Amazon Forest
The Amazon, veiled in mist and moonlight, usually breathed in silence. But not tonight.
Gunfire shattered the stillness like a curse. Trees wept ash. Animals scattered. The night was no longer alive—it was hunted.
This was no clash of empires, but a war between phantoms. On one side: agents of Britannia, mechanized and arrogant. On the other: the League of Assassins—invisible, patient, and deadly. They did not scream. They did not boast. They delivered judgment.
The League's warriors moved like wind across the jungle floor—faces hidden by demon-masks, armor designed after ancient Lamellar patterns. Their Knightmares were painted black with gold edges, marked by the serpent insignia—sleek, silent, and shaped not for war, but execution.
A Britannian squad advanced—then stopped. One by one, they fell, necks sliced, chests pierced. No gunfire. Only the whisper of steel.
Then came the wrath.
From the canopy descended a massive, obsidian-black Knightmare with a curved blade forged in Damascus steel—its pilot: Bane, the League's juggernaut, reengineered through dark science and mysticism. His voice echoed through the rainforest like thunder dragged across iron.
"Balance demands blood."
He waded into enemy fire and did not stop. A sweeping strike severed mechs in half. Another swing incinerated the treeline, as flamethrowers purged the earth.
Above them, another mech—nimbler, dagger-limbed—landed in silence. Its red visor glowed like a serpent's eye. The pilot: Robin, the youngest of Ra's' elite, prodigy of the shadows.
"Amazon secure," Robin whispered. "The purge is complete."
The sky broke open as a stealth craft emerged from the clouds. From within came the voice none of them defied:
"Withdraw. Our mission here is done."
Area 11: Britannia—The Throne of Illusion
The chamber reeked of opulence. Velvet banners. Golden lions. Columns of marble. Yet even here, where Britannia's generals gathered to drink wine over bloodshed, a shadow had taken root.
At the center of a darkened war room, Ra's al Ghul stood beneath a hanging scroll—inked with an ancient verse:
"A thousand tyrants fall beneath one blade sharpened by time."
His cloak shimmered black with green embroidery, marked by ancient Arabic and Tibetan glyphs. His eyes—emerald, unblinking—studied the map of the world as if it were rotting flesh on a dissection table.
To his left, Nyssa al Ghul, engineer of tactics and poisons, adjusted her vambraces.
To his right, Talia, both daughter and executioner, stood like a blade waiting to be unsheathed.
"The world decays," Ra's said, his voice like falling stone. "Britannia spreads like cancer. Their fire must be extinguished before it devours the Earth."
"But our allies in the resistance—" Nyssa began.
"They are useful," Ra's interrupted. "But weak. Cling too tightly to ideals, and the serpent coils around your throat. We deal not in hope, but in inevitability."
He drew a line across the map from Area 11 to the homeland.
"It begins."
Train to Mt. Fuji
Dressed in a subdued student uniform, Ra's al Ghul—posing as Claus—sat in the VIP car alone, a ghost among fools. His food was untouched. His wine decanted, but left to spoil.
Through the reinforced window, the Tokyo ghettos blurred past like dying stars. He meditated silently, every breath measured, every muscle still. Like a coiled serpent.
In the booth behind him, girls laughed. Giggled. Fragile things.
"I bet you wish Lelouch were coming," said one.
He blinked—once.
That name.
Still alive, then?
A shadow of a smile touched his lips. Not warmth. Calculation.
Suddenly, the tunnel. Darkness enclosed them.
The girl named Nina trembled.
"Relax," her friend said. "It's not like we're entering a war zone."
"But the Elevens…"
Ra's turned his head slightly—like a falcon disturbed mid-flight.
"You fear the oppressed? Then you are more enslaved than they are."
The booth went silent.
"I've walked their streets. Eaten their bread. You live in ivory towers, fed delusions while your Emperor poisons the Earth."
His voice was velvet—but it cut.
"Who... are you?" Milly whispered.
He turned fully now. "Merely a man who remembers."
Bar Car
Milly followed him.
"You scared my friend."
"She is scared of the mirror. I simply held it."
Ra's sipped his tea. Wine was for celebration. He had not celebrated in years.
"You talk like a philosopher," Milly said.
"I am not." He leaned in. "Philosophy asks why. I ask what must be done."
She caught a glimpse under his collar—skin marred by fire. She gasped.
"A gift from Britannia. One I return—tenfold."
She trembled. "You… you look like a—"
"Monster?" he finished. "Good. It means they'll remember."
Hostage Room
Captured? No. Allowed himself to be taken.
Ra's sat calmly, helmet removed. His eyes—serene. Around him, the rebels hesitated.
"I expected more from the Kusakabe Faction," he said, voice as still as midnight snow.
General Kusakabe raised a blade. "We know who you are. Ra's al Ghul."
"And yet you still breathe in my presence. Curious."
"You're a Britannian noble—"
"I am death given thought. The serpent beneath the throne."
Ra's leaned forward, offering the general a blade.
"Kill me. Strike."
The general could not.
Instead, he asked: "Why… why are you helping us?"
Ra's stood.
"I do not help. I cleanse. Fire does not help a forest—it burns it so that life may grow again."
Zero's Broadcast
As Zero's voice rang across the airwaves, Ra's stood on the rooftop—watching the people react like tides pulled by a new moon.
When it ended, he clapped.
Not mockery.
Approval.
He leapt—inhuman, precise—onto the ship beside Zero.
The crowd gasped. The League's serpent banner flickered in the sky.
Zero stared.
"Ra's al Ghul," he said at last.
"The one and only," Ra's replied.
"You walk in shadow yet join the light?"
"I walk where purpose leads. Our paths align. For now."
He leaned close, whispered something. Zero froze.
Then, Ra's turned to the cameras.
"To those who suffer: You are not forgotten. To those who rule unjustly: We are watching. And when your time comes... we will not knock."
Montage of the League Rising
In the Slums – A man strikes his wife. The door crashes open. A silent blade ends the abuse. The child watches. A serpent symbol is etched in the dust.
In the Barracks – Recruits kneel in a ritual circle. Candles flicker. "Hail the League," they chant, as serpent tattoos are branded onto flesh.
Inside the Throne Room – An imperial knight bows before the Emperor. As he rises, his sleeve slips—revealing the tattoo of the League.
Back with Ra's
Onboard his airship, Ra's removed his cloak. The stars above him seemed pale in comparison to his presence.
"To Area 11," he ordered.
Talia approached. "What of Zero?"
"He will fight. And when the time comes… he will fall. Or join us."
"And if he refuses?"
Ra's looked toward the east.
"Then I will bury him... beside the rest."