Lelouch wasn’t entirely sure how he had ended up in this place. He was dazed from a blow to the head, his memory foggy. Skull-shifting pain throbbed off the back of his head, a tickle in neck hair informing him of blood. The front of his shirt was soaked in the metallic-scented liquid, so it was safe to assume he had been injured there, as well.
A hand buried itself in his shaggy hair, yanking backwards. Pain twinged down his neck, eyes half-open.
There was a throne, lights everywhere. His father? No, he remembered killing his father. The symbol of the code had branded itself across his clavicle, becoming a new favorite target for would-be assailants.
Then… who was this? Rasping voices spoke to each other, in a language he did not recognize. In the back of his mind, it registered that he should probably be concerned for his own well-being, but years of immortality had reduced that voice to a small whisper. It was hard to care about your own death, when death resembled a temporary sleep.
He didn’t look forward to pain, however.
The figures were still speaking? What a noisy bunch. His neck was beginning to ache. He could sympathize with C.C, who had been towards the world, apathetic at best. His vision was beginning to clear. How hard had they hit him, anyway?
Perhaps it had been a killing blow, and so the figures had brought him to their leader to show him off. Then… was he a captive? Language barriers were troublesome.
Lelouch could make out the heavily adorned old man who was raising from the throne. Movement alerted him to the presence of a fair number of people behind him. From the noise, they were performing a gesture in unison. The man stepped toward him, bangles clinking ugly face masked partially by a veil. At least he knew he was ugly.
Arms roughly hauled his slim body to a standing position, a faint whisper of laughter bubbling in the back of the prince’s head when he realized he would be taller than his guards, if he stood upright. As it was, he let himself slouch in their grasp, thick lashes partially lowered.
His wits were returning, thoughts starting to spin faster. It probably had been a fatal blow, whatever caused his head to bleed like it did. To cause his thoughts to become jumbled in such a way, his brain must have been damaged. His knees ached, the hard floor certainly not being kind.
A command was barked from the old man, Lelouch’s head shoved forward and down toward the ground. He automatically caught himself, faintly unsettled by the vulnerable position.
He heard a squelching noise.
A sharp pinch at the nape of his neck.
The old man’s body crumpled to the ground.
He could feel something wriggling under his skin, pushing aside flesh and shifting bits of his body that had no right to be shifted. Electric twinges shot down his spine.
Violet eyes snapped open in horror.
They quickly became awash with gold light.