Magus Ordis: The Island of Infinity (FanMT, N/C)

by **Toishima** » Fri Feb 01, 2019 3:46 am

City of Wanshi
New Mainland Territories of the Greater Empire of Yamatai (Occupied Shirakawa)
January 1942 (Shiwasu 2601)

The glass bottles on the sturdy mahogany table rattled as the irate older man firmly slammed his half-finished glass of Yeongseoni soju onto the table. He reclined in the plush leather couch, a poor example of a man in uniform. The rank of colonel adorned the collar of his dark green uniform, unbuttoned to reveal a sweaty, hairy chest and a rotund belly wrapped with a stained haramaki. He sat like a squatting toad, legs splayed open, his left arm casually draped over the backrest. Nestled next to him was one of the dozens of attractive, disenfranchised local women, driven from their rural homes by the war and left with little other option in life.

Activity buzzed around the lively izakaya, at least two thirds of its patrons in some form of uniform. This was of course to be expected, given that this establishment was right in the middle of the city's governmental district. For months now the Shirakawan front lines had been drawing ever closer, and perhaps only their sentimental desire to avoid too much damage to their own cities and people prevented the bombing raids from being much, much worse, as were those being directed against the Home Islands by Yeongseon. In that drinking establishment, young women in questionable dress roamed and flirted with these off-duty soldiers, their shrewd business sense leaving the lower-ranked enlisted men clustering together in loneliness. The music was a Yamataian classic from the 20s by a famous female Yamataian singer, being ruined by a grating Shirakawan man with a lively shamisen who was missing his two front teeth. His companion beat her little drum with great enthusiasm, cheering every time one of the drunk sailors threw her another few hundred En.

Sometimes she opened her yukata too.

With a harsh grunt, the colonel leaned forward and clumsily grabbed at the bottle of Yeongseoni alcohol. Steadier, younger hands reached there first, reaching over half-finished plates of Yashiman finger food and empty glasses left by companions who had long since stumbled back home, or to their posts.

"Sir, I'll do it, if you don't mind," the young captain had the flat demeanour of a businessman, still unfazed by a night's worth of drinking. Contrary to his superior, his khaki combat uniform was properly worn, belt buckle still shiny, the iconic cap with sun-flaps resting neatly next to him on his couch. His face was overwhelmingly generic, small, piercing eyes, a pencil moustache and thick lips painting him as the very stereotype of a Yamataian soldier. He deftly poured the colonel's drink, then his own.

Grabbing his glass, the colonel raised it up high, the yellowish light of the establishment refracting through the clear alcohol swirling in the container.

"A toast to the Imperial Marines," he yelled out, "who have driven those fuckers off our Tsushima and will soon fuck off from here!"

His slurring speech was drowned out by the background noise, but a few officers of indeterminate service at the neighbouring table raised their glasses as well. The captain smiled and raised his.

"Kanpai!"

With one mighty gulp, the man downed his entire glass. The captain followed suit, the liquid burning its way down his throat. The clink of satisfied, empty glasses echoed briefly as the participants dropped their glasses to the table.

"Who are we kidding," the colonel slurred, pulling the Shirakawan woman closer to him, "there's no stopping them."

"Sir, this kind of talk could be treasonous," the captain steadily warned, pouring another glass for the colonel, then himself.

"Fuck the kenpeitai. Fuck this shit, it's every man for himself down in Kiiromori," the colonel abruptly jerked away from the woman and banged a fist against the table, "you young fucks won't know, you're fresh from the Home Islands, aren't you? I was there during the first offensives, I was a private back when we took this fucking land. Who the fuck wants to live here, anyway!"

"Sir, please," the captain raised one hand consolingly, "I am sure we will be able to find a way to end the war favourably..."

"Yes," the colonel suddenly started to laugh, a deep guttural sound that sent a chill down the Shirakawan woman's spine. The captain remained stoic.

"There's a way, son. There's these... Secret Navy guys," the colonel was panting heavily now, "they found some kind of ancient weapon or something on some island. They say they can turn the tide of the war. I'm leaving tomorrow morning on a plane, this right here," he patted the cylindrical scroll container next to him, "this is going up to the Empress herself."

"What kind of weapon is it?" The captain probed, leaning back against his couch casually. He waved one of the Shirakawan women away as she attempted to slide next to him.

"I don't know, I don't care," the colonel shook his head, "I don't think it will make a difference, fuck. This city has a matter of months. The seas are owned by them now, no way we can get everyone out in time. We're all fucked. We're all..."

Trailing off and barely comprehensible, the colonel's eyes suddenly rolled back and he keeled over, his puffy face almost glowing red. Saliva rolled out of his mouth. The captain leapt to his feet, placing a finger on the man's neck to check for his pulse. The Shirakawan woman simply smiled.

"Nothing out of the ordinary, kid," she said in a matronly manner, "he'll be alright in the morning."

"I'm counting on it," the captain handed her twenty five thousand En, wartime inflation having driven 'normal' prices up to such an astronomical height, "take good care of him, ma'am. And I'm sorry, but this is a matter of national security so I'll be taking this. When he gets up, tell him I've brought it to his office."

He gingerly unclipped the bamboo cylinder from the colonel's belt, uncapped it to glance at the contents, then screwed the cap back on, before clipping it to his own belt. After putting on his cap, he adjusted the sword at his belt with drilled, crisp movements. He gave the woman a slight bow, and briskly pushed past a pair of marines, patriotic hachimaki wrapped around their heads as they drank sake directly from the bottle, to the 'delight' of three women, perfect actors who managed to look like they were having a good time for hours on end. The captain shook his head as he pushed through the back door, leaving that den of opulence behind to step into the back alley. A questionable smell rose from the gutter, light snowfall leaving an unpalatable slush that was a mixture of ice and the smog from the city's dozen wartime factories or burning buildings.

Taking a deep breath of the crisp winter air, he turned towards the street and stepped out of the light. No sooner had he crossed the threshold of the warm glow emerging from the drinking establishment did a harsh shout echo down the alleyway. Sighing in annoyance, the captain turned on his heel to face the newcomers. The sight saddened a part of him.

Two young men, barely eighteen, perhaps even seventeen, stood before him. He could tell they were Shirakawan natives based on their accent, but they wore the khaki of the Imperial Yamataian Army, the uniforms a bit too big for their thin frames. Around their left arms were the armbands of the kenpeitai, the Imperial Army's military police corps, used to patrol the streets after the local police forces proved too susceptible to corruption and traitorous acts. The two were privates, definitely locally conscripted grunts and probably directly under a sergeant of the same age (or younger), the only distinction being that he had been born in the Home Islands.

"Excuse me, where are your identification papers?" The one on the right asked aggressively, a twitchy hand fingering the bokken at his waist.

"Are you sure, Kentaro? He's a captain," the one on the left whispered a bit too loudly. A look of doubt and fear crossed the right side one's face, and he snapped his arms to his sides.

"It's alright, you're just doing your jobs," the captain yielded, pulling out a piece of paper.

"Sir, this is..." The right side one looked up at the captain, confused now. The captain smiled. He caught a glimpse of the Nanbu pistol that the left side one carried, glinting in the dark.

"It's all in order, isn't it?"

"It's all in order," the kenpei replied, staring into the captain's eyes. The captain shifted his attention to the left side one, who stood passively with a slight slouch.

"Listen, there's a colonel in there, who has done some treasonous things. He cannot be allowed to live. You will go up there, and you will shoot him," the captain said methodically, staring deep into the youth's eyes. The young man's pupils dilated, as though in a trance.

"There's a colonel in there, who had done some treasonous things. He cannot be allowed to live. I will go up there, and I will shoot him."

"Have a good evening, soldiers," the captain nodded to them. The two snapped to attention and saluted him, then bowed deeply. Blinking a few times, the two of them suddenly sprang into action, ramming the izakaya's back door open and charging inside. Roars and screams of protest immediately echoed out.

His fingers moving quickly, the captain folded the blank sheet of paper into the shape of a crane. He appreciated for a moment his chosen animal, given that it was one of the national symbols of the state of Yamatai, but then again their shared culture meant it was also just as significant for Shirakawa. He carefully placed the white crane on the snow-covered edge of the dumpster beside him, then stepped into the shadowed darkness of the alleyway.

Far above the skies of Wanshi, as dark aerial shapes approached the northern, manufacturing zone of the city and the sky began to light up with Imperial anti-aircraft artillery, a single red-crowned crane soared on the updraft. The graceful national symbol of the Greater Empire of Yamatai, the state that had cast its dark, imperialist shadow over this entire region for far too long. Hanging securely around its long neck was a single bamboo cylinder, potentially holding either very good or very bad news for at least one side of this devastating war.

For while the normal world fought with guns and bombs over petty ideology, and even deadlier war was also being fought, almost continuously, for thousands of years. A war with even more devastating consequences, should information leak to the conventional masses. And as the crane toting the now-dead colonel's former property soared towards the Shirakawan lines, it was a war that, at least, could be mitigated for now...

MAGUS ORDIS
THE ISLAND OF INFINITY

North-West Shirakawa
January 2019

Bursting through the fluffy white snow, a dark diesel train drove its way through the snowed-over tracks, human industry proving its strength against mother nature once again. These tracks were not used often, travelling deep through forests and valleys that people did not normally enter, even with the endless marathon of progress that the nation and the region had faced since the turn of the century. Snow-covered trees flanked the track on both sides. The train cars had no windows, and the only lights were the headlamps and the driver's cabin, which too had tinted windows. This was a train that never officially set off, and would never officially arrive, either. After the drive unit were two train cars, three flatbeds with cargo covered by flapping tarpaulins made up the rest of the train, and then a final car acting as a caboose.

The moon hung high in the sky, as the hour approached close to midnight. In such a remote place and at such a remote hour, there was nobody around to notice this secret cargo. Yet there were numerous satellites and three drones watching this very train - though only some of them belonged to Shirakawa.

Seemingly from thin air, the ends of four sturdy polymer belaying ropes dropped onto the second train car. Emerging from nowhere, four dark shaped slid down the ropes with trained precision, dressed in all-black combat uniforms and tactical webbing, bearing three-lensed multi-vision goggles, and of course toting the usual black assault rifles of the 21st century. They touched down onto the freezing metal roof of the train with nary a sound, two immediately spider-crawling towards the rear of the train - and the flatbeds. The other two remained atop the train car, one pointing his weapon towards the front of the train and the other pulling out one of their high-tech gadgets, a breaching foam that burned at several thousand degrees. The regular armed forces had not received this technology yet, nor would they for another decade. To stay alive in this world, particularly this one, the average man had no choice but to keep himself ahead of at least one of the curves.

Even with their superior training, physics still could not be escaped, and the four men barely hung on as the train threw itself around a bend at high speed. The ropes were pulled back up to some invisible space above the train. Once the train stabilised, the men at the rear dropped onto the flatbed. And then, a development.

Echoing over even the deafening wind and the sound of the train tearing through the snow, the mountains seemed to reverberate with the gunshots that burst from the rear train car, three of the Shirakawan security officers having finally woken up. The bullets flew long, arcing over the train and into nowhere. The commandos returned fire, as the one with the breaching foam quickly drew a circle on the roof and watched the pyrotechnics burn through the metal. After a few seconds, a new hatch had been generated in the roof of the train car, liquefied metal rapidly cooling in the winter air. While waiting for the hatch to cool enough for himself to safely jump in, he raised his rifle and aided his two comrades, barely holding on to the train with the help of electromagnets strapped to his forearms.

One Shirakawan soldier was hit twice, going down. However, five more Shirakawans emerged from the caboose to join the fray, and the team quickly advanced to the second flatbed. Three stayed behind at the last flatbed, working on the tarpaulin. The commando at the hatch quickly jumped through it, landing deftly in the middle of a train car filled to the brim with shelves of boxes and folders. A strangely comforting smell pervaded through the cabin, similar to that of an old library and mixed with the sweet and inexplicable scent of Wednesday's Flower. Almost immediately, the soldier was attacked by one of the Shirakawans inside the car, who fired a submachine gun at him. Diving to avoid the bullets, the commando rolled and came up to the Shirakawan, bodyslamming him while stamping on the opposing soldier's foot, a satisfying crack echoing out. The Shirakawan dropped his weapon and pulled out a combat knife, while the commando struggled to put him into an arm lock.

Both men fell over, the commando landing on top, twisting the Shirakawan's knife arm until the blade was now pointed at the Shirakawan's throat. Though he put up a very spirited resistance for his life, the application of the commando's entire body weight onto that arm drove the cold steel into it's owner's own neck. Spurting for a few moments, the man lay dead. Returning to his feet, the commando suddenly jabbed his elbow to the back, knocking the wind out of the second Shirakawan who had attempted to sneak up on him. Pulling out his own razor-sharpened tanto, he parried the Shirakawan's aggressive thrust and caught the man in the chin with his left elbow. Stumbling backward, the well-trained Shirakawan suddenly pulled out a handgun and fired, though a sudden jerk in the train sent his aim off, the bullet ricocheting through the skeletal metal shelving. Leaping forward, the commando grabbed the Shirakawan's core, throwing both men to the ground. Pushing himself off the ground with one hand, the commando easily brought his tanto down into the heart of the Shirakawan soldier.

He stood up, raised his slung weapon, and swept the entire carriage cautiously before bowing in respect to the two men he had just killed in close combat. Then he pushed his goggles onto his helmet and pulled down his balaclava, catching his breath. A strong, chiselled jawline gave way to empty cheeks and high cheekbones, his small eyes - similar yet different to the men he had just faced - clearly betraying his ethnicity as a pure island Yashiman. In other words, a soldier of the modern Empire of Yamatai, once the mortal enemy of this land but now its best friend - most of the time, at least.

The Yamataian immediately got to work, applying his breaching foam to the most secure-looking filing cabinet he could find. When the cabinet popped open with little protest, he found nothing but old historical records. No, there was something they were specifically looking for, over half a century after it was lost. He ripped open a cardboard box from inside the cabinet to find a strange doll which looked Valeyan. Snarling in frustration, he moved to the next cabinet.

The three Shirakawan men on the last flatbed pulled off their tarpaulin, revealing a pair of heavy machine guns mounted in a dual anti-aircraft mount. One of the Shirakawans got in the gunner's seat and began firing wildly into the sky, his rationale only revealed a second later when his bullets actually hit something in the sky on the left side of the train. In a blink, a Yamataian utility helicopter - unremarkable and used by all branches of the Imperial military - suddenly appeared out of thin air, the deafening sound of the blades chopping through the air suddenly competing with the wind and train.

Far more interesting would be the woman leaping off of the helicopter, dressed in the red and white of the Yamataian Michi religion's Miko priestesses, albeit with a military-issue plate carrier strapped over her upper body. She carried a yumi longbow, drawing two arrows and releasing them as she travelled through the air and landed on the train with inhuman grace. The arrows curved through the air to strike both Shirakawan soldiers manning the machine gun in the heart. Drawing another two arrows, another two Shirakawan soldiers were killed shortly, easing the pressure and enabling the Yamataian commandos to finally move forward.

Suddenly, a sickening sound of screeching metal echoed through the air, alongside the terrible sound of metal being bent and torn to its breaking point. The miko immediately drew three arrows and fired them into the sky, where they suddenly turned in various angles and intercepted metal beams that flew from behind the train, knocking them out of the sky with dull thuds. The train's caboose literally burst open, the metallic fragments exploding outwards but hanging in the air as a wizened man in a similar uniform to the Shirakawan security forces - yet with some embellishments - emerged imperiously, his ancient white beard fluttering in the wind. With a yell, he launched five of the fragments at high speed towards the Yamataians, four of which the miko intercepted and one which tore straight through the chest of one of the Yamataian soldiers with a spray of blood.

High caliber machine gun rounds peppered the flatbed as the helicopter strafed the train, the side-mounted machine gun firing on the Shirakawan warlock's position. He effortlessly blocked the rounds both from the helicopter and the commandos with his metal fragments, and just as easily batted several of the miko's arrows away. Levitating himself onto the top of the caboose's remains, he reached to the rear and violently made a tearing action. Half a second later, a section of the train track itself flew at high velocity through the air, breaking right through the wooden arrow sent to intercept it and smashing into the flatbed with great force, barely missing the miko as she dove away at the last second.

Making a motion similar to freestyle swimming, the warlock narrowed his eyes, hurling sections of the train track at the miko and the remaining commando, who barely managed to take cover behind what was quickly revealed to be a light utility vehicle under the tarpaulin on the second flatbed. His skill was such that none of the dozens of rounds fired at him - either by the remaining commandos or the helicopter - had even grazed the man. Evidently, though, he grew tired of blocking the helicopter's attacks, especially after they fired a rocket at him, which he easily blocked with the levitated remains of the anti-aircraft machine gun from the train. With finality, he turned around and made a grandiose clapping motion, the track behind the train seeming to come alive as it reared up and bent sickeningly towards the helicopter like grasping tentacles.

Time seemed to slow down, as the tentacle-tracks inched closer and closer, and then stopped altogether.

The bullets fired from the commandos' rifles hung in mid air. The warlock's beard hung in mid air, flying on a now-non-existent gale. The wind stopped completely, leaving the air stale and heavy to push through, as though walking underwater. The commandos, the warlock, the helicopter's blades, all did not move. A glance to her right confirmed that outside of the bubble, time was still flowing as it should, the trees on either side of the track still bending in the natural breeze. The gale, after all, was caused by the movement of the train. She looked down and saw how her blood was flowing from the tip of her shaking index finger onto the ofuda she had just deployed, similar to those attached to her arrows to give them their homing capabilities. The abilities of this world manifested themselves in very different ways across the multitude of cultures across the world.

She naturally noticed a sudden movement as a small girl in a black and red kimono, looking about fifteen, emerged from behind the miko.

"I apologise for the need for you to act, imouto," the Miko said, bowing slightly, the sound distorted by the frozen air.

"It's alright, I was bored on the helicopter anyway," the younger gleefully said. She stepped back out of the miko's line of sight, then stepped out from behind the Shirakawan warlock. Smiling at his frozen face, she extended her arms and embraced him.

Natural sunlight filtered through the light pink flowers of a grove of cherry blossom trees. The dainty petals of the trees swirled around the clearing, to the left was a babbling creek, fed by a stone-lined pond on the right, into which a waterfall emptied with a strangely low amount of noise. Standing opposite him in the clearing was a little girl in a black and red kimono, pale skin, raven hair and unnaturally neutral expression adding to the uncannily unsettling aura she emanated. He pushed himself up to a sitting position with his aged yet muscular arms.

"Where am I?"

"Somewhere safe. But only temporarily," her voice seemed to come from all directions at once.

"What are you?"

"I'm not really sure either," she smirked ever so slightly.

"Release me, child."

She laughed, a cloyingly sweet sound with a disturbing undercurrent.

"Later," she smiled, the stepped behind a thin tree and disappeared.

The Shirakawan warlock slumped against the rock, noticing that there appeared to be a figure meditating behind the waterfall to his right.

Tearing open another cardboard box and discarding its shredded body onto the floor, the commando in the train car finally found what he was looking for. A nondescript bamboo scroll container, inscribed with its owners' details: the 16th Area Army, Yamatai Imperial Army. Unscrewing the top, he gingerly pulled out the scroll and unfurled the aged paper. This was one of many copies made of an original, all of which had been destroyed or lost over the years. This was the last known copy still in existence, the last known copy that would lead to the rediscovery of that...

He drew his pistol and shot the Shirakawan coming through the door in the chest, dropping the man immediately.

Pulling out a disposable camera, the commando took several photographs of the scroll, written in strange symbols with annotations in coded Hyokana* script added by the nation's archaeologists over 70 years ago. Dominating the entire image of course, was an archaic-looking map of a region that one could clearly make out was the Crosswind Sea, in south-east Escar and on the border with Osova.

"This is Higashida, I have the scroll," the soldier reported.

"Very good, we have Shirakawan fast-movers and helicopters coming in in about three minutes," the helicopter pilot replied urgently.

"Fighters? They're really serious about this shit, calling in conventionals. Everyone back to the helicopter, we've got what we came here for."

Hovering over the slowing-down train, ropes were dropped from the helicopter for the remaining commandos, the miko and the corpse of the dead commando to be brought on board. No evidence could be left behind of Yamatai's involvement here, just like little evidence of the world they operated in could be left behind for the world at large to see. As they boarded, the miko released a small measure of her blood to seal a different ofuda talisman, affixing the slip of enchanted paper to the fuselage of the helicopter.

In the blink of an eye, the entire aircraft once again disappeared, and the sound of the blades no longer existed.

The warlock blinked and suddenly saw the familiar stars of the night sky over Shirakawa. Gasping for air as though he had been underwater, or perhaps overjoyed he was breathing the air of the correct realm once again, he was partly embarrassed to admit he was terrified of the experience despite his decades of experience.

A jet fighter - probably part of the reinforcements he had called in - cut through the sky above. He knew those conventionals would be unable to find the assailants.

The train was slowing down.

Friendly helicopters were closing in.

OOC:

*Hiragana irl

by **Kolintha** » Wed Mar 27, 2019 9:38 am

North-west Chisei
January 2019

It was a few hours until sunrise, and the train had come to a standstill, as its wheels decoupled from the warped frozen track entirely, and its rear half flew into the snowdrifts.

Miraculously Toranaga had survived. He winced as one of the newly arrived medics clumsily pressed an paper seal to the side of his head, securing it temporarily with a hastily knotted bandage.

Backup had arrived, but it had arrived late. The attacker’s scent was gone, and with it, the quarry. The image of the brat, the cherry blossom grove, and meditating man echoed around his head.

“Ah, there he is!” The old warlock flinched as he heard the melodious young voice approaching from behind him. Reflexively he raised a shard of steel shrapnel, and the medic stumbled backwards. Seeing the newcomer however, he instead let out a tired groan.

“Hanna. What a pleasure.” He grumbled, as the young Kuiju-Hinoan girl, clad in the bright orange robes of a Yunōndō priestess slowly approached him. Her fashionably blonde dyed hair made her stand out from the small entourage surrounding her, and at only 19 she was considerably younger too.

He had had more than enough of children for today.

“And the same to you, Mr. Yamashiro.” She said, curtly. “So it seems the transfer turned out to be somewhat of a cock-up.”

“That is one way to put it, my dear.” A tall, willowy figure in the group behind Hanna interjected, seeming to emerge directly into Toranaga’s vision from no place in particular. He was dressed in white courtly attire, and he gracefully tipped his black silk eboshi - neatly embroidered with a golden pentagram - in greeting as their eyes met, “Good-day, Mr. Yamashiro. Though perhaps that is a poor choice of words given the circumstances.”

He was a remarkably plain fellow, his military attire aside, and every aspect of him seemed to emphasize his nondescriptness. His facial features were flat, with no particularly defining curves or edges, and an sprinkling of wrinkles that could have put him anywhere between his thirties and his fifties. His hands were smooth, and evenly proportioned. His eyes were a dull brown, or perhaps a grey. And his hair - long, dark and loose, with flecks of silver - was not especially well-kempt, nor scruffy. In all respects, the man blended in.

Toranaga, however, recognized him instantly, and his aged frame stiffened. “Lord Aso, sir.”

He was none other than the master of the Onmyô-ryô - the Bureau of Yin and Yang. By no means a secret or hidden part of the Chiseian government, the Bureau was on the contrary well known. It was as old as the state itself, having been established by the ancient yezui dynasties to administer the matter of the Royal calendar and to hone the old arts of divination and other magics. And it had survived - and prospered - in the present too. It was after all its five-pointed mark that adorned the crowning achievement of post-war Shiro-Yamataian ‘friendship’ - the Heiwa space station - and the Hiryuu shuttles that regularly supplied it. When mankind had decided to aim for the stars, who better to lead the way than a department of astrologers and astronomers?

What most did not know of course, was that the Bureau’s remaining astrologers were still very much devoted to their traditional crafts, and they had developed new, more critical duties to the Kingdom’s security.

“At ease, Sorcerer.” Aso waved away the formality with an even-tempered smile. “It appears, from what I have been told so far, that events have sprung into motion somewhat faster than we had previously anticipated.”

“Imperials.” Toranaga growled, “Conventionals, but they had mages backing them up. One of their witches pulled some sort of trick. By the time I woke up they were gone.”

“And the scroll?” Hanna pressed, holding her arm out absent-mindedly. Tora watched as some … thing invisible to him scuttled over the brightly coloured sleeve of her garb.

“Gone, of course, girl!” He spat, running his thick, wrinkled fingers through the white of his tangled beard, “Gone and lost to us now.”

The priestess pouted at the outburst, but Aso merely chuckled heartily. The warlock looked up with a furrowed brow.
“Well, well, Mr. Yamashiro. You would be wrong there. You see - it's not entirely lost to us.”

He produced from his robe a digital slate, and flicked his digits across its smooth, climate-protected surface.

“The digital age is a beautiful thing, and it was not long after the cracking of the Imperial code that the Archivists decided to produce a recreation of the artifact.”

Toranaga reached out to take the device as it was offered to him. The LED screen displayed a gallery of high quality scans and photographs of the scroll. He immediately recognized the archaic design of the map which had appeared in his initial briefing, and the blocky forms of the coded glyphs.

“Unfortunately,” Aso continued as the ferromancer’s eyes pored over the slate, “The loss of the physical artifact, naturally, remains deeply problematic.”

“Because the Imperials now have their map back.” Hanna ventured, taking back the slate.

“And perhaps, it is more than a map.” Tora mumbled, looking grimly at Aso.

“Perhaps, perhaps.” It was difficult to derive much meaning from the aristocrat’s response, and he appeared to stare absent-mindedly beyond Toranaga as he spoke, “Whatever the case, no doubt you understand this has now become a matter of urgency. We must act.”

Toranaga stood, quickly ripping away the healing seal and the bandage from his head to an annoyed glare from a passing medic.

“You propose we go there first.”

Aso smiled, his eyes twinkling. “Yes, Mr. Yamashiro. Come! There is no time to lose: We have a plane to catch, and you have an expeditionary force to lead..”

Capital Province,
Kingdom of Chisei
January 2019

Satoru shuffled uncomfortably on the tatami as the young boy kneeling opposite to him leaned forwards over the central mat, slowly and methodically serving tea into the three porcelain cups he had set out several minutes earlier. His aunt - seated to Satoru’s left - looked on with a judging eye, and nodded with approval as the boy finished and bowed, while Ayano, his companion, muttered a quiet ‘thank you’.

“You may leave.” The Aunt said flatly, and with another deep bow the boy gathered his serving utensils and stood, shuffling slowly out of the tea room in silence. Looking back at her guests, Lady Tsuga grimaced. “My apologies for the wait, gentlemen. He is inexperienced, but I have little other help here nowadays - and I am no longer the maiden I used to be. Please - drink.”

Tsuga was an archetypical Shirakawan matriarch, in many ways. Her facial features - sharp and distinguished despite her advanced age - seemed naturally regal, and gave her a strong personal aura of aristocracy, as if to match her opulent estate, and her hair had been left to grow freely many years ago, until it eventually hung over her like a heavy silver cloak; its smooth strands meticulously maintained and decorated in typical high society fashion with strips of silk ribbon and precious metal pins.

A dignified old court lady she was not however, and not a single drop of royal blood flowed through her veins. What gave this away most clearly perhaps, were her mannerisms. She was possessed with natural impatience and a predatory cunning - or so many had said - and prone to bouts of rage. Her hands, though thin and wrinkled now, still bore the characteristic marks of these bouts - thick calouses and scars which ringed her bony knuckles.

At some point, the old fox had found her youthful talents to be of use in a corporate paramilitary career, and the rest since then was, as they say, history. Her employers made fruitful use of her, and when it came to her retirement, she had built up a colourful network of connections that had enabled her to more than supplement her pension in her old age, even after her husband’s unfortunate passing. Now she played the role of arms dealer, one of many in the continental underworld.

Though her special stock, if rumours were to be believed, was far from ordinary.

“It is no issue, Lady Tsuga. Myself and Ms. Katsuragi are honoured that you and your Honourable Company would grant us an audience.” Satoru replied, putting on his best smile and bowing himself before taking his tea. “If you would permit us the discourtesy however, we are eager to discuss business.”

“Of course, Mr. Sureshima. You know well I do not hold excessive formalities in high regard, though one makes an effort as befits one’s station.” The old fox replied, smiling coldly, “So, what is the nature of your inquiry? Is this in relation to the matter with NC Logistics I discussed with your people in correspondence previously?”

After finishing her first sip, Ayano took over. “No, we reached a quiet settlement on that front. We have however come to you with a slightly different proposition, based on some information we received from one of your previous clientele.”

Tsuga’s expression darkened. “I should hope you are not about to venture where I suspect you intend to, Ms. Katsuragi.”

The Tsuga estate was rather impressive, for what it was: the comfy little den of a retired zaibatsu dog, turned supplier to street gangs and the Wanshi Yakuza.

It was nestled neatly to the north of the Eito; and it had a prime view of the city in places too, as it sat proudly atop a peak in the forested hills that loomed over the Chiseian capital. Meanwhile, to the west, on a good day, the good Lady Tsuga might have been able to catch a glimpse of the Seikaiju peaks, if she were lucky.

Unfortunately for her, luck was not among her many possessions.

The great house itself had seen better days. Though her fortune remained considerable, the business for guns and other seedy merchandise was no longer as lucrative as it once was. Tsuga had international competition to contend with for one - the Yamataian armaments industry was an ouroboros of dubiously sourced firepower slithering through the third world, and looping back around into the first, and there were plenty of other parties eager to pump their goods into disreputable parts of the globe, where they would quickly swap hands and move from one black market to the next until they were eventually delivered right into the hands of a gangbanger in Hosu.

Thus, rumour had it, the fox had turned to more exclusive goods to turn the ship around.

Gone with the profit, was much of the security, or so the heavily tattooed kannaguru Commandant Tekup observed, as she watched the outer gardens of the estate sweep by from her perch atop the bed of a slightly rusted, white pick-up. Not a single soul had appeared to challenge the vehicle as it barrelled through the open iron gates.

The calm unnerved her.

Yet the grounds were not wholly deserted, as a single willowy figure stepping out into the courtyard in the path of the pickup soon revealed.

Tekup noted the slender, diminutive frame as she grew closer, and waved cheerfully from atop her perch on the truck’s bed. With her other hand, she wrapped her knuckles against the roof of the vehicle, signalling it to stop.

It was a young man - no, basically a teenager - dressed in a black koromo. He failed to return the wave, merely continuing to stare as the vehicle slowed to a halt before him. He was unarmed, save for a wooden sword clenched tightly in one hand.

“Salutations!” She yelled, hopping down from the truck and turning to catch a large black case thrown to her by one of her companions, as the others too began to slowly dismount and unload several similar cases.

“Say, would you happen to know where me and my friends would be able to find the Lady of the House? We apologise for the sudden intrusion, but there was nobody at the gate to greet us...”

The lad stood his ground, and glared at the dismounted group. There were five in total, including Tekup and the driver, and their matching dark olive drab outfits did little to make them seem like the usual visitors.

One of them - Ipo, an old mercenary, with a nose and mouth made wickedly crooked by a series of jagged shrapnel scars, and a forehead that was a broad expanse of smooth, patched-together tissue - tapped Tekup on the shoulder, and gestured to his ear-piece. Something was happening inside. She nodded and stepped forward towards the boy.

“Aunt Tsuga doesn’t get many visitors these days.” He said flatly, stepping to meet her “And she is currently in a meeting. Regardless of whatever reasons you may have for coming here - and I suspect none of them good - I must politely ask you and your companions to leave.”

As he slowly raised his weapon, blood began to well up through his fingers, and run down over his hand, while at the same time, a soft blue light began to shimmer along the length of the wood.

Keeping her smile, Tekup gestured to Ipo and her men, and like a well oiled machine they tensed up and moved outwards to surround the boy.
“I’m afraid this is a very important appointment.” She replied, as the array of tattoos around her lips and neck began to glow with the same light.

“Magic is a notion of the superstitious, my dear, and I am not yet that senile.” Tsuga snapped, slapping her hand on her lap.

After another long sip of tea, Ayano pressed further, maintaining her steely smile. “I make no presumption of Your Ladyship’s senility or lack therefore, and I certainly do not accuse you of superstition. Superstition is belief in the unreal. And while your artifacts may be unusual, I personally am proud of my network of information, and I refuse to believe they are unreal.”

Satoru gulped as silence descended, and the tension in the tearoom thickened. Satoru coughed, and pulled a paper file from the briefcase sitting beside him. Bowing, he presented it to Tsuga.

“What is this?” She asked imperiously, snatching it from him his hands and plucking out the contents.

“A police report.” Satoru explained, “Which our Humble Organisation obtained from associates involved with the relevant authorities. Concerning a series of incidents involving a group in Wanshi with which you have done business with in the past. I suspect you well know why these incidents are notable?”

“Let us say I do not. Enlighten me.”

“The group in question was implicated in a series of hits on prominent members of a local Bloody Family. The crime scenes were … unique to say the least?”

Ayano continued, “To quote what I believe is said in the report, it was as if the victims had been ‘ripped apart’. There were difficulties identifying any of the casualties, and comparisons were made to attacks by wild dogs. There were however, no forensic traces of any animals whatsoever.” She paused to take yet another sip. “What there was, was a single survivor of one of the attacks. A maid. And she reported only a single assailant entering the home of a family capo. Unarmed. Except for a tiny origami figure, around…”

She gestured with her fingers,

“...this big. And the family members, when shown this figure, started to scream. And that was when the maid ran.”

Tsuga scowled, and there was yet another long silence. Once again, Satoru broke it.
“Thank you for that… visceral explanation, Ms. Katsuragi.” He began with a nervous laugh, “But the point my colleague here was trying to make, Your Ladyship, is that we are well acquainted with this device - or artifact, as Katsuragi put it - and we are traced it back to you. And we would be very much interested if you would be so gracious as to discuss the possibility of a good honest business transaction with our Humble Organisation.”

“We would of course pay a fair price.” Ayano added with a smile.

After a moment of massaging her wrinkled forehead with her thumb, Tsuga looked up and nodded, showing briefly an uncharacteristically grim expression. She then reached into her sleeve, and pulled out a small origami figure of her own - a fox, made from white ricepaper.

The two visitors recoiled instinctively, but Tsuga only cackled.
“A demonstration of some merchandise, if you will. At ease.”

As they settled, she closed her eyes and cupped her hands over the figure which she had placed before her, humming as she did so.

The pair looked at each other confused as the room slowly grew colder.

Suddenly, Satoru started, as something brushed past him, and his cup of tea was knocked over, the green liquid spilling out onto the mat. He cursed. Then Ayano yelped, as the presence increased in intensity. Yet still, the only living things in the room appeared to be the three of them alone.

As the humming rose in tone however, the chill increased, and Satoru watched as a shadow stretched over the room, growing, it seemed, from that of the meditating old woman. The silhouette was strange - constantly shifting, yet unmoving. Dozens of thin, skeletal appendages, ending in ten-fingered paws, gradually emerged from the mass, writhing around a serpentine form with no clear beginning nor end. Once again, the visitors pulled back, and slowly stood up as they moved to the opposite corner of the tea-room.

Then the shadow unfolded further, and from one part its body bloomed into nine new forms - bushy, fox-like tails.

Yet whatever the thing was, it was no fox, for it had no discernible head, and its limbs - its endless mass of spider-like limbs - spiralled outwards from its elongated body in every direction like the branches of a tree.

Then it disconnected itself from its summoners shadow, and began clumsily skittering along the tea-room floor towards the visitors. Still, it was not really visible, save for the shadow it seemed to cast, but its presence was stronger, and its breath - did it even breath? - could be faintly heard from every direction. A shallow, rasping panting.

Immediately, Satoru reached for his holster.
“So! Your Ladyship, I think this has been a very fruitful demonstration. We very much get the point of the whole thing, I feel.” He said with a chuckle, shakily flicking off the safety on his Kenhou automatic pistol. Ayano pulled her own revolver from her belt.

Tsuga ‘looked’ up as she spoke, without opening her eyes, and spoke, though somehow her humming continued to resonate around the room, mixing in with the growing sound of the panting apparition.

“Mr. Sureshima, I am not known as a particularly trusting woman.” She hissed, “And I am well aware, for I have eyes in many places, that your ‘Humble Organisation’ has been maneuvering around my business for the last year. I’m not sure what you want, exactly, but I’m afraid there are certain elements that I really cannot have finding out about my ventures.”

Still the panting grew louder, and the hundred invisible, skittering claws grew closer, while new shadows began to spill from the corners of the chamber.

Then the paper wall of the tea-room caved in, as a body was launched through it, sending the kitsune skittering backwards. It was the tea-serving nephew, glowing wooden sword in hand, battered, burned and bloody.

And after him came the hulking form of a black bear, closely followed by balaclava-wearing shotgun-armed men on either side, which tore the walls further apart and pounced onto the fallen boy. Yet before its claws could reach the boys throat and tear it out, the beasts dark fur evaporated into a cloud of black smoke and swirling glowing sigils, revealing a hazel-haired kannaguru who in a single motion nimbly kicked the sword from the boys grip and pressed a knife to his throat.

While Satoru struggled to process the burst of action, his mind erupted with a series of echoing screeches as the shadows that had been gathering in the dark edges of the room leapt towards the intruders.

“Shikigami!” Tekup yelled, and the commandos behind her immediately turned to fire at the empty air. Blue dust filled the room, as the silver slugs ripped through invisible threat - each spirit momentarily flashing into visibility before it was violently banished in a cloud of sparks and ashes.

Yet they could only aim so well at what they could not see, and one of the men dropped his weapon and fell backwards as several of spirits reached him, and invisible fangs, claws and stingers met human flesh and bone.

The kitsune screamed, and lunged at Tekup, throwing her off the now unconscious nephew, then skittered up the wall and onto the ceiling, dropping down onto another of the gunmen, who failed to trace the looming shadow in time.

For a few seconds, the man’s eyes lit up, and he spun around, swinging his gun like a club towards the nearest of his comrades, as his mind struggled for control with the body’s new occupant, before all of a sudden he fell limp, and the spirit leapt from his shoulders towards its mistress once more, transferring the intense blue glow to her own eyes.

The transformation was the reverse of Tekup’s, as white smoke rapidly enveloped the old enforcer’s body and her thin, aging frame became increasingly canine in form, accompanied by the sound of rapidly reforming bones, and a single great white tail emerged.

Yet it was never completed, as the sharp crack of Ayano’s revolver pierced the air, and the hefty .45 bullet cut into the fox’s hind leg, causing it to let out a shrill scream mid-way between animal and human, and its hazy image to rapidly flicker and spontaneously dissipate.

In the moment that the link between was broken, another set of invisible bear-like jaws tore into the hide of the kitsune, and in a split second, its hairy mass of twitching appendages was made manifest, before it died in a flash of pink flame and ash.

“Tsuga Chinami, you are under arrest for the theft and trafficking of occult materials, supply of occult materials to unlicensed and criminal elements, and the magical assault of agents of the Crown.” Tekup declared as she stood and watched the death throes of the fox spirit.

There was no response.

“However… you probably cannot hear this given that you are now unconscious.” She added with a wince, turning her eyes to the twisted, still body of the arms dealer. Sighing, she offered an arm for her Shikigami to leap onto, feeling the nonexistent weight of the spirit. It purred with approval, and settled near her neck, until its physicality dissipated, along with the glow of her ink.

The Commandant ran her hands through her hair, and looked around the chaotic scene of the once-was tea-room. Before she could start on bringing order however, she heard the beating of rotor blades outside, and kicked away some of the wood and paper debris to look out into the courtyard outside.

A pure white chopper, marked with a pentagram.

Ipo grunted as he listened to his earpiece.
“Lord Aso’s orders, co-pilot says. Wait for reinforcements to secure the marks and establish perimeter, and prepare for extraction. We’re being immediately reassigned.”

Tekup grimaced.
“That doesn’t sound promising.”

by **Toishima** » Sat Aug 31, 2019 5:57 am

Old Luong's Coffee House
Tran Phu District, Nha Trang

Midday Songthom was hot, especially this far south. Nha Trang was Songthom's biggest port city and their jewel in the south, home to their famous Silicon River and capital of Songese foreign investment. The city was quickly becoming a symbol of Songthom's liberalisation and increased ties with the non-communist world, a good sign for one side in the context of the Escaric Divide.

Seated at a veranda seat were two Yamataians, easily spotted with their facial features and pale skin, a clear contrast to the darker hues of this region of Songthom. The man looked to be in his late 20s, dressed as a typical Yamataian tourist in a t-shirt, shorts, and a green sling bag. His fellow countryman was a young girl who looked to be in her early teens, dressed in a red and black summer-style kimono with the shortened and pleated skirt and elbow-length sleeves. Any casual observer could draw the conclusion that the man was her father, or caretaker, or whatever.

"There you are," a grunt in Yashiman came from behind, as a portly young man in spectacles trotted over, carrying a tray of drinks and dressed similarly to the other man. This one was probably in his late teens to early 20s. Perhaps the girl's older brother? He squeezed himself onto the bench and sat down.

"I told you where to go," Hatoyama Takahito stated matter-of-factly, taking his Zusean eiskaffee off the tray.

"But it wasn't clear enough," Mori Junichiro protested, waving his arms slightly. He had an iced frappe.

"I wrote it down, how the hell was that not clear, dude," Hatoyama asked, wiping the sweat off his forehead. The Girl somehow held her cup of iced matcha without anyone having seen her take it.

"Let's stop fighting, I don't want to compromise the mission," Mori said, a bit too loudly. Hatoyama sighed audibly.

Hatoyama Takahito, degree in Art Science and Level 4 Occultism Consultant for Kaiten, Yamatai's top-secret agency dealing with the occult. His very niche set of interests in college meant he had limited paths in life, but thankfully he managed to get scouted by one of his professors who happened to be living a double life as Kaiten's resident expert on the occult. What a strange path life had placed for him, from a failing student to an agent for an organisation so important to Yamatai that nobody even knew about it. Though agent wasn't exactly the right word. Hatoyama's place was more typically back in Kaiten HQ in the city of Yamato, poring over texts and working at a computer.

So he did not understand fully why he was personally out here in the ass-end of Escar, with a fellow Consultant-level agent and the individual he liked to refer to as "the Girl" in tow. Mori, an Exotic Linguistics Consultant - which meant he could probably read Atlantean, amongst others - was proving to be more trouble than he had hoped for, and the Girl was less helpful than he had thought. Since she had no rank, and Mori was only a Level 5, Hatoyama took it upon himself to be the leader of this misadventure.

A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step, and this first step had been taken a month ago when their fellow Kaiten operatives, of the more violent kind, attacked Chisei and captured a map that led to the fabled Island of Infinity. What was at the island was rumoured to either be a weapon of apocalyptic proportions, some kind of miracle healing material, or the fountain of youth itself. But that knowledge was lost, along with 1,500 Yamatai Imperial Navy troops that had been sent to investigate the island for the Empire. The thing about these magic islands is that they are not always there, and one day the island was simply gone. For over 70 years the trail went cold.

"Until now!" Hatoyama pointed one finger at the sky, before spiralling it down and pressing dramatically on a piece of paper. The curvy Myaarman script was scrawled on it by a waitress at this very coffee house, who seemed to have emigrated from the north of the country and evidently didn't write much Songese.

"We all know why we are here, Hatoyama," Mori remarked plainly.

The occult world often operated mainly on rumours and hearsay for their intelligence, since their modus operandi was so different from the conventional world. Kaiten was no different. They had been chasing leads for decades in hopes of reclaiming what they believed was rightfully Yamatai's; after all, it was they who rediscovered it in the 1920s, at the peak of imperialism. The latest lead suggested that one man of the 1,500 actually managed to escape from the island, and not only that, that he was hiding in Songthom and going by the name of Huynh.

They had the physical map, they were simultaneously working on obtaining the Gnomon, an artefact needed to make the island appear, and now they would have a guide on the island too. It was too good to be true.

"Let's go, then," Mori abruptly said, standing up and walking away. Hatoyama watched him jiggle towards the grey rental car they had. That younger man had his share of strange quirks, which Hatoyama did not feel inclined to probe further about.

He took his drink with him and followed. As usual, the Girl was already sitting inside the car when they reached it, and Hatoyama slid into the driver's seat. It was baking hot inside. He fumbled for the window controls, before remembering that this ancient scrap pile still used the old-style manual cranks for the windows. The thought of making a new discovery and to help Kaiten make yet another great leap forward in their ongoing shadow war with the Chiseian Onmyo-ryo kept him going, even when the window jammed halfway down and refused to move.

Remind me why I took a field assignment again? Does anyone even enjoy field assignments?

Near the Cửulong River, Songthom

Gradually, the steady thrum of the shallow-bottomed riverine boat's diesel engine quietened down, and the sounds of the thick jungle once again enveloped the area. As the boat glided towards the edge of the water, one of the seven jungle-camouflaged special forces soldiers leapt off the gunwale and onto a weathered stone mooring, slick with moss. One of his comrades threw him the rope, and he secured it to a sturdy mangrove tree that had defiantly decided to plant itself at that exact spot. Humans had left this area for a long time, and the jungle was determined to reclaim what it rightfully owned.

Choking vines, mangroves and other trees dominated the riverside, making it difficult to imagine that this was once the dock of the imposing stone palace that impetuously dared to remain standing, features occasionally visible through the trees. Of the remaining edifices, the huge serene stone faces and heads - some lying on the ground at strange angles - seemed to be the least touched by the jungle, staring down at the new visitors with closed eyes and contented smiles that had attained nirvana. It would take more than some old statues to unsettle the trained soldiers disembarking, however, and with well-drilled precision the green-uniformed Yamataian TokuSa operators fanned out to secure the area.

The most clandestine of the Empire's numerous TokuSa commando units, the Kazekage Group simply did not exist. Comprised entirely of hand-picked volunteers from across Yamatai's Tier One special operations units, Kazekage served as the primary military muscle of Kaiten, the more-than-conventional troopers to back up Kaiten's exotic operations. These men and women were sworn to secrecy about what they saw and dealt with on a regular basis, and were well aware that their employer was able to ensure that if they did spread classified information, they and anyone they told could easily be erased from existence. Possibly literally.

Sweeping his heavily-customised Arisaka Type-45 assault rifle across the treeline, Major Higashida squinted behind tactical glasses, scanning for any movement at all that was not another damn monkey. The 38-year old had once been in the elite Imperial Navy Umibozu Unit, executing operations halfway across the world for his nation's security. Then his section had been wiped out during an assault on a terrorist leader's hideout in Osova. Contrary to the official report, Higashida knew it was not an IED that took them out; it was some kind of bizarre creature with a human head and a lion body. They told him it was PTSD and transferred him to the Naval Amphibious Warfare School as an instructor. At least until he received an unmarked paper envelope on his desk from the Imperial Palace a month later.

And now here he was, leading a team of individuals with similar experiences as they went after things that nobody else knew existed. Things like water elementals and train track-throwing mages. Things like the sphinx that killed his boys. He blinked once, staring at one of the smiling statues, which seemed to appear in every direction one looked. Perhaps they did. In this line of work, he was starting to expect anything to be possible. Cautiously, he stood up from the tall grasses that forced their way out of the many cracks in the stone pavement, revealing a well-built physique distinguishable even though he wore the typical baggy ripstop digital camouflage uniform, heavily-loaded plate carrier strapped over his torso.

"Clear," Higashida also did a tactical gesture with his hand. His men relaxed, though like good commandos still kept an eye towards the perimeter. The rest of the team disembarked from the riverine boat, two of the scientist-types unloading a big reinforced military-grade protective case. Could they be considered scientists, though? How much did science even know?

The commando leader was drawn out of his thoughts by a firm hand on his shoulder. She was a youngish woman, possibly in her late 20s, with black hair that reached just below her shoulders and straight bangs. Dressed in the typical red-and-white Miko uniform, she stuck out like a sore thumb in the jungle. Like the commandos, she also wore a plate carrier strapped over her torso, and a sidearm hung from the plate carrier's belt. In the absence of any need for magazines, her magazine pouches looked to be filled with a mixture of snacks. Slung on her back, of course, was the quiver full of peachwood arrows. Her bow was casually held in her other hand.

"We're ready to move out. What's our game plan?" 4th-Level Miko Asahina's clipped Akitsukunese accent was clear. A native of Yamato City, she was the latest in a long like of Mikos that her devoted family provided to Kamamorism. However, she was pretty sure that she was the first Combat Miko. Officially, her parents believed her to be on a mission in Osova. If they only knew that said mission often involved dodging enemy fire, spells, and worse.

"Simple, I'll leave Sumeragi with the boat," Higashida then pointed with an open hand towards a section of the jungle that was slightly less dense than the rest, "we'll move up to the palace, secure the area, then proceed to the insertion point."

"Where do you want me?" Asahina asked, smiling and cocking her head slightly, pointedly giving her bow a shake.

"For better or worse, you are our artillery. You hang back, and give them hell if they show up," the commando leader replied with a wry smile. He noticed he did not actually know who 'them' referred to. Hopefully nobody.

After another few moments of preparation, and gripes from the less militarily-inclined personnel, the team began to move out. The stone road, laid centuries ago, was barely visible under the grass and overgrowth of roots and even entire trees. The point man had been unable to clear the vegetation alone with his single machete, so Higashida joined him. The plants were so choking and strong that Higashida began to question if they were intentionally trying to keep the team from entering. Once again, he decided he would not be surprised if that was the case.

It took over thirty minutes to cut a path and traverse some 100 metres from the riverside dock before the point man suddenly burst out of the vegetation and fell forward, disappearing into the green. Higashida just barely missed catching the back of his vest, stumbling forward as well. Regaining his balance with the help of a low-hanging branch, Higashida yelled the soldier's name. A dozen scenarios ran through his mind, most involving ridiculously deep ravines or hidden pits.

"I'm alright, sir!" The soldier's response was the most reliving thing Higashida had heard all day. He turned to the smiling statue right next to him and gave it a thumbs-up, noticing that vines were disturbing draped like a noose around the thing's neck. Quickly pushing forward through the wall of vines, Higashida burst out of the jungle and into a clearing.

A massive clearing. It was as though the jungle had ended altogether. The grass was unkempt and tall, but the stone road was clearly visible here, leading up to the ancient palace. It was a sight to behold. Entire section were supposedly built out a single carved stones, ensuring that they did not crumble or fall apart after so many hundreds of years. Dark-grey volcanic rock stretched towards the sky, cracked towers pointing to the sky like black fingers. Stone pillars stood lonely at parts that used to have wooden roofs or pillars which had long since rotted away. Carvings covered the terraces, telling wordless tales and epics from a different era. Right in front of him, at the terminus of the stone road, was a staircase of 88 steps, and a doorway that led into the palace.

It looked like a gaping maw, ready to consume them all. Higashida already could feel it. The same aura he felt that day in the hideout. He breathed in sharply. The many dogtags hanging around his neck felt comfortingly cool against his chest. He nodded to himself and raised hie rifle.

"Section, secure immediate area!"

Bich Diep Road
Phuoc Hoa District, Nha Trang

As one moved further and further from the city centre, the homes and developments naturally became less and less affluent. Unlike in Yamatai where such change was very gradual and not extremely drastic, the wage gap in Songthom could easily be seen in Nha Trang. Condominiums and rows of beautiful bungalows in gated communities transformed into estates of government-built multi-story grey flats typical of communist regimes. As though a border between different levels of society, government monoliths on one side of a river were replaced entirely by a mass of unplanned small wooden houses and huts on the other side, which crept all the way to the waterfront. Dozens of boats were moored haphazardly, no doubt providing more housing, and patches of green were visible between them; vegetables being soaked to increase their size for the market.

In other words, a slum. So much for universal equality and the class struggle, Hatoyama thought to himself as he braked gently at the junction. Oncoming traffic was thick with motorcycles again, as well as the signature ridiculously overloaded trucks. It took him fast to realise nobody was following the traffic light signals. The more daring locals looking to turn simply cut straight through the traffic, tearing past him at dangerous speed and then swerving through the oncoming before somehow making it alive to the side road Hatoyama was aiming for. Ten minutes later of the sweltering sun and dodgy air conditioning in the rental car and the man was ready to go. He turned to his bespectacled counterpart and pointed at the thirtieth motorcycle to cut in front of him and dodge across the road.

"You know what they say, Mori, when in Khornera, do as the Khorne-"

"Don't even think about it," Mori shot down his idea, folding his arms and pursing his lips.

"We're going to be stuck here all day," Hatoyama protested, "look, they stop when someone's in front of them. They know what to do, we just have to copy them."

"I don't want to die here," Mori looked away and out the window, unfolding his arms, his t-shit dark with sweat.

Looking at the side road again, Hatoyama noticed the Girl standing on the other side of the road, waving at him. He sighed and turned to the back seat. Sure enough, she was sitting there, smiling at him innocently. He turned back to the road. There she was again, waving at him and laughing. He stared at her to keep her from coming back to the car. At that moment, a truck suddenly passed in front of his car, and cheerful laughter suddenly filled the car from the back seat. Hatoyama sighed and gripped his temple.

"I'm going," he announced nonchalantly. Mori turned his head around and glared, his mouth opening. Before he could say anything, the cheap Mitsuhishi knockoff jolted forward as Hatoyama pressed on the accelerator. Hatoyama scanned the road. First lane was relatively clear after the red Onda; second had like a dozen motorcycles and a truck. He couldn't see third. The Onda passed, it was time. He switched the gear and stepped on the accelerator.

It was the most harrowing ten seconds of his life, not helped my Mori's terrified wailing and the Girl's raucous laughter. The foreign drivers simply surged around his vehicle as he moved, changing lane and going around wherever they pleased, until he somehow managed to wade through the mess and got into the side road. At one point of time he was probably driving against traffic, even. This is why they don't normally send a man of my calibre to the field... Turning to the left, he saw Mori leaning out of the car window and throwing up the remains of his pho lunch.

The other scholar refused to talk for the rest of the twenty minutes it took for them to get to the location stipulated in the crude directions they had been given. Though the shophouses on the left side of the road had proper addressed, the slum huts on the right obviously did not have them. Hatoyama wondered for a moment how they would get their mail, before deciding these people would probably have better things to worry about than mail, before noticing that several of the slum huts had television satellites anyway. Partially confused, he decided to stop thinking about these things and simply focus on the mission at hand.

Finally, he parked the car in front of the convenience store they had been directed to park at on the little notebook.

"Oi, Mori, what next? I can't read Myaarman," Hatoyama handed the book to his sulking partner, who gave an exasperated sigh.

"We've got to go in there," Mori pointed across the road at the slums. Hatoyama already knew it.

Ancient Palace Complex
Near the Cửulong River, Songthom

Aiming his weapon at every corner, the point man stalked through the hallways of this long-abandoned palace, followed closely by Higashida. Perhaps one day it had been grand, but today it was merely an empty shell, weathered by unforgiving mother nature. Its halls were now empty, and the wind blew through its empty rooms to produce haunting, echoing sounds that reverberated throughout the compound. Asahina had been in some weird situations, but this was quickly creeping to the top of the list of scariest encounters. A big abandoned stone palace in the middle of the jungle tended to have that effect. This was nothing like those open to the tourists.

But the spookiest things were the signs of modern human habitation. The occasional anachronistic piece of equipment, even if they were from 70 years ago, was jarring to the observant. The first one they came across was a bicycle, rusted into uselessness and lying in the middle of a hallway. Next was a generator, also completely brown and useless, left in the corner of one of the rooms. Another room was completely filled with fuel cans of the design the Imperial Army had used during the Endwar. At least they knew they were on the right track.

Emerging from the stone buildings to a vast courtyard of stone pillars that pointed to the sky, it was clear that the wooden roof had long since rotted away. Some of the pillars had collapsed, but many were still standing. The group traversed the area in near silence, even the three ever-complaining civilians stunned both by the historical significance and eeriness of this place as they lugged the case with them. From up ahead, the point man gave a shout.

"I think we've found it," he yelled, his voice echoing off countless surfaces and returning over and over, getting more and more distorted. Higashida and three other soldiers rushed to the front. Asahina chose to casually make her way there, the three techs in tow.

In the very centre of the courtyard was a large sinkhole, roughly 100 metres wide. Steps could be seen carved along the sides of the hole, spiralling down to the depths. The Imperial Army's presence here was most obvious, and the reason for their previously sparse evidence of their habitation so long ago became apparent; the team was simply approaching from the wrong side. The other side of the palace had been completely shaped to the Imperial Army's needs back during the war, with one whole area of columns cleared out for a truck parking area, a wall blown up to provide an access gate, and banks of rusting generators and fuel tanks across the remaining walls on that side.

Even the sinkhole had been tampered with. The remnants of an elevator lay in a pile of rusted metal at the base of the shaft, sitting in a pool of water.

"The main temple should be down there," one of the techs proclaimed, "we need to retrieve the Gnomon."

"How long will it take to find this Gnomon?" Higashida brusquely asked, eyeing the shadowed bottom of the shaft.

"I don't know, but records say it should be down there. We had already found it when this place was overrun," the expert stated matter-of-factly, waving one hand over the area. Asahina noticed that there were indeed signs of a battle of some sort, with bullet holes and blown-out walls; she just had not been able to distinguish it from the weathering on the ancient ruins until it was mentioned.

"We'll all go down there. Nakajima, you'll stay here as a sentry. Everyone else, let's go," Higashida ordered, gesturing to the start of the staircase.

The sinkhole was not that deep, and it only spiralled around twice before the bottom was reached. A cave yawned at the side of the hole, the darkness unwelcoming but quickly pierced by the soldiers' high-powered torches. Higashida himself led the way this time, seemingly pushing apart the blackness as he moved in. The tunnel sloped upwards some until it would be difficult for the water that collected in the sinkhole to fill up this tunnel. After that, it sloped downwards again, before arriving at an ornate doorway carved into the rock. Hanging on both sides were rotten and falling-apart pieces of cloth, but a closer inspection revealed the red and white Radiant Sun of Yamatai. A pile of junk generator parts lay smashed in a corner, possibly by a flash flood that managed to go over the bend in the tunnel.

One of the smiling heads watched them pass through the doorway with its welcoming pose, sitting at lotus above the door. Asahina noticed that power cables were laid on the walls by the wartime Imperial troops, and lightbulbs were also present. The generator out there had been destroyed, though. Quickly enough, the party emerged from a short hallway into an underground cavern. Shining their lights across the room, it was evident that this was the location of the temple. A massive statue sitting in lotus welcomed them with its serene smile, palms open on both sides. An bamboo scaffold, however, covered the right side of its face.

All around the temple cavern were signs of Imperial Army habitation from so many years ago, preserved underground to this day. A large tent covered what may have been the command post, while a large number of bunks were visible on one side of the cave. This was more than an archaeological site; it may have been a regional casualty collection point or resupply hub. Whatever it was, Kaiten from back in the day had managed to use it as a cover for what they really were looking for down here.

"There are tunnels that go on for kilometres; it's an entire cave system," the expert mentioned, signalling his two fellows to put down the casing at last. They eagerly complied and began taking in the subterranean sight.

"And we have to search these caves for this Gnomon?" Higashida asked, running his torch over the smooth ceiling of the cave.

"No, no, like I said, we had already found it. We just need to find out where our wartime predecessors had hidden it when this place was overrun," the expert pointed towards the command centre, with its banks of filing cabinets, "let's start over there, guys."

Riverside Slum
Phuoc Hoa District, Nha Trang

A generally fishy smell hung in the air as they traipsed through the maze that was the riverside slums. Mixed with the constant odour of fish was the smell of decomposing garbage. Mori held his fan close to his nose, while Hatoyama chose to simply brave through it. Ten minutes in and the older man was also covering his nose with a piece of tissue paper. The instructions proved to be extremely accurate, but squeezing through the cramped, narrow corridors of rotting wood gangways that they shared with dozens of slum dwellers going about their business was difficult.

Despite his obvious discomfort, Mori was clearly excited. This search had lasted decades, and this was their most solid lead yet. An actual survivor of the events that occurred on the Island of Infinity, and they were so close to actually finding him. At last the mystery could be solved. It was this thirst for discovery that drove the short intellectual to actually squeeze through two baskets filled with garbage and rotting fruits. He even touched a hanging fish, to get it out of his way. Every fibre of his body was protesting, but his brain - yes, the most important part of the body - drove him ever onward.

And everyone would know Mori Junichiro was the one who solved the mystery of the Island of Infinity.

Leading the way, Mori looked at the rounded Myaarman characters. His natural gift with languages was a great help to Kaiten's research, and he was proud of what he liked to call his 'regional fluency', being fluent in all of Escar's languages. The trade off was that he could not grasp mathematics at all, and he had some trouble with people. But it was worth it, as his father told him after he gave his distinguished honoured graduate speech the day after his 15th birthday at Heian Central University, the day he subverted all of their expectations. How proud his family would be now, though he could not tell his family what exactly he did for the government. Occasionally, high-profile linguistics papers would be published in his name, sometimes he wrote them himself too, but that was just the cover for his real work.

The real work staring him in the face now. He had reached the end of the trail. The breadcrumbs ended here. This was the edge of the forest. It was a shack just like the rest of them, completely unremarkable except for the crude first-aid sign hanging on the door, and a scribble proclaiming that a healing elixir would cost 20 Vien. He glanced at Hatoyama and the Girl. There were no windows so she couldn't go in. This was his moment, anyway. He gave Hatoyama a nod, and knocked the door. Nobody answered.

Frowning, he knocked again. Perhaps Huynh was sleeping. He looked for a doorknob for a moment before realising there wasn't one, and simply pushed the door. It was jammed slightly, but with a bit of strength he managed to force it in. He entered the hut. Amazingly, the interior of the hut was extremely clean and seemed bigger than it looked from outside. A table not unlike what one would find at a general practitioner's office was inside, and behind it sat Huynh. Mori just knew he had to be Huynh. He stretched out one hand to shake; all the secrets this man had would soon be revealed. They would solve a mystery the best minds at Kaiten had not been able to solve for centuries, and which had been a legend to the general public. Strangely, he could not see Huynh's face properly. He could not open his mouth to speak either, and-

"What the fuck, dude?" Hatoyama caught Mori as he fell forward unconscious. The stench inside the hut was overpowering, over a hundred times worse than the rest of the slum had been. The inside of the hut was completely dark, and the only window was sealed shut with a cardboard piece taped over it. Mori's precious fan fell to the grimy floor. As the Girl bent over the pick it up, she noticed something on the floor, grimaced and looked deeper into the one-room dwelling. Hatoyama was still supporting his heavier compatriot as he stumbled forward into the hut.

Using his smartphone's torchlight, he scanned the room. It did not take more than a second to find it. Seated on a chair facing the door was a corpse of an elderly man. His head had a bullet wound between the eyes, the wall behind him splattered with blood and whatever remaining pieces of his skull and brain. Bizarrely, his wrist was hooked up to a blood pump on a rickety table next to him. 500 mililitre water bottles were strewn about, and Hatoyama quickly connected the dots. This Huynh character was probably selling his diluted blood as a healing tonic. Could the Fountain provide such properties to a drinker?

While Hatoyama struggled to carry Mori, the Girl moved to search the hut more thoroughly, turning on the single electric light bulb that hung from the ceiling on its own cable. The man had few belongings but seemed to have an addiction to cigarettes, like many in this region. Hatoyama dumped Mori in a grimy folding chair and approached the corpse. He touched the dead man's skin - cold. He looked at the blood; dried. But decomposition was only in the extremely early stages. The man could not have been killed very long ago.

"Hatoyama," the Girl called, she had been digging around underneath the surprising metal-framed queen-sized bed at the other end of the hut. She pointed to a rectangular object at the foot of the bed, having pulled a cloth and a cheap electric water heater off its top. Gliding over, Hatoyama was surprised he could read the words on the military-style footlocker, an all-too-familiar Radiant Sun stamped atop the words.

"Yamatai Imperial Navy 3rd Special Naval Landing Force," Hatoyama read, "Corporal Masuda Tomotsugu."

So they really had found him. The survivor. The one who had escaped from whatever happened on the Island of Infinity. Hatoyama dropped to a knee and prepared to open the footlocker. They would get the answers to their mystery, even if some crazed junkie or whatever had assassinated their man. He glanced at the Girl, who was playing with the coins in the pile of Viens on the man's bedside table.

Something stopped him. A gut feeling, so to say.

"Why would someone come in here and shoot this man," Hatoyama spoke aloud, standing back up, "but not steal his stuff? There are bottles of his whack elixir all over. Hell, they didn't even take his money..."

Walking back to the man, he mimed shooting the corpse, attempting to recreate the same angle at which the man was shot between the eyes, assuming the killer did not move the body.

"So someone came in, shot this man, did not take anything..."

Hatoyama's head snapped to the footlocker. A layer of dust was on the top, slightly disturbed, but unmistakeably dirty from years of not being cleaned. He glanced at the cloth and water kettle the Girl had taken off of it, now laying on the bed.

"No way it could have gotten dusty with that shit on top of it..."

Walking cautiously towards the box, Hatoyama knelt down in front of it again, drawing his multipurpose tool and flicking out the knife. He looked up at the Girl.

"Dude, get Mori, and bring him out of here. I'll deal with this," Hatoyama said seriously. She nodded and walked over to the unconscious intellectual sprawled on the flimsy chair. There were limits to her abilities, and she had some difficulty dragging Mori's bulk off the chair and out of the door. Hatoyama gulped, slicking back his hair. He was sweating far more than he had been. If his suspicions were true...

Sliding the knife in the edge under the box lid, he found what he was looking for. There was some kind of string on the inside of the box. He had to confirm his suspicions. There was only one string. A bead of sweat rolled down his face as he positioned the knife properly to cut the string. He would have to cut it, not pull it. Gingerly and in an absolute panic deep inside, he carefully ran the knife across the thing string a few times to weaken it, before finally applying pressure and pushing straight through. Nothing happened.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Hatoyama gingerly lifted the lid of the footlocker slightly and shone his light inside. His hunch had been right, and nothing inside belonged to the dead man, nor would it help them in this operation.

Not unless the man kept a footlocker filled with C4 for some reason, and rigged it to blow up when someone opened it.

Hatoyama kept his knife and wiped his sweat again. He looked around and realised that nothing of value to him would still be in this hut. He bowed to the dead man, then left the hut, closing the door. Cutting to the right, towards the shore side of the slums, Hatoyama caught up with the other two. The Girl was still trying very hard to haul Mori, to the amusement of an opium-smoking woman sitting in the doorway of a nearby hut a few doors down.

"Dude, it was a fucking bomb. Whoever did it definitely wants us dead," Hatoyama reported, looking in his sling bag and eyeing the newspaper-wrapped pistol hidden inside, "and yes, definitely us, as in Yamataian people searching for clues, us."

"We will have to report it in," the Girl replied. Mori finally stirred, groggily coming to and shifting his weight to his own feet.

"What did I miss?" The young linguist asked, patting his own body in search of his fan.

And then there was a massive explosion.

Ancient Palace Complex
Near the Cửulong River, Songthom

"I don't get it, their records say that a special shipment was sent out, but our records have no evidence of this," the researcher scratched his balding head as he leafed through the ancient documents, sealed inside the cupboards for years.

"Yeah, well, maybe your records are wrong," Asahina offered, shaking the dust out of a box where, unfortunately, the contents had disintegrated.

"But then where would the shipment go? It could be anywhere between here and Yamatai," the researcher sighed and rubbed his chin now, "there is something I'm missing."

The contents of the filing cabinets and whatever else could be found had been emptied out. Much of it had been preserved astoundingly well as the cabinets had been completely sealed for the last 70 years. But the vast majority of the documents had nothing to do with their objective, and were simply standard conventional Army drivel. Only one set of documents had shown promise, hidden in a folder at the bottom of one of the cabinets. The cover of the folder had been stamped with Kaiten's seal, so naturally it was important.

Yet it still told them little. Where exactly the Gnomon had been found was detailed, as well as specifications of the Gnomon itself, which were helpful. However, the trail ran cold at the part about where the actual Gnomon was. Searching more documents yielded a mention of a special delivery out from this facility, straight to Heian, but there was little other information.

Higashida looked around and cleared his throat.

"Nakajima hasn't reported in," he declared, "I'm going to go closer to the surface to see if I can get a better signal."

He quickly excused himself from the paperwork and walked briskly away. Paperwork was never the soldier's strong suit, and despite his high rank, Higashida never enjoyed the paperwork that came with the job. He was always a man of action. The sooner they found this Gnomon, the better, and they could finally get searching for that lost island.

As he emerged from the tunnel, the commando officer blinked a few times to accustom his eyes to the sunlight streaming in from the surface. The sinkhole was as they left it, with the pile of rusted metal that used to be an elevator on the left and the staircase starting on the right. He tried his radio a few times before yelling out for his sentry from below. No response. Narrowing his eyes, Higashida moved towards the staircase. It was his natural instinct to assume the worst, and that was very important in this line of work. Pointing his weapon forward, Higashida made his way up the stairs cautiously.

Emerging from the sinkhole weapon first, he immediately saw his soldier lying on the ground. Instincts screamed in his head, and his body responded, ducking back below the lip of the sinkhole. Almost immediately, the crack of a rifle echoed across the courtyard over and over, the round grazing the edge of the hole. Higashida overbalanced and fell backwards sliding down a few steps before catching himself. He pulled himself to his feet, and made a tactical withdrawal back down the staircase.

They're here.

Magus Ordis: The Island of Infinity (FanMT, N/C)

Magus Ordis: The Island of Infinity (FanMT, N/C)

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