In any case, on with the show.
"Did you see the frightened ones? Did you hear the falling bombs? Did you ever wonder why we had to run for shelter when the promise of a brave new world unfurled beneath the clear blue sky?" -Pink Floyd, Goodbye Blue Sky
The city of Honshu had seen far better days.
This time of year, in days gone past, there would have been a festive feeling to the chill morning air. Despite the cold, the people of the small port city, located some fifty miles north of Wutai, would have been preparing to celebrate the new year, as dictated by the calender passed down from time immemorial by their ancestors. The celebration should have been both a thanks to Leviathan for his stewardship over the greatest of all Kingdoms, the marine bounty from his own realm they depended on for survival, and praise for the Emperor, who kept the faith with their Lord for all time.
Such was not the case this day.
The city of Honshu was filled with an air of quiet desperation, and the bright banners which cracked and snapped in the cold morning wind were not the harbringers of celebration. Rather, they were the strict, fierce martial banners of a people at war.
A civil war.
The news which trickled from the capital and of course, further south was scarse at best. The frightened people of Honshu had been plied with vastly differing rumors, of giants with hands of flame, of men who soared on demonic wings, and a hundred other fanciful tales that could not possibly be true.
Two things could be agreed upon, however. The battlelines had been drawn. The three top families, the Choshu among them, had begun calling themselves the Reconstructionists. They called for a new line of succession, indeed, for no Emperor at all. This frightened and disturbed the people, who all their lives had lived beneath the beneficent gaze of one of the Kisaragi line.
What of the Da Chao, the people wondered? What of All Creation?
No need, replied the Reconstructionists. The time of a single martial artist, indeed, of the Art itself being the equal of an army is past. A time of progress has begun. Of course they never bothered to mention what they were progressing towards, but most took no notice.
They couldn't afford to.
On the other side, a hodgepodge of poorer clans scattered and fearful, who could agree on no strategy, no counter for the Choshu led onslaught.
Loyalists, they called themselves.
Who are they loyal to, the people ask.
For the second thing the people could agree upon was this.
The Emperor was dead. His heir could not be located.
Such things were said silently though. It did not pay to stick one's neck out too far these days.
Several weeks and no word, and then, just as the people of Honshu were beginning to think that perhaps this time of troubles might pass them by, a great host arrived.
The people gathered in the streets to watch, silently taking stock of their guests.
They had seen better days.
The lacquered armor was blood and mud spattered and to a man they appeared injured, strange injuries the likes of which only the oldest among them could recall ever seeing before. Their lords, fierce in the ceremonial family armors, astride their fierce warhorses, ushered the battered group into the city. There they had begun to recuperate, and had been doing so for the last few days.
The lords set up their own tents and kept their own council. The arguments were fierce, and could be faintly heard above the din that any large armed camp created by necessity.
The men were closely watched by their officers, and so the people of Honshu were unable to gain much information about what had transpired outside their walls, but one thing they had garnered was that this was a Loyalist force, and that they had been fighting to reclaim the capital.
They had been beaten. Routed.
They had seen things which made even the youngest of them look like old men waiting to die.
Immediately officers began rounding up all able bodied men and women and pressing them into service. There was unrest at first, but after the first few harsh applications of discipline, and one very messy execution, the people gathered at the camp and were issued uniforms and spears.
And in some cases, pitchforks.
They were not, after all, expected to last long.
The enemy was on the way.
As one, the city looked to the south.
It looked without hope.
Lord Oda Katsumodo raised his gaze from the map before him and grimly surveyed the few surviving Lords who remained with him. To their credit, those who remained met his gaze unabashedly, though it was obvious that tension was taking it's toll on these hard men. Katsumodo swept his gaze across them, weighing each, and fell upon an empty seat.
The only indication of the pain, the grief he felt at the loss of his only son, was a deepening of his frown.
"I am sure all of you understand the gravity of our situation, so I will waste no time explaining how critical this moment in time is. What we lack, what will decide this conflict, is information."
He met the gaze of one of his cavalry officers, a young man named Ryu Kazegawa. The stern young man's face tightened, and he gripped the hilt of his sword fiercely. His armor showed the dust and wear of a hard ride, though the only betrayal of the exhaustion he felt were the lines upon his face and the dark circles beneath his eyes. He nodded shortly.
"Our forces have scattered to the four winds, my lord. The deaths of Lord Honda and Lord Fujita at the hands of the traitor Sung, have broken the only figures of leadership strong enough to rally our efforts. This coupled with our enemies... unorthodox tactics, have put us in severely unfavorable position"
He looked down.
"My men attempted to force the blockade several times last night. We were... unsuccessful. The war machines the enemy uses terrify our horses, my Lord. It is my deep shame to admit, that we will be nearly useless in the coming conflict."
Lord Katsumodo shook his head. "No. Not useless. You have done much already. Rest assured, your ancestors would be proud." He sighed.
"These warmachines... where do they come from?"
The cavalry officer shook his head. "I am unsure my lord. They bear a resemblance to the machines used by Shinra, but... there is no stink of Mako about them. Despite this, there is an... unnatural animation to them. I fear..."
Lord Katsumodo raised an eyebrow. "Go on?"
The cavalry officer looked embarassed. "I do not wish to pass on information which is only speculation, but the men talk of sorcery..."
Several Lords present grumbled at this, looking at one another uneasily. Lord Katsumodo shook his head, raising a dismissing hand. "No. No talk of sorcery. Our enemy has a technological advantage, yes, but it is not dark power which guides her hand." He grinned mirthlessly. "Despite the bitches reputation for being a witch."
Uneasy chuckles all around.
"We will make our stand here. It is good ground, the sea is to our backs, and we have a steady source of food. We must hold on, until..."
He stopped.
"Until our allies to the south can rejoin with us."
"Lord... what of... what of the Lady Kisaragi?"
He scowled. "She has obviously abandoned us. I will speak no more of it."
He sadly raised his head. "The line of Kisaragi is ended. WE must continue the empire. While there is still an empire left to continue."
A messenger burst into the tent and knelt suddenly, his breath coming in great, gasping gulps.
Lord Katsumodo stood stunned for a moment, then oriented on the messenger and scowled. "What is the meaning of this?"
"My Lords... the... enemy... is here!"
Lord Katsumodo stood suddenly, gesturing with his fan. "To arms! To the last man, we will die for this land. Let traitor's blood stain the sands of Honshu!"
The officers roared in approval, and they moved as one to the tent flap, buckling on swords and strapping on helms.
Some of them, for the last time.
He ran the lint-free cloth saturated with oil carefully over the perfectly machined surface of the receiver. His dexterious, meticulous, experienced hands told him that this rifle was a masterwork, truely one of a kind. It spoke to him of hard use, but also great care.
He could almost smell the blood emanating from the wood grain of its stock, seeping like fragrant perfume from the silk-smooth worn walnut.
He picked at a stray bit of grit in the threads of the barrel, carefully easing it out of its hiding place.
He grinned quietly in satisfaction.
"Meisterwerk..."
"What does it mean, Jaeger-sama?"
He blinked, having almost forgotten he was not alone. It was sometimes easy to do that with Reiko, she made no sound unless she wanted to be heard. If one did not pay attention to her, she tended to fade into the background, which was unfortunate, for she had grown into a beautiful young woman. Too pretty, really, to be hiding in the shadows all the time.
Hence his nickname for her, Schattenblum... flower of shadow.
"Masterpiece, Schattenblum. It is unmatched, flawless."
She cocked her head slightly. He sensed that she wanted more from him than he had already given, sensed the questions behind her icy, indifferent mask. It was a talent of his. When he looked at a person, he picked up on all the subtle clues of body language, and some ineffable, invisible trace that told him what a person was thinking, or more accurately, feeling. In a profession where a hair breadth of misread intentions or a split second of indecision quickly spelled death, his sixth sense, his predatory nature... the nature of a wolf, had served him well.
Too well... at least, against all enemies but one. Time. He sighed inwardly.
He reflected silently about his slender companion. Though he was perfectly capable of working alone, he had to admit that he had gotten used to working with a partner, one who complimented him perfectly. He had not yet decided if this made him weaker or stronger.
Such things were important to him.
"Can a weapon not also be a work of art? It interests me that a man can look at a sword and see beauty, and yet look at a firearm and see only death and pain."
"Swords are symbols, Jaeger-sama. In Wutai a sword is looked upon as the soul of its owner. It is a great dishonor to lose or break one's sword."
He scowled. "Bah. No weapon at a man's side is his soul, Schattenblum. To say this is to put the responsibility of the lives taken by blade or bullet in the hands of the weapon. Men wield weapons, not the other way around."
He scratches his chin for a moment, uncharacteristically thoughtful. "What is a sword, truely, Schattenblum? It is only a length of metal... a sharp edge and a point. Whether it breaks or slays is dependant upon the skill of the wielder... it is made beautiful when it is used. By itself it is no different than a shovel or a dinner knife... a tool simply adapted for a specific purpose."
He grins slightly. "A gun is a meticulous machine..." He hold up the receiver and proceeds to put it back together. "Receiver, bolt body, bolt sleeve, ejector, barrel, firing pin spring, firing pin, extractor, bolt stop and spring, sear, sear and trigger pins, trigger..." With each word he dexterously slipped each piece back into its appointed places, his voice reverant. "Any part out of place, any flaw of form or function, and the gun will not work properly."
His grin widens. "A lady. Care for her diligently, and she will never betray you. Let dirt get between you, and she may blow up in your face."
He set the completed rifle on the log next to him, watching her from across the fire. "A man pulls the trigger, and the bullet is ejected, but hidden from his view is a dance. A dance of fire and metal, of action and reaction. What sword can say the same, eh?"
Reiko is silent for a long time, then one thin black eyebrow raises above the headband tied across her eyes. "In one breath you say weapons are soulless tools, and in the next you liken a gun to a woman. You cannot have it both ways, Jaeger-sama." She turned slightly, oriented towards him in profile.
"Unless you are somehow implying that women do not have souls?" She said archly, though still in her quiet manner.
Rather than become angry or defensive, Jaeger grinned. He held up a hand placatingly. "The older we get, Reiko, the more confused our ramblings become. Still... I did not mean to imply women and weapons have no souls... simply that a man decides himself what to do with a weapon. If a man imparts anything to a weapon, it is personality..."
She cocks her head slightly.
"Is that way you care so diligently for that rifle? You wish to impart personality to it?"
He shook his head. "No..." He patted the rifle gently. "I must admit, I am tempted. This weapon is not for me, though. Not my style, you understand. The man who uses this rifle stays distant from his enemy, from his friends. He is alleine. Eh, alone... he watches the world from a distance, where it cannot harm him. It is well named, this Death Penalty. In the hands of her master, this weapon is a sentence of death. But it is not MY way to hand out death at a distance, Reiko. I prefer my enemy to know I bested him."
He patted the rifle carefully. "Still, it is a beautiful weapon. It does not deserve to rust away on a forsaken beach in this Gott verdammt jungle."
Reiko pursed her lips slightly, then shook her head. "What are you going to do with it, then?"
His eyes glittered in the firelight. "I will keep it for a time, until I see der Schwarze Tod again. Then I will return it to him. We will see who is the better gewehr ritter."
"After that?" She asks, hesitantly.
"After that, Schattenblum, I will either not be caring, or I will take it from his dead hands as a trophy... a reminder that even death may die... to comfort me in my old age."
She turns away from him, her shoulders stiff.
"What is it?" He is mildly surprised at her reaction.
"All this talk of death, Jaeger-sama... I do not..."
He raises an eyebrow, baffled. Why this display of humanity now? It did not suit her... Best to explain himself. Best she know where they stood. He considered his words carefully, then spoke, slowly. "Life is death, Schattenblum. I have died for entirely too long. It gets... tiresome."
She kept her back to him. "You would lose intentionally? Let this Valentine end your life?"
She was attempting to get a rise out of him. Curious. Such probing questions were not her usual mode... like a flower, she tended towards quiet contemplation, observation, if you will. Since she had no eyesight to deceive her with its often flawed first impressions, she relied upon her other senses to paint her the picture, an act which necessitated patience. He took a moment to reflect upon what she said, before answering her calmly.
"Vincent Valentine was... better than I, 30 years ago. It wasn't just his... gewherspiel... gunplay, that made him better. He was ruthless. Every living soul between him and his objective was an enemy to be dispatched."
"How did this make him better?" She asked.
He frowned. "The difference between a killer and a victim is a single instant of hesitation. The mind questions the course of action which leads to the taking of another's life. A conscious decision is made to kill when the question is rationalized, in that instant, that death is necessary."
"A victim can kill if provoked, but he will always hesitate, he will always question, rationalize. A killer requires no rationalization, because the decision in his case is reversed."
"The question for a killer is not, should I end this life. The question is..."
She turned back to him, muted realization on her face. "Should I let this life continue?" She whispered quietly.
He blinked, his eyes full of satisfaction. Of course she would understand. "The moment of hesitation for a killer comes when there is an emotional tie to a situation which causes him to question whether death is the answer this time. Vincent, for whatever reason, was an emotionless, serene blank of a man, the closest to a pure machine, to an instinctive, predatory beast, as I have ever seen. Every action was planned out and accounted for in advance, every motion effortless and wasteless. He was unbeatable."
"Some would say that made him a sociopath, Jaeger." She mused.
He snorted. "Of course he was. Sociopath. A label for a person who is disconnected from and unmindful of societal mores. Vincent had no need for society. He fulfilled a role required of him by Shinra. In a way, society needed him."
She frowned. "Yet... you use the past tense to describe him this way."
Jaeger looked away, thoughtful. "He was better than me, Reiko. He has changed. The man he is now... hesitates. He is still a killer, a killer will never stop being a killer, but he is a killer with... a connection. I have spent the better part of my life since his disappearance paring away my imperfections... striving to become the man he was. Time is catching up to me... my skills are diminishing with each passing day." He flexed his fingers, staring at them as though they had betrayed him.
He let his hands fall to his lap, turning to Reiko quietly. "My fight with Vincent is the culmination of my life's work, Reiko. Have I become der Schwartze Tod? Have I transcended death- become it? There is only one yardstick to measure myself against, Reiko. If I beat him, then I can die knowing that I am more than just a passingly skilled killer."
"If he beats me... well, then it doesn't matter anymore."
She stared at him, her expression unreadable, even for him. For a moment he wondered what she was thinking, what his words had meant to her. Then he mentally shook himself from such thoughts. It shouldn't matter, what she thought.
It shouldn't matter at all.
"I... hope you beat him, Jaeger-sama." She said quietly.
He did not answer. Her hopes for him troubled him somehow, on a deep, subconscious level. He mused about this silently.
After a moment's contemplation brought him no closer to a satisfactory answer, he changed the subject, poking at the fire with a stick.
"Our next move is simple, Schattenblum. We don't need to chase Vincent and his ninja girl across the verdammt continent, not when we know where they will head next."
She cocked her head. "Wutai?"
He grinned. "Vincent will realize that eventually her enemies will catch up with her. He will realize that only by confronting the source of her problems is there a possiblity of survival. So they will travel to Wutai, but not by boat. He will discover that ships are no longer being allowed to dock at any Wutanese ports. That being said, there is only one other option for him."
She raised an eyebrow. "An airship?"
He nodded, his smile gleaming golden in the firelight. His eyes held a trace of that glimmer as well. "Of which there are precious few still operational."
"The Highwind?"
He nodded. "Rocket town. We will confront them there. First, however, there is the matter of traveling expenses."
She checked her sheathed katana, a slight smile creasing her otherwise impassive countenance. Her voice had an air of causual indifference that was belied by the eager set of her features.
"The local township has issued an... impressive bounty for a certain group of bandits operating in the local area. If we backtrack the trail of broken underbrush those large lizards made back to their source..."
She was quick, and her thoughts mirrored his with uncanny regularity. He loved that about her. "I think it is about time for a bit of law and order to return to the jungle, ja, Schattenblum?"
"I was just thinking that very thing, Jaeger-sama."
It did no good to reflect, when one was placed in such a position, but facing almost certain death, Mae found that she couldn't help it. The wide brimmed, shallow helmet, if it could be called a helmet, had, in a previous life been used to keep the sun from her head and shoulders while toiling in the rice fields.
Now it was supposed to stop the bullets and arrows of a determined enemy.
If she wasn't scared to death, she might have found this humorous.
These people around her, she knew them all. She had grown up with them, toiled in the fields with them, gossiped and fished and occasionally argued with them. She was 19 years old... and remarkable only in that she was unmarried yet.
War had changed her so suddenly, changed the people around her so suddenly, that she was still very much in shock at all. The surreal quality lent to the scene... watching as Takai, a thirty year old fisherman who'd never held a weapon in his life, lean wearily against his spear, uncomfortable in his poorly fitted armor... of young Yoko Saito, just barely out of her girlish braids, now staring about her with a look of confused, barely concealed panic, her own spear clutched awkwardly in front of her.
It was all just too much.
The air smelt of fear and tension, and horses nearby whickered uneasily at the unpleasant mixture. She craned her head around, searching for the beasts... there. A young, fierce looking officer in his armor talked quietly to another, older man, before the older individual turned and barked orders. An answering shout, and like magic the horses began to line up, the officer at their head. He turned in her direction, his eyes sweeping over her ragtag conscript unit, over her, in an instant. A trick of the distance made his eyes seem to meet hers for a moment, before he turned and joined his unit.
-He's so young...- She thought, startled. -His eyes seem so old... what has he seen?-
She had a feeling she would find out soon.
Of course they were all scared. One would have to be insane not to be. The life of a villager was one of quiet, subservient obediance. In exchange for this deference, they received protection, security; safety. The world had been turned upon its ear, then... for they had been rounded up, men and women alike, and hastily thrust into units, drilled until they knew which end of the spear was which (barely) and how to march in a passable formation, (occasionally) then apparently forgotten.
Until now, that is.
No one knew what was going on. Not even Sakamoto, the older fishermen who had been selected to serve as their Sergeant; courtesy of some time spent in his youth in the militia. Now her unit was currently at the dead center of a sea of chaos, as the other, more experienced units swirled around them, preparing for the coming battle. Her eye found the calm in the storm again. The young officer. His armor was differently colored and the penant which snapped at the end of his lance identified him of the Kazegawa clan. He brought his horse close to where her unit waited, crouched around the camp fires. Sakamoto stood up suddenly, his helmet nearly falling off his bald head.
"Sir?" Sakamoto started, once he had settled himself.
The officer was silent for a long time, considering them carefully, then he seemed to come to a decision.
"Sergeant, get these people ready to move. The enemy will be here soon."
Startled whispers popped up like mushrooms. Sakamoto cleared his throat, then sighed.
The officer raised his hand a moment, looking them over again, as though seeing them the first time.
"Men... and women... this is not the way I would have liked this to turn out." He sighed, then looked down, quiet for a long time. Then his face hardened. "We aren't fighting for a cause, or property. We are fighting for a way of life. Our people have lived the same way for thousands of years. We spoke oaths to Leviathan that it would be so."
"Yuki Choshu and her ilk have betrayed our Emperor, his family, and our way of life. They use the same tactics that our great enemies, Shinra used. We stood up to them, and pushed them away from our lands, without dirtying ourselves with their cheap and cowardly methods of fighting. Now Shinra is no more... and Wutai still lives on. We will weather this storm. It is upon us all."
He sighed.
"I know that you are scared. I know that none of you understands why you must fight. With that being said, I assure you, out there..." He pointed towards the horizon, away from the sea. "Is your enemy. He will come here, and he will show no mercy. Your only chance for survival is to kill him. To drive him back."
Mae reflected on this. She didn't understand what he meant by defending a way of life... surely this was all there was to life, surely... this life couldn't be taken away from them, short of killing them? She felt a flicker of sympathy for him... he was a soldier, this terror they felt now was a common part of his life... and now he had to reassure them, bolster their fighting spirit.
He was obviously tired, and yet he took a moment to TRY.
Even though it was obvious his words had not fully reached her people... she felt gratitude towards him for trying.
Sakamoto faced them grimly. "FOOOORRM... RANKS!"
They scrambled to comply, the discipline recently ingrained in them erasing all conscious thought.
Mae found herself on the front rank, next to Yoko and Takai. On the horizon, dark shapes could be made out... a mass of figures rigid in their discipline.
They didn't look... human.
A runner caught the young Kazegawa's attention, and with a last regretful glance, he wheeled his horse and joined the cavalry unit.
Sakamoto called out the orders. "1st Militia! Open ranks... MARCH!"
They spread out, forming lines.
"FORWARD, MARCH!"
They moved. A forest of spears.
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Ryu Kazegawa drew his sword, as did the other cavalry men. He looked at Lord Katsumodo, those poor militia spearmen between him and his lord. He had argued the effectiveness of using the militia as a homeguard, but really, what else were they good for? They'd surely break at the first sign of battle... there was just no helping it.
One thing was certain. He and his men would not be there to see them break.
They were to swing wide, try to hit the enemies flank. Ryu shook his head at the uselessness of it all. He and his men had tried to circle around the net of steel, tried to force their way through the blockade, but had been thrown back.
Now the jaws of the trap were snapping shut.
A sudden whining hiss filled his ears and the screams of men and horses soon followed. Ryu gasped at the sudden carnage, as the unit to his left seemed to explode, raining ragdoll figures who screamed and bled. His eyes turned skyward as the strange, V-shaped craft circled about, coming around for another pass. He gritted his teeth and pointed his sword forward.
"CHARGE!""
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A thunder of hooves and the young officer's unit started forward as though stung, racing towards the distant enemy. Another whining hiss, and one of the outbuildings owned by the farmers exploded, raining fiery debris. Half of Mae's unit dropped their spears and ran screaming for the town, Mae herself did not only because she was so dazed at the suddenness of it that she couldn't move.
Another whine/hiss, and another, then another... Leviathan what's making that noise!
Sakamoto screamed out an order. Those that were still in formation pushed forward, moving at a trot and Mae found herself moving with them rather than be trampled. Those who had run found the town was no sanctuary, as fire and debris errupted in a deadly cloud of terror.
The unit to her left was a cavalry unit led by Lord Katsumodo. He kept pace with them, their own spears leveled forward. The lines of the enemy got larger... ever larger.
Her heart beat so fast she felt as though it might explode. The enemy wore black armor, and carried strange sticklike contraptions that looked like guns... but no guns she'd ever seen. The front rank of the black armored troops dropped to a knee and pointed their weapons at Lord Katsumodo's unit, the other ranks pointed their weapons in the same direction but did not kneel. Lord Katsumodo ordered a charge.
The Lord's unit snapped forward as though shot from a cannon, screaming and snarling in the face of their enemies, spears leveled for the kill. Lord Katsumodo was familiar with their enemies tactics... his losses would be grievous, but all he had to do was hit them and they were his.
The enemy officer barked an order...
Lord Katsumodo's unit pressed forward.
Mae watched as the cavalry drew closer and closer, her own unit some way back...
Fire filled the air suddenly.
The weapons of their enemies glowed crimson for a moment, and then in eerie silence pinpoints of orange flame shot out towards Lord Katsumodo's unit. The small balls of flame passed through the first rank of Lord Katsumodo's unit. Men collapsed soundlessly, charred holes appearing where they pinpoints of flame passed. The next rank also collapsed bonelessly the pinpoints continued through the first and into the second.
As they reached the third rank, they exploded.
It was as though the sound had been turned off in the world for a second, save the surprised grunts and screams of impact, and then suddenly the world was clap of thunder. Mae watched in horror as men and horses, and bits and pieces of men and horses, some of them flailing and on fire, shot high up into the air. The cavalry unit scattered the four winds, some of the panicked horses trampling surprised men of Mae's own unit before they collapsed.
The enemy stood up silently, the officer spoke another word of command, and they began to reload.
Then with a scream of rage and triumph, Ryu's unit came out of nowhere, hitting them from the right flank.
Ryu watched in horror as Lord Katsumodo's unit turned to so much roasted and abused meat. Ryu had lost sight of his lord in the first few moments of that conflaguration, but by then all thoughts of his lord were put aside for more immediate concerns. The lord's demise had bought his own unit the time they needed to circle to the right, and with a shout of anger and anticipation they rode down on their enemy in a thundering ton of horseflesh and scything swords. Sheer momentum carried them half way through the enemy unit, men screaming and dying, trampled beneath them, then they found themselves in a swirling melee. Ryu hacked and slashed with abandon, rational thought gone, replaced with sheer animal instinct and battle training.
The finely ordered ranks on both sides became a swirling, chaotic mass of the dead and those who dealt it, switching roles, reversing, pleading, screaming for mercy, or screaming out hatred. Weapons fell and clattered, those strange rifle-like contraptions spit their deadly fire, and the fight went on.
A sudden clicking noise caught his attention and some nameless instinct tore his eyes to the left. They widened in horror and shock.
Another unit of those black armored troopers had wheeled onto the flank of the melee amidst the scattered ruins of Lord Katsumodo's unit and were in their deadly tiered formation, weapons pointed-
-They're firing at their own TROOPS!- That stunned and panicked thought went through his head just as the weapons went off.
The world disappeared in orange and crimon hell.
"Mama..."
"Mama..."
Yoko's voice was thick with terror and pain. She looked up at Mae with disbelieving, confused eyes, the blood coming thick from her ears, nose, and mouth, and the gaping hole of raw red meat that used to be her left eye. The ringing in Mae's ears still had disappeared... she found herself focusing on that young, terror struck face, terrible fascination in a face that had been pretty but was no longer.
Sakamoto screamed loudly and hoarsely, his hands clenched around ragged bleeding wound in his stomach, vainly trying to keep his own guts in place. The smell of blood, of shit, of terror and pain was a thick effluvial mass on the scattered unit.
Mae glanced about her dazedly, still unsure as to what had hit them. One moment they had been charging forward in a terror striken clump, the next a sound like a thousand drums shattering had errupted in the middle of them, and they'd fallen down like so many children's dolls scattered by a careless hand. The battlefield was oddly muted, that damnable ringing tone like a sword struck with a hammer at an odd angle buzzing in her head, erasing thought.
In a daze she looked down at Yoko and realized that the girl had gone still, her one good eye unfocused, a look of dreamy contentment frozen forever on her features.
A roaring filled her ears now.
She stood dazedly, casting about herself in a daze and stumbling over the bodies of the fallen, searching. Finally she found a spear that wasn't hers and turned to the black armored enemy in the distance, advancing on the battered and destroyed unit of horse that Lord Katsumodo had led earlier. These demons... these enemies, they were here to kill them. As strange as it seemed, as unpleasntly comical as that seemed, she realized that only now. It hadn't seemed real before, a joke, surely. These were not men. They were animals, slaughtering, careless, cold, implicable animals.
Mae had dealt with animals gone mad and cruel before. They all had. You didn't live outside of the protection of stone walls in the cruel unforgiving world that was Wutai's undeveloped wilderness without occasionally dealing with its predators.
A few stumbling and dazed looking members of her unit watched her focus drunkenly on the enemy and start forward. Some nameless, herd-like instinct, or perhaps a sullen cry for vengeance from a people who had endured wars and terror before, a people who had endured sadness and the bleak and thankless lot that a peasant faces every day spurred them to follow.
One then two, then a dozen, then two dozen started forward, following that stumbling, pathetically tattered, bloodied girl, the hair half burned from her head by the searing heat of cannon fire.
The stumble became a run. The others followed, a ragged mob of stunned looking peasants.
She lowered the spear and a cry left her, a cry of hatred and fear, and loss... most of all, loss. How dare they come here with their foul technology and spend mens lives like coin?
The black armored unit was caught almost completely by surprise.
Almost.
A spark tugged at Mae's arm, slicing open her shoulder and cauterizing the wound instantly in a sizzle of burnt flesh. The man behind her dropped bonelessly, a smoking ruin for a face, his skull splitting under the pressure of the heat that filled it. Others fell, others died. Not many, fortunately.
And not her.
Her spear jolted into an armored chest and sank deep. The helmet focused on her face, and then she ripped the spear loose savagely, planted her sandal on the man's chest and pushed him to the ground, then stabbed him again.
And again.
She couldn't hear her own scream.
She fought like a mad thing, they all did, savaging and tearing into their enemy with suicidal abandon, stumbling and weaving over the bodies of the fallen. She swung her spear like a club, catching a man at the knees and knocking him stumbling to the ground, then reversed her swing and planted the butt of it into his visored face. The visor shattered, broken pieces stabbing into his eyes and face like cruel knives. He clutched his ruined face with black gloved hands and screaming shrilly, like a rabbit that had been caught in a trap. She stepped past him and snarled, laying about her with more fury than skill.
Someone behind her put the moaning soldier she left out of his misery.
A lacquer gloved hand caught her sandal and tugged weakly, and she snarled down, preparing to strike. An old, war weary gaze looked up at her and she squinted.
"Ayah... little wolverine. Slow down... you must gather the..." Lord Katsumodo grunted, a rivulet of blood oozing over his lower lip. The horse lying dead and blackened on his lower body and part of his chest restricted his breathing, making each word like a knife stabbed into his lungs.
"Let go of me." Mae said, her tone low and menacing as a 19 year old girl can produce.
His grip strengthened. "NO... You MUST... rally your troops. You must... pull them into a cohesive team, or you will be surrounded and slaughtered!"
"They are not mine, old man."
"They ARE... NOW! You are... responsible for them! Don't you see? They follow..." He coughed.
She looked up. Some of them were still fighting, but some had stopped to look at her, confused and unsure now that she had stopped her manic charge. Some of these were cut down, and became shrieking, squirming figures looking at her in pain and anguish.
Her heart constricted. She tore free of his grip and raised her spear high, shouting half remembered commands from their pitiful and half completed training.
"FOOOOORM UUUUUUP!" She shouted.
It took several heartrending moments, but a small knot of troops gathered around her, some of them not even peasants. Some of them were bloodied and half dead cavalry officers, swords held grimly in shaking hands. Not a single one of them was whole... most of them had smoking or charred wounds.
"COMPANNNY! SPEARS TO THE LEVEL!"
They did what they could. It was a pitiful show.
"ADVANCE!"
Mae learned a valuable lesson then.
Killing was easier when you moved as a mob.
He had lost his helmet somewhere. The left side of his face felt shiny and tight, a mass of painful, burned flesh. His eye had swollen shut.
Somehow he clung to his horse and his sword. The men he'd led... brave men all of them... they were not so lucky.
The blasts had torn through them like hot, merciless knives, falling upon horseman and black clad trooper alike. Ryu also learned a lesson that day.
All men scream and bleed alike.
As suddenly as it had struck it ended. Some chaotic mass, probably the remnants of Lord Katsumodo's unit, had struck the formation from the rear, and they had turned their attention behind them. Ryu fought for control of his panicked mount and succeeded after several cursing, wasted moments, turning the half burned horse back towards that unit. He clipped them along their edges, his sword parting black armor and flesh with equal ease, but their attention was on the attacker savaging them to the rear, and the few men he was able to deal with went largely unnoticed.
He fought through them, fighting to reach his Lord's side.
What he saw was so completely unexpected, he dropped his horse's reins and spent several seconds picking them back up.
A girl, burned and battered, and a few peasants and soldiers, a knot at the center of the chaotic mass of flesh that roiled and tore at itself. Slightly behind her, Lord Katsumodo lie, shouting encouragement and commands to her from beneath his fallen mount. From the greyness of his face and the way blood leaked freely from his mouth, he was grievously wounded.
He rode close, slicing down men left and right. His mount reared up and battered at them with its hooves, shattering limbs and black helmets with equal abandon.
Still, the press of black clad flesh was too great. Slowly the small, battered unit was forced backward.
He gritted his teeth and cast aside his humanity, becoming a demon of war.
That weak, palsied hand on her ankle again. She set her stance and leveled her spear forward, gritting her teeth.
"What is it this time, old man?"
"Child... girl... what... w-... what is your name?"
She battered down another, the blood splashing across her cheek and burning in the cuts and wounds of her shoulder. She scowled.
"I have no name."
"Very... w- well, nameless girl. T- the field is lost... t- take this... take IT!"
She glanced downward, and the other palsied hand held up a stone that glimmered with faint light, almost alive. She scowled.
"I don't have time for this old-"
"DO AS I SAY!" He grunted, hoarse with the effort. "Take it... and..."
He looked past her, recognition on his face. "Ryu... thank... Leviathan. T-take the girl... guard her and the stone... our lord's... Materia... must not fall into enemy hands..."
"Lord... I-"
"None of your DAMNABLE FATALISTIC LOYALTY, BOY! DAMN YOUR HONOR! I COMMAND YOU TO DO THIS THING! LIVE, CURSE YOU!" The old man shuddered oddly, his head lolling on his neck.
Mae took the stone slowly, scowling at him. "What is this thing? It is-"
A strong arm wrapped around her waist, lifting her up as a man might lift a child. She dropped her spear in surprise and then fought like a wildcat, swinging her fists around blindly.
"Argh... Damn it woman! We have to-"
"Let GO OF-"A strong hand clipped her upside the head and she sank, stunned, a feeble growl on her lips.
"We have to go! Lord Katsumodo..." Ryu closed his eyes for a moment. "My Lord commands it." He looked back at the old man, shaking with the last few moments of life.
"Let... go of me... my people... we can't... leave..." She fought feebly still, but she fought.
He scowled, wheeling the horse away from the tide of black armor that threatened them. "Your men are dead! We have to go!"
"I can't."
"Fah! No time!" He dug his heels into the horse's side and it leapt forward, startled. Trampling its way through the field of black, it picked its way almost daintily through the field of bodies, then broke into a startled gallop as it hit relatively open ground.
She cried then, small fists pounding on his armored chest. His good eye narrowed at her in shared pain.
Shots flew their way now, and he turned his attention to their flight, weaving around the blasts skillfully. They became a speck in the distance.
Honshu smoldered sullenly in the distance, what remained of her people who remained cowering against the shores of the sea, wailing for the innocence which had been lost.
Lord Katsumodo, old soldier, closed his eyes wearily one last time and rested, his last thoughts of his son.