

The latter had proceeded to ram his ship into the nearest pirate cruiser, making real the threat he had made earlier to send as many pirates as he could into the arms of the Ashen King before joining them in oblivion. Insane though his actions were, it had given the Britannians the opening they desperately needed to end the battle. A well-timed barrage of lance strike and torpedo salvoes turned the Repulsive-class Grand Cruiser that had served as the pirate fleet's flagship into a fiery tomb for both its captain and crew.

Ingrid closed her eyes, relishing the memory of the pirate prince's curses as the latter was sent screaming into the void. Prince or pauper, pirate or peasant, virtuous or vice-drunk, it mattered not. Death came for all, a promise as swift and final as it was fair. One day, the Fates would decide she had tested their patience one time too many, and on that day, Ingrid of Lordaeron would die. Until then, she would live with pride and fight with honour.

"Dame Ingrid...?" a familiar voice caused the Death Knight to turn about. Sitting on an auto-wheelchair, wearing hospital robes that did little to mask the bandages that swathed his powerful frame was Captain Randall Haddock, commander of the RBNS Unicorn. The bearded man was not alone. He was accompanied by several senior members of the battered armada that had been towed back to Castle Machial, many of whom were in considerably better shape than the battered shipmaster.

"Captain Randall," Ingrid nodded in greeting, "I thought you and yours were supposed to be resting in the medical bay."

"I was. But when Chief Engineer Tomkins," he nodded to the man next to him, "told me the state of my ship, I wanted to see it in person."

"It is not a pretty sight, Captain," the lilac-haired woman turned her attention back to the docks, "Every ship in the 34th Armada has taken heavy damage, my cruisers and the Queen's Blade most of all."

"Admiral Hastings was a damned fool to think that a Behemoth can stand up to the broadside of a Repulsive. As sturdy and solid a ship as it is, a Repulsive is capable of sinking a Behemoth-class in a single broadside. I won't piss on Hastings's name or grave, but I say that his tempting the Devil had the latter call him out on it."

"Would it that the Adversary allowed us the honour of settling the matter instead," Ingrid replied as the Britannian captain moved to join her at the observation window.

"And give up the chance of tossing him into the cesspit himself? Never," Haddock snorted, "Pride goes before a fall, as the priests so love to say. And the higher one stands, the harder the fall. If Hastings had allowed reason to rein in his pride, he would still be among us, made wiser by his close brush with death. Alas, it was his time. Ours is a profession that can see us to the underworld if we err but once. Speaking of which, there are some questions my compatriots and I have long wanted answered since you joined us on our hunt some five months back..."

The Death Knight raised an eyebrow, "I doubt the questions you have in mind are the only ones you want answered, Captain Randall. But I do admit that I owe you and your compatriots some answers. As long you permit me the discretion I am due, I will slake your curiosity the best I can."

"It is all I ask, Dame Ingrid. The first question is one I think you already know. Why are you commanding a mercenary warband instead of a Crusader host? It is a thing known within both the fleet and the Ducal Courts that you are both the eldest daughter of General Lightsbane and a servant of the Ashen King. For you to not be fighting on the front lines of the Conqueror War have led many to believe that you have committed some great sin that have set you on this path as a mercenary warlord."

Ingrid's laughter was a bitter one, "I am a Death Knight of the Holy Kingdom, Randall. I am the Alabaster Throne's holy monster, the scourge of traitors and rebels alike. Every sin I have ever and will commit is in the name of a greater good."

Cruel memory saw to Ingrid standing once more in the fire-lit, blood-soaked depths of Pyrathas, the logistical hub of the Jericho Reach Crusade. She had watched as a man killed the woman he loved in the minutes before Inquisitorial stormtroopers and Templarate Knights stormed the underground complex. It had taken Ingrid everything she had to not weep and rage, for the injustice that had turned her two friends against one another (9). Salt was applied liberally on agonizing injury, which led to Terrence severing ties with his family and leaving for parts unknown.

"As to the reasons why I am commanding a mercenary warband instead of a Crusader host," the lilac-haired Death Knight played with a lock of her hair, "That is because of a boon I asked of my Lord and Lady. They offered me the choice of swearing myself to the Deathwatch or becoming their Emissary. I chose the latter option. I wanted to be my own master, if only for a little while. I wanted to fight my own battles. I had had enough of perfumed nobles and corrupt priests commanding my blade."

"Good reasons, all," Randall leaned back in his auto-wheelchair, "Your answer satisfies the curiosity of both my peers and I. But as you have earlier guessed, I have other questions as well. And fear not, these queries are not so much personal as they are professional. For one, is it true you fought in the Bloody Valentine War...?"

Ingrid knew she had to choose her words carefully. The Bloody Valentine War had been more than just a war fought between the Earth Alliance and the PLANTs. It had also been one fought in the shadows by men and women who were determined to deny their adversaries access to resources that would have tilted the balance of the Long War in their favour. The Traitor Legions had emerged from the conflict the victor, and had either driven their enemies from the sector or forced them into hiding. Hatred would drive the Dark Templar to ensure that every last Templar was slain and the ashes of their families scattered to the winds. Nothing would slake their thirst for vengeance than ensuring that God would be denied the souls of His servants.

"I did. I was a senior officer in the Blackstone Irregulars mercenary company. I commanded one of its heavy cruisers during the Battle of the Solomon Sea. Many of my subordinates," Ingrid paused briefly, so as to give weight to the lie she was telling, "did not survive to see the end of the Bloody Valentine War. We were demolished when ZAFT's asteroid fortress of Jachin-Due was destroyed by the Earth Alliance's nuclear missiles. Seventeen survivors – that was all that was left of a force over five thousand strong."

No one spoke for the next five minutes after that. The Bloody Valentine War was an apocalypse barely averted by the efforts of the few. And these had themselves nearly failed.

"Lady Ingrid...?" a meek voice broke the silence, causing the female Death Knight and her Britannian counterparts to look in the direction of a girl whose uniform bore the markings of a Chief Rating. The latter, an Adoni-Gear by the name of Sala-Rin, had been grievously injured during the battle and should have been confined to her bed. That she had somehow managed to drag herself all the way to the Castle's docks bespoke of intent, but what it was, Ingrid did not know.

"Yes...?"

"Forgive me, my lady, but I have a question to ask you in regards to something I could not help but overhear some days back," one of her compatriots helped the girl lean against the railings, "It has bothering me for quite some time."

"And it truly must be important enough for you to drag yourself out of your bed to find me, Sala-Rin. What is it?"

"Will you stand beside our King when he returns?" the female Adoni asked. It was a question that caused the Britannians to exchange perplexed looks.

Ingrid's eyes widened, as the memory of the dream she had had over two weeks back emerged from the shadows of her mind, bright and warm. She had seen herself in a place that none had trod for over a century, standing before a throne that had not been occupied since its last incumbent was slain by the Templarate. And she had not been alone. Standing behind her, assembled for the first time in living memory, were the leaders – or the descendants of those prior – of the Scourge, the forces of which the Crusaders of the Holy Kingdom fought against as they attempted to bring the Jericho Reach – of which Angmar was a part of – under the rule of the Alabaster Throne.

She knew many of them, both by name and reputation. The thirty Deathbringers and the high chieftains of the Vyrkul tribes, whose martial efforts had left the Crusader hosts and their newly-arrived Imperial allies in bloody quagmires across a dozen sub-sectors; the twelve Lich Lords of the Covenant of Iron, masters of Arcanotechnology, whose war-machines had sent the enemies of the Scourge to the afterlife; the six Endbringers, the leaders of those Angelic-Gears who had taken on the mantle as the war-priestesses of the Aesir faith; the Queen of the Blood Court, whose machinations had ensnared king and peasant alike in silken threads of temptation and corruption; the Shadow Lord, whose assassins and agents sowed death and doubt in the hearts and minds of the Scourge's enemies, and the Lord Dragon, whose fearsome Knights Eternal served as the Lich King's royal guard. (10)

These were some of the mightiest warlords in the Solar System, but all of them were nothing compared to the three individuals who stood on the platform. Despite never having seen or met them in person, Ingrid knew who they were. These were the Trinity, the good right hand of the High Lord of Frost and Flame. All were clad in their respective Panoplies, and all radiated staggering power far surpassing that of a dozen lesser Scourge warlords combined.

As one, the Trinity knelt, an act of fealty echoed by countless thousands behind them and beyond. As one, they spoke the words that would be heard by billions across the Jericho Reach and give the Hierarchs of the Holy Kingdom reason to fear. It was a declaration that a hundred-year interregnum was finally at an end, and that blades that had once been drawn in the name of a hundred kings would now do so at the command of one Emperor.

"Long live the King..."

It did not take Ingrid long to realize that the words had not been meant for her. They had been meant for the one behind her. What she saw when she turned was a sight that would follow her into the waking world. Standing before the throne, surrounded by his honour guard and consorts, was the one the Snow Priestess of Sedna had said would be become the Scourge's new High Lord.

He was a boy on the cusp of becoming a man, but the manner in which he carried himself told Ingrid that he had long ago crossed that threshold. She could neither see his face nor that of his companions, but the violet-white flames that spilled from the Crown of Domination's eye-slits bespoke of qualities that his predecessors lacked. Those before him had been powerful men and women whose accomplishments and abilities had won them fear and respect in equal measure. These knew how to exercise their power and keep it firmly in their grasp. All had won the right to become High Lord many times over.

But this youth whose gentle smile made her heart race and whose outstretched hand she took...? He brought to the Frozen Throne that which none before him had done. He brought it glory and majesty. And when the sun rose behind the young King's seat of power, filling the cold yet majestic interiors of Icecrown Citadel with its light and warmth, it brought tears to Ingrid's eyes even as it returned her to the waking world.

"Long live the King..."

"No, Sala-Rin," Ingrid turned her golden eyes on the female Adoni-Gear, frostfyre leaking from her eyes even as a playful grin curved her lips, "Not your King; our King."

X X X

The Jocelyn Manse

Capella, Colonial Capital of the Territories of Erin

Kingdom of Britannia

Jane Judith Jocelyn, Duchess of Erin, stood before the fireplace, allowing the dancing flames to warm her body and bring her back to a time when life had been simpler and the choices set before her more palatable than that which came after. She had been eighteen years old when her parents had been killed by assassins loyal to the Archduke Magellan. The sight of their broken, bloodied bodies had nearly driven her mad. It would take her the better part of a year before she was finally able to regain control of herself. In that time, she had soiled both herself and her family name in ways that would have made her ancestors turn in their graves.

The raven-haired royal chuckled. Let them turn in their graves. She cared little for the opinions of others, those of the 'honoured' dead least of all. The price of finding herself, of making herself into the woman she was now, had been one worth paying. The fact that she had enjoyed every sinful minute of it had surprised her, and left her thirsting for more. The duchess poured herself another shot of whisky. She was of the opinion that one should enjoy all that life could offer when one was young enough to do so. Time and tide waited for no man, and every hour wasted was one that could never be regained.

It was for that reason the Duchess of Erin indulged herself to the fullest whenever she was able. Regardless of whether she found pleasure in the embrace of her lovers, in the thunder of battle or in the brutal cut-and-thrust of interplanetary commerce and politics, the Maiden of Calamity drank deep from the sweet, poisoned chalice proffered to her by the Fates. But perhaps the one drug she could never have enough of was that of power. Like the dragons of old, she schemed and plotted to acquire more. Seven husbands she had married, all rich and powerful, but only from two did she deign to have children with.

Blue eyes went to the pictures of her offspring. Her fourth husband, Rodriguez Carlos, a Knight of the Realm, had given her two daughters before he was killed in action a year later. Her sixth husband, the late CEO of Artois Armaments, Duke Brian Artois-Lee, had given her a son before he died of a cardiac arrest during a boardroom meeting. She was fond of them, her cute children. Despite the fact they were born to different fathers, all would rise swiftly in defence of the rest. Euris, the Duchess's eldest daughter, would not hesitate to put those who offended her or her siblings in the emergency room. Her younger sister, Catherine, would attempt to defuse the situation before Euris or Diarmuid, their half-brother by Duke Brian Artois-Lee, got involved. (11)

A bitter smile curved the Duchess's lips. Among the pictures on the table was one that existed only in the raven-haired royal's memory. It was one that bespoke of a secret jealously guarded, known only to a select few. All of these were part of the Maiden of Calamity's Peerage, and none would part with it for all the riches in Creation. For one, none would think to betray the King of their Peerage. For another, to do so meant betraying one acknowledged by all as a brother. And said brother was the one who had sired upon their King her truest heir. Older than her legitimate children by half a decade, the last had been sent to the distant fortress-colony of Candlekeep, far from those who would do him harm.

'There is no need for history to know or remember what has taken place between us, dearest ,' the Duchess of Erin looked at the Reaper Daiklave that rested on the mantle above the fireplace, and ran a finger down the weapon affectionately, 'Because you and I have lived it, and that is all that matters. Our child is now a man, and you have become legend. Not the path you wanted nor the ending you sought, but you hold in your hands the laurels your 'betters' could not.'

Roseblood, the master-worked runeblade of the Duchess of Erin, was created from the broken shards of the Ragnarok, the Daiklave wielded by the man known and feared throughout Britannia as the Knight of Ashes. None save the Duchess of Erin and her Peerage knew who the Knight of Ashes really was, and none outside their circle would have believed it had they learned. Irony was a thing loved by the Fates, and so was it turned against the proud and mighty Knights of the Round. Not by the hand of a fellow noble or Knight were they laid low, but by a commoner who wanted no part in the Great Game both played.

Soris ap-Amra had been his name, and he had been known throughout the University that Jane had attended in her younger years as being an excellent cook and a better Begleiter. Dark-haired and blue-eyed, born in distant Angmar in the sixty-seventh year of the Jericho Reach Crusade, he had been an individual of great mirth and greater melancholy. Though as skilled in combat as the rest of his clan, Soris had wanted more of life than war and glory. He had left the Periphery in his sixteenth year, purchasing the freedom of a pair of Menite priests who had served as his tutors in recompense for their teaching him about the inner planets and its customs.

It had taken Jane no small amount of effort to wrest him from the grasping claws of her rivals, all of whom were willing to offer the dark-haired Angmarian a place in their respective Houses if he bent knee to them. It was well-known that anyone who hailed from the Periphery was born with gun and blade in hand, with many learning how to strip and fire their guns before they learned how to read and write. Such an individual, if his or her loyalties could be secured, greatly improved the chances of Knights and nobles surviving the attentions of their respective enemies. And if they possessed skills outside the martial realm, all the better!

Jane was no different, but she had been honest about it. And Soris would give his answer the day when mercenaries sent by Archduke Magellan stormed her estate. Her schoolmate had been in the midst of delivering freshly-cooked meals to her and her Peerage when the attack was launched. The entire Jocelyn estate became a battleground within minutes, with ferocious gun-battles raging from courtyard to corridor. It had been a decapitation strike, one that would remove from the playing field one of three individuals that was a threat to the Archduke's ambitions.

It did not go as he had hoped. The hunter soon became the hunted, and Calamity's fiery shadow reached out to devour its prey. The few surviving mercenaries that had managed to flee the colony spoke of a Wolf of Angmar, clad in dark blue and gold-trimmed war-plate, striding amidst the flames, wielding the signature weapons of the Lone Wolves of the Periphery – the Stalker-pattern Bolter and macrostubber heavy pistol – as well as the plasma sword that would earn him his fearsome sobriquet. It was amidst those same flames that Jane and her Peerage saw the face behind the snarling, wolf-shaped helmet and accepted the oath of fealty of one who sought to be a man despite his not being one in spirit.

It was within hours of the failed assassination attempt on her that the Magellan Rebellion (13) erupted. Colonies and fleets loyal to Queen Bridget soon came under attack. Agents of the Crown were slain and enemies of the Kingdom sank their fangs deep into the wounded realm. For two years, Britannia fought for her very survival, weakened by treachery both within and without. Battles raged across the length and breadth of the Kingdom. None were spared the pain of lost friends and family. All knew that they had to either align themselves with either the Queen or with the powerful Archduke who ruled one of the largest domains in the Kingdom. To remain neutral in the conflict was a mistake most did not live to make a second time. The loyal fought against the just; the brave against the faithful and the strong against the mighty.

Jane refilled her glass. She would not trade those two years spent on the knife's edge of death and ruin for anything in the world. Every memory was a cherished one. For one who would live for two centuries, who would see the days those she held dear never would, they were beyond price. And it was for those memories that she would draw the poisoned blades she had sheathed all those years back. The time for compromise was over; now was the time to make her wrath known.

A knock on the door broke the Duchess out of her thoughts.

"Enter," Jane called out. The Queen of her Peerage, Olivia Quisling, stepped into the room, clad in a gown as scandalous as the negligee her King wore. Her long, pointed ears, long eyelashes and green, pupilless eyes marked her as a Gear of the Blood Elf race.

"Scott has returned, your Highness."

"Has he succeeded in his mission...?" Jane asked.

"He has. The Grey Wardens you have requested to meet are waiting for you in the library," Olivia replied.

"And their ship...?"

The female Blood Elf looked in the direction of the nearby military base, "Docked at Fort Arrakis. Their subordinates are keeping an eye on it. I am curious, though, Jane. Why did you ask for these two Grey Wardens specifically? Do you know them?"

"I do. As to how I came to know them, I cannot say," the Duchess replied as she reached pulled on the black and gold-lined robes that rested on the bed, "But the one thing I can tell you is that they are friends of Gorion, and that, as members of the Deathwatch, they are very good at what they do."

"They had better be. I do not want a repeat of that incident. It was a miracle Roland and little Imoen survived (14). Had Gorion not intervened, there is no doubt in my mind that neither of them would have survived their encounter with that damnable Death Adept," Olivia's eyes blazed with psychic fire, "But who had sent him...? But more importantly, how did they learn about Roland...?"

"That is something a question best answered after we get my son to safety, Livy," the Duchess of Erin lifted Roseblood and its scabbard from their resting place, a malicious smile on her face, "And when I learn the identity of the one who has dared to raise his hand against my children, I am going to enjoy running him into the ground..."

X X X

It took Jane and Olivia ten minutes to reach the library where the two senior Grey Wardens of the Deathwatch were. The latter were under the watchful eye of five of the Jocelyn House Guard, all of whom were clad in combat RIGs and were armed with heavy assault rifles and machine pistols. Their faces were hidden beneath retractable helmets of the multi-eyed Legionnaire RIGs, which gave any on the receiving end of its baleful gaze the impression that they were facing an inhuman adversary. These snapped to attention upon seeing her, and were dismissed from the room seconds later, allowing Jane and Olivia turn their full attention on the two Deathwatch agents.

Grey Wardens were the vanguard of the Deathwatch, the first into the field and often the last to leave it. All were armed and equipped for every possible scenario. Advanced technological templates and murderous training programmes had made those who wore the silver and black of the Deathwatch among the most formidable soldiers to be found in the former throne-worlds of the Solar Empire. An ancient mandate to protect the innocent and smite the wicked had granted the Deathwatch – and the Galactic Police, of which the organization was born from – authority superseding the sovereignty of nations and the authority of its ministries.

There were many who detested the Deathwatch, but there were many more who knew that without the latter, the transgressions of those in power would equal – and more than likely, surpass – their counterparts from the days of Old Terra. The Duchess of Erin saw the Deathwatch as a necessary evil, one she had no choice but to live with. She had quarrelled with its senior agents on numerous occasions, and had personally put a three in hospital for stepping out of line. It was ironic that such a fractious relationship had made fertile the ground for friendships to form between her subordinates and the hounds of the Deathwatch.

Some of those friendships had seen to several joining the Deathwatch. Or, in the case of Khalid Ibn Allari, who reddened upon seeing the Duchess he had once served as a member of the Colonial Defence Force, marrying into it. It was an interesting match, to say the least. Khalid and his wife, Jaheira, were as different as night was from day. The former was timid and lacking in confidence. The latter was proud and headstrong. There was no doubt in Jane's (amused) mind who wore the pants in the relationship, and it certainly wasn't Khalid.

Smiling, Jane greeted the two senior Grey Wardens before her, "Jaheira, Khalid – thank you for coming on such short notice. I apologize if I have caused the both of you any inconvenience." (15)

"A small matter easily overlooked in light of the situation, Lady Erin," Jaheira said as the raven-haired duchess sat on one of the many chairs that surrounded the library's central fireplace, "Your man has informed us of what has transpired, and we have asked our Watch Commander for permission to assist you in the matter. He has granted it, but is only able to spare the two of us," the auburn-haired, curvaceous Adoni woman nodded in the direction of her husband, "As to the reason why more are not being sent, I think you and Baroness Olivia already know."

Jane and Olivia exchanged grim looks. They did know. The recent upsurge in terrorist and pirate activities in both the Terran and the Martian planetary sectors had both the regional authorities and the Deathwatch devoting much of their resources to dealing with both renegade and outlaw. Of great concern were the indications that the terrorist groups in the Earth Sphere were preparing to mount a joint offensive against the regional governments in retaliation for their cracking down on their supporters and allies. Chief among the many targets they would attack would be Neo-Stratos, where the Second Memorial Ceremony commemorating the end of the Bloody Valentine War would be held.

The Duchess of Erin tightened her grip around Roseblood's sheath. Many of her allies would be on the colony, and all would be in the gun-sights of terrorists who cared little whether those they killed were citizens of the Earth Sphere or of countries and kingdoms beyond its borders. It enraged her. The lives of those in her service, who have sworn themselves to her, belonged to her. Their lives and their deaths were hers. None save God and the Queen had the right to gainsay her, and any who dared cross that line in the sand would find the Maiden of Calamity and her hosts waiting to answer the insult with blood, fire and blade.

It enraged her and her Peerage that such could not be visited upon those who had pointed her blade at her firstborn. It was ironic. Roland was a man without claim to anything other than his distant mother's affection and memory. He had forged himself upon an anvil that would have seen him being made a Knight of the Realm. He was the best - and in some ways, the worst – of both herself and Soris. Jane could give him nothing. Nothing save devoted protectors and a chance to be as his ancestor, a towering hero whose deeds spurred his descendants to be more than he.

"Then am I correct to say that the ship you and your husband arrived on will be departing soon, Proctor Jaheira...?" Jane asked the auburn-haired Grey Warden.

The latter nodded, "Yes. The Fist of Valour will be departing tomorrow morning for the Earth Sphere."

"Then we have little time," the Duchess of Erin turned to look at her Queen, "Olivia...?"

"Yes, your Highness...?"

"Approve Package Omega. Then send Ashmar Ral and a squad of my House Guard to escort Commander Khalid and Proctor Jaheira to Sector 81. I want them on their way to Candlekeep the minute the Deathwatch ship leaves Capella."

"Understood," the female Blood Elf replied as she activated her Omni-Tool.

"What is this 'package' you speak of, Lady Erin?" Jaheira asked.

"You'll find out soon enough," the raven-haired Duchess replied with a smile.

X X X

The Sartre Manse

Montfort, Colonial Capital of the Duchy of Montfort

Kingdom of Britannia

Claude Jean-Sartre of Britannia looked at the data-slate given to him by his maid some ten minutes back, and felt anger stir in the depths of his soul. He had expected this. He had expected the festering disease spawned by the loins of a better man to strike back at the one who spurned him, but never had the dark-haired Britannian noble expected him to do so in such a fashion. Jealousy and spite were the twin goads that had driven the younger son of Lord Maurice Charmant to engineer the assassination of the Maiden of Calamity's firstborn. His attempt may have earned him the favour of his sire, siblings and liege lord, but it had the unwelcome effect of turning the seductive and playful Duchess of Erin into a vengeful gorgon.

The dark-haired Britannian noble closed his eyes, remembering the first time he had met the older woman. It had been twelve years ago, but the memory was one that would haunt Claude for as long as he lived. The older woman had kissed Claude, a gentle expression of affection that stole away both his breath and made him realize that the stories whispered about the Duchess of Erin were all true.

But more than that, Claude realized that Jane Judith Jocelyn, the Maiden of Calamity, was a dangerous woman. The lovely Gear did not reach the dizzying heights she now stood upon by being found wanting in the qualities demanded of those chosen to rule. Her flighty exterior hid a keen mind and a raging ambition that has left many both within and outside Britannia uneasy. All knew that the Territories of Erin was one of the Kingdom's richest and most powerful domains. It had its own army, its own currency, and a government that was independent of Britannia's ruling bodies (and which, in Claude's opinion, had done more to protect and advance Britannia's interests than half the Parliament and the House of Lords combined). Its industries accounted for twenty-three percent of the country's annual GDP, much of which was invested into projects and initiatives that raised the standing of the Kingdom and allowing its reach and influence to be felt beyond its borders.

Despite knowing the answer to the question, Claude could not help but wonder for the life of him why in all the Nine Hells did his father had chosen to align their family with Archduke Bohemond and the Britannian Socialist Party. He would much rather dine with the Duchess of Erin and her Peerage on a regular basis; these had proved to be far more sociable than the golems that surrounded Bohemond. These would most certainly talk more about events taking place elsewhere than the woes that were afflicting the Kingdom, and were more prone to discussing solutions than finding out who was at fault. That they were several shades less hypocritical than the hyenas and snakes that surrounded Archduke Bohemond was a point in the Duchess's favour.

"Master...?" the voice of the maid caused Claude to look up, "What should we do about this predicament?"

The Britannian noble looked at the data-slate for a long time before replying, "We will do nothing. And send word to Janus that he is to send me everything," Claude emphasised the word, "that he has learned. After which, he is to dispose of his findings. And if he asks why, tell him that knowledge is power, and it must either be guarded well or destroyed. This is the latter instance."

"Understood, my lord," the maid curtsied before leaving the room. It was only then that the presence within the room took physical form, and this took to sitting on the desk that the Britannian noble had vacated earlier. Clad in garments that revealed and accentuated much of its lush form, it was sin and temptation embodied. The firelight gave the lightly-tanned skin of the female Lucavi a bronze hue that radiated with vigour that could stir the hearts of the most jaded of men. The violet-haired, vermillion-clad Lucavi cast her contractor a hungry gaze that would arouse and frighten even the hardest of souls.

Claude met that gaze, remembering what his mentor had told him the night before the ritual to summon the Lucavi he would be contracted to was conducted. Show no fear. Always be in control. Do not ever let the daemon realize that you fear it, for it will ravage you and devour you whole the minute it sensed weakness in you. A moment of weakness was all that was needed for one's fate to be sealed, and the Lucavi ever thirsted for the souls of the unworthy. But the risk was ever worth the reward. A pact with a Lucavi granted one power beyond the reach of man and Gear, even if it made him a slave to ones mightier than he.

"Nora," the dark-haired Britannian noble greeted the beautiful, horned woman before him, "You heard?"

"It seems that your burdens have grown heavier, my dear Claude."

"It has. It appears we will have to put off training our newly-arrived," the noble paused briefly to find the proper word for those he was to teach in the ways of the harlot and the courtesan, "students for a while. Have you spoken with our compatriots in the New Verona SAZ, Nora?"

"I have," the female Lucavi uncrossed her legs before pushing herself off the table and handing her contractor a scroll secured by a wax seal bearing the emblem of the Ring of Gaea, "And I'm afraid I have some bad news. There has been a complication, and your allies on the celestial city have lit the beacons. Whatever aid you can spare them will be much...appreciated."

Claude let out a long, slow breath. When it rains, it pours. And when the river flooded the fields, one had no choice but to dam the house or run for the hills. The noble sat down on one of the chairs before the fireplace, and allowed his mind and emotions to settle before asking the violet-haired Lucavi to share with him what had transpired to cause his allies to call for aid. The answer was not one to his liking. (16)

X X X

The Kerensky Manse

Carlisle-on-Stratton, Colonial Capital of the Provinces of Carlisle

Kingdom of Britannia

Natasha Kerensky, Viscount of Carlisle, was glad to be home. The Winter Ball she had been called upon to attend some three days back on the colonial capital of Gisoreux had left her more tired than when she had been ferreting out insurgents and pirates from the Territories of Mousillon. Given the choice between trading cannon fire with rebels and insurgents and mingling with the ruling elite of the realm, the red-haired Governor would choose the former each and every time. Certain death at the hands of a known enemy was a far more preferable fate than being talked and flattered unto death by the snakes and hypocrites that infested the courts of the Kingdom.

Nonetheless, her attending the party had allowed the Governor of Carlisle to confirm what her agents in Pendragon had told her. The Great Game had escalated. More than half the Royal Court supported her uncle, the Archduke of Bastonne, in his endeavour to become King of Britannia. The larger part of the remainder supported her cousin, the Duchess of Erin. Only a handful of those that refused to support either group had backed Natasha's claim to the Crimson Throne, and these were mostly nobles who ruled the frontiers of Britannia. All were lesser nobles, men and women whose baronial and knightly ranks placed them at the bottom of the Kingdom's aristocratic hierarchy.

Their lack of resources and influence aside, they made for more reliable allies than their more powerful counterparts. The years these had spent on the frontiers of Britannia, a place which turned the greenest of soldiers and naval ensigns into hardened veterans in months, had shaped the worldview and beliefs of all those who lived there. One does not ready a knife or take aim at one who may well be saving your life minutes, days or months later.

Emerging from the car and sweeping past the line of maids and guards that greeted her, Natasha entered the luxurious interiors of her home and took a glass of iced wine from one of her servants.

Her blue eyes soon alighted on Ser Caedron Maxwell, senior Knight of the Realm and Carlisle's Chief of Intelligence. Despite the fact that the man was in his mid-fifties, Caedron cut an imposing figure. The scars on his face, earned during the Bloody Emblem War forty years back, had made the steely gaze one that few wanted to be on the receiving end of. The man nodded and turned his head in the direction of her study, an indication that whatever it was he had learned was something best spoken within the confines of four walls and under the protective aegis of a vox-scrambler.

Emptying her glass in one swallow, she strode towards her study with the man in tow. Neither of them spoke a word until they were within the guarded confines of the red-haired woman's study. The female Governor produced a vox-scrambler from her pocket and activated it, ensuring that neither prying eye nor ear would be able to hear the words exchanged between the two.

"Tell me what you have learned, Caedron."

The man handed his superior a data-slate, "That it is possible for men and women of station to sink further than the dregs that infest the Five Peaks. Carlisle Third Intelligence confirms that the individuals who were arrested some months back by the Office of Internal Security during Operation Black Dagger and the terrorists who have been conducting attacks throughout the Kingdom were backed by conglomerates and companies owned by nobles who with ties to either the Blue Cosmos or the Genesis's Light extremist groups."

"You have their names, Caedron?" the red-haired Governor asked as she powered up the device in her hands.

"I do. Some of them are ones most familiar to your grace, and will require your sanction if we are to punish them. As it is, several members from Third Intelligence have requested permission to do so on your behalf should you be of mind."

Natasha frowned. Who were these individuals who had raised hand against Crown and country? Who would sink so low as to align themselves with those whose interests would serve only to tear the realm apart? The question was one soon answered, with anger swift in the coming. Caedron had warned her, but nothing would prepare her for the pain of trust betrayed. It took Natasha the better part of twenty minutes to regain both her composure and clarity of thought, and a further ten minutes before she could think objectively.

"Caedron?" the red-haired Governor lowered the data-slate in a slow, deliberate fashion that made the Knight swallow hard. The last time the latter had seen his liege-mistress act in such a fashion had been eight years ago, in the days leading up to an inquisition that had decimated the ranks of two Army Divisions and saw to two hundred senior and junior officers court-martialled, imprisoned or executed. Caedron prayed to God that his mistress would not rouse the vengeful spectre of said event from its shallow grave.

"My lady...?"

"I need you to do three things before I give you permission to drag these knaves to the courts. The first thing I want you to do is to send these reports to the regional authorities both within and beyond the Earth Sphere. And yes, that includes the Deathwatch. This is a complication that cannot be solved by Britannia alone. We need allies – and the permission of said allies – if we are to burn the vermin out from their burrows."

"Yes, my lady."

"Second, I want you to get word to our friend. He and I have much to discuss. If what is said in these reports is true, then it is only a matter of time before the Holy Kingdom gets involved in our internal affairs. Should that happen, I do want us caught unprepared. Bohemond is playing with fire in a house made of wood, and I have no wish that he burns it down about our ears should he misstep. "

Caedron closed his eyes at that. He had seen the armies and fleets of the Holy Kingdom in battle. He knew that Britannia, despite it being more powerful than it had ever been in a hundred years, would not be able to stand against them should it commit its forces to taking the realm. That these would be backed by the Legions of the Reyguard Empire would see to the Kingdom falling to its enemies all the swifter. Having the Dark Templar backing them would do much to even the odds, even if it would earn his mistress the ire of those who saw them as a greater enemy than those that would assail their borders in the near future.

"You disapprove, Caedron?" the voice of his liege-mistress caused the man to open his eyes once more, to see the eyes of the former cast his way.

"No. No, I do not, my lady. But I fear that the more...conservative members of our country will. The Traitor Legions are regarded as baseborn curs and the greatest of traitors to God, king and country."

The female Governor snorted, "Baser traitors are found amongst our own ranks, and yet we seek out those who may fall farther. Hypocrisy at its finest, born of minds and egos who cannot perceive the filth they wallow in. Let those who find distaste in my actions keep their own counsel, for their opinions will not save the realm when it is set ablaze."

"Bohemond and his allies will use this against you," Caedron said.

"Let them. For if they are of a mind to bring foreign powers into our domestic quarrels, I shall follow in their example and do the same," Natasha replied, "At the very least, those I call upon will not demand the kingdom and crown as recompense for services rendered."

Caedron conceded the point, "And the third task you would ask of me, my lady...?"

Natasha turned her gaze down at the data-slate that rested on the table for a long time, "The time has come for us to do away with binding pacts that have left us hamstrung. Caedron, I need you to choose those agents among Carlisle Third Intelligence whose tongues are not wont to wag. Should knowledge of what I intend be known to my enemies before the right time, it could very well mean death and ruin for all of us."

"And what is your intent, my lady? Rebellion...?"

The red-haired woman shook her head, "Rebellion serves not the hopes of our people, Caedron. It serves only the ambitions of those who fan its flames, whether for good or ill. No. I prepare for when – and if – our old enemy comes with ill intent to our door. I have not forgotten the day when the warships of the Caliphate crossed into our country and laid us low while we struggled to prevent the dissolution of our country. My hatred may have cooled, but it demands that I be prepared for the worst when my...our Queen dies."

The Bloody Emblem War that happened in the second decade of the Cosmic Era (17) was one burned into the memory of every Britannian, regardless of their race, language or religion. When Natasha's father, mother and the fiancée of the first were killed by anti-royalists all those years back, the Caliphate took advantage of the ensuing chaos to invade. Thirteen colonies were annexed, with over a hundred thousand citizens and soldiers either killed or sold into slavery. Billions of Earth Dollars worth of finished goods and raw materials were transported back to the Caliphate capital of Ashramal as spoils of war, and Britannia was forced to pay reparations that all but emptied the royal treasury and saw to the ruin of many noble houses.

"Will the Dark Templar not aid us against them? They have as much reason to hate the Caliphate as much as they do the Holy Kingdom. No few of their warlords will willingly lead their warriors against them, and these will spare neither sword nor torch in the persecution of those that have crossed them. We can approach these, and their disposition will be made sweeter if we offer with open hands that which they need to continue their war."

"A point well made and worth considering, Caedron," Natasha conceded the point, "But let that be an endeavour done after you have accomplished your third labour."

"Why not make it twelve, my lady? Or thirteen...? I can best Heracles himself at the height of his power," Caedron grinned.

"Half of said tasks would put you in your grave were I to set you to such, old man," the red-haired royal gave her spymaster an amused look, one that soon faded as she turned to look back at the data-slate, "But moving on, let me give shape to said endeavour. I need you and those you will call to your side to acquire resources and skilled labour. I will fund your endeavour from my own purse, so as to ensure that we will be spared any unwanted scrutiny."

"And what exactly do you wish of me, my lady? I see the shape of your intent and the road you intend to walk, but would hear it from your own lips to ensure no misunderstanding," the gray-haired Knight's face was now absent humour, the knowledge that the task he was about to undertake a thing that would break his spine under its weight. He was not disappointed; he found himself shaking both in fear and excitement at what his mistress intended. For the briefest of moments, Caedron saw his beloved mistress clad not in the dress uniform of a Britannian general, but the black and gold-trimmed war-plate of the Black Legion, the Serpentine Eye gleaming proudly on her breastplate.

"Build me an army worthy of Britannia."

X X X

Castle Bastonne

Wyndham, Colonial Capital of the Territories of Bastonne

Kingdom of Britannia

Wyndham, the colonial capital of the Territories of Bastonne, was a colossal edifice that dwarfed even the PLANTs of the Earth Sphere. Defended by no less than three fleets and its approaches guarded by orbital platforms, the colony was the beating heart of the Western Marches Defence Initiative. Home to no less than thirty noble families and twice as many powerful conglomerates, Wyndham was the sturdy pillar upon which the Kingdom of Britannia would one day reach for the long-desired laurel of Empire.

And it was within the ancestral home of the powerful Bastonne clan that the seeds of such ambition were sown and the fruits of which were sweet upon the tongue and hearts of its many sons and daughters. None realized that the vines upon which the libation of promised glory was proffered were ones that would tie them to he whose designs would soon see him made Britannia's new monarch and ignite a war that would light the path to the Crimson Throne being set upon where the Golden Lion Throne of the Solar Empire had once rested. The name of that aspiring Emperor was Bohemond le Bastonne. (18)

Born in twenty-fifth year of the Cosmic Era to a Coordinator father and a Gear mother, Bohemond was the youngest of the six children that Duke Bernard le Bastonne, the former Knight of Eighteen, had had with the Queen of his Peerage, the lovely Seraphim-Gear Tara-Ishtar. Unwilling to subject their youngest child to the rigours and horrors of a battlefield, both the Duke and his wife had left Bohemond in the care of their relatives on Wyndham. Their wish had been that, when their youngest child was ready, that he and those he could sway to his side would join them on the battlefield.

That wish would never be granted. Both the Knight of Eighteen and his entire Peerage had been killed at the height of the Bloody Emblem War. The conflict and the years that followed were ones that would shape the last surviving son of the Bastonne heir into the man he would become. The lessons he learned hardened him, and he soon came to the conclusion that the only way the country would be spared a second Bloody Emblem War was if he became King and set the realm on the path of becoming an interplanetary superpower the equal of the Earth Alliance.

And there was no doubt in the eyes of millions of Britannians that Bohemond le Bastonne was close to succeeding. In an arena where only giants were permitted entry, the Archduke of the Territories of Bastonne was a titan surpassed only by the dying Queen of Britannia and whose power and influence was equalled only by the Duchess of Erin. Ironically, it was not the latter that was the greatest threat to the Archduke's ambition. That honour was given to the Viscount of Carlisle, the illegitimate – and only – child of the late Crown Prince Albert. If blood gave one the right to be King, then Natasha Kerensky, Governor of the Territories of Carlisle, had more right than the Archduke and the Duchess of Erin combined.

The only reason why she had not been named as Queen Bridget's successor was because the latter had no wish to elevate a bastard to the throne and spit in the face of tradition. The Governor of Carlisle, for her part, had little interest in laying claim to a legacy that was never hers in the first place. It irritated the Archduke that he could neither convince his niece to support his claim nor resign from the race. Removing her from the board, as one of his supporters had suggested, was risky. Natasha had manoeuvred herself into a position that was near-impossible to assail without antagonizing both his allies and enemies both within and outside the Royal Court.

It was because of his niece that one of the most powerful nobles in the Kingdom of Britannia was in his study instead of entertaining his guests, fuming at yet another failed attempt by his servants to corner his niece into accepting his terms. His mood was made worse by the fact that recent events have turned the eyes of many powerful figures in the Royal Court his way, all of whom demanded answers for transgressions both real and imagined. It was for that reason the Archduke had summoned his advisors to attend him.

These had arrived within minutes, and a brief exchange with the Archduke's faithful butler had them understanding what had caused the host of the Winter Ball to excuse himself from the festivities. These had helped themselves to the refreshments the old man had had the maids bring to the study, a gesture all within appreciated in light of the complications that have arisen despite their best efforts to prevent them. Quiet, but heated, discussion filled the room as the Archduke's chief lieutenants searched for ways to undo the Gordian knot that the Fates had seen fit to throw onto their collective laps. Three of the four advocated more forceful methods, but the last had poured ice and ash upon her compatriots to bring their humours back in balance.

Sarles Shepherdson, long-time servant of the Bastonne family and chief retainer of the Archduke, nodded inwardly. Pride, skill and fortitude his master's lieutenants had in quantity. Patience and wisdom was a thing time would grant them, provided they did not arouse the ire of those greater and more powerful than they. Leaving them to their discourse, the man went to join his master on the balcony. The latter was deep in thought, his keen mind formulating and discarding stratagems that would extricate both his house and his faction from the mire it was now in. Truly, the malice of the Fates was a thing to be feared.

"This will not be easy to resolve, Master Bohemond," Sarles said as he came within an arm's length of his master.

"No, it is not, Sarles. And the worst part of this entire debacle all is that we have none to blame save ourselves. We have over-reached and sought to bring to heel those who are capable of biting us in ours," the silver-eyed Archduke replied, "And if we so much as make a misstep in our attempts to resolve this, we will find the Knight of One and his army at our doorstep."

Sarles swallowed hard. It was difficult to not be intimidated by the powerfully-built Vyrkul man who had been Queen Bridget's champion and right-hand man. The stern glare had caused even hardened Britannian Army generals and Royal Navy admirals to back down. Any noble so chastised by the Knight of One found their political fortunes and social standing sinking faster than a stone in a still lake.

"I doubt he will come alone, Master Bohemond."

The Archduke snorted at his butler's attempt at humour, "So how are our guests, Sarles?"

"They are enjoying themselves, sir. But I must," Sarles emphasised the word, "insist that you and your lieutenants return to the main hall. It was a most...difficult task to set their minds to ease. I had to lie through my teeth, and you know full well that many of your guests are capable of smelling one a mile off."

Bohemond chuckled at cheesed-off look on his manservant's face, "I am sorry about that, Sarles. I will do as you ask. Moving on, did you speak to the Duchess Aensland and the representatives of the Anchev Consortium as I have asked? Did they agree to our terms?"

The black-clad butler did not speak for the better part of a minute. When he finally did so, it was to tell his master that the beautiful, emerald-haired arch-succubus would seriously consider his offer. Bohemond smiled and nodded. He could give High King Belial's stepdaughter the time she asked for. The Aensland House was a power both in the Periphery and the halls of interplanetary commerce. Their support would not only considerably improve his chances of winning the race for the Crimson Throne, but ensure that his coffers remained full. No player in the Great Game could afford to be found wanting where money was concerned.

"And the Anchev Consortium...?" (19)

Sarles hesitated, "They wish to discuss the matter further with you, Master Bohemond. As such, they ask if it is possible if you and they speak in private."

"You do not trust them," Bohemond said. The stony expression on the face of his manservant and the rigid manner in which he stood spoke volumes of the latter's dislike of the merchant cartel.

"I do not, Master Bohemond. I have heard many stories about the Anchev Consortium in my time. None of said stories are good. The Anchev family have reached the heights they now stood upon by means more foul than fair. I will call them pragmatic, but that would do grave insult to those who are. I ask that you be cautious in your dealings with them, Master Bohemond. It will do you and yours no good to have your name and reputation dragged into the mud."

"And on that, you need not fear. I will not follow in my foolish nephew's footsteps," the Archduke replied before turning his gaze to his compatriots in his study, "I think it be best if we adjourn this meeting to a later day. We know the threat. The only thing we can do now is to not give our enemies the rope to hang us with. Fear and doubt will undo all that we have achieved. Let us see to it dispelled with drink and song, so that we may be of stouter heart facing the worst of foes. We shall be the better for it."

"Indeed, my lord," Sarles said, "As such, I think it best to inform you that Lady Sona Buvelle has arrived with her entourage. She refuses to play unless you are present."

Bohemond laughed, "Then I had best return to the main hall, lest I earn the ire of my guests. It is a pity that Lacus Clyne declined my invitation to perform at the Ball; she would have been a most welcome guest and a powerfully ally."

X X X

The Eyrie of Constellations

Castle Bastonne

At the very moment

The Eyrie of Constellations was the crown jewel of Dardenia Hydan's labours, a gift and an endeavour wrapped in one majestic package for a man who had delivered both her and her clan to a place where they could live in peace. Towering walls of pale stone and rank upon rank of pale statues depicting mythical beast and heroes stood on plinths that supported the domed hall. Intricate mosaics filled the coffers of the dome, and long, silk banners of purple and gold hung between fluted pilasters of green marble.

The Eyrie was bathed in starlight, the source of which was held in place via anti-gravitational hoists in the marble hands of the Three Divine Suzerains of Kal'Dorei. Despite it being a replica of the sacred relic which rested in the High Temple of the Moon on Venus, it burned with the same gentle intensity as the original. The Lunar Spiral's light reflected dazzlingly from the black terrazzo floor of the Eyrie. Quartz and moonsilver chips laid into the mortar and ground to a polished sheen had turned the floor into a glittering, dark mirror that reflected the majesty of the star ocean.

Morrigan Aensland, stepdaughter of High King Belial Aensland, turned her violet eyes on the figures that danced and dined on the floors of the Eyrie. The emerald-haired arch-succubus knew the names of many of them, both as business and bed partners. No few among them had asked her for favours both personal and professional. A handful among them had invited her to private gatherings that would they would be hosting in the near future. The gleam in their eyes told her that said gatherings would equal, if not surpass those, held in the Dominate and the Periphery. The question – one she would answer before the night was through – was whose invitation she would accept.

Well, maybe not tonight, the female Gear thought. There were two men who wanted her personal attention, and who would be most disappointed if she did not accept their invitation to meet them in the lists. Morrigan licked her lips; it has been a while since she got to deal with her enemies in person...

"Mistress...?" the voice of her Adoni butler-cum-bodyguard, Nessar, broke the arch-succubus from her train of thought, "Lady Sona Buvelle is here."

Morrigan turned to face the musician. Beautiful, with flowing azure hair bound in two long ponytails, and clad in a customized, low-cut dress worn by the female courtiers of the Kingdom of Han, Sona radiated sensuality and serenity in equal measure. Born on Atlantis and raised by a wealthy family, the younger woman was a musician whose skills were second to none. Many had said that if the Maven of the Strings and the White Princess of the Earth Sphere were to perform together, the venue in which they were to perform would be filled beyond capacity. Such a thing could very well happen within the next few months; both had found the proposal made by a talk-show host an intriguing one, and their respective managers were discussing the possibility of such a venture. Few doubted that both Lacus Clyne and Sona Buvelle would get on well with one another, unlike most other celebrities; the two women had far too much in common. (20)

"Greetings, Lady Buvelle. Thank you for taking the time to meet with me."

The blue-haired woman curtsied, a lesser noble paying her respects to her better.

'Your troubled aura bespeaks of questions unanswered, Lady Aensland. Speak, and let us consider the methods in which we shall lay them to rest,' the melodious, psychic voice of the blue-haired woman echoed in Morrigan's mind.

"I would do so, but there are many," Morrigan nodded in the direction of a group of nobles nearby, "who would find the matters I wish to broach of a...sensitive nature."

'Then speak with your mind. Let none hear of your doubts.'

"Words can neither capture nor hold the weight of that which I wish to discuss. No, it is better if I show you. Prepare yourself."

The arch-succubus closed her violet eyes, allowing the dream she had had several months back to come to the forefront of her mind. No, not a dream; a nightmare – one that she knew had wrapped its icy fist around countless souls across the Solar System. Using her own psychic disciplines, Morrigan cast the cold, cancerous memory into the musician's mind.

Sona recoiled as her mind's eye beheld the ancient, yet majestic, ruin of a city that had once been one of the most beautiful jewels in the crown of the Solar Empire. What calamity had seen to said city being cast into depths of the Shrouded Region, a place in the Periphery where even the fearless Vyrkul dared not enter and which every faith in sun and shadow had condemned as the domain of abominations and the prison of fallen deities, none knew.

But it could not be denied that few things engendered as much horror or birthed as many questions and stories as to what had turned a prosperous and mighty city as Yharnam into Hell. Those who knew had died long ago, and these took what they had learned and seen to their graves. Each had their memories sealed by powerful psychic locks that none could break. Their weapons and armour were likewise locked in vaults accessible only by the highest of their respective organizations, for reasons that could only be guessed at.

For centuries, Yharnam had slumbered behind an impregnable wall, cast beyond and outside time by powerful stasis engines, its titanic edifice held in place by colossal gravitational anchors, and its approaches guarded by those who would not suffer its secrets being made public knowledge. But somehow, in ways unfathomable to the minds of man and Gear, the tormented spirit of the Cursed City reached out from behind the walls of its prison to ensnare those it hoped would bring the long nightmare it was forced to endure to an end. Vengeful ghosts of yesteryear, whose bones had long ago crumbled to dust and whose names were forgotten, were returning to make an end of it all. (22)

She saw fierce running battles being fought against beasts and madmen. She saw courage and conviction set against hubris and heresy. Death was all that awaited those found wanting. Secrets to shatter the mind were learned by those who had taken up arms to excise the cancer whose seeds were planted in the decades before the War of Wrath destroyed the Solar Empire and set the ruins ablaze. And she saw, amidst the carnage and devastation, a young man.

Clad in the bloodied vestments of an ancient Knightly Order disbanded in the centuries after the first Gear-Human War was a young man, armed with a long-bladed sword wreathed in lightning and a master-worked hand-cannon. He stood amidst the bodies of slaughtered beasts, his posture that of a man not only beaten in the ground, but into the grave. The heavy hood turned in Sona's direction, and the Maven felt her heart break even as the scores of a new symphony take shape within her soul. Gentle, violet eyes that had seen and known every agony and atrocity committed by humanity and wept for lives and dreams shattered in the inferno met hers.

Regret and grief gave way to resolve as the young man swept the crackling sword up in her direction, the corona of lightning illuminating his face even as the seductive, shapely, raging form of a Lucavi reared up from behind him, bat wings spread wide and bringing to bear the corrosive power of Niflheim upon her master's unseen adversaries. In the moments before divine wrath and blinding light consumed Sona, the words of an ancient battle-prayer echoed in her ears...

"In darkness...I shall be light."

...and caused her to collapse into the arms of Lady Aensland's Adoni butler-cum-bodyguard. The latter steadied her even as the Maven of the Strings turned to the fountain that stood at the heart of the Eyrie, bathed in the blessed light of the false Lunar Spiral.

A replica of the Fountain of Nike on Terra, said monument honoured a hero whose name had long been forgotten, and whose legend had ended with his being taken by his lovers to a place where those who wished him harm could not reach. The likeness between that forgotten hero and the young man Sona had seen in Morrigan's dream was striking. The only difference was that the former was clearly of European descent, while the latter was of Asian birth. Could it be...?

No. No, that question was one that can be answered at a later time. The one that needed to be answered was one that could only be answered by the High Priests of the Temple of Amon-Ra in Greater Helium. Sona turned to look at the emerald-haired arch-succubus. Her mind-voice, when she spoke, was filled with fear and unease.

'We will speak of this when the sun is high in the sky, Lady Morrigan. This... is not something I wish to speak of under the cover of darkness...or in the presence of others.'

"Because...?"

'Because this may well have something to do with what was written in the Scrolls of Babylon. There is only one person I know who has the answers you seek, and he lives in Greater Helium. Knowledge is power, Lady Morrigan, and there is no greater guardian than High Priest Ra-Thos.'

X X X

The Kamishirou Manse

Colony of Greycia, Territories of Loradania

Kingdom of Britannia

While the rest of Britannia celebrated the coming of Christmas and the New Year, the members of the Kamishirou family and their loyal allies had gathered within one of the manse's ballrooms to give thanks to the gods for the blessings they had seen fit to grant them. It had taken much effort and sacrifice on both their parts to return the House to calmer waters and to restore fortunes nearly ruined by the murder of its leader. None would ever forget the depths that the widowed wife, daughter and stepdaughter had sunk so as to wrest the laurel from the covetous hands of their enemies, and all could not help but be envious of the young man who had claimed everything both highborn and commoner alike desired.

Mamoru Kamishirou, the new Head of the Kamishirou family, sat surrounded by his pregnant stepmother, stepsisters and servants. In one stroke, the adopted young master of the House had turned the tables on those who would take everything he held dear. Though he had changed little, his decision to call upon the their family's Second House on Terra as well as to make a pact with the warlords of the Traitor Legions fighting and raiding in the Grans-Parmecia sub-sector and the Caliphate had been a show of force that had sent his more powerful and wily adversaries backpedalling in terror.

It was a masterstroke. The Kamishirou Second House was one of the five founding families of the Orb Union, renowned both within and beyond the Earth Sphere for their ruthlessness and their Machiavellian scheming. Its members viewed any who crossed their path either as pawns they could use in the Great Game or an enemy they would swiftly crush without hesitation. Only family was given the benefit of a doubt, and when proven trustworthy, the Kamishirou Second House would move mountains to protect their kin. These had sent a small group of advisors and agents to the colony to ensure that none would threaten their own.

And the Dark Templar warlords that Mamoru Kamishirou had made a pact with...? These were just as dangerous as the Kamishirou Second House's servants, if not more so. These would abide by no laws save their own, and would deal with any enemy in a swift and terminal fashion.

Araghast the Pillager led one of the largest Black Legion war-bands in two planetary sectors. His goal was to drive the Holy Kingdom and their Imperial allies from the Grans-Parmecia sub-sector, and claim the region as his own fiefdom. His counterparts, Azazel and Shemhazai, the twin warlords who led an Alpha Legion warband harassing the Caliphate, were determined to bring the entire Muslim Empire crashing down upon itself. Heresy and insurrection were the poisoned knives that they wielded with deft skill to punish those who had taken their homes from them and condemned many of their friends to slavery. (21)

Ser Jessie Clarkson, Knight of the Realm and representative of the Royal Court to Greycia, looked down at the chessboard. It represented the situation in the Martian Dominion's periphery. The enemy King was castled, and his Queen was ready to strike. The flanks of both were guarded by bishops and knights. The long reach of their wrath, taking the shape of the sole rook that stood on the board's edges, was reinforced by the few pawns that remained. It was truly a dilemma to stump even the best Mentat. The blonde-haired Knight sighed and looked up at her counterpart.

"I must admit that I am surprised that you would concede the contest, Master Amon."

Dark-haired, bespectacled and clad in the formal wear favoured by the ruling elite of the Kingdom of Britannia, the man before the female Knight was at once both youthful and ancient. The gleaming Menofix pin on the collar of his coat declared both his faith and his allegiance, and the presence of the handsome, silver-haired killer behind him bespoke of both his rank and the immense power granted unto him.

"I have learned long ago that there are some things worth surrendering the field for, Dame Jessie. Victory in this battle would have done much to advance the cause my masters have chosen to support, but would have condemned me to many a sleepless night. Believe me when I say that my decision to concede this contest was perhaps the easiest of the many choices I have made over the decade I have served as the Protectorate's Emissary."

"And I thank you for it," Jessie raised the glass of Valendian spirits in the man's direction, "Still, I am worried about the consequences of your doing so. Your actions will most certainly arouse the ire of your peers. Working with the Traitor Legions is beyond the pale. They will demand an explanation."

"Which I have already given them," Amon replied as he moved his pawn to draw Jessie's Knight into a cul-de-sac, effectively ending the stalemate and setting the stage for a bloody war of attrition, "I had to choose my words carefully and provide proof of my innocence, but they were convinced that I was made a pawn on the chessboard of one greater and more wily than they. Such things can and will happen in the course of the Long War, and it is good that only the mighty be made to learn humility. As things stand, I think it best if I lay low for the next few months and allow tempers to cool."

"I agree," Jessie took Amon's pawn with her bishop, breaking the encirclement, "But there will be those who will not be so forgiving."

"I know," Amon countered, stabbing deep into Jessie's defences with his rook, "Which is why I have made them my superiors' problem. Like I said, I chose my words carefully and made it look like their little games were why the Dark Templar managed to get the better of all of us. They will find themselves the object of the Inquisition's scrutiny for a little while."

Jessie laughed, a merry sound, "Oh, to be a fly on that wall..."

"Greed is good in moderation, my lady. You and yours already have front row seats to the Caliphate being bled white by Azazel and Shemhazai. I will wager that the King Saladin's court will be short a several priests and princes in the days to come. Which leads me to another matter of import," Amon leaned forward and placed a gloved finger on Jessie's Queen, the mirth in his eyes replaced by steely resolve, "Your country now has the time it needs to settle the crisis it is currently in. But do not let the politics blind you to the threats that lie beyond your borders."

Jessie did not speak for a long time, weighing the words of her counterpart and allowing the unspoken words behind them to take shape. She remembered the reports given to her by her agents inside the Ministry of the Interior. They had made for interesting reading. The Anti-Imperial Coalition was holding the line against the armies of the Empire and the Holy Kingdom, and was on the verge of launching a massive counter-offensive. Their efforts were further aided by the Traitor Legions, who had increased the number of attacks on Imperial and Templarate bases throughout the Martian planetary sector, and whose leaders were seriously considering escalating the conflict in the sector into a full-out Black Crusade.

The Treaty of Olympus had created a monster the likes of which the Earth Sphere – the foremost superpower in the Solar System – would be hard-pressed to defeat. And considering that the region was still in the midst of recovering from the Bloody Valentine War, a shock invasion of the planetary sector would be devastating both to interplanetary commerce and stability.

But that was not all that was written in the report. The female Knight's blue eyes went to the twin-tailed comet pin that was on the coat of the superhuman warrior behind Amon, one that Jessie had seen proliferating among soldier, civilian and noble alike. The Cult of the White Angel had sunk its roots in the predominantly Christian country. How that had happened, no one knew. Both the police and the Justicars of the Knights of the Round had drawn blanks in their investigations. No one knew how they recruited. No one even knew their rites or what formed the core of their beliefs. No one knew who its leaders were.

What more, when several of the Knights of the Round and their respective peerages and commands suddenly started sporting twin-tailed comet pins on their uniforms, flags and weapons, it had scared the bloody willies out of everyone both in Parliament and the House of Lords. The Inner Circle of the Knights of the Round and the High Chancellor were especially nervous, as many members of their Order were powerful political and military figures. And what scared them scared Jessie. It did not help matters, especially after the dream – no, nightmare – she had had. In it, the blonde-haired Knight had seen Amon, clad in the gleaming war-plate and robes of a Menite Paladin fighting against a monstrous tide of monsters and twisted madmen. The Menite Emissary was not alone. Emerging from the darkness were numerous men and women, bearing on their weapons and armour the emblems of the Protectorate and the Holy Kingdom, their faith and wrath a brilliant inferno that would burn away the corruption and madness that had plagued the city.

"There is naught here but madness and corruption;

Put it all to sword and flame;

Salt the ruins and purge from history its name."

"Is something wrong, Lady Jessie? You look pale," Amon's voice caused Jessie to almost draw the concealed pistol from its holster, an act barely halted by the knowledge that her doing so would see to her being killed before she could bring the weapon to bear. Whether it was Amon or his bodyguard who would kill her was open to debate.

"I...," Jessie licked her lips and pulled her composure from the swamp of fear and madness it had almost drowned in, "I'm sorry. My mind drifted. What was it you were saying earlier?"

"The greatest enemy is not the enemy without, but the one within," the Menite Emissary repeated his earlier words as he stood up and made the move that ended their game, "Be wary of whom you place your trust in, Lady Jessie, for Pendragon has become a nest of vipers to rival that of the Earth Alliance. It would be quite the insult should I learn that you were laid low by a snake who is your inferior in every way."

Jessie stared at the chessboard, unable to believe she had lost. It was only when the Protectorate Emissary was on the verge of entering the manse did she realize what her opponent had done. That wily bastard had rearranged all the pieces while her mind was elsewhere! The blonde-haired Knight shot up from her chair and shook her fist at the smirking Menite Emissary.

"I'll get you for this, Amon!"

The latter simply laughed.

To be continued...

Afterword

Finally, after over eight months of hard work, the interlude chapters are complete! Now all that remains are to do the editing for both chapters and to introduce the OCs in the first book of this story. They all have a part to play, for good or for ill. And some will never live to see the end of the story. Blood is the price for both justice and liberty, a thing that many of the ruling elite forget.

As it is, I am writing this story under the shadow of possible international chaos. The economy in my country is bad (and my government has effectively grid-locked itself, thanks to their policies and the overpaid 'geniuses' they hired!). And then there is the US Elections (2016), which is as ugly a slugfest as I can imagine, and the South China Sea problem, which I am hoping does not escalate. Here's to all of us hoping that things do NOT blow up.

Because if it does, there will be no one left in the ring. Not even the ring itself.

Also, I know that there is a reviewer hoping for more Kira x Natarle progress. Fear not. There will be. She will just have more competition.

Annotations:

1 – Numan/s are the term used to describe the Valendians and the Nazzadi; their respective race came to be from the human genus, albeit the latter was created by the Marduke, an alien race, who needed devoted servants and soldiers to serve in their wars.

2 – The Arima Conglomerate, from the anime & H-Game 'Princess Lover!' by Ricotta, will have several cameos in this story. Also included will be references – as well as OC characters who will be the predecessors – of the Walkure Romanze H-Game.

3 – White Fang are the opposites of Blue Cosmos. The ideology of the latter focuses on the purity of the human species (i.e.: Naturals), while the former push a Coordinator supremacist doctrine that is Darwinist in context.

4 – In the Battle Chasers comic, the Kingdom which Garrison and Aramus, the father of Gully, had served was unnamed; I took the choice to name it after the Kingdom ruled by King Vendrick of Dark Souls 2. Also take note that Drangleic has declared war on Angmar and the Scarlet Moon Empire in the May 31st, Cosmic Era 73.

5 – The Laguna Liberation Front is a rebel group active in the Nordheim sub-sector. Its goal is to free the region from the rule of both the Scandinavian monarch and his Earth Alliance allies. The group is at least fourteen thousand strong, and has access to military-grade weapons and armour. Their ships comprise more of raiders and frigates, with an Endeavour-class light cruiser serving as the group's primary flagship.

6 – Faction is from Relic Knight Game. The Doctrine is an independent group with close ties to the Deathwatch. They are primarily an academic institution, but have a standing army to defend both its students and its facilities.

7 – Terrence is close to the rulers of the Emerald Periphery as well as Sefi and her younger brother, Saga (both of whom are leaders of one of the larger Blue Demon tribes). Hellisa is the Sayaad-Lucavi he has a pact with. Terrence is also a member of the Deathwatch.

8 – Ingrid Lightsbane, 'formerly' of the Blackstone Irregulars, commands the Stygian Ironclads Mercenary Group. They have two Imperial-class cruisers, the Nightfall and the Frostmourne. The Stygian Ironclads are six-hundred strong, specializing in void combat. Frostmourne is an Imperial Dictator-class cruiser; she is armed with a long-range dorsal mounted mass acceleration cannon. Nightfall is a standard Lunar-class, upgraded with a pair of long-range, dorsal-mounted standard laser batteries).

9 – Note: Ingrid is known to Terrence Lupercal (Logarius) and Glorianna von Einzbern.

10 – Faction: The Scourge is located primarily in the Jericho Reach, though its war-bands and agents can be found fighting against the Holy Kingdom and its allies across interplanetary boundaries. The Scourge are based off WC3, but have taken organizational facets seen in the Stigmartus (the Heretic army from the WH40K Deathwatch RPG: The Jericho Reach) and Bal Masque (from the Shakugan no Shana anime series). They were originally founded by Dark Templar warlords fighting to deny the resource-rich region to the Holy Kingdom.

11 – Jane gave birth to Euris and Catherine; the two girls are the children of Rodrigo Carlos, Britannian Knight of the Realm. Diarmuid is her son by Duke Brian Artois-Lee, CEO of Artois Armaments, one of the Kingdom's primary arms manufacturers.)

12 - Deleted

13 - The Magellan Rebellion took place in Cosmic Era 45. It was a rebellion that lasted two years, ending in September 18th, Cosmic Era 47. The individual responsible for the rebellion, Archduke Rupert Magellan, had done so in the belief that the Kingdom needed to

14 – Roland is Jane's son by Soris ap-Amra. He was born after the end of the Magellan rebellion. At 24 years of age, he is the oldest of Jane's four children. He was taken to Candlekeep by Gorion.)

15 – Yes. Jaheira and Khalid from BG2. Both are not half-elves, but Adoni Gears in this story.)

16 – Claude Jean-Sartre and Nora – and other OCs – come from an H-Game (TnH – InC). They will play more of a role within Britannia than elsewhere.

17 – The Bloody Emblem War in Cosmic Era 25 was brought about by the assassination of Prince Albert, the Crown Prince of Britannia, and Natasha Kerensky's father. It was done by nationalists within the country who found the son of Queen Bridget II lacking in the qualities in a monarch that the Kingdom desperately needed. Their scheme to place one of the Queen's relatives on throne and increase their influence were undone by the Caliphate, who saw an opportunity to invade the Kingdom of Britannia in the weeks after the assassination. The Bloody Emblem War ended after nine months of heavy fighting, with Britannia defeated and paying the Caliphate hefty war reparations.)

– Character: Archduke Boheomond le Bastonne, Governor of the Territories of Bastonne and nephew of Queen Bridget II. Born C.E 25 to Duke Bernard le Bastonne and Tara-Ishtar; the former a Coordinator, the latter a Seraphim-Gear. Youngest child of six children. Take note of Jane Judith Jocelyn of Erin and Natasha Kerensky of Carlisle. Must also draw up their character sheets...

– Anchev Consortium. From BG. Formerly known as Iron Throne Trade Cartel in game.)

20 – Sona Buvelle from League of Legends makes an appearance, as does Morrigan Aensland of Darkstalkers. The latter is the adopted daughter of King Belial Aensland (whom I am drawing on from Shinrabansho).

21 – War Report – Martian Dominion: Araghast the Pillager of the Black Legion is active in the Grans-Parmecia sub-sector. Archdemon Ganondorf is fighting in the Hyrule sub-sector. The Alpha Legion warlords, Azazel and Shemhazai, are sowing the seeds of heresy and insurrection within the Caliphate. Grans-Parmecia and Hyrule have seen an escalation in violence. The Caliphate has, as far, managed to counter and contain the insurgency in its territories, but the extreme measures taken by its state security apparatus and the moral police have aroused the ire of its citizens (especially those in the conquered territories, who see the Caliphate as an invader).

22 – Bloodborne makes an appearance in this story. Fear not, it will not be the game and background that we know and love. It has ties to the dark side of the moon, as it is. After all, there are a few Ancients who practice the same craft as the Healing Church...an organization, among others, whose vision and means I will use to the fullest.