Don't scream.

Don't move.

Don't think.

"Hold!," screamed Keroro above the cacaphony as the tip of the enemy wave crested over the horizon ahead of them. With great effort, Natsumi held. Adrenaline pulsed through her at the sight of the roiling, loathsome mass, the blasphemous legions which were so numerous they seemed to converge into a single writhing entity in their reckless advance. They were now less than 500 meters away and closing in fast. Natsumi gripped her weapons tightly in restless anticipation.

"Hold!..." At Keroro's signal, Kururu and Mutsumi unleashed the first wave of a joint attack: a volley of paper missiles that spiraled outward in every direction and exploded over their target in a wave of white-hot energy. Natsumi had to shield her eyes against the blast as she strained to see its effects. Even at this distance, the intense heat pierced her armor and prickled uncomfortably against her skin. After what seemed like several minutes, the light finally subsided and the smoke began to dissipate, revealing results that were far too graphic to describe in too much detail while maintaining a "T" rating. Natsumi wrinkled her face at the sight.

Disgusting.

Behind her, Giroro chuckled.

I thought it was pretty impressive… but now let's show them what we can do.

Natsumi nodded and readied herself. Her stance was fixed, her sights were steady, her mind was clear; all she needed was the go-ahead from Keroro. Within moments the next wave of monsters slowly visualized through the haze – marching carelessly over the smoldering piles that had once been their comrades – and the order she was awaiting rang immediately into the night sky and hung there.

"Attack! Fiiiiire!"

And thus it began. Up until this moment, Natsumi had experienced every single sensation with a kind of somnambulistic disbelief, a feeling of being encased in a surreality that dominated the world around her but was independent of her own self. But now that the time had come, now that the fate of Earth lay within those two triggers beneath her fingers, she felt she could see clearly again. With a cool head and a steady heart, she looked into the advancing flood and smiled.

Welcome to Earth…

Battle erupted around her. She was immersed in a world of riotous light and sound; all around her she saw flashes of energy streaming into the oncoming chaos and heard the screams of gunfire resonating with those of the enraged Greaves. Interestingly, when stripped of their greatest weapon – fear – they proved surprisingly frail. One by one, they fell beneath the offensive; aiming was almost unnecessary because their sheer numbers comprised a virtually unmissable target.

But it wasn't nearly enough. Like a wounded behemoth, the surge pressed slowly forward, relentless in its pursuit of a fresh kill. Natsumi swore as her weapon abruptly shut off and flung it to the ground in frustration.

It's overheated. Switch to something different for now or you'll burn yourself – a fission weapon is a dangerous thing.

She blinked in surprise. Giroro wasn't even looking at her, but he was still managing to look out for her. She took a deep breath and nodded as a new kind of weapon appeared in her hands.

Thanks, Giroro.

The new weapon, a particle beam rifle, wasn't as powerful and had a shorter range than the previous gun, but her aching, tired arms were grateful for the cooler temperature and lack of recoil that it offered. She didn't know the first thing about these alien weapons her unit was providing her with, but Kururu had been right: they fit her needs exactly.

The battle continued to crawl onward, battering their struggling defenses like a hurricane. Try as she might to focus on the task at hand, in the back of her mind she couldn't help but wonder how much time had passed since they started their attack. It felt like hours, but it could have been much less. Either way, the distance between themselves and the Greave army was roughly a quarter what it was at the beginning of the battle.

What that meant was, regardless of how close their aerial reinforcements were to arriving, it wouldn't be long before they met the enemy face-to-face.

Then, Natsumi knew, that's when the real battle would begin.

Strange things were happening to Fuyuki. Even with the fear-suppressing serum in his blood, he had been scared as hell coming into this battle. Truth be told, he still was. His mom, Natsumi, Nishizawa-san, Gunso and the others… they were good at fighting and the like, but he, scrawny nerd that he was, just wasn't cut out for this sort of thing. Yet he absolutely wouldn't let anyone protect him; he was part of a team, and he would have to help them now rather than bringing them down.

But his mech had searched his brain and provided him with an unexpected weapon. In fact, he hadn't even known it was a weapon when it first appeared in his hands.

It was a book.

Vaguely, he had a feeling that he'd seen this book somewhere before. It was a large codex, bound in some thick, leathery material with heavy iron clasps on one side. It appeared very ancient, with large black letters on the front written in a language that Fuyuki did not understand:

Νεκρόνόμικόν

The battle started and everyone around him began showering the enemy with a barrage of artillery. He, however, remained entranced by the mysterious book. With great care, he undid the clasps and lifted the cover, only to find – to his great disappointment – that the rest of the book was in the same cryptic language as its cover. Yet, he somehow felt he should be able to understand this book… if only…

Gunso, are we equipped with translators?

It took a moment for Keroro to respond in the midst of the fight. As strange as the question may have been at a time like this, his friend took no note of it.

I'm afraid not, Fuyuki-dono. Do you need one?

Yes, actually.

There was another momentary pause.

Alright. I'll let you use mine for now, but I won't be able to communicate with you in the meantime, de arimasu. I'll have Kururu give the orders in my place. Catch!

Fuyuki caught a gleam of light flying toward him and reached up to grab the translator in its descent. After a few moments of struggling, he managed to equip it successfully and returned his attention to the text. It was Greek: ancient, yet post-Classical. He wasn't sure how he knew that, but somehow he did. He began to read, and before he'd even finished the first line his eyes were growing wide with the realization of what kind of book this was. Abandoning care, he flung the book shut and turned it over to get another look at the cover.

His breath caught in his chest. There was the name of the tome, standing out boldly against the faded leather surface. He could read it, and he knew what it meant. It said simply:

Necronomicon