--Chapter 04: “Battlefield”--

Silence. Blackness. Void. Eyes heavy. Limbs dead. Floating...

...Bang...bang...bang...

A thick sound. Noise. Nuisance. Float instead. It will pass...

...bang...bang...bangbangbangbang...

Louder. Roll over. Stop...sleep...

...bangbangbangBANGBANGBANGBANGBANG!!...

Groan. Noise. Outside.

"Wake up, you fools! They’re coming!"

Upset? Who? Why? Come. Float...with me...sound of canvas...shifting...

"What are you doing still asleep?"

Hmm…Chacha-kun…Oniichan…smile…nyah~…

An arm…Shaking.

"Nyah...yamete..." Groan. Struggle.

"Didn’t you hear the gong?" Roll over...go away, nyah... "Ren, we don’t have time for this. Get up."

Covers. Gone. Taken. Lifted. Standing. Swaying...

"Nnghhuh...Drill?"

"Iie, it’s not a drill."

"Eehgh...k’so..."

"My thoughts exactly. Get dressed, get out, and form up."

Chacha-kun. Leave. Bai bai...No. No sleep. Dress. Out. Fight. Bleed. Return. Ache. Sleep.

...K’so...

*****

The mass stood in formation. Fingers tightened around the handles of countless swords, pikes, and bows. They breathed as one. Standing, they faced the foe.

Swarming, snarling, the writhing throng of demons and Hell-beasts stood before them. Their teeth rotten, blackened with decay.  Their eyes gleamed yellow, glazed over with senile rage. Threads of foaming drool trailed down the monsters’ faces, falling from their pointed chins to the parched earth below as they jumped and bellowed their insanity to the men across the barren field, swinging battle axes, halberds, spears, pikes...

Gackt stood at the head of the crowd of men staring at the writhing mass of the black foe. Swallowing his human fear, he raised his blade aloft. In the corner of his dark eyes, he saw the other officers follow suit. A cry went up among the painted men as the mob surged forward, racing toward their final enemy.

As the armies collided, an earsplitting clash of iron ascended into the air, setting Gackt’s teeth on edge. He sliced through the Hell Spawn charging toward him, his blade burying deep within their chests.  He could feel a blinding rage fill him with red hatred, bleeding into his soul…

*****

The momentum of the two armies carried the front-runners of both sides through the opposing army. All battle lines dissolved into a swirling mass of individual confrontations. One side fighting with a terrifying ferocity born of evil, the other with a strength and determination only found within the breasts of men that who been pushed to the very ends of the earth and have decided to push back.

Sword rang against claw, shield against hardened skin, muscle and sinew against blackness.

The world was a multicolored whirl. Here an arm went cart wheeling through space, black blood sprayed in a gruesome fountain. Arrows zipped through the air.

A young soldier lay on the ground, his freshly amputated leg pulsing crimson blood onto the wet grass, still he tried to bring up his sword, despite the fact that his shin ended in a tangle of jagged flesh. 

A demon screamed at the sky, holding the severed trophy aloft, when a volley of arrows thrust into the dark flesh.  It struggled to its knees when a swordsman drove his blade into the back of its skull. The swordsman pulled his sword from the dead beast in time to block a scimitar arcing towards him, but alas, a thrown spear caught him in the shoulder, impaling him to the ground.

Across the field of blood and flame, an enormous, foul creature made its way towards an officer, horns protruding from its arms and legs, its mouth aglow with some unholy flame. The man set his feet as a clawed hand descended on him.  He ducked and rolled under the beast, blindly thrusting his blade upward with a cry.  Black blood spattered down onto his face, his chest, and his lips, flowing into his mouth...

An archer perched upon a pinnacle overlooking the carnage drew his bowstring and released it in one smooth motion. He had another notched and loosed before the first had buried itself in an oncoming demon’s chest. It flipped over backwards as the second streaked through its throat. The archer side stepped and continued loosing arrows at what could only be considered point blank range. The momentum of the struck demons was carrying them past him, and he was almost out of arrows. His last one buried itself in a charging foe, and then he was on the ground scrambling as another demon charged him, its clawed hands reaching over its head. Yanking an arrow out of a stray body, he stabbed it into the creature’s eye.

A soldier went down, a black arrow in his stomach. Immediately the demons closed on him, dogs smelling blood. Desperately he tried to lever himself to his feet with his sword, but he collapsed, the pain winning out. His sight was suddenly blocked by a figure standing over him.

A woman, cloaked in red, planted her feet above her injured comrade.  Raising her arms, she showed her palms to the oncoming enemy, and whispered a quick incantation.  Writhing scarlet fire rippled up her figure, danced along her arms, and shot from her fingertips.  With a screech, she collapsed atop her friend, the charred bodies of her attackers only meters away.

The ground was a carpet of bodies.  Men and beast fell side by side, creating a gruesome collage of hewn bodies. Arrows and spears stuck out of the ground and out of bodies like twigs from a log.

The sky grew dark, and the enemy threw themselves at the humans with a renewed fury. Hope shriveled against the furious assault. And while bravery of the humans was great, it quailed against the superior numbers of the forces of darkness. Men began to edge their way back and the onslaught of evil grew.

A young pike man broke and ran. Others turned and followed after him, some throwing down their weapons and shields, the horror too much for them. They cleared the edge of the battlefield, leaving their comrades still locked in combat. 

And then Gackt was in front of the pike man who skidded to a stop in front of him. Gackt, his sword and chest stained black with foul blood, looked down at the frightened man. The hint of a smile crossed his lips.

“Hold the line.” 

It was barely a whisper, but it traveled far, reaching all. “Hold the line,” he repeated with finality.  And then, a yell that seemed to shatter the very heavens welled up deep within his chest, beyond his heart and lungs, from the very pit of his being. “LET’S GO, FOLLOW ME, LET’S GO!”

And then he was leading them at a flat run down into the maelstrom, sword pointing towards the heavens. He swung his blade low, cutting a creature with an enormous halberd almost in half, he swung the blade back in a spin, cleaving the upraised arm of another. Those who had dropped their weapons picked up sword and shield from the dead and threw themselves forward. The center of the human line solidified and surged forward.

Those following him stared, for he strode through the battlefield like an angel of death, seemingly held in a pail white light, despite the black blood that painted him. His sword cleaved and hacked through whomever blocked his path. The enemy hesitated and quailed at the sight of this mere human who fought with celestial rage, his eyes red.  The humans near him fought with increased vigor, throwing themselves at their foes with a flurry of attacks. Slowly, the humans, fighting and kicking for every yard, began to push the blackness back.  The left flank stalled, the humans meeting a solid line of snarling pikes men, the black metal of the pikes keeping the humans back.

Gackt ran towards the left, his breath came in short gasps, his heart pounding in his ears and feet slamming down onto the ground and the bodies. He screamed and threw himself at the line of pikes men, twisting his body in the air to avoid the sharp points. A scream ripped from his throat, “Seeira beckaisdrea lier daearx! [1]” and he crashed among them.  The world spun. Something hard slammed into his head. He staggered to his feet and slammed his sword straight down into the mass beneath him again and again.  The pikes men, their line broken, were ridden down as the human left surged forward.

Gackt, his head pounding, watched a swordsman, no more then twenty, kill four beasts in less then five seconds. Now it was the beasts who were wavering. He raised his sword and charged into the mass of fighting once more.

The forces of darkness faltered, reformed, then broke and ran. A company of humans rose from the ground where they had lain behind them, blocking their retreat.  With Mana at there forefront, they let out a cry and charged into battle and with nowhere to go the army of darkness fell.       

Gackt waded through the fighting, until, as if emerging from a fog, he realized there were no more enemies left to fight. In every direction lay the slain, with only humans standing among them. The sky was no longer black. With grim finality Gackt slammed his sword into a corpse, and with the sword still shivering, he summoned his officers to him.

“We win this round,” he muttered. 

“There will be more…” Mana murmured as he wiped away the blood that soiled his porcelain visage.  War drums were already sounding in the distance, and the sky was darkening again, announcing more evil to come.

“Yes…but not today…right?” Takuro, wiping his sword clean with his tattered cloak, inquired.

“Hai…The gods are pleased – they’ll give us leave for a bit, give us time to lick our wounds before we have to fight again,” Kozi explained.

“How considerate of them…” deadpanned Tetsu .  His harsh jab eased the tension.  The small circle of bloodied officers smiled, weary. 

Recovering his stoic mask, Gackt instructed them, “Gather the wounded and head back to camp.  I have to go find Kyo…”

“Doing Taka the courtesy of informing him of our standing this time, Gackt?  And we thought the gods were considerate.”

The other man glowered down at Mana who stood looking up at him, emotionless.  Sighing, knowing that he had lost the staring contest before it even began, he waded into the thick of the carnage looking for his winged messenger.

[1] “Seeira beckaisdrea lier daearx!” – “You won’t have it!” in Rsurrix (c) -Britts-