AN: Oh boy, yet another story I will most likely never finish… This work is vaguely inspired by A New Great War by In BRRRRRRT We Trust, To War by Jingo! To Arms in Dixie! Rise of the Southern Bow! by Z75, TNO, Your Mother, and every show that History Channel puts on at 3 am.
Disclaimer: I am ignorant of the finer details of the ROTSH world, only knowing the broader strokes through other fanfics, the wiki, the web novel, manga and (very small) parts of the anime. So, if there's something blatantly wrong to the point that even the Alternate Universe label can't patch it up, please let me know.
P.S. If anyone can hook me up with an unofficial LN translation, that'd be fantastic…
ENSLAVEMENT ARC PART I: Tinker, Tailor, Soldier...
"Whether nations live in prosperity or starve to death interests me only in so far as we need them as slaves for our culture: otherwise it is of no interest to me." – Heinrich Himmler
On Tuesday, January 5th, 1949, The Treaty of Linz was signed, changing the global order forever…
It marked the end of the Second Great War, the greatest waste of life in human history with its horrifying death toll of over 165 million, countless more still unaccounted for. But, in the end, it only marked a stalemate. Neither the Allies' Manhattan Devices, nor Germany's Wunderwaffen, nor even Japan's Special Sanitation Projects were able to fully tip the balance.
But it wasn't always this way…
Back during 1945, The Allies had a clear shot towards Berlin. Hitler's abominable regime was in its death throes, having been broken in the Ardennes. But then the advance soon came to a sudden halt.
The Nazis, despite everything, were not only undeterred, they actively pushed back and won. They brought out mysterious weapons that defied conventional science and basic logic, and the poor men in their way died by the dozen. Months later, the Japanese followed through as well, with their own inexplicable miracles against the Americans, pushing them back to Midway.
It seemed that, against all common sense, luck had run out for the Allies.
By February 1946, the Germans were back in Paris, by the same time a year later, they stepped upon the gates of Moscow once more. Then, in November 1948, came the last straw: Joseph Stalin died from a stroke, from the combined stress of the war. Immediately afterward, the Soviets shattered like poorly tempered glass, and with them, left any chance of the Allies regaining Europe.
Seeing no other choice, with their populations depleted, suffering under almost ten years of constant war, the Allies sued for peace, hoping to lick their wounds. Hitler and Tojo, weary of further nuclear attacks and satisfied with what gains they had, accepted.
Thus, the stage was set for The Second Great Game.
The World was split three ways: what the Allies retained would be reorganized into the League of Liberty, the Germans would consolidate their gains under the Großer Reichspakt, and the Japanese put their puppets under the umbrella of the so-called Co-Prosperity Sphere.
In a way, though, it could be said that the war continued, but only through subtle methods such as espionage – a Cold War, unlike the blazing fires of annihilation that defined the decade before.
For years, the Axis' comeback would baffle analysts. Hitler claimed it was through "the Common Aryan Spirit" that they survived, and the Japanese lauded their "Second Divine Wind" as being responsible for their inexplicable victories – but those "explanations" only went so far…
…That was, until June 1957, when the masquerade finally broke.
In the chaotic wake of the Führer's untimely passing from alzheimers, the League's Combined Office of Intelligence made the discovery of a lifetime:
Magic was real.
And they were far, far behind both the Germans and the Japanese.
Thus, in a desperate bid to catch up, the League sent their best and brightest to investigate these phenomena.
Years later, one such agent, codenamed "The Fox", would be sent to German Occupied Africa, for there was a rumored artifact that had the potential to bring about Waves of Calamity...
Übernat. Informationsbüro Anbau-02, Reichskommissariat Süd-Kongo – der 20. Juni 1969
Supernatural Intelligence Bureau Annex-02, German Occupied South Congo– June 20th, 1969
Early morning in this part of the world was a hot and humid affair. Half awake men, trudging along identical brutalist hallways, carrying their cups of lukewarm coffee while trying to sweat the heat out. Yet, in all this misery, there always remained a few that were, almost sadistically, happy.
"Oh, Kuno!"
A man in a black and gray uniform chirped with a smile. SS-Hauptsturmführer Schulze was a rather rotund man, fat off the forced labor of others and weak of the body by his own indolence. A detestable man, with no regard for the lives of anyone but his own.
"Morning, Hans…"
"Yeesh, you sound like you got a case of the Mondays… On Friday!"
That elicited an eyeroll.
"-and I know I'm sounding like a broken record here, but you should eat more… You look like one of those fucking things from the camps."
A bubbling of both white hot anger and cold fury grew under Konrad's breast, but he never let it show, lest the mission fall apart around him. There was no twitch of the eye, nor any other tell for those to catch, only the genuine amusement of his mask.
"Heh! Well, at least I've not been going heavy on the knödels like you've been lately… I mean, look at you – Hugo Boss is rolling in his grave from how you're treating that poor belt!"
"Haha! Good one, Kuno!"
No matter how much he hated this parasite, his cover depended on him. This was the ugly side of espionage, the demons you have to give lip service to along the way, no matter what unspeakable crimes they did.
"So, wanna meet up at the beer hall later tonight?"
"Damn right! You know me so well…"
But no matter… A fox wouldn't be such a good trickster without his masks. It was Konrad that was friends with Hans Schulze, not him. Thankfully, though, he wouldn't have to tolerate the other man's presence much longer as the usual corner came up.
"Well, have a good one, Hans."
"You too!"
Out of sight of the other man, he let the mask slip, at least for a little bit. His smile fell into a scowl, reflecting his true thoughts of the other man… if he could even call that monster that. Even being around that thing is a task in itself.
…But not for Dr. Konrad "Kuno" Walther, a friendly researcher working for Übernatürlicher Informationsbüro in faithful service to the Reich. He wasn't anyone that the Schutzstaffel would ever expect: arischer to the core… a man who would read the Völkischer Beobachter with his morning coffee, and think no further of it. Someone who idolized Adolf Hitler as the new Messiah…
He was the perfect man.
And that's why they didn't need to know who Luther Groza, Special Agent to the Combined Office of Intelligence, faithful to only Uncle Sam and his lost homeland, truly was. He would have been the devil to them, a prodigy coming from supposedly inferior blood. Someone who both innately understood the realm of the mystical and the craft of espionage.
That second part… that probably ran in the family. His mother worked for the Office of Strategic Services during the war, and his father… he was her contact in the Polish Resistance, under the nom de guerre Andrzej Groza – The Terror.
Whether it was a miracle or a curse, an accident or an act of God, he was born during that time, for better or worse. A cradle of blood and iron, trapped behind enemy lines until the very here he was, back again, but this time, out of his own choice, for every letter he discreetly sent home chiseled a crack in this Satanic empire's foundation.
Ah, if only it were that simple…
It turns out that this magical artifact, which spewed out mana by the truckload… was actually a paperback novel, in Japanese of all languages. Good thing the COI taught him the language, or else the mission might have been dead in the water right then and there.
What's more, a lot of things just simply didn't line up. There was no known book being published under the title of "The Rising of the Shield Hero," and the search for this "Aneko Yusagi" still remains fruitless. The cover was adorned with detailed art of three characters, which had a style that vaguely resembled the children's propaganda cartoons from the East, and the back, oddly enough, claimed to be published in the far flung future of 2013.
He would have brushed off that last part, but the apocalyptic amount of energy he felt radiating off it made for a rather convincing argument. This world was already mad enough, how would something as mundane as time travel affect anything?...
Eh… whatever…
Despite his title as a researcher, the Reich didn't pay Konrad to think such thoughts, only to translate it in the hopes that the blueprint of the latest Wunderwaffe might lay within.
Pulling out his key, he entered the chamber where the artifact was kept. The room was deceptively unremarkable. The walls were made of a drab gray concrete brick, the checkerboard tile floor that made the eyes glaze over, and the artifact itself stood unguarded, left on a plain metal table.
There was an exception to this rule of monotony, the observation window at the end of the room. Behind it, a team of researchers readied their pens, and a few bored blackshirted goons sat in to watch the non-spectacle.
Flipping to where he left the bookmark, he brought out his notebook and readied himself to parse through the headache inducing material.
"This is Doctor Konrad Walther, the time is oh-seven-two-three, the date is June twentieth, nineteen-sixty-nine, and I will continue my translation of Artifact Adler-Gamma-Three, starting from page three-hundred and one, sentence two."
The head researcher, a mouselike old man wearing thick spectacle spoke into his mic,
"You may begin, Doctor Walther."
What made this text so frustrating for Konrad was the sheer amount of idiosyncrasies and assumed knowledge that diverged significantly from imperial standard Japanese.
For example: the neologism "Otaku"
This word is supposed to be just an archaic personal pronoun to address someone indirectly, roughly translating to "Your House." In this book, though, the word is used in an entirely different way – meaning something like "enthusiast" or "hobbyist", but in a mildly pejorative way. And don't even get him startest on whatever the hell "Video Game", "RPG", "Status Menu" or any other such terms meant!
But, somehow, someway… Konrad persisted and managed to parse out what the text meant. Surprisingly, or rather, unsurprisingly, it was a standard fantasy novel, not unlike the ones that popped up in the wake of Tolkien's best-seller.
It followed the titular Shield Hero, Naofumi, a Japanese university student throughout his journey through the mystical Kingdom of Meruromaruku. But, he was betrayed, and at his lowest point, he takes in a demihuman slave by the name of Rafutaria. It then chronicled his adventures of dealing with the consequences of the other heroes' actions, fighting the monsters spawned by the "Waves of Calamity", and eventually getting revenge on the very woman who betrayed him, clearing his name.
In his honest opinion, while it was a rather unique tale, it didn't merit being printed on the magical equivalent of a Manhattan Device. Sometimes the most mundane things could hold the greatest secrets…
Ah… Page 304, what mysteries lay within thy print-
Pop! Pop! Pop!
The alarms went off, their screeching piercing his ears. Gunfire.
Ahead in the observation room, the egghead scrambled out of their chairs and the few SS still in there readied their sidearms. Luther jumped up from his seat, hurriedly stuffing both the artifact and the notebook.
Glancing back, those behind the glass had their hands up. The reason soon was revealed when a native man appeared with a modified M1 Garand, and a distinctive symbol on his shoulder: an arrow shooting through two broken chains.
Damn!
It was The Unchained….
People like him tended to fare badly in the crossfire. He needed to get out yesterday.
He rushed to the door, not even looking back as the window behind him was painted in blood and lead.
Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop!
Luther tried to unlock the door, but he fumbled with the key, wasting precious seconds. The glass shattered behind him. The Man, clearly native by blood, was trying to break into the chamber. He rushed to get the key through the hole.
Click!
He made it! But there was a problem… there was a rifle pointed at his chest, and on the other end, a very angry looking man.
Instinctively, he raised his hands, but he didn't like his odds… They were known for never taking prisoners, under any circumstance.
"Look… I'm not with them…"
Eyes. Hateful, hateful eyes glared at him with fire and brimstone. The torrent of fury screaming, "Revenge at All Costs," betraying the soul of a broken man. He had seen those eyes before.
Those very same eyes were on his father's face for those final few days. It gave Luther pause…
Tata…
The man shouted at him in a language he didn't understand, breaking him from his trance.
"Wait! Please, listen. My name is Special Agent Luther Gro-"
Bang!
Step… Step…
He stumbled back, tripping over his own ankle, back hitting the ground with a thump.
"Hrk…"
He tried to breathe…
A sting… A pain…
Agony! He was in agony!
His chest burned like the fires of hell, spewing out a fountain of his own lifeblood. Copper trickled to the back of his tongue and he writhed like a worm pulled out of the ground. His death throes.
The world twisted into a blurry incoherent nightmare, his mind, a babble of screaming, a torrent, a clamor of suffering.
For the briefest of seconds, he could have sworn that he saw a bright light, a sensation of falling through a twisting tunnel of mad color.
But then he knew peace.
Unnamed Woods, 10 km from Lurolona Village, 8:05 p.m. local time
But that eternal peace was a lie, for Luther woke up once more...
A twitch of the cheek, mud clung to his skin, suffocating, blocking his nose. His eyes snapped open, he pushed himself from the ground.
"Ghah!"
A gasp. Fresh air flooded his lungs, sending a spike of energy through his body. It wasn't the dry sterile air nor the humid balm of the Congolese jungle… It was cool, fresh… just like home…
"Hah… Hah… Hah…"
His panting was labored, as if he were but a newborn babe, taking his first breath upon meeting the world. Looking around with newfound clarity, he saw that his arms were still buried in the mud. His cradle could have very well killed him.
So he pulled, and met resistance, again and again, until he yanked with all his might…
Plap! Plap!
The mud suddenly let go, sending him careening back, momentum sending him crashing to a patch of grass. A twig prodded at his back upon landing, causing a mild sting and making him painfully aware of how naked he was. And there was something fluffy being pulled on his back…
Wait… This wasn't his body…
Attached to his backside was a tail – no, two tails, idly waving along with his mood. He flexed new muscles that he never felt before, the tails wiggled around and something fluttered on top of his head. Tentatively, he raised a hand to the top of his head, and almost flinched when his fingers touched it…
Ears… Like those of his old Husky, Oliwka…
"What in God's-?"
A mud covered hand went over his mouth in shock before it could finish saying the Lord's name in vain. That voice was far too high to be his. And… Were his hands always this small?
He blinked, and peeked down, pinching himself because he just couldn't believe it. It was a child's body – his body from when he was twelve, but with some additions.
…Was this the afterlife?
He looked around… The area didn't exactly match the description of fire and brimstone, and he was pretty sure that heaven didn't have mud puddles and oak trees. He put his bets toward reincarnation of some sort.
"Heh… who knew it would be those damned rice-eaters that were right in the end…" Unless St. Peter was taking a piss on that stream over there, he started ruling out anything from the Good Book…
His nose then registered the mud still up there, then-
"Achoo!"
-a whole new world slammed right into him. It was like he was blind his whole life, and then was suddenly able to see. He could smell the mud, he could smell the trees – the oak, the pine – he could smell the… burning wood and human blood?
…He certainly didn't want to know what was going on in that direction. But still, it was quite the revelation!
Forcefully, he pulled his legs out of the wet mud, setting himself upright. Stumbling, he made his way to the stream, and jumped into the crystal clear water. The sudden coolness on his bare skin sent a jolt down his spine, but he persisted, rubbing all the mud he could off his body.
It was during those few quiet moments, only interrupted by the sounds of the stream, that he took inventory of his situation: He was completely naked, in an alien body, at some woods on an entirely different continent possibly not even on Earth, with the only evidence of human civilization being the faint whiffs of misery his new dog-like sense of smell picked up…
Compared to what he'd faced before, Luther liked those odds…
…
His legs ached as he approached a clearing. Luther stopped to catch his breath, supported by the trunk of a large oak. The flowing waves of the grassland tickled his shins, tall and untamed by human hands and scythes.
Ahead, the sun set, basking the meadow with an orange but honeyed light. It hid behind the distant clouds, serving to slightly mute its radiance across the land. And beyond the horizon, dust was being picked up.
It had been a long time since he had a moment like this. Not worrying about what comes next, not ignoring the smaller, finer things in life for the sake of the mission, no worrying of hidden eyes and ears… just appreciation of what God has given to everyone. Something he oh so dearly missed, or never even had.
Ojczyzna…
So alien… yet so familiar…
For once in his life, he wasn't "The Fox", or Konrad, or any other half-baked identity. He was just Luther, a person who longed for a world not broken. Someone who might have finally gotten peace…
…But the dust kept getting closer and closer.
He was hit with a bad air, which corrupted the balance of this idyllic scene. A smell of men, sweat, blood and avarice, growing stronger by the minute. His ears perked forward…
Clank. Clunk. Clank. Clunk.
"Over there! Another one!"
RUN! His gut screamed. And so he listened.
"He spotted us! Get 'em!"
He bolted back into the woods. Blood rushed through his ears, his legs screamed to go faster.
Clank! Clunk! Clank! Clunk!
But it wasn't enough. There was no way he could outrun them; they were right on his heels!
"Flank! Flank!"
The smell of feathers, a beast of burden, to his left.
Weave! He jumped right. Jumped left.
Clank! Clunk! Clank!
To his right, now! They outmaneuvered him!
His lungs burned, throat dry…
Clank! Clunk!
SNAP!
A twig caught on his foot. Like a house of cards he fell – and just like him, his momentum stopped in its tracks.
Something, heavy and metal, jumped on top of him, holding him in place. They put a wet, sweet-smelling rag over his nose. Training kicked in; he held his breath and struggled with all his might. But it was no use…
"C'mon you little shit, go to sleep…"
Something struck his side, forcing a gasp. Citrus fumes hit his throat. Against his will, his arms and legs started to relax. Adrenaline washing away like a fierce yet gentle riptide of the sea…
His vision blurred and his hearing dulled.
"There we go…"
"Ah, a Kitsune, eh? That's worth a helluva lotta coin right 'ere…"
"Shit, Waldt, he's skinnier than a fuckin' twig."
"Hehe… We're eatin' good tonight, boys…"
A faint last gasp… then goodnight.
The next time Luther woke up, it would be in chains.
AN: You know I always seen Shield Hero fics where an OC is summoned as a hero, but never have I seen one where a character starts out as some nobody slave. Thought it would be best to fill out that niche, I guess… See you next chapter, if I make it.
Also, if you want an idea on what the OC looks like – Google Henryk Sucharski, and imagine a young version of him with white hair, fox ears and tails.