Our Crusade is a work developed among countless members of the GATE community that have taken part in the Roleplay led by the efforts of Faust1812.

Respect goes out to all the participants and I couldn't have started this novelization without their support and help. I'm RiptideZ, the real-life counterpart to Lieutenant Commander Andrew Blackburn, I have served as a moderator under the guidance of Faust1812 for the last few months as the group has hashed out over ten thousand posts of content. We have somewhere between twenty and thirty contributors, I could be wrong about that but I digress – this novelization was made possible by them and because of them.

Thanks for all the support. The way these chapters will come out will be created when I find the time and will likely be posted around the same time chapters for Homestead are released. This isn't the story of Itami, though he has a major influence in later chapters, this is the story about the Special Region Task Force, the United Nations unit that responded to the atrocities committed by the Empire from beyond the Gateway. This is the story of all of us, this is the story of Mankind's march into the unknown. This is Our Crusade.

Please remember to read, review, and contribute feedback. Hey, even join us. We're currently working on the Diet chapter. One of our main principles is realism, we love authenticity and it is the measure of both this novelization and the RP itself that we affirm we seek a decent measure of how the real world might respond. Thanks again.

Another note as well, the contributors for this chapter can be found at the bottom of the post. This chapter specifically is only half of the twelve posts that make up our first RP Topic, "Pre-Deployment." It takes place right as the Ginza attack occurs.

…

Welcome to "Our Crusade," a non-profit fan-produced fiction product under the ownership of set penname: RiptideZ.

DISCLAIMER: All intellectual property revealed in this work belongs to their rightful owner(s). RiptideZ, the author, owns only that of his intellectual assets. Please Read and Critique constructively via private messaging or review.

*In the special circumstance that this is a shared effort between the GATE communities, RiptideZ only owns the creation born from the source material, both the community and the original GATE story. Everything else belongs to the actual contributors.

…

["A Date of Infamy"]

[Summer 2016]

…

"Yesterday, December Seventh, Nineteen Forty-one, a date which will live in infamy – the United States of America was suddenly and deliberately attacked by naval and air forces of the Empire of Japan." – President Franklin Delano Roosevelt, Pearl Harbor Address, December 7, 1941

…

The sky was sunny and bright. There wasn't a cloud in the sky and the deep blue only inspired people to get out of the house and the office and to enjoy their lives. Tokyo City was abuzz with life and at the center of it all were a select few individuals going about their lives.

One of these individuals was a simplistic man with a drilled core and the body of an unbroken soldier. He dressed in an orange tee shirt with an athletic brand and wore some weathered cargo shorts that came just below his kneecaps. He carried his phone in hand, playing away at his mobile games and had no care for the world. In the next hours, he would be seen as a hero and in a matter of minutes, he would be bloodied on the field of battle for the first time in his life.

In another time and another vision, he could have been the main character of this tale but this isn't his story – this is the tale of others, a tale of an army without anyone flag and without any one creed or interest. This is a story of a race of warriors that came from all walks of life and all forms of expression, they are many and all heroes in their own way. They come from many different lands and have different life experiences but from these moments forward, their vision is the same – to seek justice for the lives that were lost on this date which will live in infamy.

The journey begins with a young man marching his way down the wooden path that his family elders had marched in their own youth. He wore the clothes of his elders and he marched like them.

This was Toshiro Kenja, dressed in the ceremonial robes of his ancestors and holding his wood bokken, a kendo training blade, in a resting position under his arm. The son of a somewhat wealthy merchant family dating back to Meiji Restoration, it was tradition for the men of prominent clans to learn the ancient arts of the Japanese people – including the Way of the Warrior, "bushido" though its more extreme tones had been relaxed as modern Japan came to replace the old Empire.

Toshiro's approach was not met with silence, but rather the hard thwacks of wood meeting wood and the echoes of human grunts as fighters dueled it out within the air-conditioned dojo that belonged to Toshiro's family. From the view of the open paper door, Toshiro could make out a family elder training a pair of young, former pupils in the art of Japanese sword techniques. The trio were masters of their craft and their technique and strength were clear as their strikes were fluid and continuous.

To the untrained eye, the sword fight could be described as a dance rather than a battle.

One pupil sliced out with a horizontal slash to force the elder back while the other youth came down with a solid, vertical strike. Both strikes were blocked and absorbed as the elder master blocked the strikes with a slight horizontal clash that came in with an acute angle and another block with the palm to the fashioned hilt.

Joining into the frenzy of flying wood, Toshiro charged the two younger men with animalistic ferocity and a mighty roar that shook the heavens that were the ceiling of the dojo. He swung twice with quick, methodical strikes to the upper abdomen of the adversaries to the Elder and ending the clash with a surprise attack.

The former pupils were quickly pacified as their fellow youngster supported the Elder with a surprise assault. There was no complaints, no murmurs of a sore loser or an unsatisfied warrior but simply the militaristic tradition of four well-trained and versed blade practitioners.

All three former pupils bowed before their elder in respect as the room erupted into happy cheers and applause. The fight's end signified the roar of the torrent audience no longer dammed in silence and allowed to awaken their fan-fared roars.

It may have been their imaginations, but those that had been in the face of conflict had experienced what could only be described as a vivid daydream. Images of dragons, elves, and fantastical beasts filled the heads of the kendo fighters. No shared epiphany occurred but the mysticism of the dream was met with a lingering confusion. What had that been?

Toshiro himself shook his head out of the dream and back into the light of day. He only had seconds to recollect his thoughts as he completed his ceremonial bow before a frail family member rushed into the Dojo from the estate grounds. The man was frantic and in a daze.

"Something is coming this way! Monsters of some kind are killing everyone!" The man spoke as he waved his smartphone through the air in fright.

The room's shared consensus was spoken by the family Elder in a quiet but strong voice of an experienced teacher, "What do you mean?"

The frantic man calmed himself before addressing his blood superior. "A friend of mine was Skyping with me from across town at Ginza before he was struck down! He was murdered! There were dragons and knife-wielding creatures bursting from a large building – it looked like a Roman structure. We must leave at once!"

Without a shade of doubt, Toshiro nodded to the Elder, his sensei, as he shared a silent conversation – the trust in their family was strong; the man of the hour was not lying. He could only have spoken the truth – not when he stood before the family and his Elder. This was a dire situation that had to be addressed immediately.

Toshiro spoke in a commanding voice, "Anyone who wishes to help save lives, go with the news-bearer and help get people out of the area! Everyone else, follow me! I need six volunteers."

The said volunteers quickly fell in line as the group moved to the family arsenal where both historical weapons and the training gear of the family was kept. Years of history lay in the halls of the Dojo's Armory.

Katanas, spears, and sets of samurai robes were drawn from their still saber mounts along the walls.

Sixteen men of varying age and stature would enter the Dojo's armory and sixteen warriors with one cause would step out into the sunlight – ready for battle and war.

They quickly began to make their way out into the streets of Tokyo to meet the enemy that threatened their Keep and Nation.

However, a battle was not decided that day just for them. There were others around the Archipelago that were rushing to the aid of the innocent.

…

"I pledge allegiance to my flag…indivisible, with liberty and justice for all." – Fragments from Bellamy Pledge of Allegiance (United States), First Edition, 1892

…

Across the sea toward the nearby island of Okinawa, a province of Greater Japan, an American of Camp Schwab experienced the joy of simple-minded gunplay.

The television in the NCO-lounge had been turned up to a high volume as virtual bullets smashed into virtual bodies and the screams of gunfire and death roared across a fictional battlefield.

"Enemy Killed. Plus Hundred Points."

A Derek Oliver, Lance Corporal of the United States Marine Corps, finest group of untamed warriors known to Mankind, was getting his daily dose of a Killing Spree on Call of Duty's next annual release. Probably Black Ops Three or something.

He didn't expect it but the futuristic, virtual warfare would be replaced with actual combat – spilling blood in the form that no one wished to take part. An actual battlefield defined by the Sandbox battles in the Middle East that had occurred for the last decade. This next fight would be no different.

The Lance Corporal was just preparing to complete another rotation of death-bringing when his signal went dead and the television input swapped to the public, Japanese channels.

Oliver had assumed that the previous racket behind him had simply insignificant, unimportant whereas he wouldn't be needed for any task at hand – he had already handled his mess for the day.

"What the fuck, dude? I was on a roll—." The Lance Corporal protested as he turned to face one of his fellow NCOs. There were several other Marine riflemen also shuffling into the room now.

"Shush! Shush, we need to watch this."

Oliver turned about face to watch the Japanese news report and found himself catching glimpses of shaky visuals revealing formations of horsemen charging across Japanese downtown leaving death and destruction in their wake. There were civilian crowds being guided to the slaughter as they were torn apart. The news anchor moved frantically across the screen as her camera attempted to keep up. Her desperate screams were drowned out by the screech of a great, flying reptilian shadow descending from above.

The words spoken by the Japanese civilians were lost upon the Lance Corporal but the main question spoken by the channel was clear: "Attack on Ginza?"

The Marines could only watch in awe and shock – the memories of 9/11, some just old enough to remember the collapsing towers and endless smoke. This couldn't be right. Was this an elaborate prank? The latest episode in a bad Japanese drama? A dangerously realistic commercial?

It wasn't until the Marine Corps platoon commander rushed into the room and shattered the nightmare. They were warfighters; they needed to act like it.

"Hey! Saddle up! We're deploying in forty-eight hours. Yokota and Yokosuka are already mobilizing. We're the reaction force, gentlemen!"

Oliver shared a grim stare down with a fellow Marine NCO that continued in thick silence as the world around them exploded into controlled chaos. Everyone in the room was wondering what was going on and how it had come down to this.

Even as the Marines of Okinawa rushed into action a silent promise was made, a pledge to find justice for the dead they swore to protect, whether American citizens or otherwise.

…

"No one knows the current situation in Tokyo but it seems there has been an attack." – Japanese News Network subtitles in English, an hour into the Attack on Ginza, 2016

…

Not too far from the roads of Ginza, the Joint Naval Base Yokosuka, sixty-four kilometers south, was bathed in activity.

Americans and Japanese military personnel were rushing around trying to gain a semblance of order as civilians were slaughtered by unknowns to their north.

One Japanese enlisted man, Leading Private Adam Sakamoto, could only freak as he tried to manage the order from his new-found chaos.

"Shit. No way. This can't be happening. Is this really happening?" The Private stressed under his breath as he rushed through the streets of Yokosuka and into a crowded room of faces he knew well enough. What he didn't know was the visuals echoing through his mind and flashing on the televisions throughout the enlisted quarters on base. Images of dead Japanese civilians in the streets of Tokyo, unknown combatants armed with spears and swords, and flying creatures that could only be described as European-styled dragons. Everything was bathed in a crimson hue of spent blood.

Gallons of human life leaking into the streets of one of Mankind's greatest cities.

"What the hell are you standing around for? Get your kits and mount up! We leave in five mikes! You be out by your bird or you find your own transportation. Now…move it!" An unseen face shouted out orders to every infantryman in the room. His face could not be found behind the dozens of men and women but it was no doubt that the Captain was very motivated and wanted his troops ready for battle.

The infantry moved in an almost comical fashion to their benches but they got their job done. They would handle their mission as effectively as possible – especially for troops that hadn't seen a single taste of battle in their lives beyond the usual training simulations, live-fire war games, and the occasional computer simulation. The group attempted their best to stream through a single door to the armory.

Weapons lined the walls within the precise cages used to prevent unauthorized acquirement of weapons on base. Some infantry of the JGSDF were sloppy in their movements as some attempted to punch in their locker codes while hyperventilating leading to some becoming frustrated as a denying red light blocked access to their necessary weaponry.

Adam rushed to his own weapon locker and quickly typed in his code. The metal lock came undone and he reached into to grasp the familiar pistol grip of the standard issue rifle of the Japanese Ground Self Defense Force, the Howa Type 89, chambered in 5.56 mike-mike.

He quickly pulled on his Type Three Camouflage and QR gear. He made sure that all his weaponry and gear was marked with a tag marking the leased ownership of the equipment to his own name. Adam holstered his Minebea Nine-Mil, an export copy of the P220, and slung his rifle across his chest. An armorer came rushing down the halls of the armory with a large cart full of boxes containing pre-loaded ammunition.

Adam grabbed his fair share and rushed out of the armory. He let a small grin flash across his face, even in this dark time. There was a satisfying snap-and-click from Adam's rifle being fed a full magazine. The man knocked on his Type 88 helmet to make sure it was secure.

Wind washed the grounds of Yokosuka's airfield as hundreds of infantry rushed to their transports. They all fell in line as they had practiced routinely in the past and waited for orders. A general microphone check went across the Japanese forces. Moments later the Captain's voice echoed through the headsets of his men and women. "Move out. Go! Go! Go!"

The tarmac was smashed by the clicks of dozens of boots crossing the black ground to meet the waiting doors of the UH-60s. Black Hawks prepping for battle.

The Japanese troops quickly climbed aboard and Adam took a seat at the far left, outbound seat of the helicopter. He would be one of the first to have boots on the ground. Like so many other infantrymen of the Self-Defense Force, Adam had been waiting for this day. They would do their country proud and defeat this new, invading force.

The rotors coughed ever more as their blades spun ever faster and became weightless. Within seconds, the birds were in the air and the first responders were on their way.

From an open window of the US Naval Hospital, an American could make out the flying Blackhawks heading due North toward the sight of smoke.

A television in the background could be heard broadcasting.

"We are receiving CCTV reports from Tokyo, Japan. There is a developing situation in the streets. People are reporting flying monsters, aliens, and men on horseback. People are dying."

Chief Petty Officer Michael Hudson had to spit out his coffee at hearing those words. The distant flutter of Blackhawks only emphasized the dire situation that the US Navy would have to deal with.

Hudson rushed out of his chair, knocking it over in the process, spilling his coffee as he ran toward the ward room. He was quick to catch the bulletin as he watched the footage flash across the screen being auto-translated into English. To the medical officer, it was clear – they were about to be flooded with the wounded and dying.

The CPO's phone pulled him out of his stupor.

"CPO Hudson here."

An unseen individual on the other end spoke with Hudson in one-sided silence as the man spoke with the unseen caller.

"Yes, sir. I've seen the report… Yes sir, I understand… Of course sir. I'll have a team of Corpsmen ready to roll in ten mikes… Aye, aye, Commander." Hudson replied to his superior on the other line in a rapid manner – he quickly closed the call and opened an extension to another individual. There was a pause before the call connected.

Hudson spoke first, "Wilkes? It's Chief Hudson. Get an emergency response team together – have them prepped and ready in ten minutes. We will be taking LSSVs from the motor pool. I want medical equipment and kits prepped for stab and slash wounds, broken bones, and all degrees of burn… Yeah, arm your guys but prep as if we're dealing with another Nine-Eleven…step on it. I'll meet you there."

Hudson closed the call and hooked the landline.

He shuttered down the office – turned out the lights, shut down his computer monitor, closed the window blinds, and sprinted off to the barracks.

He collected his medical kit and rushed to the ER to gather some last-minute supplies. Now all he needed was to collect his combat gear and to collect his weapons at the armory.

For a man starting to push fifty, Hudson had been questioning if reenlisting as a corpsman was the right thing to do. He quickly banished the thought as he brushed past a frantically emptying elevator, and pounded into a nearby stairwell. "You're here to save lives," he muttered to himself, pounding down the landings. "You can't regret that..."

In less than two minutes, he had descended four stories and rushed outside the hospital, yelling for bystanders to get out of his way as he made for his quarters. He needed to be at the motor pool – now.

…

"Do you remember where you were when everything fell apart? Do you remember where you were when the Towers came down?" – Anonymous, Post-September 11, 2001

…

The sky was bright and clear, the sun was visible over the Japanese forests. Below the tree tops, however, darkness reigned supreme and light only flourished in small patches.

This was the darkness where hunters and battle thrived. Where Death reigned over all else.

Beyond the city limits of Tokyo City and the barbed fences of Yokosuka Joint Naval Base, the quiet forest was a welcome change. Even with the endless shadows and primordial fear going around, it beat the structured nature of civilization.

Andrew Blackburn, an offspring of the city, had always found the wilderness a beautiful replacement for the noise of the city. Even in Texas, the home of wide-open spaces, the cities were claustrophobic jungles of metal and tension. Living in the suburbs had always felt clean and structured – too much order, all the way to the horizon. The suburbs were familiar and safe, but they were cages for people without purpose. They had no aspiration and for Blackburn, it was suffocating.

Joining the Navy had been one of, if not, the best decision in the teenager's life. Probably one of the hardest paths to take, however, Annapolis and all.

Between paperwork and endless filing, being an officer made Andrew happy – the best part: he got to see the world.

In the shadow of a great Japanese Oak, Blackburn held himself real still as distant voices and choked gunfire crashed through the woods. A fallen log shielded his presence from the world along with the woman leaning snuggly into his back – Athena Lin.

The two were tight in their little foxhole, the woman readjusted her slung rifle – a Sig Sauer 552 and tensed her muscles. The message told Blackburn she was ready to get back into the fight, a sign he needed to be ready too. Blackburn tensed his arm and back muscles in response to her sudden hardness into his back. His Colt M4 clicked as he planted a new STAGNAG in its magazine well. Andrew's fingers danced across the heavily kitted out CQBR rail system.

"Athena, I need you to break left. Use that hidden outcropping as cover. I'll cover your move."

"Got it, bud. Don't get me killed." The woman replied softly without glancing at her male fireteam buddy.

The woman stretched her legs and slid away from Blackburn's spine as she prepped to make a break for a new position.

"On your count. Go is the signal." Blackburn told the female fighter.

Looking at the female, dressed in JGSDF-styled camouflage, she looked menacing in the dim lighting. Blackburn knew she would kill all the bastards around them if she got the chance. Every single one of them.

"Three."

Blackburn crouched and placed an arm against the bark of the fallen log.

"Two. One."

Blackburn climbed up to full height and aligned his sights into the darkness of the forest.

"Going," Athena called as she disappeared off to Blackburn's left. Her 552 was up and pointed out in front of her.

A stream of fire exploded from the naval officer's M4, slicing through the woods as his battle buddy charged elsewhere. Hopefully, the enemy wouldn't see her or some would be dumb enough to stand up and take a shot to the face.

There was a rustle of grass as Athena successfully rolled into an indent in the shrubbery nearby and Blackburn ducked down to reload his nearly-empty weapon.

A single round, traveling at high velocity skimmed the top of the fallen log where Andrew's head had been only a moment earlier. A damn, near close call.

Blackburn was about to return fire from a different position along the log when a single, high-pitched whistle echoed through the trees. An abruption in the combat. Everyone and everything stopped moving.

Off to Blackburn's left, Athena attempted to stand up only to slip in a mud pit onto her butt. A series of unintelligible grumbles and several Chinese curses were spilled into the night.

Blackburn looked down at his watch then turned to the referee coming up behind him. The Japanese man was dressed in a royal purple hoodie and a bright orange safety vest. "We still had five minutes. Why'd you end the game?"

"Some-bad, happening in the city." The ref replied in broken English. In front of Blackburn, now standing at his imposing height – at least tall compared to his Japanese counterparts, six-foot-one, towered over the log and made out the rising faces of his unseen adversaries.

A handful of enemies exited out of the woods and so did the faces of the fallen and dead. Dozens of small youth and teenagers crawled out of the bushes. College students and young adults stomped into the clearing as a gust of wind blew by ominously.

Blackburn's skin crawled even as the simulation ended.

Each individual carried an airsoft replica of a real steel weapon. They didn't carry actual brass-tax bullets. They carried plastic, biodegradable BBs. This wasn't a war, only a game.

Blackburn asked the ref, "What's actually happening?"

His only reply, "Ginza is under attack."

For those old enough to remember Pearl Harbor in the forties or to remember Nine-Eleven in Oh-one, they could probably tell you where and what they saw when the world around them fell apart.

Blackburn could tell you where he was the minute the Attack on Ginza began, he had lost himself in a dream of a soldier-wannabe.

…

"You got the wrong quote." – Sergeant George O'Hare, UH-60 Crew Chief, 2016

…

In the distant Berlin, miles from the epicenter of chaos, Sergeant Johannes Koch of the German Army's Mountain Infantry was sitting in a beer garden when the news of Ginza reached his ears and his nation's shores.

The public, the civilians in the private establishment began to rapidly speak in hushed but sharp voices as they reacted as civilians always did. For the man, it was just another day in the life of a veteran, a soldier. "It's terrible but this isn't my fight."

To others, it would have been the opposite response. However, as time went on, his own personal opinions became irrelevant as the Security Council gathered in Belgium.

It would be inevitable, in a matter of hours – he would be informing his family of his travels and goodbyes would be passed around. A soldier must do what his nation tells him. He sacrifices his soul for a greater cause than himself, this is the tale of the warfighter – an endless tale of sacrifice.

However, there are those that might find these deployments more interesting than pointless.

The personnel on Misawa Air Base were more proactive and responsive in kind. Maybe even a little more emotional – whether through humor in dark times or tears and shock that another war had begun.

The CWO, Brian Morrison, and his Blackhawk crew were receiving the same BBC television report.

"This can't be real mate, I mean shit, like, are you seeing this?" Brian crew chief, Sergeant George O'Hare, pointed at the television.

"Real or not. I doubt we can touch this." Morrison replied. The co-pilot, Jack Benet, ran into the room breathing hard from a sprint.

"Hound! We've been put on a forty-eight-hour standby! No off-base passes for the next few days!" He said as he wheezed back to a normal state.

The rest of the room, the entire Blackhawk crew only stared in shock, disappointment, and shared epiphany.

"What was that about not touching this?"

Brian leaned back into his chair as he took O'Hare's vocal jab. "Fuck!" He had a date tonight.

The Chief Warrant Officer looked at his crew, "War. War never changes."

"Dude, this isn't the time to be quoting the opening line of Fallout." Jack retorted as he got up and moved to collect his day pack and duffel bag to prep for potential counter-ops against this new enemy that they could barely make out on screen.

"He's right, Hound." O'Hare said to Morrison, "You got the wrong quote. This is more like a "We didn't start this war but we'll damn well finish it" moment."

Brian turned to look out the window. He got up to get his duffle bag just as Jack was already doing.

"Battle Stations Pacific, I like it. Good choice."

Jack sighed as he made some finishing touches to his duffel, "Remind me again. How I got tangled up with you two assholes?"

"Admit it, Jack, you love us!" Sergeant O'Hare replied.

"Shut up George!"

…

"Truth; soon we shall either kill the barbarians or else, we are bound to be killed ourselves." – Spartan King Leonidas, Supposed Quotation (Roman Translation), Unknown Year

…

Blocks from the grounds upon which Innocence had been slaughtered, a loose formation of oriental-armored men, sixteen in total moved between overturned cars and the corpses of dead or the warm bodies of the dying – all struck down by waves of arrows that could blot out the sky.

They stood just outside or alongside a makeshift barrier built out of numerous light cars of Japanese make. At the center of the barrier, lining from sidewalk to sidewalk, a gap had been created to allow scared civilians to rush beyond the formation. They were fresh from the onslaught coming from Ginza – men, women, and children coming in droves. Most of them already appeared roughed up or bloodied in all shapes and forms.

Some people had notable injuries, others were simply exhausted from an adrenaline rush as they sprinted from the enemy waves.

When the crowds began to shorten out, some men and a few women made an effort to stay behind. If someone, anyone, was going to make a stand against these unknown foes – it was going to be the brave and willing that wished to protect their people and their country.

The heavier built men among the armored entourage quickly filled the gap as the last of the civilians trickled by. Two Japanese cars were completed and suddenly they had an Alamo. Among all the paths through Tokyo, this was the largest intersection and the easiest accessible path to the freeway, a chokepoint to handle – especially against an army without knowledge of the terrain.

The spearmen stood at the front, making up the first defensive ring around the makeshift, car-stacked barrier. The swordsmen stood at their flanks.

The commotion of civilians passed and for a moment there was silence, there was peace. Then the fragile spell was broken and an army of what could only be described as fantastical beasts – mostly pig humanoids and goblins marched within sight of the wall that lined the chokepoint.

The swordsmen stood their ground and tensed as the enemy approached – their boots and hooves and feet clicking as they began their charge.

A long, blood-chortling cry escaped the mouths of the charging enemy but their out-numbered prey remained silent, holding their ground.

The first enemy troops were met with spears to the chests that ripped through thin plate pieces and bare skin and chain-link mesh armor. Those that got around jumped upon the first line of defenders who were forced to slowly back up as the sheer number of enemies overwhelmed them. The swordsmen quickly filled in the gaps and parried the enemy and forcing them to slow down their approach.

There were several barriers of cars that lined the defense. The first wall fell with ease as a lack of skin bags waited for the enemy approach. The second wall was an embattled porcupine as blades slashed and stabbed into the slowing enemy. The defense was made up of five rows of cars, some more complete than others. The enemy and the defenders knew, there would be much ground to cover in the coming minutes.

Brave civilians that managed to stay behind and fight for their home leaped into the fray and drew up the weapons of the dead. Some finding success in battle and others not managing to reach such a purchase as they were slaughtered upon contact. They just didn't have the experience or training to fight an enemy with years of battle experience.

Bodies began to topple on both sides. The dead were left where they fell as the battle fell into full swing.

Toshiro and his sensei, the Elder stood apart from their allies as they fought through the swarm of enemy combatants that attempted to breach their already shattering line.

The enemy humanoids were effectively pacified as an ancient bullhorn roared across the street. The enemy troops slowed their assault and retreated meters away and opened a path through their sea of blades. For a moment, it gave the defenders time to collect their breath when the bullhorn sounded again twice and beyond the sea of monsters, a more human enemy on horseback rushed their security line. A cavalry charge – Roman troops or something of the sort charged along the backs of mighty steeds and challenged the defense that their enemy had constructed.

"Hold!" A shout echoed among the Japanese lines.

The Japanese civilians and the members of Toshiro's family tensed in preparation of the charge. The spearmen drew themselves low and prepared to use their spears as pikes. The swordsmen retreated back to another line as they prepped for the overflow of the enemy formation that would certainly break past.

The horses rushed over the makeshift barriers and their riders managed to hack an unlucky civilian who didn't have the time to retreat. His body fell into a pile of dead nearby before anyone could account for his loss. Toshiro and the Elder were quick to knock over the charging horses with horizontal slashes or cutting through the underbelly of their foes. The heavy armor of the enemy legionaries became a liability to their wearers as their weight made it impossible for them to get up following the harsh impact of falling from their dead horses making them easy targets. Others were knocked unconscious or crushed by their steeds' dead corpses.

The combat bought civilians more time to retreat and it prevented the enemy from advancing for some time. They would hold the line or die to try until a more formidable ally could relieve them of their burden. The question was at what cost? How many more would fall before this battle and slaughter came to a close?

The horde was coming back, humanoids rushing back into the fray and the horse riders stopping to demount and charge their foes on foot. This would be another impossible battle for the books, at least, as long someone managed to survive long enough to retell the tale.

This battle had only started but already countless allies had fallen around Toshiro. How many more lives would be lost this day? He couldn't spend much more time considering the situation. His katana, made from Japanese-steel, clashed with the foil-steel of a Roman-style gladius short sword.

The battle would take more lives in time and it was not nearing its end. Not anytime soon.

…

[Participants]

"Karaya 2, RiptideZ, TrueForgiveness, TalRavis, Lt. James lugnerische, Kilo 6"