They just kept coming and coming, I don't know what the hell they expected to accomplish by running right into a bunch of bullets. But...well...god...sometimes I still hear the sound of flesh getting torn apart at night.
-Lance Armstrong-U.S. Marine tank driver involved in the battle of Alnus.
Alnus-One Day After The Battle
They were all day scouring the remains. Stepping over the guts and shattered armor of the thousands in their deaths, Itami looked upon this all with tired eyes and nothing more. Each was silent, even Kuribayashi, who always had something to say, and Kurata, whose face was as ashen white as the snow.
"God..." Itami murmured as he saw the terrorized, agonized faces of the dead.
The first thing he recalled about last night was the whirring of the abram's engines, then the droves of the dying as they fell en masse to their machined deaths. The smell of it all came next: the emptied bowels, vomit, and blood. The latter, like copper that strung straight into his nostrils.
The heavy equipment was already being prepped. The dead were to be buried in unmarked mass graves, all this and nothing more.
"What about there?" Tomita nodded towards the destroyed Fort before them. There was a few hundred-yard gap between that and the already half-constructed FOB they'd set up.
"Americans are searching it."
"We can't?"
"No."
The Fort itself had once a wall crafted and built out of brick and stone. The inside buildings, from what they were able to see, had all been damaged during the night battle; some even toppled over from the pressure of the explosives punched into them. "God..."
"It's where the most danger is," Kuwahara said. "Some of them may still be held up inside."
"You really think so, Pops?" Tomita said. He was on again, off again, covering his nose every few seconds.
"Not particularly," he said, watching the other patrols around them.
During the talk, Kurokawa, a young medic, walked behind the others. She was the tallest and biggest of them, with her long hair tied under her helmet. As she stepped over a body, a hand grasped her leg. She yelled.
The others turned, their weapons drawn, but she'd already pulled away. In the middle of two decapitated bodies, there was a Saderan lying with his leg missing. His face was nearly alabaster white from the blood drain, and the grass beneath him was stained red.
After the surprise settled, they called for a truck. Mari went to him during the wait, all of them watching as she tried to bandage the man's leg. He was whispering something and crying.
'How old is he?' was the first thought that came to Itami's mind. Not older than twenty as far as he knew.
"What's he saying?" Itami asked, looking over to their interpreter, a spindly young man named Tozu, who was currently pushing up his glasses.
He didn't answer for a moment; Itami asked again, this time firmer. Finally, Tozu looked over at his superior and informed him, "He's praying to something called...Emroy? yeah, that's it."
The man was now grasping Mari's free hand, and he was sobbing so hard that his voice had gone hoarse. "When's that truck getting here?" Kuruta had to raise his voice over the cries.
By the time it arrived, the man was dead. They moved on after.
The Americans had found somebody. They'd restrained a pregnant and hysterical young Japanese woman. Third, Recon watched as she was led out of the ruins of the Fort, apparently having hidden somewhere inside from the battle. She was belligerent, laughing and screaming like the damned being brought from their hell.
The body of the man was placed into a pile with the rest of the dead. He was left underneath and on top of all the others as he was buried with the rest. Soon to be forgotten to time in his forgotten grave. Already was he forgotten by his country.
Northern Alnus Countryside-Two Days After The Massacre of Alnus
"Nearly a hundred thousand," Count Woody, a trusted advisor to the Prince, said. His hair was gray, and his face was shaven. He read off his papyrus with a gaunt, pronounced cheekboned face from a couple days of little to no sleep. He stood before the prince on a small hill leading down to a cleared and vast meadow. Its treeline was watched and guarded by what remained of the Oprichnina and the main force of the Imperial army.
Zorzal listened to this, flanked to his left by a cleric wrapping bandages around a massive gash from the tricep to the shoulder blade. When the prince heard the number, he shook his head before saying, "What of the kings and generals? Sir Duran, Sir Ligu?"
"All gone under by the looks of it, milord," he took a deep breath after finishing. The cleric finally finished, tied the bandage tight, and then examined the strange angle in the prince's elbow socket.
"Do not touch it," Zorzal stated.
"Uh...y-yes, your grace," the cleric said.
"Off with you," the Count added. He pointed back down to the camp. The cleric didn't say anything this time, merely following the old knight's orders. The two watched as he hurriedly made his way down the hill and out of earshot.
The wind was calm, and the air was like frost. Small mountains of snow and sleet dug away into packs from where they'd made camp melted under the clear blue sky like frozen fountains.
They'd scattered amongst the dense and miles-deep forest in the black night like prey running from predators. He'd managed to keep a good portion of them under his leadership, although with each passing day, a man disappeared into the night, and there were still those out there all on their own, perhaps traveling for the mountains or perhaps north towards the cities.
In the morning, he'd stood watching the medicine men and the wounded. The latter lay scattered on small bedrolls like a sea of death and mutilation. One of the injured, a man the Prince hadn't even known the name of was without arms, legs, or face. The man lay there on his roll, unable to speak, whisper, or cry.
The Count finally spoke up, "All gone besides me and thee," Woody's face was grim as the words sank in. He took a moment to eye his lord and said, "What shall we do, milord? the men are restless, fearful, and hungry. They're ripe to riot or head off for themselves."
"We must..." he grimaced as he rubbed his bandaged arm. A sharp bit of metal had found itself inside him during the battle. It was strange, such a little thing capable of piercing through the Empire's best plate mail. "We must send word to the capital first and foremost."
"Are you well, milord?"
"The capital, Count."
"Yes, milord."
"And..." he let out a brief sigh, "send a centuria to our backend, we must cover all grounds."
"That is a death sentence, milord."
"I know."
As Woody left down the hill to inform the unfortunate centurion, his boots crunching on the snow, Zorzal thought for quite some time and took the time to stretch his injury.
It felt almost like a dull burn right then. Yesterday, it was like a searing white fire blown into his arm like a concentrated fireball. He thought to himself for some time; he'd been doing much of that in the three days' retreat.
He brought up his arm, his hand large and calloused. It ran over his face slowly and methodically as if applying something. Then he let his arm fall and just sag there staring into the fire, allowing a soft sigh to escape him.
In his years, he'd watched man and woman die in the most horrid of ways, their faces like a hot iron imprinted into the confines of his brain. The crushing of a skull, the hanging of hundreds, the feeling of blood running off his hands. Yet something about this all was different to him. The removed face of that limbless man went through his head as he took back his seat.
Eventually, after a few minutes, the Count returned to his Prince's side. Zorzal acknowledged him with a nod, and Woody stared momentarily as he retook his spot on the hill. "I've not seen...ah, never mind," he said.
Zorzal looked at him, "Go on and tell me."
"Well," he let out a small grunt, "I am sure you've thought the same by now, milord, I cannot help but to think of our enemy," he glanced away thoughtfully.
"The Empire has faced defeat before, but...this is different."
"Yes..."
"By that, I mean we've not a clue what the hell's any of those things sent at us were."
"Indeed."
He stood at this point and stepped next to the Count. Like most, he towered over the old man by a head and a half. The two glassed the state of the camp. The men were shivering by the fires, some wrapped in bandages and some watching the woods for...something.
They were not drinking or gambling, and the expected audio of camp conversations was a mere shadow of what they once were. Although the Prince certainly heard 'Men in green' and 'Metal elephants' from a few audible whispers. Bother all that, they were just men. Just men.
"Count?" Zorzal said. He looked back from the downslope of the hill.
Woody glanced up at him, his thin face narrowed from the tiny flakes of a flurry, "Yes, your grace?"
"Do you believe in fate?"
"Fate?"
"Yes. As if... one's life is planned out, predetermined in some way as if by a strand of thread?"
"Well," he thought briefly before answering, "in some form, I suppose."
"You suppose, or you know?"
"When it comes to this sort of thing, your highness, yes. Supposing is all a man can do."
"Hm," Zorzal crossed his arms. "I do think you are correct about supposing, wondering. Especially after...this. So strange/"
Woody knelt before the small fire beside them, warmed his hands, and said, "War can make a man reflect on his soul, his...sense of selfhood." He watched the Prince momentarily, "do you think what happened yesterday was fate?"
Zorzal side-eyed him. He uncrossed his arms, turned, and stood over the Count, and the bend in his left elbow was very potent, "I am not sure, but...I know the GATE is an act of the gods, and if there is a creature or creatures that determines it, then the suspicion would fall upon them."
"I would call it more...divine intervention, though perhaps it is the same thing," Woody said as he removed his leather gauntlets and wiped the moisture off his hands. He put them back on and continued, "as much as this pains me to say, I believe we are in the...end."
"The end? the end of the what?"
"Of the Empire."
The two were silent for a moment, each watching the other, before the Prince said, "How have you come by this information in such a...short time?"
"Forgive my...impertinence, but I believe you know why your grace. We both understand...no...we have seen what this enemy is capable of."
"Yes, but..." he slouched slightly to meet level eyes with his subordinate, "there is always a chink in the armor, always a means to defeat an enemy. Take the example of the Arctic War, for instance. Were we not ultimately victorious in that endeavor?"
"But of course, we drove them right off the continent and into the sea. However, they were armed with magic and weaponry that we had the ability to form tactics around. Suppose their use of mounted archery. The simple maneuver is to gather one's mount and ranged weapon. Then there is the weaponry we saw yesterday, those...ah, what do the men call them?"
"Metal elephants. They were...not anything I had expected."
"Precisely. Your Highness, I mean this in the best way possible. We must either find a way to cut these beasts off from their homeworld or a way to appease them."
Zorzal narrowed his eyes. "You're talking like a slave. Appeasement? They'll only find that in bloodshed." He narrowed his eyes. He'd known the Count for decades, and never in his life did the Prince think he was capable of such talk.
"Would you prefer more to be slain as we toss more and more men at their metal elephants?"
"They are men," he protested, "men! not gods, and...not anything else." He took a second to watch the Count. The old man had shifted slightly back in his seat, his hands shivering.
Woody held up a finger, "Man conquered this world, did we not? through a lone legion, we made that impossibility possible. Is it not a stretch to say the men we face have used magic to create siege machines of war and death?"
"Maybe..." he shook his head, then focused upon his general, "It's concerning," Zorzal said, placing his good arm on his leg. Count, I have known you for nearly twenty years, and you have never acted like this whenever we've faced a genuine threat. Why now?"
"I believe I just explained why-"
"No, you have not. There is more to this outburst than the threat we face. Out with it, man," the Prince wagged two fingers at him.
Woody watched him for a while before letting out a breath and saying, "When word...reaches the capital, that is yet another worry."
"Because it shall be a nightmare for the senate, the people of the empire-"
"And me..." Woody finished. "They will need somebody to blame for this massacre. You and I are the only two left for that."
Zorzal narrowed his eyes at the words as if the Count was going mad: "That's silly. Your record speaks for itself. And...it is not important right now what might happen in the future or who they think are responsible. Defending our nation is the first thought that should be on our mind."
"A heroic statement, milord, but we must be realistic. What do you think will happen to those men who were sent to guard the rear against weaponry that kills men from incomprehensible range?"
Zorzal said nothing. He looked downhill, then back to Woody, then into the fire, and back to his second: "I do not like it any more than you do. But we must have time. We must find a way to defeat them. It is a sacrifice we must be willing to make. You, of all people, should know that."
"How do you know that?"
"Know what?"
"That they shall commit those actions?"
For a large man with a deformed elbow and multiple injuries, Zorzal stood relatively quick to his feet after the Count finished his sentence, "By the gods, will you stop this contrarian, cryptic oratory and just come out with it?!"
Woody leaned back slightly with his hands up, "I meant no insult, milord; please, calm yourself."
Zorzal let out a few breaths, closed his eyes, sighed, and then sat down. "Go on," he said.
He sat forward in his seat and said, "I believe our only course to prevent more death is to find a way to parlay with them."
"Parlay? are you mad?!" he was back on his feet again, "all of this is more damned slave talk!"
"Your anger is unbecoming," he put his arms up, "is survival not preferable?"
"Survival?" he let out a low noise, "they will kill us, enslave our children, and rape our women. That is the consequences of our loss."
Woody held his hands out, "Man is not the same as a goblin milord; be reasonable. Shall we not try?"
Zorzal pointed a finger, changing the direction from himself to Woody; his eyes were shrouded in the light of the fire, "We of all men should know that our kind is most capable of evil."
Woody didn't answer him this time, so Zorzal continued, "They slaughtered without favorite in their world and ours. We would have done the exact same thing, so what makes you think they'll simply...sit down and speak to us?"
"It is either that or-"
"We die! yes, yes, yes! I've heard quite enough about all of this!"
Woody stood up, not worried about what the men watching them downhill might think, "Shall I tell you we're doing just fine, Your Highness? I shan't lie to you about what I feel."
"No, not at all, but by gods, pull yourself out of this despair you've fallen to."
"I have fallen into reality."
Zorzal opened his mouth, paused, closed it, then looked away from and back to the Count and sighed as he clenched his uninjured fist. His voice was almost oddly calm as he next said, "Tell the men we are moving."
Woody looked on strangely, "To where?"
"Home...the capital. We shall leave a few Centuria's in Italica, but that will be our only stop. It will take a week, but informing the senate and father...the Emperor...shall require my presence."
"I...see."
"Don't tell me you're afraid of punishment? I always thought you were a man who did not fear death."
"Never, I am merely...worried."
"You have worried for the last thirty years of your life. Nothing new."
"Observant as always, milord."
Zorzal watched as Woody rose and began down the hill. As the Prince followed, he stopped for a second and let out a heavy cough. The Count turned back at him and saw he was staring at his glove oddly, "Is something the matter?" he asked.
"Hm?" the Prince glanced up, "ah...nothing, it is a mere cough."
Woody nodded, although the concerned look did not leave him. He turned his head back and continued down. Behind him, Zorzal looked at the blood splotch on the back of his hand.
Saderan Capital-The Golden Palace-Four Days After The Battle of Alnus
The millennia-old palace of the emperors sat a wonder of the land peaking past the surrounding mountains, mocking nature itself as if insignificant to the architectural mind of mortals. Built of marble and stone, its halls ran with sleek maroon and ruby colors with artist renditions of Imperial history.
Collected fineries discovered from across the continent sat in golden and bronze casings from two-hundred-year-old swords of an extinct tribe to the gladius of the first Legate to step foot on Alnus.
Praetorians surrounded the throne room, and Pina watched them as she walked inside with her hands together, her left index tapping against her right wrist. Her red hair ran long in curls decorated with a gemmed tiara, and she wore a heavy white stola, the fabrics of which she kept close to drown out the cold air.
She passed a grand table in the center of the room meant to fit dozens of guests and yielded before an old man who sat on a golden throne about two sets of stairs carpeted in red like a running sea. The shining sun from outside two massive windows glinted off his jewelry-decorated crown.
"Father," she said, kneeling and bowing her head. He had a long, graying mane of a beard and hair.
"Stand, daughter. We need not the time for pleasantries," he motioned his course-skinned hand upwards. Standing with a concerned face that she couldn't force herself to hide, she listened, "There you are."
"Is this an urgent matter?"
"No, I merely called you here to talk about the weather. Rather gray today, is it not?"
"Excuse me?..."
"What in the world do you think, daughter? Yes."
"Does it...concern Alnus?" her shoe tapped against the ground, a tic procured from a childhood such as hers.
"Brilliantly thought. These...men in green...have entered through the GATE."
"D-Does that mean-"
"Yes, most of Alnus's forces have been decimated, though a few legions remain. They are on retreat to Italica, and here." He held his palms together as he spoke.
"W-What?!" her head popped up at him. Standing, Pina remembered herself and breathed, "That means the enemy's broken past the GATE?"
"I would assume so. I've called our forces back to ensure our position. Zorzal and Woody are leading them so at least there is but one competent man guiding our forces."
"All of them? but it was an army called undefeatable. H-How I mean-" Pina stopped when he held up his hand.
"Calm yourself, girl. Yelling like a siren about an issue will not solve it."
"But Father-"
"Quiet down."
She looked away then back to him, her face red with embarrassment, "My apologies."
He sighed and rubbed his wrinkled face, "The Senate is going to be in an uproar about this whole damned thing."
"Is..." she paused for a second, "was there any reported sign of..." she shook her head, "nevermind-"
"Ah, is this about that Maio boy?"
"Well..." she nodded, "Yes, you see, the Roses and I have been-"
Molt nodded, "Daughter, I believe you already know the answer. It is time you accept reality."
"But...he wasn't..."
"I believe his coward of a Father offed himself in his cell, it is rather funny that the only worthwhile news I hear of him is of his self-destruction. He and his crotch spawn truly were nothing more than a family of fools and cowards."
"Father...please don't say things such as that."
"Bah, no matter."
She brushed her hair back and glanced around, then asked, "Where is Diabo? Shouldn't he be here for this?"
"I have already informed him. The boy is concerned with an important matter about those Barbarians. Quite a strange bit of weaponry, but effective if the reports are correct."
"Why are..."
"What?"
"Why are you so calm about this?"
He raised an eyebrow, "Whatever do you mean?"
"You do not seem exactly surprised or concerned."
"Oh, daughter, come now. When a man has been in my position for as long as I have, many things tend not to shock or awe me."
"And...what about Italica's countryside?"
"Hm? is something the matter about it?"
"With our forces retreating, will that not leave villages open to bandits and monsters and...those...why are they called men in green?" she thoroughly looked at him.
"If I had to give it a guess, it is due to the fact they choose to wear the color of green."
"That sounds...strange. Do they not dress in any armor?"
"No, but I believe we have more important matters than their choices in fashion. Starting with Italica." She looked at him, nodding and listening. He gave her a slight smile; at the very least, Pina was more bearable than her mother or the other two things that came out of his former queen's demon-infested womb.
"Italica?" it made sense. The city was second only to the capital in size and economical trade. If lost, it would be a heavy blow to the Empire; perhaps it would even cause total loss for the war, though Pina pushed that thought away for the time being.
"We mustn't let those Barbarians take my precious city daughter, although from what I hear of the place, it may collapse inwardly sooner or later. None of those savages beyond the GATE required."
"How so?"
He waved his hand, "Diabo will inform you of the specifics. He's off galavanting about in his little lab; what I need from you," he pointed a finger, "is to take yourself and your Rose Order into the city and put down any resistance by any means. You shall even have the assistance of several centuria's."
"And defend it from the enemy?"
"Hm? ah yes, of course. Now then, off with you," he waved his hand again.
"Father..."
"Off."
She looked up at him, then bowed with a simple, "It shall be done," and saw herself away from the Emperor's court.
As Pina journeyed through the great halls, the beautiful art and decor surrounding her on all sides, she began wondering many things.
With every passing day tension and disorder were rising with the lower and upper class. Nobles and Senators questioned the value of the war, and the people protested in rage for their dead fathers, sons, and brothers. After such a horrific defeat at Alnus and the near-death of his own son and heir, all Father responded with was sending her off to Italica?
Pina knew her Father to be a passive man, but this was something else. That wasn't important right now, however. Informing her troops and visiting her brother were. So she pushed her worry to the side once more.
Where her brother was wasn't hard to guess. Upon entering the floor, she practically smelled the many strange components he owned. Moving past the saluting praetorian, Pina entered through a large iron door.
Diabo's lab was packed with the decor expected of a man of his station. The place was so neat; everything looked dazzling. Collected weapons and armor pieces neatly cleaned on racks, glistening from the afternoon sun shining inside. Organized books, ingredients, and components neatly stacked on shelves and stands filled the complex like a river of extremity.
"Put it on the nearest table and leave. I'm in the middle of a breakthrough," Pina heard as she closed the door behind herself. She saw him sitting in the middle of the lab right in front of her. He sat on a large chair, looking down at a round table at an object she couldn't identify. He was directing the device with what appeared to be a turnscrew.
He sat in his chair, thin and with long dark blonde hair down to his neck. His blue robes were like a sheet over his small body, and his face was sharp with interest in the object he was pulling apart. To think this man, a mere three years senior to her nineteen, ran a spy and info-gathering network stretching to the Eastern plains and West Desert.
"Judging by the bags under your eyes, I believe you," Pina said, her arms crossing as his head lurched up at her.
"Oh, hello, little sister. Pardon me, I believed you were somebody else," he went back to his work, pulling out some sort of small barrel or cylinder with tiny holes in it. He began to study it. "Did Father send you?"
"Yes..."
"Amazing, sit down. I'll finish this later," he said, putting the barrel and object to his side and nodding at a seat in front of him. She took it. When settled, he asked, "I assume the meeting went well judging by the look on your face."
"I am worried for him."
"Yes, he's been quite..." he stopped, trying to think of the right word. "Strange."
"Is that how you put it?"
"How do you want me to?"
"I...do not know," she shook her head. "What I do know is he's been strange enough to send so many to their deaths, and for what? what have we truly gained from this war? besides..." she pointed at the object, "whatever those are. "Is that their weapon? it is so...strange..." Pina studied it like a curious fox. Some kind of silver coated the thing save the backend where there appeared to be some sort of wooden grip.
"The term I've settled with is thunderspear."
"Bother it!"
"Apologies, but little sister, you'd do well not to speak like that."
"Is that a threat?"
He let out a sigh, "Why would I threaten you? No, stupid. My concern is your safety, Father has spies everywhere. You'd know. I even take after him in that regard."
"Do you think he has them watching you?"
"No, I believe their sights are on you."
"Me?"
"A young princess with the favor of almost a dozen noble families? you may be his daughter, but the man is still concerned with his own power. That's simply the way of things."
"What about Zorzal?"
"Him too."
She shook her head, "Never mind this, what of Italica?"
He tapped his finger against the material as he considered his answer, "Where to start..." eventually, he stopped and looked at her. "The city is in a bit of an uproar. There are only daughters, so control would, of course, go to one of them. The issue comes from them being twins alongside sharing the twin trait of a lust for power."
"I assume the people do not wish for two young women to run the city's affairs either?"
"Correct. The nobles there have called for handing over power, and with the war's losses, some are even speculating about splitting off from our Empire."
"That is not good..."
"No, it is not. But if it's any consolation, the latter are a minority."
Pina took a long breath and exhaled an even longer sigh as she took in all of this. She thought to herself, 'A power struggle between nobles on top of a war against an enemy capable of using weaponry that destroys whole armies. This is what I must lead them into.' The cold in that room was suddenly apparent to her.
He placed a hand on her wrist, regaining Pina's attention, "I shan't be able to help you more given what is occurring inside the city; oh, do not give me that face, little sister. Solving these murders is important to keeping the Empire's interests stable."
"If you were in my shoes, you would not be so calm."
"That." Diabo pointed a finger at her, "That. None of that. Do not think with your emotions. Think with your logic and reason. Do not think like a woman, Pina. Think like a leader."
She gave him an odd face, "Pardon me?" briefly, Pina pondered how Panache had fallen for him.
"You are thinking with doubt and self-pity, all the traits a young woman wears, but one's no knight leading knights into battle should consider."
After a few seconds of silence between them, Pina gave an exasperated breath and said, "I shall...consider your advice, brother. What about these murders? has...another occurred?"
"A kidnapping. The Tyueli's this time."
"All of them? even the daughter?"
He paused, "Yes. They were journeying to Italica, and all that was found left was their wagon and driver."
"What happened?..."
He paused again, longer this time. He seemed to be choosing what words to say and not to say, "Parts of the man were missing, as were...chunks...bitten off..."
"By the gods..."
"There are goblin tribes in the area," Diabo quickly interjected, "it might've been their doing, but that is a mere theory. It's odd..."
"What is?"
"I see a pattern here. Senator Tyueli was very favorable toward Father's proposal to invade the world beyond the GATE. The three others were in favor or provided arms or slaves to the cause."
"Does that mean a suspect is within grasp?"
Diabo threw up his arms, "I've no fucking clue."
"Brother..."
"My apologies; I am...rather frustrated," he ran his hand through his hair. "I believe I need to get back to my studies on the secrets of this thunderstick. Be well, little sister."
"Yes, brother," she stood and looked at him, as did he. Both so young, with objectives that seemed insurmountable.
In the morning, the Rose Order rode out for Italica, and that was that.
Notes: Originally, I had more characters included in this, but I thought giving just one chapter to the royal family and third recon would be a better idea. Luckily this means I have a headstart on the next chapter. Writing the family was actually kind of hard, especially for Molt and Zorzal because the two are so unrealistically evil and retarded in canon, but then again, so are most Saderan characters (seriously, how do you try and conquer a city as fucking dense as Tokyo) anyways, I've found a way to write all of them. Thanks for reading. See ya next time.
Translation: Just one, Centuria's. About a hundred soldiers led by a Centurion, who was basically the Roman equivalent of an officer.