"I know your ilk."
Nobunaga traced the air with her katana, arquebuses trailing her blade's arc and forming a line of glowing barrels. She swung her sword like a headsman's ax as all guns fired a salvo of crackling energy down at the mob of undaunted knights. Each blast ripped away steel and sundered the flesh beneath, pockmarking Italica's fields in blood and ash in equal measure.
They fought back. Or at least they tried. Bolstered by a will beyond human sense, shield bearers formed walls of bristling steel and bowmen loosed arrows by the hundreds. Their barrage rose to strike the Demon King from the skies. Too slow. Like children throwing pebbles at the sun, hoping to knock down the light from its celestial pedestal.
It was a weakness the warlord didn't share. Ta-ta-ta-ta. Nobunaga weaved through the air with the ease of a prowling hawk, surfing through waves of missiles as her guns echoed their damning rapport unto the soldiers beneath. Each blast ripped holes into their formations—beams of burning death raining from above.
"You, who raised arms against our lord."
Among the knights, there was a man. He wore no plate armor and carried no arms. Clothed in a tattered gambeson and dirty brown scarf, he made for a humble figure amongst the ranks of the army-turned-marauders. He was made notable only by the angry red mark carved over his forehead—chaotic lines and indiscernible symbols etched onto his skin like carvings over wood.
Once, he'd had a name. It was neither a noble nor a famous name but it had been his. Yet just as the armored knights around him sacrificed their flesh and bones to protect him—fanatic grit and unyielding spirit pushing them to rise and fall and rise and fall even as the demon rained hellfire upon them—so too did he sacrifice everything for their purpose. Now, there was only one calling he heeded—one title he cared for.
The Apostle of War scowled, pitch-black eyes meeting a pair of red orbs in the dawning sky.
"Servant of Chaldea."
The guns fell silent.
Crimson eyes shined with an eerie glow like a prowling cat stalking a grounded bird. Nobunaga smiled as her rifle lowered her to the ground, stopping an inch above the pockmarked soil. She hopped off and stepped onto the field, trailed by half-a-dozen tanegashima that spread out into a circle behind her like a halo. Uncaring of the armored soldiers surrounding her, she plunged the tip of Heshikiri Hasebe into the blood-stained earth and tilted her head to the side with a mocking grin.
The ranks of the Apostle's men, whittled to half in the short time Nobunaga had spent on the battlefield, locked shields and stood unafraid against the monster that had scythed through their forces. Before the spears of his army, the Demon King tipped her cap to the Apostle as if greeting a passing acquaintance on the street.
"A surprisingly knowledgeable one, aren't you?" Nobunaga said. "Though you'll have to be a bit more specific. I've raised arms against plenty of lords. It's something of a bad habit from back in my old life. You can't expect me to know which of them you serve."
The Apostle's eyes narrowed in outrage. The red scar upon his forehead shimmered, crude runes and bloody scabs glimmering like the mouth of a simmering volcano. In an instant, hellfire raced out of the Apostle's outstretched hands, curving over the heads of his men and then snapping towards Nobunaga.
An arquebus flew into the warlord's hand. She aimed at the incoming mass of scorching flames and fired, sending a line of white-hot energy crashing into the Apostle's spell like an arrow spearing through an unwitting fish. The beam pierced the fireball, carving into the surface and blowing a hole through its center. Crippled, the conflagration sputtered like a candle in a hurricane before dissipating into harmless cinders.
"A rude mutt, aren't you?" Nobunaga cackled, beautiful features morphing into a sneering asura. Her sights drifted to the Apostle of War. "Whoever your lord is, he should better train his pets. It reflects poorly on the owner to keep a rabid dog."
"Your struggle here is pointless, Hero. Powerful as you may be, you are still alone. My armies will have drenched the streets of this city red long before our battle concludes."
"Fool." Nobunaga grinned. "To know so much and yet so little. Listen closely, you dog of a fallen lord. You were right to say that I am a Servant of Chaldea…"
She plucked her sword free and pointed its tip toward the sky.
"…but you should also know that I am far from the only one."
XxX
"Hold the line!" Piña shouted over the screams of dying men. For what little good it did.
Hordes of the maddened bandits flooded into the newly opened breach, ripping away at her forces like wasps stabbing at a crippled lion. Her remaining men remained locked in a ramshackle shield wall but even then, it was a fragile thing. Rather than the trained and disciplined soldiers of her knightly order, these were a mix of ragtag militia and untested city watchmen. They were a far cry from the drilled men-at-arms that now assailed their walls.
Inch by inch, Italica's defenders were forced to cede their ground. First the center. Then the flanks. Their line arched and bent like a stalk of wheat, curving back into the city's streets as the brigands threw themselves at anything and everything that stood in their way. Men fell by the dozen from both sides. Knight. Peasant. Bandit. Death did not discriminate. Their lifeless bodies congested atop each other over the upturned soil, churning earth into bloodied mud.
"Hold the line, damn you all!" Piña ordered, waving her sword aloft. A piece of debris had opened a wound on her forehead, leaving crimson to trickle over her left eye and onto the edge of her lips. With the taste of blood seeping into her mouth, Piña couldn't help but think she should have brought a helmet – should have brought more men with her on this accursed mission. "Push them back! For the Empire! For Italica, push!"
Italica's sons struggled to rise to her command. Spear walls clashed and receded then clashed and receded again like waves in a tumultuous ocean, and another dozen fell amidst the fighting. But where her men grew weak and doubtful with every loss of their own, the enemy trampled friend and foe alike for the chance to throw themselves into the carnage.
The Men in Green were nowhere to be found. Their small band might have been scattered in the first bombardment. If that were the case, the city was already lost, and they just hadn't realized it yet. Piña cursed again. How quickly things spiraled out of control, leaving her without even a spare man to use as a messenger.
Hamilton clasped her shoulder.
"Your Highness," she said. "You must leave."
"Not yet." Piña scowled. "We can still hold. If we can just defend the wall, Bozes will be here by tomorrow with reinforcements."
"Your Highness," Hamilton repeated, green-eyed gaze stalwart and insistent. "Please. Leave the defense of the wall to myself and Grey. You must retreat to the citadel and prepare its defense with Countess Formal."
Leave and let them die, she meant. Their troops were already demoralized, and Hamilton's presence didn't carry the same weight as a princess of the Empire. If Piña abandoned the front, there was no chance the wall would hold. The marauders would slaughter them to a man and flood into the city like a ravenous tide.
But it would give Piña precious time. Time to organize a last stand. Time to gather as many remaining troops as she could to perhaps hold Italica's citadel until tomorrow, when her knights arrived. All that it would cost were the lives of two of her most loyal attendants and the thousands of men, women, and children still inside the walls.
'Oh, gods,' Piña prayed, white-knuckled fists clenched around the hilt of her sword. 'Am I to sacrifice them all as well?'
Whatever the gods answered, it mattered little, in the end.
A shadow was cast over Italica. A blot of darkness encompassed the field like a gathering storm. Then came the piercing screech, cutting through the cacophony of battle and rattling her ears. Piña's eyes snapped to the sky and caught sight of a dark mass with wings. She could see its spindly tail curling like a writhing snake before it tucked its limbs into itself and dove.
"Wyvern!" Piña screamed, pushing Hamilton away. "Wyvern! Get back! Get ba-!"
Her warning came too late. A behemoth of scaled fury smashed into the middle of their formation, crushing a dozen unlucky men into a crimson paste and blowing Piña away from the hurricane gales that buffeted its surroundings. The princess crashed and rolled over the ground like a tossed stone, staining every inch of her once pristine armor with muddy battlefield blood. The impact forced the air out of her lungs, leaving her gasping and crumpled, unable to do anything but watch as the black-scaled wyvern extended its sinewy neck and released a chilling roar.
Panic overtook the army. Men cried as the wyvern began to tear into them, fangs and claws carving a bloody swath through a sea of helpless militiamen. At the front, the marauders spurred forward and crushed their foes between steel and beast, skewering any defender who fell out of formation with blood-drenched spears. They pushed against the crumbling center, eating away against the weakening lines like ants picking at a dying animal.
Several soldiers tried to rally. They locked shields and stepped forward in a last-ditch effort to defend against the monstrous serpent. A brave but mistaken choice. The rampaging wyvern opened its jagged maw and spat out a wave of red-hot flames at the foolhardy spearmen, who could do nothing but flail and scream as the inferno washed over them and scorched flesh from bones. Piña looked away but even then, she couldn't block out the odor of cooking meat. It clogged the air with the stench of men being burned alive.
The line started to collapse. A little. Then a little more. Doubt spread like cracks in a mirror, creeping out until it left every man marred with fracturing resolve, and when the wyvern released another deafening roar – leathery wings spread as it stood high atop a field of massacred corpses – there was only one way any sane man would react.
Italica's defenders shattered.
Soldiers dropped their weapons and fled, screaming in terror. Like rats on a sinking ship. Battle lines fell into an uncoordinated and savage rout, as the marauders began to march into the city's streets. They cut through the few remaining pockets of resistance, tearing through the center and washing away all that stood against them under their unrelenting tide.
"No..."
Piña struggled to rise and only found agony in her attempts. Her side throbbed with a scorching pain like a thousand spikes were being driven into her lungs. A broken rib and likely worse. Piña growled and tried to push herself up anyway - ignored how every breath felt like torment for her half-broken body. Her fingers scrabbled in the dirt, fumbling for her sword and grasping its weathered hilt in a white-knuckled fist. The princess of the Empire, dirtied and beaten, forced herself onto her knees and watched as Italica burned.
The wyvern approached her, blood-painted fangs and claws shining with an eery glimmer as it all but preened in the middle of a sea of flames. Its slit reptilian eyes glared down at Piña's crumpled form like a lion sneering at a scrambling rat. Her mind emptied. Her body froze. Unable to move or fight, Piña could only stare as crimson flames began to gather in its throat for the breath that would end her life. In the face of impending death, the imperial princess felt the strength seep out of her fingertips, sword clattering to the ground as she watched the wyvern's jagged maw open. She gazed into the red-hot conflagration awaiting her - her mortality reflected back by its incandescent glow.
"Your Highness!"
Ah, Hamilton. Her loyal knight was too far away to reach her. At the very least, she would not die with her fool of a princess.
But as the wyvern gathered the energy needed to burn her to a crisp, a steel-plated fist smashed into its open maw and slammed its mouth shut.
CRACKOOOOOM!
The impact was unlike anything Piña had ever heard before. It sounded as though the air had been torn asunder. As though a mountain had cracked and shattered. So close to the point of impact, she felt the sheer force reverberate throughout her entire being, echoing in her chest with the rumble of an erupting volcano. Gale-force winds rushed out from the epicenter, sending shards of debris and plumes of dust blowing in every direction. She threw her arms up with a surprised cry, her braided red hair blowing wildly against the maelstrom.
Yet when the dust cleared and she could open her eyes again, Piña was alive. The princess blinked. And then she blinked again. And again, in rapid succession, unable to believe the scene before her.
"Foul beasts."
The girl that spoke was small – smaller than any of the knights Piña commanded, and yet her words carried throughout the entire battlefield. She stood atop the broken carcass of the wyvern, her steel plate glinting like polished silver in the light of the dawning sun. Her blond hair billowed with the cold morning breeze, golden strands framing a beautiful face made all the more perfect by the stoic fury burning in her emerald green eyes.
The Knight-for there was no mistaking that this was a knight-wrenched her fist free from the wyvern's skull. Blood spilled out of the gaping crack like water overflowing from a cup yet the pooling gore did nothing to stain her gallant figure as she turned to the marauding army. A single armored gauntlet rose in preparation, intricately plated fingers clenched around…something. Piña does not know what exactly the armored girl holds. Only that the winds howled and raged like a zephyr born of the darkest skies around its cloaked form, hiding the weapon in a veil of ever-swirling gales.
"Strike Air."
The unnamed warrior swept her arm to the side, and the wind obeyed her call like a devoted hound. From her cloaked instrument, spirals of golden light interweaved into a raging current of highly pressurized air. The blossoming sun bathed the world in a searing gold-in a radiance so pure that all averted their eyes, not for fear of pain but that no mortal man would feel worthy of sullying its light with their gaze.
Flames were snuffed by cacophonous gusts. Rubble was picked apart and carried into the growing storm. The cyclone grew as it followed the path laid by its wielder, controlled chaos bringing ruin to all it came across. The winds smashed into the deranged men-at-arms as a sickle would hew through a field of wheat. It tore through steel shield walls with contemptuous ease, a massive deluge of unleashed nature sweeping the dark horde away like a riptide crashing against pebbles on the cliff's edge. Wherever it passed, a swath of destruction followed in its wake. Whatever it touched, it left sundered and broken.
And at the center of that storm, the epitome of knights stood alone.
"Stand up." Green eyes turned away from the battle and stared into Piña's soul. Expectant. A lion that demanded more from its young cub. And at that moment, under the firm gaze of this petite, armored girl, Piña felt as if she were a child desperately learning how to walk again. "Stand up and fight, Knight. Your men have need of you, now more than ever. Will you forsake them?"
Ah…
Her hand gripped her sword—why had she faltered? Her legs pushed and steadied beneath her—when had she fallen to her knees? Her gaze hardened and her resolve steeled—how could she so nearly break despite the cries of her people?
"Princess!" Hamilton was there now, charging between the unknown warrior and her charge. Wavering in the face of that magnificent light. But she stayed. Convinced to somehow follow this naïve princess into death.
Gods, and here she was. Ready to forsake her duty.
Without a word, Piña raised her blade. At her back, tired and determined men – who had seen that golden, hallowed light as she had - formed ranks and stood against the oncoming tide, resolving themselves to a final stand. They hefted spear and shield together, exhausted and bloodied yet reforged. With their homes behind them and the marauders at their door, they had been pushed a step away from annihilation. They would not step back one foot further.
The warrior watched—smiled.
"Through the darkest night comes the brightest dawn," she said, her arm held against her breastplate in a knight's salute. "Hear me, soldiers. This battle is not yet lost."
The armored girl stepped towards the horde, a challenge in her gaze and a sword born of humanity's hopes held in her hand.
"Artoria Pendragon stands with you."
XxX
Whatever questions Itami had for the red-eyed girl, he didn't have the chance to ask them.
Even as their mysterious benefactor engaged the bulk of the Apostle's army, more of the maddened soldiers slipped through to assault the wall. Worse, these men didn't march in neat and vulnerable formations when they attacked – perhaps a lesson they learned during the Battle of Alnus Hill. Instead, they charged into the breach in a chaotic rush, braving bullet and spell-fire, as if they were in the trenches of the Great War. Outnumbered and forced to defend against an unbreakable horde, it took everything they had to keep the fanatics from overrunning their positions.
Rory was perhaps the biggest reason they hadn't already lost the wall. The little reaper was a terror amidst the front lines, her ebony halberd carving through flesh and armor with the ease of a gardener trimming grass. But even she couldn't be everywhere at once. For every three she killed, one would slip past. Yet with the demigod on their side, there was hope. The JSDF struggled but they were holding on. So long as the red-eyed girl kept the rest of the army occupied, Itami's squad could mop up these stragglers on their own.
"Just a little more!" Itami shouted over the overlapping roars of gunfire. "We've got air support coming our way! Keep them back for just a little longer!"
"You said that twenty minutes ago, Captain!" Kurata whined.
Itami ignored the young sergeant and fired another burst into the advancing horde, desperately spraying the encroaching marauders with a barrage of lead. He only stopped when his rifle responded with the empty click of an expended magazine. Cursing under his breath, he took cover behind a pile of sandbags and popped the empty magazine out. He let the hollow bar drop to the ground, his shaking hands scrambling for a replacement in his vest. When his fingers caught on a fresh mag, Itami yanked it out and stabbed it into the lower receiver of his weapon in a way that would have made his boot camp's range safety officer foam at the mouth.
From the corner of his eye, he caught Tuka and Lelei launching spell after spell into the fray. A series of small orbs, a meter or two in diameter, manifested around the elven girl's hands and then fired like artillery shells in rapid succession, sending plumes of fire and smoke in a horizontal spread that would make any machine gunner jealous. Meanwhile, Lelei concentrated on a spell that could be as large as her torso – a sphere that crackled and churned with blue lightning – before lobbing it towards the enemy. The blasting roar of thunder heralded its explosive landing as the bolt of concentrated plasma electrocuted every target caught within its sphere of influence, frying men in their armor and leaving behind twitching burnt corpses.
And, of course, Rory was still holding the line all on her own. The petite reaper laughed with maniacal joy as she danced amongst the invading bandits, a whirlwind of gore coating her black dress in the stench of death. Wherever her ebony halberd landed, men died in droves. Their crude shields meant nothing when her weapon tore through the strongest of armor with contemptuous ease, its sharpened tip spitting the heads of fallen enemies while its axe head separated limbs from torsos like a welding torch through butter.
Not human, Itami reminded himself. Rory was a demigod. An immortal being with superhuman abilities. While she might wear the guise of a little girl, she was beyond such mortal frailties like fatigue and wounds. Or - he noted as he watched her split a man in two the long way - any semblance of self-restraint.
With a wet, meaty thunk, Rory stabbed the blunt end of her polearm into a bandit's throat and tossed his limp body aside. A gurgling corpse crashed into a group of fanatical fighters, who lost their balance and tumbled backward in a mess of flailing limbs. She kicked off the wall of sandbags in pursuit, halberd cleaving into their panicked bodies like a lumberjack felling a tree. The first was split open from throat to navel. The second and third barely survived a second longer before their heads were cleaved from their shoulders.
"Oh, Lord Emroy!" the lolita cackled in delight as she held her halberd aloft. "Let these souls dine in your halls! Let their blood quench your thirst and their flesh satiate your hunger! Glory! Glory to you, my Lord Emroy!"
Rory danced. Around and around, her halberd carved a red arc around her small figure, sending sprays of crimson gore as she twirled between one victim to another. One head fell, then another, and another, and another, and another. Corpses littered the battlefield around her as she feasted with a manic smile on her face. It was a spectacle that made Itami's blood run cold and his hands tightened on the trigger guard of his rifle.
Rory was the nightmare of war made real. An incarnation of madness given human flesh.
Yet, as he would come to learn, she was not invincible.
The shield, Itami noticed, is different. The shape is round instead of rectangular and its surface glimmers with the shimmer of steel instead of wood and bronze. It caught the edge of Rory's halberd in a shrill shriek of metal against metal.
"Oh?" Rory raised an eyebrow.
The man that faced her was clad in dark plate, his face hidden underneath the crimson visor of his misshapen horned helm. The towering behemoth stood head and shoulders above her, and even from a distance, the soldier's aura was unmistakable. Itami could feel his hackles rise from the murderous intent that radiated out from the armored knight. Black eyes the shade of the deepest abyss locked onto Rory, each killer gazing at their foe like two lions ready to tear each other to pieces.
The man did not speak. He did not need to. The straight blade of an Imperial spatha told his intent well enough. The meter-long sword flashed in the dawning sky, and Rory barely angled her halberd to catch the blow before it sank into her shoulder. The strike bit into the haft of her polearm with an explosive burst of sparks, and the shockwave that followed kicked up a roaring gale throughout the entire battlefield. Rory skidded back from the impact, boots carving a pair of deep grooves into the bloodied soil as she was forced away.
She was no longer smiling.
Itami fired a burst into the knight's chest and watched bug-eyed as the behemoth blurred. Fast. Faster than anything of that size had the right to be. A rapid cla-cla-clang of shrieking steel rang out as the spatha batted away each projectile, the knight deflecting the speeding bullets as if he were swatting mosquitos. Then he blurred again, crashing down onto Rory like a vengeful meteor.
The two were a maelstrom of steel. Their weapons met and parted and met again in a flurry of blows so quick that Itami couldn't keep up. They were too fast. Unchained by mortal limitations, they were more akin to a localized natural disaster rather than a fight between two people - as if a tsunami was crashing against a hurricane. A dozen strikes. Half a hundred. More. Again and again, Rory and the knight clashed, a whirl of blades and limbs carving a path of concentrated hyperviolence all throughout the battlefield.
Itami had the sense to scramble back as the monstrous pair tore at each other like rabid beasts, their fight all but sweeping away the battlefield in their wake. The knight's spatha carved a deep groove through a pile of sandbags, carving a deep pit that extended for meters. A backhanded slash from Rory's halberd ripped a chunk out of the palisade, sending splinters and shrapnel flying into the air. Their clashes shook the ground and the air. Itami felt every impact reverberate in his chest, as if his heart were about to rip itself from his chest.
There was no use trying to provide support. They were just as likely to hit Rory as the knight, and somehow Itami doubted bullets would do much to hurt either of them.
"Get back!" he screamed over the fighting. "Get back, all of you! Get away from the wall!"
His squad retreated to the second line of defenses, scrambling like rats from two squabbling lions. The reavers were far less cautious. Seeing their foes turn away, they rushed in through the gap in the wall with deranged fury. A mistake. The first wave of men made it through half-a-dozen paces before they were eviscerated, flesh and bones torn to pieces like meat thrown into a woodchipper as Rory and the knight ripped into each other without regard for their surroundings. Those that were lucky died instantly. Those that weren't lost limbs to Rory's halberd or were disemboweled by the knight's spatha.
Yet for all Rory's skill and power, it was clear to Itami's eyes that she was being forced back. The knight ignored wounds that would have killed a man twice over, fighting through his injuries without even the slightest pause. Rory, immortal though she was, still felt pain. The reaper hissed and snarled as her black dress was torn to shreds, and her pale skin was gradually stained by the crimson splatter of her own blood. She was slowing, and her enemy grew only more vicious as she weakened. She fell behind. Slower and slower. One second. Two seconds. Three...
Then the knight bashed a gauntleted fist into her chest and sent her tumbling to the dirt in a heap. He blurred again, appearing over Rory as the reaper struggled to her knees. She didn't even have the chance to raise her halberd in a weak defense. The spatha flashed in a horizontal swipe, carving a crescent of blood into the air, then buried itself halfway through her chest. Rory spat out blood as she struggled to stand. One hand gripped the blade to keep it from digging even deeper into her torso as she met the knight's empty gaze with burning eyes of malice.
"You...!" she roared through bloodied lips. "You...!"
Itami could only stare in horror as the knight hefted Rory as if she weighed no more than a ragdoll then flung her away like a stone. The reaper tumbled and skipped over the ground, rolling end over end and skidding to a stop in a growing puddle of her own blood.
"Rory!" Itami screamed.
His squad needed no orders. As one, they unleashed a salvo of desperate concentrated fire at the knight. The rapid staccato of a dozen automatic weapons in concert roared over the battlefield. In the face of such overwhelming fire, even the knight was forced back. He crouched low and dug in. His steel shield rose up, catching the continuous stream of bullets and sending sparks and shrapnel flying with every impact.
Itami saw his chance and scrambled over to Rory's side. The reaper coughed and blood spilled out from her lips, staining her chin and running down her neck. Her body was a horrific mess. Cuts and bruises littered her limbs. Her chest was split open like a gutted pig, and blood poured out of her in rivers. If Itami were honest, it was less that the demigod was injured and more that she was one giant painful wound. Still, Rory growled as she tried to force herself up, shoving Itami away with an uncharacteristic snarl of outrage.
"I'm fine, Itami!"
She spat out another mouthful of blood. The crimson splatter of blood and saliva dripped down her chin and onto the dirt. Yet she didn't fall. Despite the horrific wounds that painted her torso red, Rory staggered back to her feet. She planted the haft of her halberd into the dirt and leaned on it, forcing herself to stand though her breaths were ragged and pained.
"You don't look fine." Itami said.
"I can't die," she snapped. "Get away! Before he -!"
A blur of steel and shadow crashed towards the two, cutting the air apart like a bolt of lightning. Itami threw himself at Rory and pushed the two of them to the side, narrowly avoiding the spatha as it whistled overhead. They tumbled and rolled over the ground in a tangled mess.
"Captain!" Kuribayashi screamed.
Itami looked back from where he was crumpled in the dirt, watching as the knight raised his spatha for another strike that would carve his head from his shoulders. There was no time to even raise his rifle. No time to react. Death was a heartbeat away.
A meter-long spear of stone smashed into the knight's chest, throwing him off balance just before he could finish the job. It didn't penetrate but the force of its impact staggered him forced him to stumble. Another missile of rock followed the first. Then another, and another. A continuous barrage of earthen javelins rained down onto the behemoth. Each one exploded against him in a shower of shrapnel and dust, forcing him to raise his shield to protect against the onslaught.
"Run!" Lelei shouted, her staff held out as she lobbed another javelin at the knight. "I can't hold him for long!"
Itami didn't hesitate. He scrambled to his knees, slung his rifle over his back, and swept Rory into his arms and onto his shoulder. The reaper protested, bashing her fists weakly against his back, but she was too hurt to do anything more as he sprinted away like a bat out of hell.
"Oh, spirits, strike down!"
Tuka held her hands in front of her as her eyes glowed a radiant gold. From the sky came a deluge of searing light. Blinding bolts of electricity rained down from the clouds, scorching the earth and the knight in a cacophony of thunderous roars. The knight screamed – an inhuman howl of pain. The sound was like nothing else Itami had heard. A tortured wailing that came from no human throat. The soldier felt a shiver run up his spine and an icy chill crawl into his stomach. He forced his legs to pump faster, his muscles burning as he scrambled back to the relative safety offered by his squad.
"Keep firing!" Kuwahara shouted, his voice cracking in desperation. "Light 'im up!"
The squad fired again, and again, and again – an unrelenting fusillade of bullets and spells against the oncoming horde. The marauders were charging through the gap in the wall now, spreading out like a pack of wild wolves. They ignored the hail of gunfire, and the bullets that tore through their ranks. They were mindless. Frenzied. They threw themselves into the fight like they didn't care if they lived or died. With the knight leading them, it would only be a matter of time before they overwhelmed their position.
"Goddamnit," Itami muttered under his breath, panting as he stumbled away. "I should've brought more grenades..."
"Itami!"
Tuka's shout was the only warning he received. He looked back and cursed as the knight rocketed towards his position. Too fast. How was something so big so fucking fast?! Itami fumbled for his rifle, raising the Type-64 with one hand and bracing it against his hip. He fired. Again and again. Round after round, he dumped the entire magazine's contents in a blind panic. And still the knight kept coming, blade and shield dancing in front of him. He was a blur of steel and crimson death, and Itami could only stare in mute terror as the knight closed in and raised his spatha overhead, ready to split his skull open in a single stroke.
'Damn,' he thought. 'This is how I die?'
The world slowed as the blade came down. (He hoped his squad made it out alive.) For the briefest of moments, Itami could see every miniscule detail of the blade. (He really wished Risa would take care of herself even if he wouldn't be around to check on her.) Its worn handle, the blood-and-rust-caked edge, and the warped, foul aura coating its length. (Ah, and he was really looking forward to this year's winter Comiket.) He couldn't imagine a sword like that would cut cleanly. (Will Tuka, Lelei, and Rory be okay?) He wondered if it would hurt or if it would be quick. (He should have visited his mother. Why, oh, why had he never tried to reconcile with his mother?)
"Heads down!"
Itami barely heard the words over the blood rushing in his ears, much less react in time. But Rory was there in his arms and she was not so idle. The little reaper, desperate to keep him alive, grabbed him by his vest and wrenched him down. They fell to the ground in a tangled heap of bruises just as a sleek, curved blade passed overhead and clashed with the knight's spatha in an explosion of superheated sparks.
The dark knight reeled, knocked off balance by the sudden appearance of a third party. He stumbled back and was given no chance to recover. The new combatant raised his other hand, aimed, and -
KRAKOOOOW!
The dark knight's headless body staggered back a step, swaying like a great tree with withered roots. The massive carcass toppled backward a moment later, crashing to the dirt with an echoing thud that shook the earth beneath Itami's feet. He stared at the decapitated body with incomprehension, watching as blood escaped out of the stump and pooled into the earth around the corpse.
The dark knight's killer clicked his tongue as he stomped down on the carcass, propping his antiquated rifle on his shoulder while his sword - a katana - rested low at his side. The black, billowing cloak set on his shoulders stretched out like a writhing shadow behind him, undulating like it would reach out and swallow Itami whole.
"UUUUUUUUUUUOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHH!"
The man roared into the heavens, the cry of a warrior on the battlefield. His shout swept over the cacophony of war, rising above the screams of dying men and the explosions of gunfire alike. The man's shout drowned the world in madness - in a deep, seething, uncontrollable bloodlust that seemed to steal the breath from their lungs. As one, both the marauders and the JSDF stopped in the midst of their battle and turned in fear to the lone swordsman who stood over the dark knight's headless body, soldiers and bandits freezing like helpless lambs in the face of a furious tiger.
"Cut them down! Slice! Advance! Slice! Advance!"
His voice was like thunder, booming and reverberating through the air like the crackling roar of a thousand rifles. It was the sound of a man who could not be cowed. A man who had seen a thousand battles and had been forged on the anvil of war. He hefted sword and rifle in both hands and charged at the horde like a vengeful revenant.
"Let this Hijikata Toshizou guide you to the next life! I am the Shinsengumi!"