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 cast bright on that fateful day in Ginza on the people below as if God tore a hole in the sky and let heaven shine through. Heat overpowered all standing under the sheen for too long. Drenching those unfortunate few who were sweating like water squeezed from a pool ball.
Thousands took to the streets. Businessmen, families, couples, and tourists together like ants packing into an urban nest. Their destinations are a smattering amount of opportunities for refreshment, entertainment, and rest offered within the thick and tightly encrusted formations layering miles and kilometers upon Japan's capital, Tokyo.
Under the earth bullet trains sped through miles of man-made tunnels and complexes with crowds neatly packed inside the cartridge body. A marvel of human engineering and tenacity.
Topside, another prodigy of human achievement perched numerous in two rows on the roads. So close to one another their occupants if leaning high enough may reach out a window and touch the glass on another vehicle.
Sideways, tennis shoes clomped against the pavement. He stared down at his phone, walking through the crowds of pedestrians. He let out a small huff at losing in another one of his many gacha games.
Youji Itami was his name, and he was just some guy for all anyone knew. Walking to a manga convention over in Ginza Square and wondering inaudibly if he may make the train on time.
Seeing him there, The cargo shorts, t-shirt with an anime girl on it, pasty white skin, and messy black hair, you couldn't have supposed who he was or what exactly he was going to be a part in. Or how it would all start.
He knew the time would be treacherous for getting to Ginza. Getting around at this hour wasn't easy, especially for the poor people stuck in traffic at his three o'clock. Thank god he'd decided on getting his cardio today otherwise, he'd be moving in a car at one inch per hour and ripping strands of hair from his scalp.
He crossed an intersection and turned one-eighty down a congested avenue. Around him were chains of any type of establishment you might imagine. Noodle shops, arcades, bars, hotels, and more.
The iriguchi had befallen into huddled crowds. Outside and inside rows of personages went about their days, each carrying similar and dissimilar reasons to Itami's own for their boarding. Advertisements of products and animanga soaked in depictions on large constantly changing screens and small posters deep in the metro's recesses.
Itami got in with the multitude and waddled forward for the next few minutes as they moved like newborn mollusks. Packed together like the sardines in a tin can you'd purchase from a bait shop that smelled of the ocean and intoxicated your nostrils.
Flashing placards decked the halls as he looked at the painted arrows to different subway lines contrasted with different colors. His hand clutched firmly on the rail of an escalator bringing him down, and when he stepped onto hard porcelain and granite flooring, Itami kept walking.
Passing one of the boarding points, he saw passenger pushers working overtime. Three little men in buttoned-up jackets and peaked hats pushed up against a rather gangly fellow who appeared like he wished to be anywhere else than in between the sliding doors of the compartment.
A few minutes later, he reached his line and found a clearer, albeit crowded car. He went in and stood aside one of the steel rails, clasping a hand on it and feeling a nickel coolness. A monotone voice of a woman buzzed through an intercom statically as passengers jammed inside, "Next stop, Ginza station."
Commuter chatter kept at a bare minimum. Neither shout nor cry was appreciable, though there were some tapping feet impatiently on the tile. Itami closed together his shoulders and legs, the confinement jittering his heart. He people-watched for the time being, carefully so.
Right before the last vestibule finally closed, in fared a final traveler. He was a man and a definite foreigner. He was as high as the roof over them, and he looked around oddly. His eyes were dark and he had methodically combed and slicked locks which matched a neat goatee spread on his face. He wore a three-piece suit all in black aside the inner shirt which was blood red. Itami looked away before he saw much else.
A girl and a man sat together about two seats away. Father and daughter, Itami saw the resemblance in their shared green eyes and oil hair. The girl wore a blue dress and held in her hand a small doll which she silently played with. The man would look at her every so often and give a warm face.
Itami put his eyes back to the floor and smiled just a little. What would a kid be like between me and Risa? is what sprang inside his head. A boy would be nice, a girl too. Either way, it didn't matter to him. Yet, to bring one into the world at such a time as this. Wouldn't that be rather selfish of them? he pushed the thoughts away for now.
The grinding shriek from the wheels foretold their arrival, and Itami stepped off when the doors opened. He saw large panel windows to the outside city. The sun gleamed in like some blazon doorstop collector with its radiant beams like bags decreeing his debt.
He stepped forward and kept to the left. Freeing himself from getting swept up in any human sea. Trudging fast, his tar-colored back swept hair under the fluorescent light. His tennis shoes clicked and clacked, weaving around folk like a boxer in the ring. Until he heard a ping on his phone and took a moment to glance down, but the moment surely cost him when his head rammed hard into a supporting solidified spaning beam.
Stars were his everything as he fell hard onto the ground. For an instant, he wished to lay there and let rats eat him as heads turned and folk rubbernecked. After a couple of seconds, he sat up grimacing and rubbing a bruise on his swelling head. It felt like a bubbly shape and he knew then it'd be bad in the morning.
A strong arm took him by the collar and helped Itami up. "Come my brother, come," a voice that was honey and velvet instructed. "Your very soul may be tested on this day." It lingered in his pounding head.
He looked aloft and the suited man from the train stood above him. A smile spread across his desert-skinned face which both drew Itami in and sent a chill through his spine. "Do not be discouraged!" he jovially said, "you've only a bump on your brow."
"Uh, thank you," Itami bowed slightly and felt at his head further. Blood fostered out and he wanted to clot it as soon as he could. The man's cherry red tie was at his head and he smelt of slated sedimentary and he smelt of flowers as sunny as the outdoors.
"But of course!" and he bowed back. Itami took one step away to not be hit by his head and regarded the people sauntering around them. None seemed to notice or pay attention to this giant and strange foreigner.
The man lifted him and asked, "The last of them, aren't you? the last in a long family dynasty." His smile caused Itami no lesser strain than his injury.
"Pardon?" he eyed him puzzlingly. "Are you role-playing or something?" the man bore his face questioningly, "for the convention in the square?" Itami added.
"Role-playing?" he glanced around bewildered. As if there were invisible and likeminded beings confused like he. "Is outstretching a hand to your fellow man simply a pretend act in this world?"
Itami seized up a bit, "I-I meant no offense, my apologies," he went to bow again but the man shook his head so he ceased.
The man contemplated something, "What do you think, brother?"
"About?" Itami then considered the time, "my apologies and thanks again, but I must be going."
"Go?" he looked vexed.
Itami nodded. He finally took the moment to glance at his phone. The notification was only the weather report. Sunny for the day's remainder. But he did not move his legs. He placed his phone in his pocket and paid attention back at his new conversation partner.
"It's a great thing you know," said the man. Itami didn't follow with a questioning word this time so he simply carried on, "Do you not see the conveniences laid out for you?"
"I'm not sure of your meaning, but I need to get going," Itami in turn did not take any maneuvres to make himself scarce.
"Not sure?"
Itami had to stop himself from cringing. He neared a jump in surprise upon something trickling into his eyelid. Closing it, he remembered his bump. "I really must..." his voice faded as the man pulled a handkerchief from his coat pocket.
"Here, use it," the man smiled. Itami took it and thanked him, though he hesitated when reaching out. Itami placed the square against his head.
He dabbed away a trickle of dried blood, "What's your na..." his voice trailed away whenever he met the man's gaze. Something about it just wasn't right to him. They were so dark that both iris nearly blended, "Never mind."
The man looked first at the bullet train which had started running and soon sped off. "They say bumblebees should not be able to fly," the man chuckled. "The scientists you see, but that's a common misconception. The reality is even more fascinating, as is the case with truth and fiction."
He lifted his hand and made motions with his index and middle finger as if they were a flying insect, "Their wings, when beaten, allow them to create tiny hurricanes which carry the bee to and fro."
"Liken them, the impossible has been achieved in which humanity felled nature and the world. Yet, see them now," and he pointed out fellows in the crowds. A woman in a revealing dress passed, a punk kid in a rugged high school uniform talked on the phone at the northwest corner, and a little old man whose sight was so gone a dog led him around the station. "Though, it is within man to take life for granted, is it not?"
He realized after a moment that the man had stopped talking. Itami turned and the man's head was lowered at him. He took yet another step away. "Tell me something before you go. What is thy trade?" he'd stopped smiling and stared so hard you might've thought he was looking at Itami's very soul.
Trade? Thy? he gave him a baffled look momentarily before realizing and replying, "It's...not all important, is it? are you sure you're not doing some kinda gag?" he looked around for anyone who at least looked like they might be recording. He saw none fitting the bill.
The man tilted his lash, "Are you afraid to give mention?" he gave an inquiring stare
"To my..."Trade?" the man nodded, "no, not at all. I'm..." he paused, "in the Self-Defense Force."
The man smiled, "Soldier?" Itami instantly shook his head and the man frowned.
"No, it's a Self Defense Force, not an army, now I really must be..."
"And what exactly makes these two things different if you do not mind aspirsing?" he crossed his arms and gave him an expectant view.
"We defend, we don't attack," Itami stopped for a second, "who are you?"
The man did not answer, "Pray tell, are these Americans I've heard about your real army?" he tapped his head intuitively.
"Excuse me?" Itami protested.
The man did not answer him. He sturdied up his suit jacket and pulled the sleeves off his wrists, "Do not worry. I should not have given my hopes up, that is all."
They stood there fleetingly muted. The man had a palm under his chin and was deep in thought and Itami was trying to find ways he may leave before this asshole annoyed him further. "Well guess I'll leave you to it..."
But before he got another word out, the man took him by his shoulder and they were both standing right before the slated glass windows. The sun hit Itami's eyes and he put his hand up. The cut had clotted enough for Itami to not need the handkerchief anymore.
"Remember what I said previously? the conveniences this place gives?" Itami slowly nodded under the heavy grip. "Tell me, man of the SDF, what do you see when you look here?" and they both saw the metropolis.
"A lotta people out in the big city?" he finally slipped off the grasp. The man did not try and seize him again.
"No," he responded. "Do you wish to know what I see?"
"Humor me," Itami shrugged.
"I see people who are..." he put a hand at the window, "arrogant, entitled, lazy, and foolish enough to think they can do it better."
Itami gave him a look, "I'm not into politics so-"
The man put a finger up, "Oh no, no. This is no political matter. This contains itself in the very core of the world. Hear me, look outside. They do not know the sacrifices made for them, do they? the foundations of heaven which are kept aloft like tortured Atlas. Yes, like that, up to the window my brother."
And then he saw fire, and buildings were tumbling to the ground, and there were folk dead among the streets their last expressions a mixture of complete horror and pain, and there were...
He blinked and saw all as normal. Itami was about to open his mouth until tremors that rocked nearly half of Ginza's sector that day sent him to the floor.
Lights were knocked out and there were folk screaming about earthquakes. Two of the windows had broken under the pressure. As he rose, Itami searched around and he saw panicked onlookers hiding under what little furniture lay in the station and others holding one another. No sign of the man, but by that time it was already too late.
The dragons flew.
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 not seen since the Stone Age.
A huge stone and concrete GATE painted in golden and white colors had appeared right in the middle of the square. People were at first gathered round it, phones out recording and rescuing folk in about several dozen cars. All ere in the surrounding streets before the structure tore a through into the road like a gunshot.
But this was just the beginning. Suppose you listened closely over the stamping shoes and heels of the thousands fleeing like wounded animals. 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 laid eyes on them broke into manic sprints, several men broke an old lady's arm when they barreled into her. A woman dropped her infant child whose carry weight gave her a disadvantage in speed. Dozens in Ginza Square suffered multifarious injuries and few casualties within the first ten minutes.
The ogres moved forward in rows from one side of the street to the other, flipping or slapping cars away like mere toys or straws of hay.
Calvery were up next. Large wolfmen, maned leonin, and girthy orcs followed suit on their respective mounts. Archers and a couple of healers took backlines preparing their spell books and ammunition. They marched like automatons. Implacable, strong, and an ocean of an army that neared twelve legions in size.
Three distinct Knights rode horses among every man and half-man alike. They rode like men of valor, like men of icy discipline, like men of firey regimen, like men of a flowing river of decades of training.
Count Formal rode at the right, and his chestnut-skinned middle-aged face smiled as if on a casual summer ride. Tall and handsome, it was no contest as to why he was specifically chosen to lead.
Next to him, Hamish Fule Maio rode frantically. He flipped back his long straggly blonde hair and dabbed his pasty, sweating head with a handkerchief. "By the gods, this heat!" He groaned in a gravelly drawl.
Finally, on the left side would be Hamish's son, Herm. He kept back from the other two, staring wide-eyed at all these new...' Village? Town? City...City State is what he eventually landed on.
Unlike his father's short, roundish, and unpleasent looks. Herm was well-kempt and sported sharp features. He had blue piercing eyes that went right through any man he put them on, and his neatly combed blonde hair flew gently in the breeze.
"So it is mid-year in this land, don't you feel at home boys?" Formal said. He studied around the area like his younger counterpart, glamorized by the framework and infrastructure. "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 there's plenty here which seems rather unfamiliar does it not?"
Hamish sighed and shook his head disappointingly at his son, "Pay attention, my son, there could be all manner of queer war machine, magic, or fortification these barbarians have in their arsenal."
The speech words shut Herm up, and he glanced away. "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 right now, this campaign doesn't appear to require any force...yet." Formal pointed at all the crowds running away, "I'd think they'd have some sort resisting militia in such an opulent and plentiful land."
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. Majestic and terrific, they'd been instrumental in the conquest against the harpy tribes several years ago.
Only once had he and the order gotten the opportunity to fly. Several years back they'd gotten to go around the capital and the speed, the wind hitting his face, and the pure avian freedom. If he could've stayed up in the sky forever, Emroy as his witness he certainly would've done 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 drunk? Plus...what do you have to drink for when we make camp? Water?"
Formal frowned and sat back up, "Always a spoilsport, aren't you? after a ride for hours through complete darkness in that GATE I'd like to think we're in order for a drink."
Hamish did not respond and just groaned in annoyance. Herm was too busy marveling at the sights of the city and trying to ignore the barbarians collectively screaming as they ran in every imaginable direction.
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 those savage beasts. 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.
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."
"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, on 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 the ground shake 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, "Well, it cannot be this easy, can it?" Hamish gave him a dirty look, "suppose some mages in the backline know a language spell, settle yourself, my friend."
"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.
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.