Author's Note: No, I'm not dead. Shocking, isn't it? My apologies for not updating my other stories; life's been...complicated, for lack of a better term, and I've had neither the time nor the inspiration to work on them. I can't promise that I'll ever get around to finishing Nocturne and Obscuritas, and in all honesty I probably won't; I was mostly writing those stories by the seat of my pants, which, in retrospect, is not something that I can do all that well. To the loyal readers of those stories, I'm sorry that you won't get to see them carried through to their conclusion.

Putting that aside, this story was born out of a simple question I asked myself one day; what would life be like on a feudal world whose culture was based (loosely, perhaps) on feudal Japan? How would its people view certain aspects of the Warhammer 40k setting that we take for granted? How would they refer to such things, and how would they react? How strange would their particular customs and mores appear to other denizens of the Imperium of Man? Could a single person from such a world have a lasting, positive impact on this galaxy?

In short, could an anime-style teen protagonist make a difference in the grim darkness of the far future?

I don't have a definitive answer to that question just yet, but in all likelihood...probably not. We'll just have to wait and see, won't we?

Disclaimer of dubious legal necessity: No, I don't own Warhammer 40,000. You think I have the cash to blow on all those damned figurines, or the space to put them anywhere? I'm just a fan with a bunch of Horus Heresy novels cluttering up his bookshelf.

Through Unfamiliar Eyes

Osamu Tetsuo ran for his life. Branches and brambles clawed at him as he ploughed through the underbrush, ripping the fabric of his sleeves and leaving bloody cuts scattered across his arms. His geta slapped noisily against the soles of his feet in time with the frantic sound of his own breathing, blades of grass nipping at his socks to scratch the feet beneath. Once or twice he nearly stumbled, but caught himself at the last second and continued on. He couldn't afford to stop, couldn't afford to slow down, not even for an instant.

If he did, he was dead for sure. Just like Taro…

The coarse, inhuman braying of his pursuers pushed all thoughts of his best friend's mangled body from his mind, urging Tetsuo to run even faster. He had to get back to the village. He had to warn everyone.

The Oni were coming.

Oni. He'd never believed in them before this day, thinking them nothing more than tales meant to frighten children and keep them from wandering off into the forests late at night. But now, having seen them—and seen what they'd done to poor Taro, and heard what they'd continued doing to him after Tetsuo turned and ran—there was no denying it; they were real, and far more horrifying than the storytellers could ever have imagined.

He clenched his eyes tightly shut, tears of guilt and grief running down his face. Forgive me, Taro. I couldn't save you…

His eyes snapped open as a horrible, ululating roar reached his ears. He threw a glance over his shoulder just in time to witness a bulbous, pink-skinned monstrosity burst out of the treeline and come charging towards him on two muscular legs, its gaping jaws hanging open to expose a maw full of row upon row of dagger-like teeth.

Tetsuo threw himself forward, feeling the heat of the beast's rancid breath on his back, and hurriedly scrambled to his feet. He'd seen one of these toothy nightmares before, standing alongside the Oni's chieftain like some kind of loyal hunting dog—and as it chased after him, its mouth snapping loudly between snorting breaths, he couldn't help feeling like the fox to its hound.

The path fell away a short distance ahead, and Tetsuo was startled to realize that he knew where he was. He was coming up on Spider's Cleft, a deep but narrow ravine said to be haunted by evil spirits that lured men to their doom with unnatural charms. He couldn't say whether the legend was true or not, and right then he didn't give a damn; all that mattered was that it was a very long drop, and that there was a long, sturdy branch hanging over it within jumping distance.

He tensed, preparing to spring, resisting the temptation to glance over his shoulder and see how close the beast was. He'd only get one shot at this—he had to make it count.

He gauged the distance in his head. Twenty metres to go.

Would it hold? He and Taro had crossed the ravine this way before, but that was when they were younger; he was almost a man now. Would it take his weight?

Fifteen metres.

No, no time to think about that now.

Ten metres.

He offered a silent prayer to the Celestial King. Please let this work…

Five.

The beast howled.

Now!

He leapt reaching out to grab hold of the branch. It groaned ominously under his weight, sagged…and held. His pursuer yowled in surprise and fury, and he looked down to see it go tumbling into that bottomless crack, its legs and stubby little arms flailing uselessly as it disappeared into the darkness.

Sighing in relief, Tetsuo swung himself forward and landed on the opposite side of the ravine with a grunt. "Thank you, my kami," he whispered to the heavens, holding a hand over his chest as he caught his breath.

Then he was off once more. He knew this ravine wouldn't stop the Oni for long, if it stopped them at all; part of him doubted those monsters were stupid enough to go charging into the cliff en masse, and he wouldn't be surprised if they could just leap across it given how strong they'd looked.

He had to hurry.

Sometime later the trees began to thin out, and he allowed his pace to slow as he reached the edge of the forest. It wouldn't be much longer now, he told himself as he stepped onto the rolling plains; in a matter of minutes the village would be in sight, and then he could spread the word. Every able-bodied man, woman and child would be needed if they were to survive against the Oni hordes…

His thoughts trailed off as he noticed a plume of black smoke rising from the horizon. A plume of smoke rising from beyond a familiar set of rolling hills…

His eyes widened in horror. Oh, no…

He broke into a run, moving as fast as his legs carry him and beyond, hoping against hope that he was wrong and that the black smoke meant something else—anything else—than what he feared.

On he ran, 'til his feet were raw and bloody and his blood was pounding in his ears like some frantic and infernal drumbeat, his breath coming and going in tune to the frantic beat of his heart. Please, kami, he implored. Let me be wrong. Let me be wrong…!

He crested the hill and skidded to a halt, shaking his head in disbelief. "No…"

The village of Takuoka, the quiet little village that had been the center of Osamu Tetsuo's entire world, lay before him in flames. Smoke and embers rose from the slanted roofs, painting the view that had once been so comforting and familiar in a hellish glow, and shadows danced among the flames—figures too far away and indistinct to make out between the distance and the rippling heat surrounding the village.

And over the crackling roar of the fire, over the sounds of tortured houses collapsing as their burned timbers gave way, he could hear the awful screams of the dying…and the hideous, bestial laughter of the Oni.

He could see them now—hulking, brutish figures chasing after fleeing smaller ones, knocking them down and hacking into their defenseless bodies with crude swords and axes…

Tetsuo clenched his hands into fists, trembling with impotent rage. There was nothing he could do to save his village—not by himself, not against these monsters. The only thing he'd accomplish if he went down there would be to get himself killed, and honourable though that might be it wouldn't do himself or anyone else any good.

The frantic neighing of a horse reached his ears. He looked towards the sound, and saw that Tozawa's stables on the outskirts of town had yet to burn down—and if that scream was any indication, the horses were still alive.

Eyes narrowed, Tetsuo hurried down the hill. He couldn't save the villagers he'd grown up alongside…but he could make sure their deaths weren't in vain.

He reached the stables in minutes and kicked open the door, bringing up an arm to shield himself to the heat. The fire was spreading rapidly; with all the hay and manure in here, the building would be consumed in the blink of an eye once the raging blaze reached it. wasting no time, he grabbed a saddle from the wall and made his way deeper into the corral, gazing into the pens in search of a mount.

Finally he found one all the way at the back—a trembling, wide-eyed mare that snorted and neighed angrily as he threw open the gate. Fortunately the horse was one he'd ridden before, and once she recognized him he managed to calm her down. In short order he had the mare saddled and ready to go, and without any preamble he guided her out of the pen, mounted her and sent her charging towards the exit.

An Oni appeared from out of nowhere to bar their path, its brutish green frame draped in furs, a spiked cudgel in one massive hand and a boxy, ramshackle pistol in the other. Legs set, beady little red eyes gleaming with malice, it opened its mouth and let out a roar of challenge, sending flecks of spittle spraying everywhere.

It was still roaring when the mare ploughed into the beast and trampled it to death beneath her hooves.

"Good girl," Tetsuo whispered. "Now let's go. Hiya!"

With those words he cracked the reins, sending her into a run. In no time at all they left Takuoka far behind them, using the main road for best possible speed. In a matter of hours they'd arrive at Murosaki prefecture, and then he could deliver his warning.

This time, he wouldn't be too late…

Daiman Yamato took a long drag from his lho-stick and sighed, blowing out a cloud of smoke. "That hit the spot," he said to no one in particular.

He leaned back against the trench wall, paying little heed to the cool, damp earth sending a chill into his back through the fabric of his uniform, and looked up into the sky. The heavens were clouded over, the light of the stars hidden beneath a thick grey veil that stretched unbroken from one end of the horizon to the other. The distant rumbling of thunder caught his ears, and he found the ghost of a smile forming on his lips. "Looks like it's gonna rain."

The other men squatting in the trench said nothing, too busy with their own tasks to answer. Some were working on their rifles, making sure that the guns were in good condition for the next wave. Others peered over the edge of the dugout, scanning the darkness for any signs of an impending attack.

Wryly shaking his head as he watched their antics, Yamato took another puff. They weren't fooling anyone; he could see the dead look in their eyes, see the weariness and resignation. They didn't expect to survive.

He couldn't blame them, all things considered; seven days of fighting Oni from the quote-unquote shelter of these filthy trenches would be enough to grind down anyone, really. Those green-skinned freaks were relentless. Every time you took one of them down, two more were there to take its place. And while their guns were crude, inaccurate things, the Oni filled the air with so many bullets during a charge that it didn't matter whether they aimed or not; inevitably they'd manage to hit something.

But the real horror was when they got close enough to take a swing at you, close enough that you could feel their noxious breath on your face and smell the rancid stench of their sweat. Even the smallest of them were built like brick shithouses, and they all carried a variety of primitive stone weapons. Yamato had seen one of the bigger Oni split a man in half right down the middle with a single blow of its massive hatchet early on, and he remembered how it had laughed while doing so.

He smiled grimly, remembering the sense of satisfaction he'd felt when he rammed his knife deep into the monster's throat and silenced it mid-laugh. It was there that they'd learned killing the biggest ones would send the littler ones into a panic—which was good, because otherwise they'd never have lasted this long and Murosaki would have fallen by now.

Yamato glanced towards the south, where he knew the city stood unmolested behind the trench lines, and sketched a mocking salute. "Hope you appreciate it, you sons of bitches."

An irritated grunt seemed to answer his question.

Blinking, Yamato looked down and saw that one of the others was sitting directly across from him, shooting him the mother of all death glares. "Can I help you?" Yamato asked, spreading his arms wide.

The other soldier said nothing.

Yamato shrugged. "Suit yourself." He took another drag from the lho-stick and let out a contented sigh. "Kami almighty, but this is some fine shit. Want some?"

Stony silence was the other soldier's only response.

"No? Your loss, pal." Lowering the fag, Yamato blew out a smoke ring.

Finally the other man spoke. "You shouldn't do that."

Yamato raised an eyebrow. "Come again?"

"I said you shouldn't do that," the other man said, his voice rising slightly.

Yamato shook his head and let out a chuckle. "Why, you gonna tell me that smoking is bad for my health? I know that already. Don't care."

"You should."

"Really?" Yamato jerked a thumb over his shoulder, towards the enemy lines. "Way I see it, the odds of me living long enough to get cancer from this are looking really, really low right about now."

The other man leaned forward, and Yamato could see that he was rather young—couldn't be older than his mid to late teens, at the very most. "It isn't right," he insisted.

Yamato rolled his eyes. "Where are you from, son? The boonies?"

"Takuoka," was the soft-spoken reply.

"That place the Oni burned down?" Yamato furrowed his eyebrows. "Hey…then you must be the guy who rode all the way out here to give the warning!" He grinned. "Thanks for the heads-up, pal."

The kid nodded mutely.

"What's your name, kid?"

It took a moment for the boy to respond. "Tetsuo."

"Yamato's the name." He held out a hand; when the kid didn't take it, he shrugged. "So Tetsuo," he began again, "are you enjoying life on the frontlines?"

Tetsuo glared. "Why would you even think to ask me that?"

"Why wouldn't I?" the older man asked. "Personally, I'm having the time of my life."

The boy stared at him like he'd just grown another head.

"Don't give me that look, Tetsuo," he said, his grin widening. "I've seen how you fight against the Oni—or was that somebody else I saw gutting them like fish yesterday with their bayonet?"

Tetsuo's silence was answer enough.

Yamato nodded smugly. "See? We're more alike than you thought. You and I, we're killers plain and simple."

A scowl came to Tetsuo's face. "You don't know me," he spat.

"Oh ho, struck a nerve have I?" Flicking the lho-stick away, Yamato leaned forward. "Alright, then, answer me this: why are you here? What is it you're fighting for? To get revenge? To soothe your guilt for letting your village die?"

"To protect people," the boy answered.

Yamato scoffed. "You mean to tell me you're willing to sit out here in the mud and die horribly for the sake of 'protecting' people you've never even met? Please."

"It's the truth!"

"Sure it is," Yamato sneered. "You think those people behind the city walls will care whether you live or die, Tetsuo? We're just two people in a sea of thousands, and dozens of us are dying every day; nobody's going to mourn us when we're gone."

Tetsuo's eyes hardened. "You think I care about that? You think it matters to me whether people will sing songs about my deeds? I'm not here for glory, and I'm not fighting just for revenge; I'm here because it's what I have to do."

The older man snorted. "Whatever you say, kiddo."

"They're coming back!" one of the other soldiers yelled. Scarcely had the words left his mouth when a great roar washed over the trench, the sound of hundreds of coarse voices baying in unison, a sound of bloodlust and battle frenzy and primitive, brutal instinct:

"WAAAAAAAGH!"

Yamato shrugged, grabbing his rifle as he rose to his feet. "Looks like break time's over," he said casually. "Try not to die, Tetsuo."

Tetsuo did not answer, having already taken his place in the firing line and brought up his rifle. The boy did his best to push the older man's words out of mind as he sighted down his gun's iron sights, watching as the Oni emerged from the dust in a vast tide of fur pelts, gnashing teeth and green flesh. He racked the charging handle, waiting for them to get closer, lining up a shot on one of the brutes at the head of the charge, a big one that stood head and shoulders above the rest of its brutish brethren. Taking a breath to steady his hand, Tetsuo took aim at the beast's forehead and pulled the trigger.

A beam of scarlet light lanced from the muzzle, striking the beast right between the eyes and blowing a fist-sized hole clean through its skull. Tetsuo smiled grimly as his target fell to the ground; then the smile faded, and he lined up another shot. All around him, the other men in the trench began to fire as well, filling the air with yet more rays of crimson death.

Tetsuo had never held a lasgun before a few days ago, and indeed had not even known that such a weapon existed until then. He was a quick study, though, and it had only taken him a few hours of practice to pick up the essentials; rest the stock in the crook of your arm, center in on the target and then pull the trigger.

"Center in on the target and pull the trigger," he whispered under his breath, the words like a mantra as he turned another Oni's head to fine pink mist. "Center in on the target and pull the trigger. Center in on the target and pull the trigger…"

He fired, and all around him his fellow soldiers were firing, and the Oni were dropping like flies, half a dozen or more felled every second or two by this fire team alone. It wasn't enough. The horde wasn't slowing down in the slightest, it just kept coming, heedless of the dead and dying greenskins that got trampled underfoot. For every Oni he killed, another pushed its way to the front of the mob, and they were getting closer, closer, closer.

Soon they would be at the first line of the trenches, and then the nightmare of close-quarters combat would begin…and given that Tetsuo and his fellows had nothing but their bayonets and knives for that, he wasn't feeling particularly optimistic about his chances of survival.

He frowned. Something wasn't right; usually when you took down the big ones the other Oni would at least falter a bit, and he knew that he'd killed at least two of them since the fight started. Yet they weren't slowing down at all, and barely seemed to notice the deaths of their leaders…

Then the green tide parted, and Tetsuo's eyes went wide as he caught sight of what was by far the biggest Oni he'd ever seen. Twice as big and twice as broad as its smaller brethren at the very least, the hulking brute was covered from head to toe in thick slabs of wood, bone and rock like some improvised suit of armour. A blood-spattered cloak made from the pelt of a ghost tiger billowed behind it as it pushed its way to the front of the mob, and it wore the skull of a dire boar like some horned helmet. A great metal pole rose from its back like the battle standard of a shogun, pieces of rusting metal affixed to it to form the image of a glowering Oni skull. In its left hand it held a truly massive gun with two barrels, and in its right it clutched a giant metal axe whose blade blurred and snarled like the mouth of some monstrous beast.

"WAAAGH!" roared the beast, and in response the entire horde roared right back.

A sinking feeling formed in the pit of Tetsuo's stomach, and for a moment he could do nothing but stare at the giant.

"Tetsuo!" Yamato's voice cut through the din of battle. "Take him out!"

Snapped out of his trance, the boy swung up his rifle and took aim at the chieftain's head. He was the best marksman in the squad. He could make this shot…

The beast's head swung in his direction, its red eyes blazing with malice, and Tetsuo froze, paralyzed by the sudden realization that it was looking right at him.

"What are you waiting for?" Yamato yelled. "Take the shot!"

Tetsuo did nothing, transfixed by the monster's hateful glare.

"Tetsuo!"

The lasgun was shaking in his hands. He couldn't move.

"Tetsuo! Take the shot or we're all dead!"

A roar of thunder split the air. Tetsuo brought his rifle up, began to squeeze the trigger…

A raindrop hit the lasgun, splashing him in the eye. He recoiled, and the chieftain exploded with hideous laughter as the shot went wide.

Tetsuo went white as a sheet, knowing without a doubt that he'd just doomed them all.

Thunder rumbled overhead, the giant stomping towards the trench as the rain began to fall heavily. The other Oni stood by, grinning, waiting for the slaughter to come. The sounds of lasfire continued to ring out, but at a distance, from other squads on parts of the battlefield; Tetsuo's fellows had stopped firing, staring with dread at the chieftain's approaching form.

Tetsuo took half a step back, then stood his ground. No, he told himself, he wouldn't run away; if this was to be his end, then by the Celestial King he would meet it head-on, not with his back turned like a coward.

He drew his combat knife with shaking hands, drawing a peel of mocking laughter from the chieftain.

A bolt of lightning flared off in the distance, throwing the chieftain's silhouette into stark relief, and with it came the roar of thunder.

He frowned. It might have been just his imagination, but for a moment he could have sworn there was a second roar hidden beneath that first one…

Then the sound grew louder, rising in pitch and volume, and he realized that it wasn't just his imagination. The Oni heard it too, for they all looked up in confusion.

Tetsuo looked up as well, and his eyes went wide at what he saw.

Great balls of fire were raining down from the sky, like shooting stars plucked from the heavens.

Tetsuo could only blink in bafflement. "What…?"

That was all he had time to say, for suddenly the battlefield was shaking violently as those balls of fire began to hit the ground. Men and Oni alike cried out in shock and alarm as these impacts knocked them off their feet, and Tetsuo staggered as a wave of pressure passed over him, bringing up an arm to shield his eyes from a sudden storm of dust. It felt like a titan of myth was punching the earth with all its might, trying to unmake the battlefield.

"What's going on?!" he yelled to no one in particular.

The dust cleared a moment later, and a strange hissing sound drew his attention towards the right. His eyebrows rose as he beheld something that most assuredly had not been there a moment ago; some thirty metres away there now stood a great metal pod, as wide as a small house and taller besides, its broad, angular surfaces painted green and black. And there, etched on the side facing him, was an icon that he recognized immediately—a golden eagle with two heads, the sacred emblem of the Celestial King.

Before Tetsuo's astonished eyes the object began to split open, its sides unfurling dramatically like the petals of some giant sakura blossom. Cries of pain came from some of the Oni as the great petals slammed down, crushing them beneath their immense weight. Then gouts of flame erupted from the pod's interior, and those cries were doubled as those beasts fortunate enough to escape being crushed caught fire.

Snarling, the chieftain turned and sprinted away, barking orders at the other Oni in its guttural tongue. Tetsuo watched its flight in a daze, noting that yet more pods were now scattered across the battlefield, and that they too were now opening to unleash torrents of fire on the surrounding greenskins. Were these the shooting stars?

Movement by the first pod, the nearest, drew his attention back to it, and his mouth dropped open at what emerged from its depths.

Seven warriors walked down the pod's ramps, towering giants clad head to toe in suits of bulky green armour. Enormous pauldrons covered their shoulders, most of them painted black and adorned with emblems of fire and the snarling heads of golden dragons, though in one warrior's case the right shoulder guard was instead white and bore the image of a strange, winged red helix. Many of them carried enormous guns the likes of which Tetsuo had never seen, their muzzles preceded by flickering tongues of blue flame. One man carried an enormous pole at least three times taller than he was, from which hung a great tapestry depicting the fire-snorting head of horned green dragon, holding it one-handed in a way that suggested familiarity with the enormous standard. The man with the white pauldron also had a white helmet, and carried a sword whose blade was lined with serrated shards like teeth.

As awe-inspiring as these warriors were, they were as nothing compared to the man who was obviously their leader. Clutching a massive hammer whose head crackled with lightning in both hands, he bore elaborate designs and gold traceries on his armour. A cloak of enormous scales hung about his shoulders, making Tetsuo shudder with wonder at what sort of beast the scales could have come from…and how the warrior might have taken them. Rolls of parchment were affixed to his armour by wax seals, fluttering in the breeze, and crests like flaring wings rose from his grimacing skull helmet.

The boy had never seen anything like these warriors in his life, but he knew what they were. He had heard tales of their exploits all the time growing up, enough to recognize them on sight. A profound sense of awe settled over him as he realized that he was standing in the presence of beings who were more than mortal, the greatest defenders of mankind.

"Shinigami," he breathed. "Space Marines…"

The cloaked warrior turned to his comrades and thrust his hammer into the air. "We must drive back the greenskins, my brothers!" he proclaimed, his voice like thunder. "Get them back from the trenches, and give the civilians time to fall back within the city walls. Into the fires of battle!" he boomed.

"Unto the anvil of war!" the other warriors answered in unison, their voices shaking the battlefield.

And with this battle cry the Space Marines turned and began to wade into the Oni, their guns spewing great streams of flame that burned the greenskins to ash in seconds. Dozens of the beasts died in the time it took Tetsuo to blink, their cries and howls of agony barely audible over the roar of the Shinigami's weapons.

"They're like dragons," he breathed.

At his side, Yamato let out a whistle. "Now there's something you don't see every day," he said, the older man's usual flippancy not quite able to conceal his awe. "Quite a sight, aren't they?"

Tetsuo could only nod dumbly. What could he possibly say? There were no words to describe the awesome sight of the Celestial King's divine warriors unleashing their might upon the Oni, at least none that could do it justice. It inspired in him a panoply of feelings—awe, at the mighty warriors themselves and how they strode so confidently across the battlefield; terror, at how efficiently, brutally and dispassionately they slaughtered the Oni…

And hope, for now the odds were back on their side. Now they had a chance; now they could win this!

Smiling, the boy crossed his hands over his chest and made the sign of the two-headed eagle, offering a silent prayer of thanks to the Celestial King. "Kami protects…"

Author's Note: And so the cavalry has arrived. Tune in next week as the 'Shinigami' unleash the Emperor's fury upon the greenskin hordes!