He ran.
The Legion was dead, and the Legionary would soon be too.
He wept.
A small forest passageway became the grave of thousands of loyal men of Rome. The entire unit was wiped from history. Their families would never know their fates. History would not know their names.
He tired.
He had been running for hours. Eventually the sounds of pursuing barbarians had been lost to him. He had dropped his scutum, but that could only be expected as he tried to escape his hunters.
The forest was dark. Sunlight hardly reached through the thick canopy, and moss and fungus grew on every surface available. He tripped over a naturally camouflaged decayed log but quickly recovered. He threw a quick glance to the rear and prayed to every god he could personally name that he was forgotten. Surely a Cherusci or Chatti, whoever they were, would assume a lone Roman to die soon enough?
After another half hour of running and with no sign of Germanics, he stopped to catch his breath. He set his galea helmet down but kept his gladius on him; despite the weight and bulk, any disciplined soldier would never leave himself unarmed. The injuries of the battle caught up with him as his adrenaline died down. He winced in pain as his bruises made themselves known. He noticed a small cut on his thigh, although luckily it had stopped bleeding on its own; it must not have been that deep.
He limped over to a nearby creek and his limbs cried out in protest. He bared his teeth to deal with the pain. Pain mean he was alive, and if he wanted to stay that way, he would need water. A well fed soldier had plenty of fat on him to last him until after the battle, and when she could, Rome kept her soldiers fed. Water, however, was always a priority. He had seen too many men fall on the battlefield of dehydration. Even in the midst of combat could cool, temperate weather fell a man.
He knelt down to the water, making sure to keep his wound out of the dirt. He washed his face and his wound before taking a few sips from the stream. Slowly, he told himself. Don't get sick, now.
Satisfied, he got back up and found a large rock to rest on. Unfortunately, his break gave him time to think past on the battle. His friends were slain in front of him. Everyone he had met since he joined the Legion five years ago, every one of his comrades, were lying in a ditch or on a dirt road, likely to soon be ritually desecrated by those man-shaped beasts. They never should have crossed the Rhine. Let them kill each other off, no need to bring civilization to them.
Although that was a moot point now, and the Emperor knew things he didn't. Regardless of what could or should have happened, he was alive and alone.
He removed his gladius from its scabbard. Ironic, he thought, that just like his sword, he was useless outside of the formation. Just like his sword, he was optimized from fighting as a group, and while he was a decent enough duelist, he was more than outclassed by more specialized one-on-one fighters. And now the two had but each other to rely on.
His tears had stopped flowing, although he was sure they were to come. As he looked up at the sky, there was still a decent amount of daylight left. He would need shelter soon. He didn't have most of his equipment as it was lost in the ambush. But he had his heavy, water-repellent paenula on him, so that would have to work once he built himself a small hovel. He strapped his galea to his belt and began searching for a suitable camping space: somewhere higher than the rain flow, but most importantly somewhere hidden, preferably with a field of view.
He eventually found a spot after nearly an hour of searching. The sun was a palm's width away from the horizon by then. It looked to be an abandoned fox den, which would have to do. It showed now signs of living-in. He made care not to disturb the area around the entrance as he made his way in. It was just big enough for him to fit inside, but he was able to squeeze in deep enough to be hidden from outside view. His paenula provided a suitable blanket for the early autumn weather. As he settled in, his exhaustion finally caught up with him.
The sound of snapping brush woke him. He quietly moved to peer out of his hide and his blood froze. A patrol of Germanic barbarians was moving past. He dared not to breath. Any sound would be the signal of his death. He silently prayed to Iupiter. He prayed to Mars. He prayed to every divine being even if he didn't know their name, just for them to have mercy, just for one man to live! Please, he begged. They were defeated already!
He reached for the one personal effect he had on him, a small idol of his household Lar. It was of a small girl in a robe, just a finger length in height, crafted of stone and worn smooth, and his hand squeezed tight around it. He prayed to her, wishing nothing more for her to help him survive just another day.
Suddenly the sky darkened, bit by bit as clouds began rolling in with the wind. He heard his enemy grumble in their barbaric tongue. Minutes after, drops of rain began falling. Eventually it grew into a drizzle, and from that into a proper rain storm. To the Germanics' credit, they toughed it out like any proper soldier, only leaving once thunder was heard in the distance, for fear of it striking them amidst the trees.
He finally allowed himself to relax. He thanked the gods. He thanked the native spirits. He thanked the demigods and whatever other blessed being lived in the forest. He kissed his idol in thanks before falling back into a light doze.
He woke up as the rain stopped. He lifted his head from the leaf-colored rock he was using as a head rest and peered out of the den. The first thing to strike him was the cange of sound. Birds chirped, insects sang. He watched as a rabbit jumped out of a bush, sniffed the air, and continued on its day. As he looked around he noticed that the whole forest just seemed... livelier. He slowly moved himself forward to the entrance, soon poking his head out. He looked around. This couldn't have been the same forest as before.
Instead of moss, small brush sprang from the ground, and bouts of grass replaced the colored fallen leaves of autumn. But as far as he could tell, the trees were the same. He recognized the random shapes of some of the branches. It was as if he had hibernated through the autumn and winter! He fully exited the little hovel and draped his paenula back around his shoulders. He did a quick check of his body. His wound wasn't infected, but seemed to be healing well enough. His helmet and gladius were still attached. His waterskin was almost empty so he would need to top off soon.
With that, he began to wander.
Night fell quickly. It was just morning, wasn't it? He sighed, confused, and began searching the stars. It wasn't much use with the thick trees of the forest, but he was able to discern a few constellations right above him. If he could keep it oriented, he would be able to at least travel in the same direction.
He could not see well, but he never tripped or had to climb over obstacles. The tree branches never quite obscured his sight of the stars above him and so far he hadn't had to go around any obstacles either, just moving in a straight line. Was this the work of the Silvanus? he wondered. Had one of his prayers gone through? He vowed that at the end of his journey he would be a simple man, faithful to the gods. Mars had abandoned him, but here he was saved.
The forest did not clear up. The underbrush got denser and denser, and he was passing strange plants he could not hope to recognize. The brush gradually gave way to a swath of mushrooms of various colors. Some even seemed to glow on their own. He would not dare eat them, though, for fear of poison. The air became thick with the feeling of spores and he brought his paenula up to his face in an attempt to protect his lungs. The mushrooms were becoming increasingly exotic. Some were almost the size of a man standing straight. Others seemed to follow him as he walked past, as if watching him.
There was no sound here. Fauna seemed to steer clear, as if they knew something about this area he didn't. And so, he quickened his pace. Eventually the mushroom patch receded as gradually as it had appeared. His paenula almost felt slimy where he was breathing through it; first chance he gets, he thought, he would wash his clothing.
It wasn't until he ran straight into a tree that he actually stopped his movement. Where in Hades did that come from? he thought. Of course it made sense that a forest is a forest: a tree was simply there. He had been following a straight, unhindered path for so long that he almost assumed the rest of his journey appeared. He told himself to stop being silly, and he stepped around the tree. His foot caught on something. Just as he looked down in the moonlight to see a vine wrapped around his ankle, it tightened and pulled him up into the air so fast he hit his head on the massive roots of the tree.
His capture stopped as his foot was taken a cubit into the branches of the tree. He was snared? Was it a simple hunter? Or maybe-
His thoughts were dashed when the tree itself began to regard the trapped human. The vine pulled him up another foot, and the trunk itself began to twist, to where the crotch of the tree was directly facing the soldier. His eyes widened in fear as it began to split and, instead of tearing itself apart, wooden, splintery, jagged teeth appeared at the seam. He began shaking and struggling as the vine brought him closer. Eventually he freed his gladius and curled himself up towards his suspending foot. He swiped at the vine, cutting it cleanly, and he fell about five cubits to the ground.
One of the roots dug into his back as he landed but he didn't notice. His blood was pumping as he reverted to combat mode. He saw every tiny movement of the monster tree. He rolled away as some of the exposed roots tried to grab him. He brought his gladius up in a shieldless defensive position to protect against a couple more swipes from the tree's vines and branches. He slowly backed away, giving quick glances around him, listening for every snap and rustle of the forest. Nothing appeared to take advantage of the situation. He eventually backed up another fifty feet and the tree gave up.
His body chilled as his blood slowed. He felt the air prick at his skin as he calmed and widened his field of view. He turned around to be met with the curious stare of a young girl. He started, flinching his sword, but he re-sheathed it as his brain processed the image.
Her blonde hair and pale skin gave her away as some kind of Germanic tribe. Although her clothing was totally different, being a white blouse with a black vest and skirt, rather than the thick wool of the impoverished barbarians. At first he cursed at fate, as she could run off to alert her village that the Romans were coming in the middle of the night! But as he looked closer, and the forest canopy shifted from the wind and intermittently exposed the moonlight on her fact, he froze with fear. Humans don't have red eyes.
They also do not have a row of angular, sharp teeth, he recalled, as she smiled.
"Kon'nichiwa! Kimi o tabete mo ī?"
A/N: This is my first Touhou fic. Please leave reviews and help me out. Please excuse the Google Translate Japanese. I don't speak it. Also I will be using some Latin words for specifically Roman things, such as measurements or pieces of equipment.
The inspiration for this is a Gate/Touhou crossover which was very popular but, in my opinion... not very good. I was still intrigued by the idea of Roman soldiers (yes I know the Empire in Gate aren't the historical Romans, but descended from them I think) coming into the Touhou universe. In my opinion, the character writing was over-exaggerated and the prose was flat and simple. Instead of just bad mouthing or something, I tried doing better.
My main effort is my Gate: Thus the JSDF Fought There fic but this isn't just a one-off abandoned plot bunny. (Please check it out)
EDIT 14FEB2020. Fixed some phrasing, changed around and italicized Latin terms