Disclaimer: Touhou belongs to ZUN and Dies Irae belongs to Masada. I own neither. While I'm still thinking about the world building for Tanya and Dies Irae crossover, I have an idea about a certain snake (not you, Kanako) wrecking havoc at an unprecedented scale in Touhou. Yep, not only Gensokyou will be affected.

Prologue

Such beauty.

Such innocence.

Such pure-hearted existence…

How did she end up treated like garbage?

Only because she had the power to bring death upon those who live…she was feared by fools who are blinded by their short-sighted desires?

How sad…how pitiful…how tragic.

Truly…those idiots trapped in the cycle of life and death kept loathing death.

Little do they understand the truth. That everything has been decided before creation even began.

The strong, the weak, the rich, the poor, the pure, the impure, the intelligent, the dumb, the pious, the sinner, the enlightened, the fallen ones, all of them were decided since time immemorial.

What if they knew about this? So what? Will they be able to accept reality as it is?

The gods shall have their dominions. The powerful shall have their powers. The rich shall have their riches. The poor shall be cursed to poverty. The evil shall be wicked, and the righteous just.

The beautiful, the hideous, the strong, the weak, the big, the small, the fortunate, the miserable…and finally, victors and losers.

What if all that has been carved since eons ago, giving no room for divergence?

Then the sinners have nothing to answer for, nor do saints have any virtue to their name.

What if a single action has been carved since eons ago and not done by a person's volition?

Then are we merely drifting in the passage of time?

Would anyone be content with such a world?

A world to which power is given not earned, would one accept knees bent on a throne built on such falsehood?

Those in possession of such knowledge can laugh joyfully, oblivious to the meaning of life, being nothing more than mere slaves.

Should this be the fate of all, then I, shall resist this meaningless farce.

I shall walk this road to its utmost conclusion, and at the distant place I can call my finale, compose an opera that only belonged to me.

I vow to struggle for eternity till the light of victory shines upon all.

Although all are bind to this cursed chain…

Let us pray that the step we take is the true step that holds the deepest meaning.

So that the one I love shall no longer face such farce from fools.

"Ah…how lovely," said a human.

He had a poet-like voice and spoke as if he was singing. His melancholic expression and soft demeanor were directed to a single woman.

"Are you not afraid of me?" asked a woman.

The maroon-eyed woman looked at the long-haired man that smiled faintly.

Her soft-spoken voice sounded hesitant. For all she knew, she was the personification of death.

Whether they were human or youkai, all of them died whenever they faced her. Only few found comfort when present around her.

Yet, it was not their fault. For the woman was the princess of the Saigyouji, the ruler of death.

With the power to control death and departed spirits, she was truly an odd existence worthy of fear by those who could not fathom her true nature. For she was beyond their comprehension.

"Milady, all I desire is to love you. I am unlike those fools who fear you for something they will face sooner or later. I do not fear death. Even if you are the personification of death, I would gladly embrace you in my heart."

Truly, only sincerity could be felt from those words.

To that woman, that man was truly an odd existence. He was sitting beside her, yet she felt as if she was looking at a projection of something faraway.

"So what? Will I die because I loved you? Then what? Death is not the end, nor is eternal separation. Dying in your hands…would be a great honor to me."

The woman smiled.

"I would rather die…than living with any regret."

Not many could mutter such words. She recognized the man's courage.

More importantly, she recognized that the man may not even die from being around with her.

She remembered their first meeting.

His existence was thin, as if it had withered and shriveled up.

He resembled an old man who have achieved everything; there was no sign of desire or will from him. His obsidian eyes seemed to have frozen in a state of eternal decay.

She felt as if she was looking at dead fish, or rather… something that survived being pulled from its natural place.

An existence that was truly out of place. Thus, it was unable to achieve its truest desire – death.

It remained unable to die, so it was forced to live on and suffer. The cruelest punishment anyone could ask for.

"You are truly fascinating. Never had anyone approached me before. And to think that someone would actually confess his love to me…"

The man whose blue hair was even longer than the woman's, smiled gracefully.

He gave an expression of someone who was content with life yet refused to give up on it.

"Will you promise me one thing?" asked the woman.

"Anything for you, milady."

"Will you love me…forever? Even if something happens to me…even if I died earlier than you…or?"

The man cut that woman's words. For he felt the question to be one asked by a foolish, but innocent human.

"Truly, truly. How many times have I said this, my dear one?"

The man had lost track of the number of times he had said this.

"Even if all existence ends, I will continue loving you. For only you are the one in my heart, my dear Goddess. No matter how many times I must endure hell, I will continue this struggle. So that our love may break any curse falling upon us."

Those words were not lies muttered by a fluent poet. Those were muttered by someone that truly meant every single word.

Even for that pure-hearted maiden, she was not naïve enough that she could differentiate between true emotions and lies.

Therefore, she would acknowledge that man who filled the void in her heart.

The man then smiled gently at the love of his life.

"What about you? Will you promise me something?"

The man's gaze upon the soft-hearted woman's eyes and ignited an intense, but warm feeling in her heart.

"Will you promise me that you won't forget me, even if we're not meant to be together?"

The question sounded selfish and childish.

Still, that woman chuckled at that man's childish side. Perhaps, she loved that side of him too. To reciprocate his feelings for her, she gently rested her head on his left shoulder.

"How can I ever forget, my dear Mercury?"

May 1st, 1945, Berlin.

The closing act of the Second World War was the manifestation of a total war on an unprecedented scale.

The term 'carnage' was more suitable to describe it.

There was no way out for the German people. The Soviets marched forward from the East, while the Western Powers crushed every resistance possible.

Outmanned and outgunned in every way, Berlin stood in complete isolation, slipping towards the crevice of annihilation.

The virtually endless number of Soviet soldiers had already surrounded all corners of Berlin. There was no escape for the defending Germans.

Guns roared along with the screams of death as the city was razed and bombarded by heavy artillery and weaponry.

Bloodshed. Carnage. All in order to eliminate the enemies known by the whole world.

Justice, love, peace, vengeance, freedom – it did not matter. No matter what slogan was used, the horror would not change.

The chaos engulfing the streets demonstrated quite readily what men would do when presented with a higher cause to justify their acts.

For example…

A blinding light flashed, followed by a loud explosion.

This latest bombardment sent three recognizable humans to their deaths.

Their remains were spread across the pavement.

"Fuck you!"

With a loud curse, a man held a Panzerfaust in his hand as he jotted out of the trenches.

Protected by the covering fires of his allies, he took position at an effective firing range.

He rose to his knees, took aim and pulled the trigger. The projectile shot forward, hitting the flank of a tank.

The tank imploded in a torrent of liquified metal and several thousand degrees flame.

The man tossed aside his Panzerfaust and started to clean up the remaining enemies while being covered by his comrades. Such was war, it was even more terrifying than a youkai attack.

In fact, it turned humans into monsters – effectively replacing the duty of youkai from this world.

It removed man's compassion and replaced it with the primordial instinct of survival of the fittest.

Thus, the perpetrators of this chaos howled and raged. Reveling in boundless insanity to keep their blood afire.

Within this flaming wasteland of gunplay, soldiers continued their murderous dance as if it was some divine offering to the god of war.

Naturally, it was all for naught. No matter what the soldiers did, it was useless. The outcome of this war was set in stone regardless of the soldiers' efforts to repeal the invaders.

The Third Reich has crumbled. Its visionary leader had committed suicide and its ambition turned into ashes in the flames of war.

What remained on the battlefield was the shaken remains of the defeated and the mob of the victors flocking like vultures to the smell of the decaying flesh.

Certain death.

Irreversible defeat.

Any attempt to retaliate was nothing more than a self-serving act of revenge with no hope of salvation.

Still…

"Kill them! Kill them! Kill them!"

His heart beat still.

His hand grabbed the steel of death.

He would not stop for as long as his heart continues its rhythm.

For he swore to do it.

If there was one thing – even a small thing – to justify this insane hellfire, then that alone is a miracle that not even Kochiya Sanae could invoke.

Honor and glory debased and disgraced, worth less than pig shit – yet human lives remained the cheapest currency.

Such was reality.

"Is this…all that's left?"

After handling the remaining foes, the man retreated and regrouped with his comrades. Including himself, there were only three people standing.

The company responsible to defend the perimeter had been completely crushed. The situation was anything but promising, yet waves of enemy troops are yet to arrive.

"What about our Panzerfaust?" the man asked.

"Unfortunately, that was our last ammo, Sergeant. This is the end for us…the war is lost."

The young man flashed a bitter smile as he handed over his Schmeisser to the other. The older man glared at him but offered no reproach.

For the young man's words were nothing but the truth. The company was gone, and they would join them soon.

"Hmph. Your name, soldier?"

"Joachim Brauner. What about you, sir?"

"I am Walter Gerlitz. I suppose it is best to know the names of the soldiers we're going to die with. You there!"

"Ah…"

It was the voice of a very young boy, most likely in his teen.

If Walter had a son, he would most likely be around his age.

"Marco Schmitt, sir."

Walter was about to ask what a child was doing in the battlefield, but he retracted his intention. It was a foolish question to ask – the enemy would not show mercy, even to children.

The reason for it was clear – they were the loathed enemies of the Red Army, the Schutzstaffel. The reputed killing machine of the Reich. Even if they surrendered to the Reds, they would either be dead or be sent to Gulag camps in Siberia and slaved to death.

As such, fighting to the last breath was the only option available to them.

Walter was certain Joachim was prepared to be sacrificed for the Fatherland. As for the child…

"What will happen to Berlin, no, Germany, after the war?"

There was no response.

"What about our families and friends?"

The one to interrupt was Joachim.

"Heh. The victors will paint us as monsters that tried to take over the world. This shit will continue as victors will decide history while the losers will suffer as long as the victor wants it too. That is the price of losing."

Joachim's loud voice made his dissatisfaction clear.

"My family lived in Dresden. But they were caught in the massive bombing campaign by the Western powers – never so much found a piece of them. And they called us monsters? Fuck that. We were merely fighting for the Reich. And yet those bastards…who the hell do they think they were?"

He would never surrender. Yet, the war was a lost cause. A single soldier could not change the outcome of war no matter how hard he tried.

With this defeat, the Reich and its descendants would…

Joachim tried to explain his feelings while Marco silently listened.

"So, if I have nothing to lose…at least I should…ugh!"

Several rifle shots echoed from their left just then.

Walter and Marco managed to duck, but Joachim was not so lucky.

The first bullet shot his head, while successive waves of bullets penetrated his chest.

Pelted by endless bullets, Joachim's body contorted in a queer manner almost reminiscent of some form of dance before finally hitting the ground.

An anticlimactic ending indeed for a man who had just expressed his desire to fight to the bitter end.

But that was the reality of the situation here. There was no hero, no miracle, no salvation, no hope; only men dying like insects.

Should one allow the emotions of despair take control of himself, the shinigami would be content with that as the person would make their jobs much easier.

War never tolerated idle thoughts. Only knowledge and duty had meaning here.

As Walter rolled into the safety of a ruined building, he shouted the name of his lone surviving comrade with all he could muster.

But, instead of words.

A flashing light became the reply to his shout. A fiery explosion followed suit.

The upper half of the young boy's body was flung at Walter's feet.

Walter powerlessly dropped his knees to the sea of blood.

"Ah…Sergeant…forgive me…for being useless…"

Marco smiled, even as the embers of his life faded away – it was unbelievable someone could still form words in a state like this. Walter took the boy's hand.

"I refuse to die. I can't die. If I die here…then what were we fighting for all this time?"

The old man remained silent.

"Sir…please tell me. What would happen to Berlin, and Germany…"

"You mustn't talk!"

As the gunfire continued, a brand new tank rolled into the battlefield. Marco Schmitt was beyond help. There was no other way for him besides death.

Thus, Walter knew his position was to confront the enemies. His ears should be listening to the breath of enemy troops, not to the laments of a dying child. That was his priority as a soldier.

He knew that better than anyone, yet…

"Are we…sinners? Are we…monsters? Is this punishment for our sins?"

There was no honor in murder and battle…but

Joachim, Walter and many other German soldiers had taken up arms to fulfill their duties as citizens of the Reich. To defend it from the aggression of the Western Powers, Poland and the communists.

It was the Western Powers that had declared war on Germany in 1939 to honor their treaty with Poland.

It was Stalin that had ambitious plans to expand westward and seize continental Europe as Germany and the West struggled for dominance in Europe.

Yet…

"Waging a war is not a sin," Walter replied, "but losing one is."

Walter found his resentment towards God growing.

Marco Schmitt then passed away in Walter's arm as the man gazed to the heavens. The young boy's smile, albeit tainted with mud and blood, showed signs of boyhood.

"Worry not, Schmitt, Brauner."

A smile mirroring Schmitt's one formed on Walter's face.

"If we lose this one, then we'll win the next one. Or after it. Or after it and after it and after it. We will repeat this a million times, if necessary, until victory is ours!"

His words might seem like the ramblings of a lunatic beast, but it was far more than that.

Walter cocked his Schmeisser, ensured it was filled with bullets and charged out of the building.

"Sieg Heil!"

He let out a roar that threatened to rip his throat out.

Would he end up being gunned down like Joachim? Perhaps he would turn up to be like Marco. Those were real possibilities to be concerned.

"!"

Walter, led by his intuition hid to shelter.

His vision was blinded by an explosion so fierce it dwarfed all the previous bombardments, an explosion that seemed to rip apart the very heavens.

Walter realized this was a weapon beyond anything he had seen before. This was not something made by human hands.

As the light faded…

Vision returned to Walter.

The city he had literally sworn to protect with his very life had turned to a charred wasteland.

The corpses of his comrades, and the presence of enemy troops in the city had all been annihilated.

The scenario was too unbelievable that Walter took time to process this information.

"Ughh!"

Walter's back and flank had been pierced by pieces of metal and concrete. The hand that held a Schmeisser was blown off from the elbow. There was no need to attempt and determine minor injuries suffered by Walter.

His bloody vomit also told him that he suffered internal damage as well as external ones.

He wouldn't make it.

"FUCK! FUCK!"

Walter cursed blindly without caring about the target of his indignation.

As he cursed madly, a voice rang out.

Hear my prayer, O' Lord. To You All Flesh Shall Come. Return onto thy rest, O my soul. For the Lord hath dealt beautifully with thee.

It was a requiem offered to the fallen soldiers.

One sung in a beautiful voice.

Not even a prestigious church choir could produce such melody. Yet at the same time, scorn seeped into the voice. It was all too evident.

It sung of the dead with scorn, malice, ridicule and mockery, deriving the outmost pleasure with trampling upon the last remnants of dignity they possess.

Grant them eternal rest, O' Lord and may everlasting light shine on them.

Alas, the destroyer appeared.

It was a young boy, lacking in years compared to Marco with a face so delicate that a careless glance could mistake him for a girl.

A single look was enough to give Walter the shiver.

Although he had lost a considerable amount of blood, the cause of his freezing chill lay elsewhere.

The sheer enmity and bane radiating from that boy contributed to the freezing chill at Walter's back.

Still, the most fearsome thing was that Walter knew that face.

There lived no one in the Eastern front that knew not of that face.

A beast possessed by an insatiable hunger for life, his aberrant mind ruled by inhuman madness.

He gripped a pair of guns, each engraved with a Wolfsangel – the rune of the Wolf.

It was the face of a boy who should've died three years ago in a purge.

"Major…Schreiber."

Eastern Front Assault Corps Special Unit Leader - SS Major Wolfgang Schreiber. An unchained beast that should not be present here.

But how…

"Ah…if it's not Sergeant Walter Gerlitz. I sure caused trouble for you and your comrades. You doing well?"

Hardly words to be offered to a dying comrade, especially one whose death was likely caused by Schreiber. The boy flashing a devilish smile was no doubt the same Wolfgang Schreiber he knew years ago.

"Why…are…you…here?"

"Hahaha! Do I need a reason? I'm a soldier too! War is what we do, murder is the currency we live on!"

The boy playfully surveyed the landscape – it was enough proof of his statement. And what followed was nothing short of unnatural.

Something akin to opaque vapor erupted in the vicinity. Like a fog, or a haze.

At the same time, dreadful moans assaulted Walter's senses.

These were cursed cries of vengeful spirits and souls of fallen soldiers fated to suffer and lament until the end of times.

This endless chorus of lamentation caused even the air in the battlefield to cool down.

Walter felt he could make out the faces of Joachim and Marco among the swirling mass, as well as the destination towards which they were spiraling.

Straight into Schreiber's Totenkopf's eyepatch.

Not even youkai and lunarians would dare consume vengeful spirits, yet this boy had done it in such a casual manner. Perhaps, the Saigyou Ayakashi itself would meet its own demise from the overload of spirits if it consumed the same amount Schreiber had.

Confronted with such otherworldly spectacle, Walter could not decide whether he should give himself over to rage or simply weep.

"Well then, my dear Sergeant. I am done with my meal, so time for me to take my leave. How about you?"

Walter was breathing his last. He was in no condition to spill blood like soldiers should do.

"Do you not hunger for me?" asked Schreiber.

"Well…killing a hundred or two hundred more Reds would not change anything at this stage. But look around you. Is this the Berlin you swore to protect? Are you really content with this? Is this the so-called glorious Reich that should have survived for a thousand years?"

Walter threw a piercing glance. Indeed, no one would be content with such an outcome.

He'd had friends to call his own. A family to go home to. A woman to love. He'd cherished this country.

All that met its end due to Germany's defeat. It was a dishonor no centuries could clean.

"Unforgivable, right? Those repugnant lowly Slavs are desecrating our homes, pillaging our riches, raping our women and children…hanged our elders! My dear Sergeant, Walter Gerlitz, sworn and loyal blade of the Wehrmacht. What do you desire?"

"Ag…agh…"

The amount of blood flowing out of the man's mouth made speech difficult, but that was not going to stop him.

The boy standing in front of him was unmistakably a demon. But that mattered little at this point.

"I desire victory! Ein volk, ein Reich, ein Fuhrer!"

He wished to fight for his family and friends.

To bring victory, peace and glory to the Great German Reich.

To bring prosperity to generations yet unborn.

Above all else, for his soul to rest peacefully.

"Sieg Heil! That's right, Sergeant! You made the right choice. You deserve the honor to be His flesh and blood! This war will never end. We will not allow it. We will continue to repeat this war until we get the outcome we desire."

Schreiber turned his Mauser at Walter's direction as the last light of the latter's soul began to fade.

Grant them eternal rest, O' Lord and may everlasting light shine on them.

The requiem was filled with scorn and malice for the fallen, yet Walter thought it to be like the song of the angels.

It was then that he realized this would be the apocalypse.

He would be one of the many that would join His legion and fight endlessly to victory.

He would soon join many others to march and destroy the world.

As Walter's soul was sucked into Wolfgang Schreiber.

At the same time…

Up in the Berlin sky, tainted by blood and fire.

Taking the form through the carnage of the capital…was a large swastika.

A man stood atop the towering spike atop its center.

The voice of a woman rang throughout the city.

"Listen, people of Berlin! Our great Lord, the Monarch of Destruction graces you with his message! Listen to his exalted words in silence!"

At that moment, all elders ceased their flight, all children stopped crying and all soldiers, regardless of friends or foes ceased fire.

Each and every single soul gazed up to the sky as if possessed.

On the very day the Reich fell, a devil of blinding light descended from the heavens.

He looked like a floating mane, golden in color. His regal gaze equally golden.

It was golden in nature, surpassing creation itself – a majestic beauty mixed with a beastly hue.

A being that shouldn't exist in the realm of man.

At his side, a man with feature dark and twisting as the darkest of shadows.

He was garbed in the plain garbs of a hermit, with ambiguous features that made it impossible to determine his age.

A Yin to his Yang. The two existed at a level beyond anyone's comprehension. They were monsters feared by monsters themselves.

Number I and XIII of the Longinus Dreizehn Orden's Obsidian Round Table.

The Supreme Leader and the Vice Commander of the Table.

"Brothers and Sisters!"

Gazing down at Berlin – no, the entire world – he began his speech.

What if I told you that everything is decided by fate?

That victors were born for glory; the defeated live to serve? You live your live as it has been decided in advanced, always reaching the same finale, unable to diverge, no matter what happens. What if I told you everything was made from such cruel fabric?

If such is the case, then hard work means no different from sloth. Dreams and prayers both equally lacking in value. What if I told you that the divine graces, as well as the wrath of the heavens were carved into stones eons before?

All of you, who were labeled as the Devil's offspring, born only to be destroyed, downtrodden, violated and annihilated even without sins…simply because it was decided since time immemorial. Nothing more and nothing less.

Such is the law of the detestable cycle – this wicked law.

Death brings no release, only another cycle of suffering, failure, pain and defeat. There is no nirvana.

And so you will find nothing but eternal suffering and defeat because you were born of shouldering that fate, no more and no less. Do you not find this outcome infuriating?

Do you not wish to turn the tables?

Nothing awaits you but eternal grim and suffering.

The Golden Monarch's grim words reached to every single soul in Berlin.

His voice possessed a magical quality, capable of penetrating the hearts of his listeners; the best comparison was to the cries of the ancient gods of the past.

A juggernaut of a voice that could ensnare all of creation.

And the being that possessed the voice was certainly no mortal.

If you agree…then fight.

If you wish to rid your miserable lot in life, then offer your very soul.

If you wish to wash away the stigma of the defeated…ride to battle at my side.

Take the pen and sign the pact with blood.

If such is your desire…then enlist in my Legion.

The moment those ponderous words ended, the unthinkable happened.

All men with guns shot themselves.

All men with knives thrusted the knives deep into their bodies.

Those without armaments threw themselves into the inferno surrounding the city.

Hundreds of thousands of men had offered themselves as sacrifices for the Golden Monarch.

And…

"GUAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGGGGGGGHHH!"

Usami Sumireko's body jerked with her two arms on her stomach. Her hands were in an odd fashion, as if she was trying to stab herself with a knife.

Her face was covered in sweat and her entire clothing was wet.

The unfortunate woman was surrounded by a few classmates and an elderly female.

"Oi, Usami! Are you okay?"

The panicked Usami immediately moved her body, but she felt extremely weak as if she had just returned from a battlefield. Not even danmaku battles felt this tiring to herself.

She inhaled some air and exhaled slowly.

"Where am I?"

The elderly woman spoke.

"The school infirmary. I called your name several times as you were sleeping in my class…but you weren't responding. Besides, your entire body was hotter than normal – your body temperature was 39.5 degrees Celsius."

Usami touched her forehead and looked at the elderly woman. It was still rather hot. Usami thought she could boil an egg using her forehead alone.

"…"

"Anyway, you shouldn't force yourself to school if you're terribly ill. I've called your parents, they're going to pick you up later. You should rest at home."

As a gesture of respect, she bowed slightly and thanked her teacher.

(What the hell…was with that weird dream?)

Author's Note: Thanks. As usual, leave your comments. The Tanya x Dies Irae story...still thinking about some things.