Within the crimson halls of the Chinese Federation's imperial palace, the High Eunuchs gathered in frantic council. Silk curtains concealed their agitation from the servants, but not from each other. Incense coiled in slow spirals toward painted ceilings depicting dragons and celestial guardians—symbols of eternity that suddenly felt fragile.
"He destroyed a superpower in a month," one whispered.
"No," another corrected, voice tight. "He erased it."
The fall of the Euro Universe had been absolute. London reduced to submission. Entire armies annihilated by a single detonation. Command structures collapsing overnight. The message had been unmistakable: resistance was futile not merely because Britannia was strong—but also because it was decisive.
They all understood the truth. The Federation's military was vast, but bloated. Its command hierarchy was corrupt. Its generals were political creatures skilled at ceremony, not war. Against a unified Britannian war machine led by Lelouch vi Britannia, they would not last.
Worse still—Britannia already had influence within their borders. Agents embedded in ministries. Officers sympathetic to imperial reform. Merchants tied to Britannian trade routes.
Lelouch's proposal had arrived that same morning.
It was the same offer they had arrogantly dismissed months earlier, when they still believed themselves untouchable.
Now it read less like diplomacy and more like a final courtesy.
The Chinese Federation would be annexed and reorganized into new imperial Areas.
The Empress would marry him.
The High Eunuchs would be elevated into Britannian nobility, retaining wealth and comfort under imperial authority.
Refusal would result in military action.
No one asked what military action meant. They had all seen the footage of F.L.E.I.J.A.—a white sphere swallowing regiments and cities alike.
Silence stretched long and thin.
It was not loyalty that guided their decision.
It was self-preservation.
"We accept," the chief eunuch finally declared.
The dragon would kneel.
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The days that followed were a blur of preparation.
Beijing transformed into a city under occupation before a single shot had been fired. Britannian airships appeared on the horizon like dark omens. Knightmares patrolled the skies in disciplined formations. Military checkpoints rose at major intersections. The imperial palace itself was discreetly but unmistakably secured by Britannian guards.
The symbolism was intentional.
The Empress was informed only after the decision had been sealed. She listened without interruption, her expression carved from porcelain.
"You have bartered the throne," she said quietly.
"For the survival of the realm," the chief eunuch insisted.
She did not argue further.
But when she was alone, her hands trembled.
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The ceremony was held in the central courtyard of the Forbidden City in Beijing, beneath a sky washed pale by winter light.
It was not festive.
It was monumental.
Rows of Britannian Knightmares stood like iron statues along the palace walls. Above, airborne units hovered in perfect stillness. Snipers occupied unseen vantage points. Every movement had been calculated, every angle secured.
The courtyard itself had been divided visually into two halves.
On one side stood the remnants of the Chinese court—officials in layered silks, nobles in embroidered robes, the High Eunuchs heavy with jewels that now felt like shackles.
On the other stood Britannia.
Black uniforms. Crimson capes. Gold insignia.
Power had a color, and it was not red and gold.
A procession of drums announced the Emperor's arrival.
Lelouch entered not as a suitor—but as a sovereign.
His black imperial cloak flowed behind him, lined in crimson. The golden Britannian crest gleamed upon his chest. His posture was flawless, chin lifted just enough to remind every observer who stood above whom.
Behind him walked Suzaku in white, calm and watchful. Cornelia, proud and unbending. Schneizel, composed, eyes measuring everything. Kallen and Anya among the guard detail.
The courtyard fell into absolute silence as Lelouch reached the ceremonial platform.
Moments later, the Empress emerged.
She wore traditional imperial red embroidered with golden dragons coiling across her sleeves. A phoenix crown rested upon her dark hair. Her steps were steady—but slow.
If Lelouch walked as a conqueror, she walked as a prisoner who refused to bow.
When she reached him, she did not raise her eyes.
He noticed.
"Your Majesty," Lelouch said evenly.
Her fingers tightened within her sleeves.
She did not answer.
The officiants began the rites.
Ancient Chinese vows were recited first—acknowledging heaven, earth, and the Mandate of rule. Then Britannian imperial oaths followed, spoken in clear, resonant tones. The blending of rituals might have suggested union.
But there was no blending of authority.
When the moment came for the symbolic gesture of sovereignty, the entire courtyard seemed to hold its breath.
A signal was given.
High above the palace walls, the flag of the Chinese Federation began to descend.
It did not flutter.
It fell.
In its place rose the black and gold standard of Britannia.
The sound of fabric snapping in the wind was louder than any cheer.
The Empress's head lifted at last, eyes drawn upward. For the briefest instant, emotion flickered across her face—grief, fury, humiliation.
Lelouch observed her reaction carefully.
Then the final vow was spoken.
Before the assembled court and the watching world, he declared:
"By imperial decree, the Chinese Federation ceases to exist as a sovereign state. Its territories are henceforth reorganized as imperial Areas under the Holy Britannian Empire. Its military forces are dissolved and absorbed. Its governance shall be restructured under Britannian law."
There was no applause.
There was only acceptance.
A dragon had been chained.
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The banquet that followed was lavish—but hollow.
Britannian officers dined beside silent Chinese nobles. Conversations were polite, strained, brittle as thin glass. The High Eunuchs smiled too widely, already adjusting to their new titles—Counts, Marquesses, lesser Dukes within a hierarchy that stripped them of independent authority.
Lelouch spoke little.
He did not need to.
His presence alone dominated the hall.
At one point, the Empress sat beside him in ceremonial silence. She did not look at him. He did not force her to.
This marriage was not about affection.
It was about legitimacy.
About optics.
About ensuring that annexation would be seen not as chaotic invasion, but as ordained transformation.
When the banquet concluded, the world had witnessed its message:
There were no more rival superpowers.
Only Britannia.
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The following weeks were ruthless in efficiency.
Chinese military command was dissolved. Senior officers were screened—those deemed competent and loyal were integrated under Britannian oversight. Others quietly disappeared from public life.
Provincial governors were replaced by imperial viceroys.
Economic systems were redirected toward Britannian standards. Trade routes were reorganized. Currencies stabilized under imperial regulation.
The High Eunuchs discovered that noble titles did not equal influence. Their wealth remained, but their authority had evaporated.
Resistance cells formed in several cities.
They lasted days.
The mere suggestion that F.L.E.I.J.A. could be deployed again was enough to extinguish organized opposition before it matured.
Gradually, every flicker of resistance faded into silence. Borders no longer defined rivals, only subjects. Lelouch had accomplished what countless rulers before him had only dreamed of: he was no longer merely an emperor—he was the unchallenged master of the world, his authority absolute, his vision unopposed.