Oneshot: Day of Blood
Posted: Thu Nov 19, 2009 6:33 pm
The Rising Sun descends upon the battlefield in perfect serenity, his mono-edged katana shining in the faux-sunlight. Two of his Battle Angels flank him, their wings mere decoration for the rocket packs that hold them aloft in the air. Below, it is a battlefield.
The copy of a small Pacific island contains at its centre a high point, a hill, which the Rising Sun plans to capture. It is meaningless, an endless simulation, but that does not make it poor. It provides experience for his soldiers and a source of calm and relaxment for himself. Only in the midst of battle is he truly calm, now. Not after the fall of his beloved nation.
'BANZAI!' his soldiers, the clone-troopers and cybernetic-Samurai, yell as they charge. They know that their master's gaze is upon them, that they must outdo their best to please him.
He descends from on high, his sword striking through the throat of a robot resembling an American GI, red blood-oil pouring out in a veritable torrent. Already the first sacrifice upon the altar of war has been made.
And there will be many more to come.
He strikes like the whirlwind, felling the enemy one, two, three, red oil pouring out of their broken forms.
It is not enough. A kick sends one screaming into a tree, slumped against it and trying futilely to get up.
The Rising Sun gives him mercy with his katana.
He can be repaired. He is only an (ironically, Japanese-built) robot.
A tank comes toward him. The Rising Sun dodges its shell, moving to tear off its turret. And he succeeds. The crew scream in terror as he rips them apart, wires and circuitry revealed as he throws their shattered forms away, like toys.
A plane, an exact replica of a WW2 Mustang comes, engaging one of his Battle Angels. The Rising Sun comes to her aid, ripping the plane apart with his bare hands.
This is a day of blood.
And there will be many like it.
The copy of a small Pacific island contains at its centre a high point, a hill, which the Rising Sun plans to capture. It is meaningless, an endless simulation, but that does not make it poor. It provides experience for his soldiers and a source of calm and relaxment for himself. Only in the midst of battle is he truly calm, now. Not after the fall of his beloved nation.
'BANZAI!' his soldiers, the clone-troopers and cybernetic-Samurai, yell as they charge. They know that their master's gaze is upon them, that they must outdo their best to please him.
He descends from on high, his sword striking through the throat of a robot resembling an American GI, red blood-oil pouring out in a veritable torrent. Already the first sacrifice upon the altar of war has been made.
And there will be many more to come.
He strikes like the whirlwind, felling the enemy one, two, three, red oil pouring out of their broken forms.
It is not enough. A kick sends one screaming into a tree, slumped against it and trying futilely to get up.
The Rising Sun gives him mercy with his katana.
He can be repaired. He is only an (ironically, Japanese-built) robot.
A tank comes toward him. The Rising Sun dodges its shell, moving to tear off its turret. And he succeeds. The crew scream in terror as he rips them apart, wires and circuitry revealed as he throws their shattered forms away, like toys.
A plane, an exact replica of a WW2 Mustang comes, engaging one of his Battle Angels. The Rising Sun comes to her aid, ripping the plane apart with his bare hands.
This is a day of blood.
And there will be many like it.