We came from all over the realm, so many of us boys thought we would become heroes and go home in a parade with showering flowers thrown by beautiful women or some silly mendacium like that. We were told this would be our grand adventure, and we would tell our children tales of bravery once we returned home. Let me tell you from a firsthand perspective: war is no adventure.
-Thomas of Elbe
GINZA TOKYO, INNER CITY
The sun was bright on that fateful day in Ginza. It cast a yellowish sheen over the pedestrians below like God himself had torn a hole in the sky and let heaven shine through. However, the heat was so unbearable that anyone walking wouldn't be surprised if the sun floated into the planet's atmosphere.
Thousands walked the streets in the afternoon light. They tried to keep themselves cool with water bottles, umbrellas, and hats as they were forced to pack together on busy streets or subways. Those who were more financially stable would find out immediately that trying to drive wasn't a good strategy.
Cars packed the area. Especially in Ginza Square, finding a parking spot would be equivalent to winning the lottery or getting struck by lightning.
This was pretty average in a place like Ginza. It housed many locations that tourists from around Japan and beyond would come to see. Either that or you actually lived there for some unknown reason.
But this day was a little different. A manga sale in the Square drew even more people into the typically crowded square and subway station.
Men, women, couples, and children walked in droves on the sidewalk.
A man's tennis shoes smacked against the concrete sidewalk. He stared down at his phone, weaving through the crowds of pedestrians. His cargo shorts, pink t-shirt with a cute anime girl on it, pasty white skin, and messy black hair could tell anybody giving him a once over, This idiot's an otaku.
He ran a hand through his hair and hit send for a message on the phone. It asked, What do you want from the convention Risa-chan?
The message was read almost immediately, and three distinct dots appeared momentarily. Get me the newest Oshi volume it just printed today yo-yo.
He groaned and typed back, passing a crosswalk. How often have I told you to stop calling me that?
LOL come on Itami it's cute.
I'll show you cute tonight.
Ooooo, so scary. Can't wait. She then ended the text with three heart emojis.
Very funny. I'll be home in a few hours. Everyone decided to come to Ginza today and bring their entire extended family.
Thanks for this baby. Three more heart emojis, a telling sign he would get to give her the old Yule tide log as a welcome home present that night.
Love you too.
Manga and anime were always touchy topics for him and his wife. If there were something particular about their relationship, It'd be death, taxes, and never talking about manga or anime lest they risk a divorce.
Itami almost smiled at that one. But he forced himself not to so he didn't look like a lunatic to everyone walking by. You had to keep up appearances in the self-defense force or at least attempt it.
That's what his superiors always told him anyway. Itami didn't think it made much sense when he saw how Americans (mainly the Marines) acted.
He finally reached the subway's entrance and hurriedly descended its stairs, wanting to escape the damned heat. Underground air cooled him, he passed movie posters and vendors trying to sell overpriced water and snacks.
"Peanuts, sir? Chips? You look thirsty!" A guy yelled at him. Itami shook his head and didn't pay him any mind, though some Spike and Guts t-shirts at another caught his eye. Five thousand? He thought. Could get those off the internet for half a yen if I use eBay.
Those small "stores" always annoyed Itami. It was, however, funny when some idiot paid total price for a cum stained anime shirt. Well, either that or they were deteriorating. He liked his idea better.
Getting to the waiting area, the subway arrived almost immediately. Perfect timing. He walked on quickly and got a seat before anyone else.
Luck seemed to be going Itami's way as of late. Things were going great with his wife, they'd both come into more money because she'd just gotten several commissions, and he'd gotten a raise. Work hadn't been as stressful, mainly the desk and nothing else. And he even got today off.
The train sped like a bullet through the tunnels. Loud conversations and body heat from others did annoy him a bit. Itami knew it'd be over quickly, but why was everyone and their mother out today? He should've gone this morning.
He glanced around the train momentarily, and when he looked forward, a young girl no older than six with black pigtails stared curiously up at him from across. What Itami could only assume to be her father stood holding her hand and hadn't yet noticed his daughter's strange finding.
Itami hesitated. He wasn't good with kids and especially didn't wish to appear like a pedo. The girl lit up with a smile and then waved furiously back at him. "Hi, Mr! What's your name?!" Her voice somehow went over all others on that very train.
The dad turned his head to her and then to him. He gave a warm smile and then nodded at Itami. Thank god he doesn't think I'm a diddler, "Uh...Youji Itami...what's your's?"
"I'm Hana!" She shook her father's hand, "This is Papa!" He couldn't help but smile at that one, and her papa laughed. The big guy stood taller than most Japanese men at around one hundred and eighty-five centimeters, much like Itami. However, he held substantially more muscle.
"It's nice to meet you two." They, in turn, bowed to each other. He then did the same with only a finger for the little one.
"Haruta Toma, it is a pleasure to meet you, Itami-San." Haruta's smile almost glowed alongside the sun shining in from outside. He appeared to be in his early forties, maybe late thirties.
As they neared another station, Itami pondered, "Excuse me, but are you a part of the SDF?"
Toma raised an eyebrow, "You'd be correct, why?"
"Captain?"
"Hai?"
"Oh hey! A friend of mine trained under you at Camp Fuji. Small world, Toma...S-Sir!" Itami corrected. Even standing at attention and saluting his superior.
Toma chuckled again, and Hana giggled while putting a hand over her mouth. Some passengers around them began to stare, "No need to do that, Itami-san. Sit back down before somebody takes your seat." Itami scrambled back.
"Who's this friend?" Toma questioned.
Itami answered, "Kurata, he's a kid. Came in a few weeks back, shorter guy with a babyface."
"Ah, I remember him all too well. He hid a strange manga under his bed back in basic; it wasn't a fun conversation...for him."
Hana stared at her father and Itami, "You're a Jietai like Papa?" He nodded, and she thought for a second. Then announced, "I wanna be a Jietai when I grow up!"
"Well, I don't know about that..." Toma interjected, then looked at his sitting subordinate. "She says this anytime the topic is brought up," he laughed again, as did Itami.
But Hana shook her head, looking miffed by them, "But I'll be like Papa!" They both stopped laughing upon seeing she was serious.
Toma patted her head, "I know, I know, Papa believes in you, Hana." Itami gave a nod of approval alongside those words.
She immediately brightened back up, "Waku-Waku!"
Soon, his stop would come. Itami sat up and began to get off, "Bye-bye, Mr. Itami!" Hana yelled and waved after him, with her father doing the same as the latter. He waved back, feeling a little brighter than before. Maybe he wasn't as bad with kids as he'd thought himself to be.
However, because Itami took time to exchange pleasantries, he overlooked one of the station's concrete pillars until too late. He turned his smiling face only to crash forehead first and fall on his ass. Blunt white hotness shot through his forehead like someone had whacked him with a hammer.
He sat up angrily, rubbing a bruise on his already swelling head. Through gritted teeth, Itami whispered wrathful curses against the architect's mother. People again stared at him because he wasn't acting "Normal" by having an accident. Though that's common in Japan, so he was used to it.
"You okay, pal?"
Glancing to the left, he saw a young guy in a business suit. Combed black hair and a pale face with bright green eyes, a bit of a standout among other office or desk workers. He reached out a hand and smiled brightly, showing pearly, straight white teeth that seemed to reflect light off them. Itami took the hand and stood, "Thanks...kid." He murmured.
"Man, what a run-down travesty this place is, huh?" The kid's voice was loud and boisterous, and people again side-eyed Itami than him. Yet the kid didn't notice and instead waited for an answer.
"Uh...I suppose so...there's," Itami searched around and pointed at the tile walls, "Some chipped paint?"
The kid frowned, "Not just that," he placed an arm around Itami, to which the man himself didn't feel receptive. "Poor maintenance, awful crowds, cramped trains, Yesh...maybe I oughta write something about all this. Wadda you think, buddy? Buncha shit, right? Pardon my French if you're a God-fearing man."
Itami shifted awkwardly, this kid smelt like aftershave and lemons. "I'm...only trying to get to a convention at the square-"
"Pah!" He let go and reached into his coat pocket, bringing out a white card featuring black font of a phone number and name. "Ren Riku?" Itami questioned as he read out and then pocketed the item.
"That's right, investigative reporter extraordinaire! You read the news, Mr...?" He tapped a foot, waiting for an answer.
Itami blinked and realized, "O-Oh, Youji Itami, my apologies, Riku-kun. Eh...no, I don't pay any attention to it. I've heard a lot of things. Comes with my job, I suppose."
"Really... What is your line of work? A reporter like me? An office worker? A janitor?"
Itami then knew he shouldn't be talking about this, "...Jietai..."
"REALLY!?" Riku yelled. Itami felt the knife in his forehead switch over to his ears. Passer-byes gave odd or dirty glances for at least the fourth or fifth time. The kid suddenly spawned a notepad and a phone with its camera on. "You mind answering a few questions? Does Japan truly need a self-defense force?"
Itami raised a hand, "Stop, alright? Geez, I work at a desk, alright can..." his voice trailed off. Massive windows behind Riku gave a great view of the city. Through them, he saw and listened to it.
An instant, a blink of your eye, and you'd miss it. Buildings, burning, fire, heat, screaming, he could feel and hear every bit. Then everything was normal once more, "How about Americans? What's your opinion on the retreat from the Middle East?"
Itami pushed past him and felt his head, going to the window and staring outside at the bustling streets below. Men, women, families, and couples walked casually. That blow to the head might've messed me up more than I thought...shit.
Riku stepped up next to him, and if looks could kill, Itami would be dead. "Oi! C'mon, man, I'm asking you some questions. Hell's the matter with you-"
Itami covered his ears and nearly fell back as what sounded like an explosion came screaming to his ears. Yells and cries rang out throughout the station and below. Riku fell back and came up roaring, "My phone! My goddamn phone got cracked. What the fuck was that?!"
"Christ, I don't know!" He responded. Itami rose, feeling around himself and then glancing around nervously. The train had already left, and civies were freaking out, but he saw none injured. Not an explosion inside, then it came from...SHIT!
He turned back and pressed against the window. Searching for craters, bodies, and gore. Maybe old Kim did have enough this time. Nothing, until craning his head to the right and feeling his balls recede in.
About an excellent two hundred meters or so away, a massive structure turned a good portion of the road into churned-up rock. Multiple cars had crashed into each other or several buildings to avoid it.
Riku and a few others joined him, holding their phones up. "This is Ren Riku reporting live! Some structure has just appeared in the middle of Ginza Square...is that a Gate?"
It was a Gate. At least sixteen meters tall and across. Studying closer, it seemed Greek or maybe Roman in origin to Itami. He didn't know much about history, but he'd watched an anime where a guy from Rome was transported to Japan, and the architecture seemed similar.
"Could this be an attack on our nation from North Korea or China, perhaps? I'm here with Military Policeman Youji Itami. Sir, what do you think?!" Riku yelled, pointing his phone right at him.
"Dude, put that fucking phone away! We have to get out of here!" Itami shouted back.
Riku shook his head, "I have to get the new-NANI THE FUCK?!" Multiple screams from inside and out rang out alongside his own. What seemed to be dozens, then hundreds of rapidly moving creatures suddenly flew out from the Gate.
Their large, scaly bodies and wings made them easily knowable as Wyverns, like out of the fantasy mangas Itami would read. What got him panicking, however, would be the damned armored up assholes riding them. Full-blown men in armor riding them like a horse or pony. They circled around buildings and streets staring down at the people.
That's when the station turned into a madhouse. Everyone ran or trampled over each other to get out and away. Itami stuck to the windows, unable to stop watching. He should be running right now, but how could one run away from such a sight as this?
"HEY!" Someone grasped his shoulder and whirled him around. Riku shook him, "I'm ready to leave, and you're just standing here?!" Itami threw his hands away.
"Right, right, sorry, okay? Let's get moving before we get flattened!" He yelled back over the storming crowds.
The two began moving carefully, watching the mobs and moving when they saw an opening. Riku kept his phone going and took the time they had waiting for things to clear to write something in that notepad. Edging on the biggest story of the century if he could make it out alive. Itami? He just wanted to get home back to Risa.
The streets were lined with abandoned cars, trucks, and semis. Their former occupants ran each other over to get anywhere with a roof. Though the creatures in the air hadn't attacked yet, they instilled a primal fear even in the most stoic men and women.
But this had only just begun. Suppose you listened closely over the stamping shoes and heels of the thousands fleeing indiscriminately. Beyond and soon visible from that Gate, they shook the ground with their terrifying massive steel armored boots. Another thing you could call A fantasy creature.
Fourteen-foot shock trooper ogres dressed entirely in steel-plated armor, armed with shields of the exact likeness and axes or hammers that tripled their smaller counterparts' size.
Those who witnessed them only ran harder, several men broke an old woman's arm when they barreled into her. A woman dropped her infant child whose carry weight gave her a disadvantage in speed. Dozens would suffer injuries and even casualties within the first only ten minutes of the invasion.
The ogres moved forward in rows from one side of the street to the other, flipping or smacking cars away like mere toys. Forming a clear passage for who came next.
Human Calvary marched through likewise. Large wolfmen, maned leonin, and large orcs followed suit on their respective mounts. With archers and a couple of healers taking backlines. An entire army out of a Dungeons and Dragons book, suddenly in Japan without explanation.
Three distinct Knights leading this expedition from beyond their world rode horses among every man and half-man alike. All were men of valor, or so they seemed anyway.
Count Formal rode at the right, and his chestnut-skinned middle-aged face smiled as if on a casual summer ride. He held a long and decorated military history, which was a deciding factor in the emperor gifting him his knighthood and leadership of Italica. One of the Empire's most bustling trade cities.
Next to him, Hamish Fule Maio rode pompously ahead as if he owned the road they traversed. He flipped back his long straggly blonde hair and dabbed his pasty, sweating head with a handkerchief. "By the gods, their sun is as overwhelming as ours!" He groaned in a gravelly drawl. He was only a noble and nothing compared to Formal, who earned his station by hard work and not inheritance.
Finally, on the left side would be Hamish's son, Herm. He kept back from the other two, staring wide-eyed at these so-called barbarians' Village? Town? City...
Unlike his father's short, roundish, and just downright ugly looks. Herm was tall and sported sharp features. He had blue piercing eyes that went right through any man he gazed upon, and his neatly combed blonde hair flew gently in the breeze.
"It appears to be mid-year in this land too, Sir Hamish," Formal replied to Hamish's complaint. He studied around the area like his younger counterpart, glamorized by the surroundings. "Quite the constructions these Barbarians have made. I'm almost reminded of home and the capital. What's your opinion, young Herm?"
He shot his head over, "H-Hm? My apologies Sir Formal?"
Formal repeated himself, and Herm quickly stuttered, "I-I agree, though some of these mechanical contraptions surrounding this road seem...foreign and...threatening."
Hamish sighed and shook his head disappointingly at his son, "Boy...we've already heard about these things from the scouts. Don't tell me you're nervous. Perhaps you'd like to turn tail to the backline."
Those words shut Herm up, and he glanced away in shame. "Oh, come now," Formal interjected, "He is only being cautious, Sir Hamish."
The father looked to him, "Almost ten years training in this...rose order, he'd better be ready to lead men into battle; otherwise, we're down a man already."
"I cannot call that untrue. But now, this campaign doesn't require any force yet." Formal pointed at all the crowds running away, "I'd think they'd have some sort of army in an opulent place like this one."
Hamish scoffed, "A lot of cowards rather run than defend themselves. Fools, every single one."
Herm certainly couldn't blame them, even feeling slight pity for these Barbarians. Princess Pina often told him they'd have to close their hearts to death when in training. Easier said than done, he thought.
Dragon Knights and their mounts flew overhead around the buildings and blue sky. Herm often wondered how those men could fly so high without getting a nosebleed or vomiting.
Still, they were always a majestic sight. Often, he wished the princess would've implemented Wyvern-Flying lessons within training. However, no trainers had experience in the matter. Herm sometimes also wondered if it were due to Sir Gray fearing heights, though the old man would never admit it.
"Maybe we should break out the wine already, my fellows? It seems we will not face the slightest adversity from these Barbarians." Formal was already reaching into his horse's saddlebag before Hamish spoke up.
"Do you wish to negotiate terms of surrender while intoxicated? Plus...what do you have to drink for when we make camp? Water?"
Formal frowned and sat back up, "Ah, I suppose you're right. I'm much too eager to celebrate after marching this damned long. We must've been going for hours in pitch black. Lucky none of us were afraid of the dark."
He chuckled at his joke, but Hamish did not. Herm thought it was funny but feared disappointing his father if he laughed. So he went back to marveling at the sights of this city and tried to ignore the barbarians collectively screaming as they ran in every imaginable direction away.
Even while enamored, he felt a sense of unease. The two old men told him his nerves were still bunched after marching for so long, and he'd get used to it. However, the truth was known only to him, and Herm was too embarrassed to admit it. In reality, he was homesick...for Pina...
His father brought Herm away by shouting at a Wyvern Rider flying low. The Knight flew down, and while he did, Hamish called, "HOLD!" to the front and rear guard.
The ogres stopped marching and immediately bunched together like a massive fort wall. "By the gods, to think Prince Zorzal could've instilled such discipline in them. Simply astounding." Formal commented.
"Ever heard the phrase putting make-up on a pig?" Hamish sarcastically added.
Ignoring his compatriot, Formal asked, "Herm, my boy, you trained under the prince during training, correct?"
He nodded in response, "The Prince and some of the Oprichnina alongside Gray. A few times...but Sir Gray finished us out."
"My, that mustn't have been easy. I know only perfection is expected when it comes to their sort."
"Herm wasn't expecting it," Hamish interrupted, "The boy only thought his training would consist of fun-filled adventures, didn't you?" His father gave him a side-eye.
Herm wished to stop talking; however, Formal still watched him for an answer, "Yes...not easy at all. Though I presume they and Gray held back a bit, given we were all rather young."
The Wyvern landing interrupted any further conversation with a graceful sound of the wind. The knight riding it opened his visor and asked, "Yes, Sir Knights?"
"Report, my good man," Formal ordered.
"No signs of any enemy force in the area. This city appears undefended so far!"
Hamish laughed when the rider told them, "You mean to tell me! That these fools have no means to defend their land? What utter vermin they are. We should teach them humility for...for this insult!" It took a long while for him to stop finally.
When he did, the rider added, "Only two stand in the way. Men dressed in odd black and blue clothing."
"Then we will offer them surrender, or they shall be destroyed," Hamish replied without missing a beat. "You may leave now and return to the skies."
"Sir!" He made an odd noise at his mount, which flapped its wings and shot back into the sky.
Formal spoke, "I'd rather speak with them if you gentlemen don't mind. I want to break out the wine before sundown, and a skirmish might risk that wish."
"I agree, let's move forward," Hamish brusquely responded. Herm just nodded. They cantered their horses to the formation.
Passing through, the ogres tilted their heads forward, attempting to acknowledge their leaders without receiving back problems later in life. "You two, with us," Father ordered to the closest of them.
"Yes, Sir," one said behind his visor. The voice was strange, intense, and booming. So much Herm felt like the ground shook with every letter.
Iron chariots were flipped or destroyed by the shock troop's path-clearing. No man, woman, or child was perceivable going down that lonely road.
Silence, just dead silence, like a bug or snake creeping along Herm's neck hairs. Perhaps a calm before the storm? Maybe the barbarians would ambush them from one of those massive constructions that seemed to continue throughout this place.
Gods, he always hated worrying like this but could never stop himself. Even these ogres covering both sides weren't helping his stress.
Glancing over, he wished to see Father's focused face and Formal's casual confidence for some strange comfort. But his nervous feelings skyrocketed when seeing them carry an identical look to him—a plain face with eyes glancing around every which way.
"Father?" He questioned.
"What?" Hamish bluntly responded.
Herm hesitated and finally asked, "Does this...seem right?" Hamish again gave him the side-eye, a common thing he would do whenever he thought his son was acting like a fool.
"Are you saying we, the noblest of Saderan Knights, are not just, boy?" he hissed.
"N-No!" Implying such an offense would land him a swift beating for acting like a fool once again.
"Then stop being a little child and keep going. I want this surrender, or battle if need be, over with quickly. Those men in blue are upon us." He pointed a gauntleted finger forward.
He peered and saw two men standing in the middle of the road. Right next to a blue and black painted chariot with strange lettering on its side. "They label their chariots?" Herm thought out loud.
"They must be of some value to these fools, perhaps praetorians," Hamish added.
At this point, they needed to keep their horses to a walk so the armored ogres could knock and move any inconveniencing iron chariot from their path. So that one doesn't fly and crashes into one of the knights. All three had seen a few go right through a few building's glass windows when an ogre got particularly excited, and none wanted that going right against their head.
Formal suddenly let out a soft groan. Father and son, in unison, tilted their heads at him. He was clutching his stomach with grave nausea.
"Dear Emroy…I don't feel very well, gentlemen," he doubled over but steadied on his warhorse's large, black, muscular neck. He reached into his saddlebag and pulled the top off for a drink.
"I can see that," Hamish droned, "Are you alright?" The question was a little too hopeful. He was a man who wanted all the glory he could get. Making an entire tribe or perhaps a nation surrender would immediately gain the eye of the Emperor.
Formal placed his water back and, wiping his mouth, replied, "Yes, yes, it's my old nerves gaining on me. Come, we shan't keep these fellows waiting." He smiled cheerfully and rode on.
"Are you sure, Sir Formal?" Herm asked.
"I'm fine dear boy," And before Herm or Hamish could talk back, he added, "Where is that proclamation? Didn't you have it, Sir Herm?"
"O-Oh, yes!" He reached for his colts saddle.
Whenever the Empire wished to spread its influence or civilization, a paper detailing terms and conditions would first be given to any tribe or nation in that region. Telling them to acknowledge their new "benevolent" rulers and pay a food, livestock, or mineral tax. Depending upon the location and its economy. If resistance was met, however, slaughter would occur.
Coming upon the two men in blue, knights and ogres finally got a good look at the Empire's new subjects. They were shorter than he'd expected, and their skin looked very pale. A promising sign both were important.
One was young, maybe the same age as Herm. He'd taken something from his side and was pointing from ogre to knight and back to another ogre. His buddy mirrored his stance, but the man appeared older. His skin was saggier and sallower, and a few gray hairs were visible.
"These troglodytes look ready to empty their bowls," Hamish said disgustingly.
"Greeting them with weapons at the ready and ogres probably wasn't the best move, Sir Hamish." Formal stated.
Ignoring him, Hamish took the proclamation from Herm and aimed the paper right down at both men in blue. "The great Empire of Sadera now claims this city and your nation! Surrender now and take us to your leaders or leader!" He raised his voice, and the men in blue pointed their strange metal curved tubes at him in response. Not saying a word besides fear-filled mumbling using some odd language.
Herm only viewed the two with pity. If he were in their positions, he would've indeed run. Hamish sighed and turned back at them both, "These savages don't speak common."
Formal nodded, "We need to bring them to a mage. They can help."
"Ugh…" Hamish sighed, "We're wasting precious time."
He raised his head at the ogres and pointed his finger at the two men, still repeating their scared process of pointing their metal tubes at the five of them. "SIEZE TH-"
A loud pop echoed throughout the streets, and Herm was forced to calm his horse, who'd reared in shock.
When it settled back down, he searched his surroundings and saw him. Herm's blood ran cold. One metal curved tube courtesy of the young man in blue had a clear small line of smoke floating out.
Hamish lay writhing on the ground. A large hole had punctured through his belly.
Thus, the war began once again.
Notes: Okay, I know I made a Gate fic a few months back. But, uh...it sucked...really hard. Let's pretend that it never happened; hopefully, this new take is worth reading. Word to the wise, I plan on having a good chunk of the story be from the Saderan's side and not portraying all of them as baby-eating rapists. If you don't like that...well, I'm not sure what to tell you.
