The Return of The Arctic Crusaders

1

April 14th 1912, Industrialis District. – The Federal Republic of Ayster

The cold spring air falls harshly over the Aysterian front line as the salty sea breeze pushes over the trenches, letting its sharp, icy wind flood through the meandering river of soldiers. Young and old. Sitting quietly. Their rifles cautiously pointing towards the endless void ahead, resting on nothing but their firm, yet soggy sandbags. Through the whistling of the wind, Bella Ciao faintly hums under the radio’s thick static.

Lieutenant-Colonel Miyato lies awake in his bunk, holding up a frail photograph of a young boy and woman against the dancing flame of the rusty oil lamp. A gentle sigh escapes through the corner of his lips as he rolls along the old mattress, caring not for the rusty springs beneath him, just hoping that he can get a few minutes of rest before his watch starts.

As Miyato’s eyes slowly begin to drift away, a sound he has been dreading floods the rotten space around him. A sound he remembers from all those years ago... With a shaken breath, his eyes unwillingly pull themselves open, before sealing shut once more, allowing the eigengrau void to blind him for just a second.

But the sound...remained... The weary out of tune bugle, the brass rounds carving through the nightly fog, the reluctant groans and panicked cries of his comrades. The bed has clearly rejected his wish of rest, and the bugle confirms it. Paired with a reluctant sigh he grabs his rifle from the weakly mounted hook.

With the rifle pressed firmly in his hands, he allows his fingers to gently wash over the surface of the cold iron barrel. Before pulling a 5-round stripper clip out from his dusty side pouch, pulling the cold bolt towards him. The symphony of hot brass roars in the near distance, as he forcefully inserts the clip inside the fixed magazine, its click echoing in the back of his mind.

“Comrades! It is time!” The words push out of him with uncertain declaration. Each syllable pounding through the trenches musty air as he moves through the bunks with rehearsed precision. Banging on the wooden panels, pushing rifles into the arms of those he called his brothers all these years. knowing this may be the last time that any of them may ever lock eyes.

“The queen’s wretched Militia has arrived! Time to make your homeland proud!” Miyato commands, gripping his rifle firmly.

A voice shouts from the dull echo of his announcement. “Sir!” Miyato turns to it. A young man, who must be no older than 23, squeezes his way through the ever-growing river of weary yet hopeful soldiers. On his chest, two embroidered silver chevrons catch the lanterns flame, sat proudly with young authority next to his nametag, ‘Corporal W. Aiza’

“Corporal Aiza” Miyato says with a polite yet stern tone.

“Sir...” Corporal Aiza pauses, his eyes darting. “In case things don’t go well...” Aiza pauses once more, allowing his lungs to empty out into the space around him. The distant, metallic groan of the artillery cannons grows closer as their wheels slowly push through the thick Aysterian grass, leaving muddy tracks in their wake. Aiza’s hand rubs up against the firm leather strap of his rifle, his fingers tightening near the peak of his shoulder. “In case things don’t go well... It’s an honour to fight with you sir!” He tries to let out a smile, any attempt to seemingly give himself any inch of hope. Only for it to be ripped away by the artillery shells firing overhead.

Miyato taps Aiza’s shoulder, his uniform’s damp fabric silently squelching under his palm. “Corporal, it is an honour to fight alongside you.”

“Boys!” Miyato turns to the river of men, his hand still on Aiza's weary shoulder. The crowd before him halts, their eyes fixated onto Miyato but often peering off into the tunnels opening, eyeing the distant muzzle flashes. Preparing themselves for the onslaught that lies before them. Lieutenant-Colonel Miyato peers over meandering river of men, and unclips a worn flask from his belt, watching all the men grip their rifles in false confidence.

“No... tonight... you are no longer boys...” Miyatos eyes the end of the tunnel. He carefully watches as the smoke and dust slowly fills the space before them, listening to the brass rounds cheer as they collide with the seas wind, coupled with the faint roar of Mountainians running up the sandy shore. Turning back to his comrades, he lets out a smile, one that didn’t feel real but sure looked it. Making sure to use not only his lips, but his eyes too. If they saw his confidence, all would be okay. At least, that’s what he wants to believe.

“Tonight... you are MEN!” he declares, raising his flask to the damp wooden panels above, allowing the small golden whisky droplets to faintly catch the light as they break free from its loose opening onto the dirt filled walls.

“It is an honour to fight alongside all of you! We will bring glory to this great nation tonight. While our families sleep at home. We are here! Keeping them safe from the invaders!” He tries his best to believe it, to be hopeful, knowing the strength and honour of the professional Aysterian Army. But half of these guys...are just eager to shoot something, a bunch of trigger-happy lunatics wanting to get a paycheck just for ending the lives of people the coalition government had deemed as lesser. A battle of defence had started to seem more offensive by the minute.

“Tonight... We make them proud...GLORY TO MAU AND THE GRAND AYSTERIAN EMPIRE!” He raises his rifle and marches towards the frontline, his rifle feeling lighter than it ever has. With his battalion following close behind, letting their cheers, their chants, their various songs and hymns guide their way through the tunnels. With each line their voices grow brighter, more eager as they near the opening as if just their spirit alone was enough to end the war.

“I’m surprised they haven’t written you up yet...” Aiza lets out a thin almost cough like laugh, as if he was trying to hide behind the facade of a joke. Unamused, Miyato continues his march towards the tunnels opening. His hollow eyes fixating onto the distant flashes of light through the thick smog ahead.

“For what?” he says sternly, yet a shadow of curiosity breaks loose from under his confident shield. Letting the whisky flask sit just shy of his lips.

“For calling Ayster an Empire...You know how the higher ups feel about that...” Aiza’s voice falls, unsure if the trenches had ears too.

‘The Federal Republic of Ayster’ ... ‘The Grand Aysterian Empire’ ... he lets those names roll around his mind. The emperor still had to approve all policies that the government wanted to enact, so is Ayster really republic? It is a question he often found himself thinking about on long, cloudy nights while his wife peacefully slept beside him. A flag and title that says one thing, but a system that acts another, the same Aysterian sun that had existed for over a millennium, unchanged, even if the name had.

“We are a republic in name only” his lips straightening out. “It seems the emperor is the one making all the decisions at times, he is the reason we are here... right?”

Corporal Aiza flares his nose, a slight involuntary movement that had become noticeable during Miyato’s time knowing him. Almost like it was something he did when he would feel anxious or uncomfortable. Aiza shyly lowers his head, letting his hand grip the strap of his rifle once more as he watches his boots splash atop the small puddles beneath him.

“Colonel... You don’t think the stories are true... right?” his voice barely audible through the distant thumps of artillery fire.

Miyato tried his hardest to pretend he couldn’t hear Aiza, but something about the faint crack in his voice made him feel like it was his duty to reply. “What stories?”

“You know...” Aiza’s eyes remain fixated onto his mud-covered boots, letting the thought hang in his mind for just a moment before finding the courage to speak again. “Queen Isabella... She is immortal, isn’t she?”

Immortality... A question that had wandered the streets of Ayster for as long as time itself, and to some surprise, it was a truth for millions of people that live in Mountaine. The Immortal Queen Isabella, ruling over her Queendom. He looks over at Aiza, seeing his body tremble lightly as the opening grows near.

“Immortality doesn’t exist!” Miyato laughs, but to be honest... Miyato had wondered this same thing. It would make sense. The day they met... all those years ago... her eyes held a type of pain, a type of pain that doesn’t just come from one life, or two... If she really was immortal, this whole war... would be for nothing.

That being said however, Mountaine isn’t the type of place to make-up stories for propaganda, even their justification for this war had some truth to it, albeit far-fetched, ‘Religious persecution’ against a ‘religion’ that was actively destroying and harming the lives of many Aysterians, It had every right to be banned... at least... that’s how Miyato saw it.

“But the Spirit crusades! That woman is insane! If she is here tonight-”

“Just old tales Corporal” Miyato cut Aiza off. Quick enough to not lower his morale, but slow enough to not seem scared himself. “Corporal... The Crusades happened in 1518...” That year lingers in Miyato’s mind, just shy of four hundred years ago... four hundred years since the fall of The Grand Aysterian Empire...four hundred years rebuilding this ‘Federal Republic’

"There is no way...She has lived this long...” he says with what remained of the confidence he could find within him, while he adjusts the frail leather strap of his steel helmet, scratching the coarse stubble under his chin. But something still felt off... Whether it was a shift in the wind or a small doubt that the stories may be true, he knew he had to fulfil his duty, and watching Aiza’s shoulders relax slightly, a boy too young to know the horrors of war, a boy unknowing of the danger and horror that awaits beyond the parapet.

“Don’t worry Aiza, we will be fine.” Miyato assures as they leave the crumbling tunnels.

All he knew was, when he looked into her eyes... something... felt off... 

2

Miyato’s rifle settles upon the damp sandbag, the faint earthly scent that used to fill his nose lay dead under the scorching stench of gun powder and ash. His calloused finger slowly wanders towards the trigger, resting, waiting for the right moment- No... the right target. Below the supposed safety of the trenches upon the grassy hilltop, the Mountainian offensive hastily make their way up the beach, hundreds, maybe even thousands of them all wielding what seemed to be swords and shields, no formation, no plan, just one seemingly futile charge. The artillery shells rip through the hazy sky, to rain down onto the beach, tearing through their lines, crushing the oncoming infestation, pressing the infantry men into the sand like the damned beasts they are, letting their blood and bones seep into the Aysterian shore.

As the bullets cheer through the cold spring's night, distant pangs whistle back to the frontline as they collide with the Mountainian armour, each pang barely audible through the short-lived breaks in fire. Each weary soldier collectively coming to the realisation that body shots alone will not strike down these foes. Only shots to the head. Miyato, yet to pull the trigger, came to a similar realisation...

Not a problem for a trained soldier, but for these, half trained youngens... It is unlikely they will be making it home... Miyato continues aiming his rifle over the sunken sandbag, slowly picking off Mountainians, one by one... shot by shot, being careful not to waste his limited ammo, unlike some of his comrades.

And that's when... he sees her.

The long red flowing dress that elegantly stepped off the landing rafts, her boot graciously placing itself into the Aysterian sand, as if she were in her golden encrusted ballroom surrounded by butlers and royalty. A large black scythe follows behind her, its handle gently resting in hand, its deep orange blade carves through the beaches bloodied sand, uncaring of what lies between it and the queen.

With a trembling hand, he looks up from his rifle. The sand remains undisrupted beneath her feet, as if she were stepping on the air above it, no footprint no holes, that is until... the scythe’s blade follows from behind. Relentlessly carving its way, creating one long jagged line from the landing raft to the heel of her boot, the shallow trench growing longer in each step.

Around him, his comrades continue to pick off the Mountainian knights, unaware of the queen's ghastly presence, or at least, that's what it looks like... Fear has a way of making you act without thinking, some freeze up, others run away, some may even fight back, but, for the thousands of soldiers in these trenches, their fear is making them ignore the biggest threat upon this very beach, all for the sake of ‘peace of mind’. Miyato always saw it as wrong to think this way. Without a second thought, he hangs his rifle upon his shoulder, letting it swing freely under his arm. His hands then meet with the wooden ladder beside him.

“THE QUEEN IS HERE!” He yells out to his battalion, His voice just loud enough to be heard through the explosions ahead of him, a yell that had a small undertone of what could only be described as liberation, whatever it meant it sentence he had hoped to never hear again... “Don and Ack companies! We are going over the top! We will capture the queen!” Miyato pulls himself up over the ladder, allowing the sea’s breeze to push over his face. “Charlie, Esses, Toc companies, prepare to cover us once we leave the grass!”

He waits there, crouching just before the small piles of sandbags, allowing time for his comrades from Ack and Don companies to pull themselves over the crumbling parapet. Between the jungle of barbed wire, the grassy hilltop and the beach, the charge to the queen should take no more than five minutes, seven at most. Provided... nothing gets in their way.

The old wooden ladder groans under the careful yet hurried step each named yet nameless soldier places upon its steps, before hiding behind the barbed wire, allowing the taller blades of grass to conceal their positions.

“Don’t be so foolish!” an all so familiar worried cry calls from behind.

Corporal Aiza. stands before the ladder, one foot shakenly placed upon the firing step. Of course he would object to this... A by the book boy, promoted for his educated background alone. An aspiring biological engineer. But for some reason, he stood here. Against the knifing Aysterian winds, shooting bags of flesh for sport. When really, he should be playing doctor at the field hospital, or better yet, not here at all.

“The artillery fire, the bullets flying, not to mention the minefield! You won't make it down there!” his voice cracking with each syllable. “You have a wife! Think about your son!”

Himari... Izumi... A woman he had known for eight years... and a son, who doesn’t even know how to properly say his own name yet... He looks back onto the beach, narrowing his eyes as he looks out at the horizon, the infestation growing closer and closer with each inching delay. At this rate, the Mountainians could arrive at the trench any minute now... as long as they survive the minefield that is...

He lets out a long and narrow breath, the kind of breath a man takes when he already knows what he wants to do. The kind of breath that speaks volumes while staying almost silent.

“Corporal. Look at them.” he points towards the herd rushing up the beach. “Look what they have and look what we have.”

The Mountainian offensive, wielding swords and shields wearing plate armour, the small halberd unit that is quickly getting picked off, versus The Aysterian Military. Although mostly undertrained, these men have rifles, a secure dug out trench spanning tens of miles along the beach, artillery cannons, and a whole minefield ahead.

On paper, The Mountainians offensive is a suicide mission, a brave one and honourable one, but still, a suicide mission, nonetheless. The mere thought that an Aysterian could not take down these rats is a foolish one, even if their armour is able to stop some of the bullets from hitting them.

Aiza grips his rifle and nods, with more confidence than he has ever displayed in his three years of service.

Quickly reloading his rifle with that same rehearsed precision before letting its icy barrel find the next target. His hands growing steadier and steadier he glides his finger to the trigger.

“Corporal...” Miyato’s voice grows quiet as he stares out onto the minefield, the grass gently swaying, undisturbed. All while the artillery shells continue to crash onto the beach before it. Their eyes glaze over the beach, eyeing the thousands of Mountainians that litter the beach with their torn bodies, letting whatever remained of their organs slowly seep out onto the sand. With colourless eyes he climbs back into the trench, his boots pressing down onto the soaked trench board. “If anything happens to me... and I don’t make it... Tell my wife to go to The Grand and ask for Diego...”

“The Grand...?” Corporal Aiza lifts his eyes from the rifles iron sight, moving them back to Miyato. his eyebrow slightly raised. “The Cabaret? The one the Shimano Family runs?” Aiza’s finger pulls away from the trigger, just slightly. His cheek still resting upon the wooden stock.

“Yes, just do that for me Corporal.” Miyato says as his eyes begin to swell slightly. Blinking the oncoming tears away.

“Yes Sir.” Aiza’s voice continues to find its confidence as his finger lands back on the trigger, he pulls the bolt towards him, allowing an empty bullet casing to fly out of the chamber.

Miyato climbs back over the parapet, making sure all his men from Ack and Don are ready to charge, from where they lay in the mudded grass. His eyes graze over to the shoreline once more, making sure to keep Queen Isabella in his sights. Somehow, not a single scratch upon her pale body. Her hair gracefully flows as bullets whiz past her, it's as if Mau himself was protecting her. But that wasn’t the case... Mountainians don't believe in Mau like the majority of the world does, for reasons only the queen knows, they are a Branic nation. following the ‘Lord of Chaos’, Bran.

He hastily pulls a green flag from one of his pouches, raising it up into the air with certainty, his eyes still fixed upon the queen. Without breaking that visual contact, he moves his face down towards his shoulder and blows the whistle that embeds itself in his webbing. Its shrill sound slicing through any nearby explosions and gunfire.

“CHARGEEEE!!!”

Miyato, along with Ack and Don companies lunge up from behind the barbed wire placing wooden panels atop the barbs, allowing them to pass over the barbed jungle.

4th South Ayster Battalion holds the eastern wing of the trench, composed of five companies, Ack, Charlie, Don, Esses and Toc, each company containing around 70 men, with one Company Commander assigned to each company, but ultimately the final decisions come down to by Lieutenant-Colonel Miyato, and this decision right here, was one nobody had the authority to refuse.

Approximately three hundred lives... now lie in his hands. 

3

The grassy hilltop swiftly passes beneath their boots, the grass and soil quickly becoming blood and sand, dead bodies, now in the double, maybe triple digits, their bones buried into the sand.

That’s when he sees it. The lights. Six of them. Slowly swaying through the soot and dust filled air of no man's land, through the thick sea fog that clings to the back of his throat.

Six large wooden vessels fade in through the fallen cloud. Not steel warships. Wooden vessels. Their large sails majestically swaying in the southern wind as they tear through the sea’s surface.

The fog slowly clears up around them as they inch closer to the shoreline, letting the calm water bring them closer, no waves, no nothing. Apparitions, that’s the best way to describe them.

Their ghostly aura filling the sandy field, slowly nearing the Aysterian shore. Miyato and his Comrades keep their charge, they have a mission to do, and they’re sure as hell they’ll see it through to the end.

“Don’t waste your bullets! Let the artillery make numbers of the cattle aboard those boats!” Miyato calls out as he slices through a retreating Mountainian peasant with his bayonet, his blood splattering onto Miyato’s shirt, but he keeps his eyes forward, not one ounce of empathy for the fallen.

The symphony of shells rip through the air, hurtling towards the fleet, falling just shy of the small armada. The coarse smell of gunpowder fills the space around them as the artillery spit indiscriminately towards the wooden vessels.

Miyato and his comrades grow closer to the queen; His left hand tightens around his rifle’s cold forestock as the bayonet angles itself towards the queen.

“Ack flank towards the east! Don to the west, keep her contained!”

Ack and Don companies split from the group, beginning their flank on Queen Isabella, leaving Miyato alone in his charge.

He slows down in his charge. The light jingle of his webbing fades out into the dust around him, his breath growing heavier with each step. He lifts the rifle up, burying the rifle’s butt into his shoulder as he grips the trigger. His hands shake, unknowing if it's just light shivers from the cold wind or something deeper. Fear? Probably not. Anxiety? More plausible but... also unlikely or is it... Excitement...? He has her in his sights...His lifelong mission ends. Tonight.

The bayonet dances around her body as if it was analysing every inch of it, calculating the perfect angle, the perfect moment. Foot, leg, stomach, leg, foot, hip, shoulder, chest. he takes a long, deep breath just for the thick sea breeze to force it back inside him.

Through the iron sight he moves the barrel of the rifle down to her thigh,

‘Just a shot to incapacitate her...’ he thinks to himself, his knuckles slowly fading from that pinky-olive to white. With every step, his fingers lock into position as if his joints started to stiffen up. She hasn’t even looked around her, her face remains forward, slightly covered by her strawberry blonde hair, but you could tell that underneath the thick hair, her face would be flat, no feeling, void of everything, no thoughts apart from her own resolve. ‘The freedom of Mountaine’ a nation that had been free for nearly nine hundred years. This war wasn’t about them. If it was, it would’ve happened a long time ago.

Suddenly, the one dark, hazy void across the horizon becomes bright. Hundreds of large flashes beam from the ships, illuminating the sky around them, followed by a deep booming roar, the light fading out as quickly as it appeared. Hundreds of hardened steel balls power through the Aysterian Night sky, tearing through the dusty air. Ferociously screaming towards the entrenched soldiers, those same soldiers providing cover for Miyato, those same soldiers who patriotically sang through the tunnels, those same soldiers who answered the call to arms to defend their nation.

“CANNONBALLS!” Miyato screams out into the dusty void. He ducks. Subconsciously. His rifle burrowing itself into the bloodstained sand.

As the cannonballs tear their way through the skies, many of them collide with the artillery shells. Their sharp, cancerous fragments rain down onto the beach, striking anyone unlucky enough to be stood beneath them... or lucky enough, depending on who was hit.

One by one, his comrades begin to surround the queen, leaving a space directly in front of her. A space fit just for him. But he remains there, crouched down, his rifle still buried in the deep red sand.

Queen Isabella, finally stops her advance, stood less than twenty meters away from Miyato. Her gentle hand raises up to her cheek, her hair flows through her fingers, moving away from her pale face, revealing her empty, white, eyes. Shining brightly against the night sky. She grips the cold obsidian handle of her scythe before pulling it up from the sand over her shoulder. She looks over to the eastern flank of the trench and grips the handle.

Once more, its jagged orange blade slightly glistening under the ashy air.

Abruptly, a loud crash soars through the low wind. The covering fire stops. The eastern wing of the trench quickly falls quiet. The thick black dust cloud slowly dissipates into the atmosphere around the trench. Through the faux fog, the odd few silhouettes slowly begin to emerge, some crouched and dazed, stepping onto the deep crater that once held the might of the 4th, others torn and dismembered. The ones that had the strength and will to continue the fight slowly aim their rifles over large cast iron fragments that burrow deep into the hilltop, tearing through the trench's barricade and continue to fire onto the beach, continuing their Mau-given duty.

Miyato looks back towards the wretched queen and pulls his rifle from its newly made bed. Without any effort it rises before her. Its cold muzzle resting just before her stomach. His finger lightly trembles upon the trigger as his legs push him up from the sand and towards the queen. Carefully moving one leg in front of the other, the crunch of the crushed bones and dried blood under his scuffed brown boots echoing deeper into his mind as his comrades’ circle tightens in. This is it. He has her. Finally, after all these years of plotting, all these years of hiding, now here she is, in front of him, surrounded by the strongest members of the Royal Aysterian Guard.

The rifle’s muzzle sitting just shy of her. She tilts her head to the side, a slight not even forty-five-degree angle, allowing a small smile to appear. As if she was a confused mutt trying to understand its owner. But she isn’t like that. Queen Isabella... is no fool, unfortunately. She likely knows what’s coming and exactly how to evade it. She possesses this level of prescience that just allows her to get out of every. Single. Situation. It had always infuriated him.

With a long, hollow breath. He pulls the trigger.

She remains. Stood before him. Untouched.

His mind cycles through thousands of possible explanations, misfire? Can’t be, his shoulder remembers the recoil, missed? Unlikely, he has never missed before, and he certainly wouldn’t miss a target less than twenty meters away. Miyato lowers his rifle, a short, shaky gasp escapes from out of his nostrils, as he takes a short step back Queen Isabella stands there, her palm out, as if she was motioning ‘stop’.

Suddenly, his comrades begin fall to the ground, one by one. Letting out deep agonising cries as a ring of internal crimson begins to form around them.

She steps closer to Miyato. The bullet that had left his rifle now sits between her fingers. He tries to raise his rifle to her, to try again, but his arms refuse his orders. He tries turning his head. It’s futile. His eyes dart around his limited field of view. His comrades, frozen in their agonising state, uttering no sounds, not moving at all. He can't help but to look back at Queen Isabella as she takes one more step closer to him, letting out a gentle smile. She has him. Unable to move, unable to shout or cry, stuck in her liminal void.

She has won.

Slowly, she moves her hand down from Miyato’s face, Whipping her wrist to the right of her, The bullet tears through the dark, ashy air. Its shockwave booming past Miyato, letting out a harrowing screech as it advances. Letting out a hot fiery blast as it crashes against the Mountainian Infantryman’s plate armour. With a gentle smile she looks back at Miyato. Placing her cold hands on his face.

“You look familiar...” she says, her voice soft and tender. Like a loving mother talking to her child. Queen Isabella pushes Kosuke back onto the ground, his rifle escaping his tight grip, loosely hanging between his fingers. Without any effort, she takes the rifle from him. Melting the hardened steel barrel with just a touch before discarding it like a bored child.

Queen Isabella continues her royal advance while Miyato just sits there, staring, hoping for her to turn around, to finish the job. But she doesn’t. She has no reason to. The thick smog of war consumes her flowing red silhouette, allowing the sounds of war to plague his ears once more.

His hands ungracefully glide upon his coarse chin, moving against the grain through his hair, letting his helmet sit uncomfortably upon the backs of his hands before slipping. Pathetically clinging to the back of his neck like a frail turtle. He unclips the bayonet from the rifle, its red-hot barrel slowly melting into the sand around it.

“Sir are you okay!” A worried voice shouts from behind. Miyato doesn’t turn, he remains ‘posted’. His eyes still locked on to the queen.

“What was that...” Miyato whispers to himself. His comrades gathered behind him “You’re all...” his face turns towards the horizon. His comrades stand there, rifles in hand, waiting for their Lieutenant-Colonel to give them their next order, slightly shaken, but ready to take down the queen.

“Alive...?” he whispers, thinking of any possible solution that wasn’t the obvious one.

One of the younger cadets step forward. His helmet slanted and shirt twisted, wearing pants that looked as if they hadn’t been ironed since the day he received them. He musters enough courage to speak through the curious silence

“The injuries healed once she walked away...”

“She can heal and injure at will...” Miyato grips his bayonet.

“Sir, I heard she was Immortal?” That same cadet asks, his voice light and weary.

Miyato lifts himself up from the bloodied sand as he looks back at the red silhouette through the ashy curtain. Still advancing forward, what is her mission? Why is she here? Not a single kill...? healing her enemies...? It makes no sense. What does she want?

“It’s...Impossible...” he mutters to himself. “Pass me a rifle.” his voice grows stern.

The two companies combined have around One hundred and fifty men, including Non-Commissioned Officers, their faces all shades of confused at Miyato’s request, their quiet mumbles fill the small space around them.

“That wasn’t a request. It’s an order!” Miyato’s eyes remain fixated on the queen, his plan formulating in the back of his mind with each breath, if this doesn’t take down the queen, nothing will, the problem is... what exactly is...this? How does a group of powerless mortals take down someone seemingly so omnipotent?

One of the Ack Company sergeants reluctantly brings his rifle to Lt-Col Miyato, before it can even reach his space Miyato snatches it off the sergeant, its hard leather strap slapping his wrist as it jolts towards him.

“Don Company, split off, half of you clean up the remaining mutt... the other half return to your post. Ack Company on me.” Miyato’s voice stern and precise. One of the sergeants blows his whistle and waves a small yellow flag. Thirty-four of the weary men from Don company start to make their way back to the trench, just enough men to form one broken platoon. Their feet awkwardly stroll through the crimson encrusted beach, trying not to sink in the sand as the rain begins to fall around them knowing one wrong step could result in their demise.

“Chihiro, You here?” Miyato asks with stern tone.

“Still here, Kosuke” he says, adjusting his helmet.

Kosuke lets out a small smile and steadies his hand.

“You can’t defend against what you can’t see...” Kosuke’s voice staying quiet, as if he had said that line a thousand times before. “that’s why people usually stab others from behind” His voice fading into something almost instructorial.

Queen Isabella inches closer and closer to the front. She probably is less than 200 meters away now as she steps onto the grassy hilltop. The minefield lying in wait for her royal footing. Each carefully placed mine itching for the chance to blow at her feet. They all watch, anticipation filling their boots. But nothing happens...

Chihiro looks over at Kosuke and snaps his eyes back towards the staggered group of soldiers. “Ack Company! Ack Company shun!” his voice ripping through the smog.

The effect is almost immediate, seventy men snapping into position, creating a small cloud of sand to dust up from under their bloodied boots, their webbing swinging against their bodies, the small light click of the rifles swinging upright. Coordinated and rehearsed, as if they were still on base. Minus the sand and dead bodies...

“Load magazines!”

In unison, bolts click and pull back, the brass shells glistening in the firelight as they’re ejected and inserted. The rifle barrels swing up in rehearsed unison, not even a nano-second apart. Kosuke takes a deep breath, allowing soot filled air to enter his body through his scarred nostrils. He grips his rifle, steadying his arm as the cold iron muzzle fixates onto Queen Isabella.

He takes a deep, weary breath, the taste of soot and iron coats his scarred nostrils, implanting its taste at the back of his tongue before settling in his lungs, then... he sings. Quietly. Not for anyone to hear but himself. A song he had been taught throughout his childhood, by his father. A song he sang all those years ago, before he faced her.

E se io Muoio...da Partigiano...

His hand slides across the smooth wooden body of the rifle, letting his fingers glide over each grain as it approaches the bolt handle. He pulls it up towards him. and towards him. The sergeants previously fired round ejects. A small, bright chime hangs onto the back of Kosuke’s mind, before fading into the distant explosions. He pushes the bolt forward with controlled precision, allowing the next round to sit patiently for its turn.

Every bullet, every shard of shrapnel that flies towards her. Deflected. Without lifting a finger. Denied the opportunity of piercing her elegant red dress.

Kosuke’s finger finds the trigger, lightly brushing against the crescent shape.

O Bella Ciao... Bella Ciao... Bella Ciao...Ciao Ciao...Ciao...

He pulls it, letting the recoil push into his shoulder. A small brass round fires out from the rifle hurtling towards the queen. And within the space of a blink... It hits her. In the back of the knee. Queen Isabella collapses onto the ground. No groan, no agonising cry, just the light distant thud of her body hitting the floor.

E se io Muoio da Partigiano...

The gun fire comes to a slow halt as the remaining Mountainain forces begin their retreat. Throwing their swords and shields onto the ground as they flood onto their landing rafts. For just a moment, the world is almost quiet.

Tu mi devi... seppellir..

Then, over the wall of ash and dust, the trench erupts. Cheers, chants, patriotic hymns fill the skies, as thousands of soldiers climb over the crumbling parapet to hunt the retreating cattle.

Kosuke pushes the rifle back into the sergeant's hands.

“Go capture the dog.” He commands.

The Ack company commander nods assuringly, one by one his men fall out of their rigid positions. The jingle of their webbing filling the air as they run into the crumbling fog.

The weight of a thousand bodies swings Kosuke towards the sea. As if some omnipotent being was forcing him to stare at the massacre. The massacre his men caused. The litter of dead Mountainians stain the sandy shores, their dismembered corpses creating abstract art pieces with whatever was left of their remains, the ocean crashing against the shore, washing up the odd few drowned Mountainian, the craters from the cannonballs and artillery shells. This... was war. A sight he had seen one too many times before.

Chihiro presses his palm against Kosuke’s shoulder and lets out a deep sigh. Taking a cigarette out of his pocket.

“Want one?” He asks.

“I’m good.”

Kosuke wipes the corner of his eye, not giving a second thought to the carbon build-up upon his hands.

He slides his hand into his pocket and pulls out the photograph, gently rubbing his thumb over the image of the woman and child, trying, but failing, to keep the picture clear of the carbon residue. The wife and child who he loves, the wife and child who he left behind to stand in this bloodstained beach.

“Does she know?” Chihiro asks. But his voice... carries an edge. Like he wasn’t asking a question, but almost accusing Kosuke? Because they both knew that if his wife knew what was about to come... She wouldn’t have allowed it.

“No.” The words fall flat as Kosuke looks up at the sea.

“But one day... he will...” Kosuke finishes. Looking back at the picture. A small smile pushes through his stern lips, while his eyes, a tired hazy green, regain some of their lost colour.

“I think it’s time...” His mouth becomes dry as the words barely manage to leave it. With a tired hand he unbuckles his helmet strap. The muffled thud of it slamming against the sand is barely audible through the distant cheers of his comrades rejoicing over their relatively easy victory against a group of what they would soon begin to describe as ‘barbarians’.

“Alright then” Chihiro takes a long drag of his cigarette. The smoke mixes with the falling ash and soot around them. They both just stand there, watching the waves crash against the shore, the ships slowly fading out into the sea’s fog. ‘Victory!’ is what the papers will call it. The Aysterian flag waves brighter and higher than Mountaine! But... for Kosuke... it’s a different story.

“I’ll see you soon, Kosuke.” Chihiro’s voice now gentle yet confident. He tosses his cigarette onto the ground before taking the rifle from his shoulder. He slowly walks up the beach behind Ack Company. Without looking back. He has no reason too, allowing the ashy atmosphere to engulf him, like it did Isabella.

Kosuke takes off his webbing and carefully slides the photo back in the pocket of his pants. Slowly, he begins walking back towards the trench, all while he takes his jacket off, slowly undoing the firm buttons, one by one. The scatter of loose change rattles around in his pockets as he ties his jacket to his webbing. He looks at his rank slide, Lieutenant-Colonel, its gold embroidered crown placed neatly above a four-pointed star. The stitching politely glistening against the moon and fire. Five years he gave to this country, in exchange for... something he doesn’t like to think about.

“See you soon...” A few names run through his mind as he lets the word hang from his tongue, the names of those who are important to him... Himari, Chihiro, Diego, Aiza... but only one comes out. “Izumi...”

He takes a step forward, his foot stepping off from the bloodied sand, onto the muddied hilltop. The swaying grass brushes against his leg as it lowers onto the mud.

Click.