Yokota Airbase, Japan

February 18, 2028 – 16:42

The unmistakable hum of Blackhawk rotors echoed through the air as the helicopter touched down at Yokota Airbase. The members of Bravo 1, exhausted but alive, disembarked and were immediately greeted by their commanding officer, Captain Josiah Caldwell. His sharp gaze swept over the team, cataloging every scuff, bruise, and streak of dried blood. Yet, despite the weariness in their expressions, they stood tall.

"Glad to see you're all okay, boys," Caldwell said, his voice gruff but genuine. "Get some rest. We're going to be busy starting today. Be at the briefing room by 1800."

Adam nodded. "Okay, thanks, sir."

As Bravo 1 made their way toward their bunks, the surreal adrenaline still hummed in their veins. The Battle of Ginza was behind them, but the chaos still clung to their minds like a fog. They needed downtime—if only to catch their breath before the storm continued.





Briefing Room, Yokota Airbase

February 18, 2028 – 18:00

When Bravo 1 entered the briefing room, it was already packed with soldiers from across the entire Bravo Squadron. The air was thick with tension, punctuated by murmured conversations and the occasional glance toward the front of the room.

"Holy shit, boss," Perez muttered as they found their seats. "The whole squadron's here."

Adam scanned the room, nodding. "Yeah, makes sense. When the capital of one of our most important partners in the Asia-Pacific gets attacked, it tends to get people's attention."

Andrew leaned closer. "Heard PACOM's been scrambling, trying to figure out who was stupid enough to attack a major U.S. ally."

Hill snorted. "Whoever they are, they're going to regret it sooner or later."

Their chatter died down as three high-ranking officers walked into the room:

- Lieutenant Colonel Eric Blackburn

- Major Erwin Campbell

- Command Sergeant Major Fraser Hughes

The room fell silent at once. Every soldier's attention snapped to the front as Blackburn took center stage. His presence demanded respect, a leader who'd seen his fair share of battles.

"Alright, gentlemen," Blackburn began. "Before we dive in, I want to commend Bravo 1 for their outstanding work during the Battle of Ginza. You saved lives—many of them—and you made us proud."

Major Campbell chimed in, grinning. "You wouldn't believe it—the entire TOC was glued to the monitors the entire time. It was something to watch."

Adam gave a respectful nod. "Thank you, sir."

Blackburn continued. "Now, I know you've got a lot of questions—like who or even what attacked the Ginza District. The short answer? We don't know. And it's now our job to find out. Hughes, take it from here."

Command Sergeant Major Hughes stepped forward and clicked the projector remote. A colossal image of a gate-shaped structure appeared on the screen, filling the soldiers with a mixture of awe and disbelief.

"This, gentlemen, is what the Japanese are calling The Gate," Hughes said. "We don't know what it is or how it appeared, but what we do know is that the enemy came through it—and attacked indiscriminately. Hundreds of civilians were killed, and many are still unaccounted for. This includes 20 dead Americans and 30 missing."

A heavy silence settled over the room as the soldiers processed the loss of their fellow countrymen. The gravity of the situation weighed heavily, stoking the fire in their hearts.

Hughes continued, his voice unwavering. "From what intel we've gathered from captured prisoners, these attackers call themselves the Soldiers of the Empire. As for the name of the empire? Still unknown."

With another click of the remote the screen shifted to images of enemy equipment.

"Most of their gear looks like something straight out of ancient Rome—swords, spears, bows. But don't let that fool you."

The next slide filled the screen with images that seemed impossible: strange creatures, from goblins to dragons, and scenes of individuals in robes conjuring ice from thin air. The room erupted with mutters of disbelief.

"These," Hughes said grimly, "are the top brass's biggest concern."

He let the murmurs die down before continuing. "The enemy has access to what they call 'magic.' We've seen POWs use it—real, tangible magic. Even though their conventional equipment is outdated, do not underestimate them. We have no idea what else they're capable of."

The warning settled over the room like a cold wind. Some soldiers exchanged uneasy glances, while others leaned back in their chairs, clearly trying to wrap their minds around the concept of magic on the battlefield.

"Alright," Hughes said, raising his voice to regain control of the room. "Here's the plan: Bravo Three, you're going to join JSDF recon teams entering the gate next week. Your job is to scout the area. Be thorough—we don't want any surprises."

He shifted his gaze to Adam and the rest of Bravo 1. "As for Bravo One and Two, you're staying on standby. PACOM wants the rest of the squadron to join the JSDF's main force when they move through the gate. We'll be attached to the Marine 4th Infantry Regiment, assisting our allies and, more importantly, looking for our missing people. We're bringing them home—whatever it takes."

The room fell into a determined silence. Every man present knew the gravity of their mission. They weren't just going through the gate to support their allies—they were going to hunt down those responsible for the attack and bring justice to the fallen.

"Any questions?" Hughes asked, glancing around.

The room remained silent.

"Good. Dismissed."





The Gate, Ginza

March 18, 2028 – 07:20

A month had passed since the joint JSDF and Delta Force scouting parties returned through the mysterious gate. Their reports were enough to push the Japanese government into action, dispatching three divisions to the unknown territory now designated the Special Region. In a show of solidarity, the White House authorized Bravo Squadron of Delta Force to join the mission, embedded with personnel from the 4th Marine Regiment of the U.S. Marine Corps.

The air buzzed with tension as the assembled forces prepared for the crossing. Soldiers from both nations milled about, checking weapons and loading vehicles. Engines growled to life as convoy preparations hit full swing. Amidst this whirlwind of activity, General Koichiro Hazama, the joint Japanese-American force commander, took his place to deliver some final remarks.

"I'm Hazama, your commander," he said, his voice steady but firm. "Many scouts have crossed the gate over the past month, and we are fortunate that they all returned safely. But nobody knows what awaits us on the other side. Be prepared to engage the enemy the moment we cross."

Adam stood in the crowd, arms crossed, feeling the General's words settle over him. There was something about Hazama's speech—its simplicity, its unpolished but heartfelt tone—that tugged at old memories. It reminded him of the pep talks his high school baseball coach used to give before big games. Those moments were about more than sports; they were about unity, about preparing for the unknown with the people beside you.

When Hazama finished, the soldiers swiftly returned to their tasks. Marines and JSDF troops boarded their vehicles, the dull rumble of engines swelling into a steady roar. Adam turned toward his team, standing near their assigned JLTV.

"All right," he called out. "Everybody ready?"

Andrew gave a quick nod. "Yup."

Perez grinned. "You know it."

Hill, seated inside the JLTV, glanced over. "Ready as I'll ever be, sir."

Adam exhaled through his nose, offering them a small but determined smile. "Okay, boys. Game faces on."

The convoy began rolling forward, each vehicle following the next toward the looming gate. As the JLTVs rumbled ahead, Adam found himself caught in thought. Despite the countless missions he'd undertaken before—some in hostile deserts, others in dense urban sprawls—this one felt different. It wasn't just another assignment for Delta or the Marines. This was a milestone for humanity itself. They were crossing into an alien world, engaging in a conflict no one had ever imagined.

Hill's voice broke through his reverie. "You all right, sir? Never seen you look so nervous."

Before Adam could respond, Perez leaned back with a mischievous grin. "Nervous? Nah. He's just wondering if he's gonna meet some hot otherworlder babe on this mission. Can't say I'd blame him, either."

Andrew rolled his eyes. "Goddamn it, Perez. Don't drag Adam into your crap. You're the only man-whore in this squad."

Adam chuckled under his breath. "Calm down, Dru. And no, I'm not thinking about girls, Perez. I'm done trying."

Perez shook his head with mock disappointment. "Aw, come on, boss. Don't give up that easy. Who knows? Maybe fate's got something waiting for you on the other side."

Adam gave a half-shrug. "Maybe... I don't know, man."

The truck ahead of them entered the gate, vanishing as if it had slipped through a veil of darkness. Adam felt the weight of the unknown press down on him, but he took a deep breath, steadying himself.

He reached for the radio. "Overlord, this is Bravo 1-1. Bravo 1 is entering the gate."

Blackburn's voice came back, steady and calm. "Overlord copies, Bravo 1-1. Good luck out there. Out."

Adam exhaled slowly, his heart steadying as he eased his foot onto the gas. The JLTV rumbled forward, crossing the threshold into the gate. Everything went black—the world was swallowed whole by the darkness. For a moment, the only thing Adam could see was the faint red glow of taillights from the vehicle ahead. Then, as if the curtain lifted, the darkness broke, and they emerged into a new world.





The Special Region – Nighttime

The instant they exited the gate, the roar of combat hit them. Gunfire cracked through the air, punctuated by the distant shouts of soldiers. JSDF troops and U.S. Marines had already dismounted, exchanging fire with an enemy force that was barely visible in the darkness.

Adam's instincts kicked in, his mind sharpening with purpose. He scanned the battlefield, then turned to his team. "All right, Dru and Perez, with me. We're dismounting. Hill, stay on the JLTV, man the CROWS. Let's move, people!"

The three men jumped out of the JLTV, boots hitting the ground with a thud. Hill wasted no time, sliding into the driver's seat and maneuvering the vehicle into a defensive position. Once in place, he clambered into the gunner's seat and activated the CROWS system. The thermal display flickered to life, painting the screen with enemy heat signatures glowing like embers in the night.

Hill scanned the battlefield, locking onto a target. His hands gripped the controls with precision honed through years of experience. "Got you," he muttered, squeezing the trigger.

The M2 Browning roared to life, spitting fire and lead into the night. The rhythmic chug of the heavy machine gun echoed across the battlefield, cutting through the enemy ranks. Shadows fell as the enemy soldiers were mowed down by the .50 caliber rounds, the dull explosions of their bodies lost beneath the constant din of battle.

Meanwhile, Adam, Andrew, and Perez sprinted toward cover, rifles at the ready. They weaved between parked vehicles and sandbags, closing the distance to the JSDF soldiers holding the front line. Adam's heart pounded in his chest, the familiar thrill of combat surging through him.

"Contact front!" Perez called out, raising his SCAR-20 PR and taking aim.

Adam followed suit, his HK416 snapping to his shoulder. He squeezed the trigger, and the rifle kicked in his hands, sending rounds downrange. Andrew was right beside him, his own shots cracking through the chaos.

Hill's voice crackled over the radio. "CROWS is engaging targets. Keep pushing forward, boys."





The Imperial Senate, Sadera

March 19, 2028 – 07:00 (18th day of the Crescent Moon, 638)

The grand chamber of the Imperial Senate seethed with chaos. Senators shouted over one another, their voices mixing into an uproar of discord. Just days ago, the invincible Imperial Army—the pride of the Empire—had suffered not one but two humiliating defeats. These foreign invaders had taken Alnus Hill, an act that would have been unthinkable only weeks ago. Now, panic and fury gripped the room. Some called for war to the bitter end, while others begged for a reason.

Marquis Casel El Tiberius sat among the latter, his weathered face tight with frustration as the clamor grew louder. He rose from his seat, his voice cutting through the din with steady authority.

"We have lost," Casel declared, forcing silence from those closest to him. "Half the Imperial Army is gone, and Alnus Hill, our sacred ground, now lies in the hands of these invaders. If we persist in this war without reconsidering our strategy, we will lose everything."

A senator in deep crimson robes shot to his feet, his face twisted with contempt. "Casel El Tiberius, what nonsense is this? You would have us kneel to barbarians? What happened to honor? To our pride as citizens of the Empire?"

Another senator, seated a few rows away, sneered at the first. "Honor? Is that what you call sending more of our sons to die in hopeless battles? How will you explain that to grieving mothers? 'Your son gave his life to uphold honor in a war we cannot win'? Tell me, is that truly the legacy you want for the Empire?"

The chamber erupted again into furious argument. Some senators demanded the Empire fight to the last man, while others warned of the cost—of more empty homes, more broken families, and the weakening of the Empire's economy.

At the head of the chamber, seated on his raised throne, Emperor Molt Sol Augustus watched the chaos unfold with growing impatience. He drummed his fingers against the polished armrest, his cold gaze sweeping over the room. The Senate, as always, frustrated him to no end—endless arguments and bickering, yet no real progress.

At last, he raised a hand, and the chamber fell into a tense silence. His presence commanded obedience, and the senators knew better than to ignore him when he spoke.

"Marquis Casel El Tiberius," Molt began, his voice measured but regal, "I understand your concerns. Truly, I do. Yet consider the legacy of our Empire, built over generations through struggle and sacrifice. In times of crisis, our citizens have always risen to the occasion, united by purpose and pride. This moment shall be no different."

Casel bowed his head slightly. "Your Grace, I respect the strength of our traditions. But even if we muster new armies and raise taxes to prolong this war, it won't be sustainable in the long run."

An imperial general, dressed in full ceremonial armor, stood and saluted. "Your Majesty, if it is men we lack, the solution is simple. We need only recruit more from our vassal states. Then we can attack the other side of the gate again, as we did before."

The senator beside him scoffed. "What good will brute force do? Do you wish to repeat another disaster like Alnus?"

Molt's lips curled into a small, calculated smile. For years, the vassal states had been a thorn in his side—always threatening rebellion, withholding tribute, and testing the limits of his patience. The emperor now saw an opportunity to turn the invaders into a weapon against his disloyal subjects.

He rose from his throne, his robes flowing as he addressed the room. "I do not intend to sit idly by while these invaders mock our sovereignty. Send word to our tributaries and neighboring states. Inform them that the defense of this continent demands their full support. Together, we will form an allied army—Godu Rino Gwaban—and march on Alnus Hill. The invaders shall be crushed beneath our combined might."

The chamber stood in stunned silence for a heartbeat. Then, as if ignited by the emperor's words, it erupted into thunderous cheers. Senators pounded their fists on tables, shouting in agreement. The fervor for war drowned out the small voice of reason that still lingered among a few.

"All hail the emperor!" one senator cried. "Glory to the Empire!"

Another shouted, "We'll drive these barbarians back to their cursed world and slaughter them all!"

Amid the triumphant roar, Casel El Tiberius remained seated, his heart sinking deeper with every cheer. The sheer foolishness unfolding before his eyes was unbearable. The Empire, so long convinced of its invincibility, could not comprehend the reality that a superior enemy now stood at their gates.

He rose slowly, turning to the emperor one last time. "Your Majesty," he said, his voice heavy with resignation, "this will be a bloodbath."

Molt offered him a cold, indifferent smile. "Then let the blood flow, Marquis."



Allied Army Command Tent

March 21, 2028 – 18:22 (21st day of the Crescent Moon, 638)

The atmosphere inside the Allied Army Command Tent was charged with anticipation. Nobles from the Empire's tributaries, ranging from small fiefdoms to vast kingdoms, had gathered in response to Emperor Molt's call to arms. Each noble was driven by a mix of glory, prestige, and the promise of plunder, eager to prove their mettle against the foreign invaders. At the center of this assembly sat King Duran of the Kingdom of Elbe, the most seasoned veteran of the battlefield, whose wisdom had earned him the role of strategist for the allied forces.

Duran leaned back in his chair, a cloud of doubt shadowing his thoughts. News of the Imperial Army's recent defeats at the hands of these invaders weighed heavily on him. Memories of past campaigns whispered caution in his ears, warning him against the arrogance that had led many great commanders to ruin.

"Hmph, another day, another battle," he muttered, his mind racing with the implications of what lay ahead.

"Your Majesty," an aide interrupted, bowing slightly, "the other nobles are awaiting your presence."

"Very well," Duran replied, nodding. "Tell them to meet me in the tent in five minutes."

"As you wish, sir," the aide said before departing.

When the nobles entered the tent, Duran scrutinized them with a practiced eye. Younger nobles strutted in with an air of confidence that bordered on arrogance, eager for glory. In contrast, their older counterparts exhibited a cautious pride, their expressions betraying the hard-earned wisdom of years spent in war. "Balancing these personalities will be harder than the battle ahead," he mused inwardly.

As the gathering settled, an Imperial soldier burst into the tent, urgency etched on his face.

"The Imperial Army is currently engaging the enemy at Alnus. The commander cannot leave," the soldier announced, catching Duran's attention.

"That doesn't make any sense," Duran replied, brow furrowing. "There weren't many enemies on the hill from what I could see."

Just then, Duke Ligu of the League Principality stepped forward, a reassuring presence among the chaos. Duran and Ligu shared a long history of facing various challenges, from quelling rebellions to confronting threats from the dark races. If anyone could calm the storm brewing inside Duran's mind, it was Ligu.

"Duran, sir," Ligu began, "the Imperial Army is merely holding the enemy at bay in our stead. We ought to be grateful for their sacrifice."

The Imperial soldier nodded. "My commander has requested that your armies prepare to attack at dawn tomorrow."

"Very well, my army will take the front," declared the King of Alguna.

"No, mine will!" countered the King of Mudwan, igniting a bickering match among the nobles.

Duran sighed, feeling defeated as he watched the squabble unfold. He could already see the writing on the wall. While the other nobles spoke of crushing the invaders with their combined might, Duran couldn't shake the gnawing feeling that it wouldn't be that simple.





The Day After

March 22, 2028 – 07:00 (22nd day of the Crescent Moon, 638)

As dawn broke and the morning dust settled, the Allied Kingdom armies set forth towards Alnus Hill. The ranks swelled with a diverse mix of soldiers: seasoned human warriors, mages, goblins, orcs, and an array of fantastical beings, all convinced that victory lay within their grasp. Little did they know that hidden in the shadows, soldiers from the JSDF and Bravo squadron's Stephen Perez were watching intently.

"Staff Sergeant Perez," a JSDF soldier reported, eyes fixed on the horizon, "I've got the enemy moving toward Alnus Hill from the trail ahead. They've crossed the line of contact."

"Alright, nice job," Perez replied, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Thank you, sir. Um, what are we going to do now?" the soldier asked hesitantly.

"First, stop calling me 'sir.' I'm not some officer," Perez said, rolling his eyes. "Second, we're going to call in artillery and pull back. Simple enough, right?"

As he spoke, Perez grabbed the radio and contacted the fire direction center, codenamed "Boardwalk."

"Boardwalk, Boardwalk. This is Bravo 1-3. The enemy has crossed the line of contact. Fire for effect, over."

"Bravo 1-3, this is Boardwalk. Fire for effect, out."

"Target Reference Point Echo, shift 50 meters left, over."

"Target Reference Point Echo, shift 50 meters left, out."

"Enemy army field group out in the open, over."

"Enemy army field group out in the open, out."

Perez remained patient as the silence hung heavy in the air. He knew the team at Boardwalk was coordinating the response, drawing from the best minds in the coalition to determine their next moves.

"Message to observer: AB in effect. Fifty rounds, target number AB 7567, over."

"Message to observer: AB in effect. Fifty rounds, target number AB 7567, out."

"Shot, over."

"Shot, out."

As the shells began to rain down, Perez watched with a mixture of pity and grim satisfaction. It wasn't the enemy's suffering that caught his attention, but the effectiveness of the artillery. He adjusted their fire as needed, focused on the task at hand.

"Right, 25, repeat, over."

"Right, 25, repeat, out."

"Shot, over."

"Shot, out."

Satisfied with the results, Perez ended the fire mission.

"End of mission. Enemy infantry and cavalry suppressed. Estimated casualties..."

"Bravo 1-3, say again. Estimated enemy casualties?"

"Sorry, Boardwalk, enemy casualties are too high to count. How copy?"

"...Roger that, Bravo 1-3. Boardwalk out."

The JSDF soldier beside Perez gaped, his expression a mix of disbelief and horror. "Holy shit, poor bastards."

"Hey, quit gawking. Let's get the hell out of here," Perez replied tersely.

As the explosions rattled Alnus Hill and chaos erupted, Duran felt a terrible premonition gnawing at him. He rushed to the front lines, desperate to understand the situation. What he saw sent chills down his spine: the ground was littered with bodies, some torn apart, while the acrid stench of charred flesh filled the air. Even the most hardened knights and footmen struggled to keep their composure, many retching at the gruesome sight.

"What happened?" Duran shouted, his voice cracking. "Where is the King of Alguna? Where is the King of Mudwan? Where is Duke Ligu?"

"Your Majesty, what should we do now?" an aide stammered, panic evident in his eyes.

Duran hesitated, torn between instinct and logic. He knew they had suffered significant losses, yet they still outnumbered the enemy. Surely, this could lead to an easy victory, couldn't it?

"We shall push on," he declared, steeling himself against the dread creeping into his heart. "Their magic won't last forever. We will avenge our fallen!"



Camp Alnus, "Special Region"

March 22, 2028 – 08:22 (22nd day of the Crescent Moon, 638)

Adam leaned back against the hood of a JLTV, exhaustion weighing heavily on him. The enemy, despite wielding weapons that seemed outdated by their standards, just kept coming. "Why can't they understand they're outmatched?" he thought, the weariness of deployment beginning to seep into his bones. As his mind started to drift, he heard a familiar voice break through the fog of fatigue.

"Hey, Yank, why don't you get off your ass and do something useful?" Itami's voice rang out.

"Oh, fuck off," Adam shot back, sitting up. "Compared to you, I've been doing a lot of useful things."

"You call laying on the hood of your vehicle useful?" Itami chuckled, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

"Hey, if I've learned anything during my time in service and constant deployments, it's to take all the breaks you can. As my pop used to say, 'An alert soldier is a good soldier.'"

With that, Adam slid off the hood and began walking alongside Itami, his earlier fatigue momentarily forgotten.

"Oh, by the way," Adam said casually, "I heard you got a promotion."

"Yeah," Itami replied, a hint of surprise in his tone. "Apparently, being a 'Hero' gives you a major boost when climbing the ranks. I wanted to refuse it but figured it'd leave a bad taste."

"Well, however you feel, congratulations, Lieutenant Yoji Itami," Adam said with a smirk.

As he mentioned Itami's new rank, a realization struck Itami.

"Wait, doesn't this mean I outrank you? Heh, guess you're gonna have to call me 'sir' now."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Slow down," Adam laughed, holding up his hands. "Even if you do outrank me, I've got a hell of a lot more experience downrange. And, as a wise man once said, 'Experience outranks everything.'"

"Star Wars, really?" Itami raised an eyebrow.

"Hey, it's a good quote," Adam defended, a grin still plastered on his face.

Suddenly, the base alarm blared to life, cutting their banter short.

"All personnel assume defensive positions. Incoming hostile forces, 4 klicks north."

"Oh, fucking hell," Adam cursed, feeling the rush of adrenaline kick in.

"It looks like break's over. Come on, people, let's move!" Itami barked, springing into action.

As they hurried to their positions, they ran into Hill, who was already speaking with a group of U.S. Marines.

"Sitrep," Adam commanded, slipping into his role as the experienced leader.

"Boss, Itami," Hill replied, his expression serious. "We've got an incoming enemy army field group—about 200,000 strong."

"Really? Are you sure about that, Hill?" Itami's tone shifted from casual to concerned.

"Yeah," Hill nodded. "The numbers came straight from Perez and the other personnel in the Forward Observation Post."

A U.S. Marine stepped forward, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. "What do we do, sir?"

"Hold fire unless they get too close," Adam instructed, his voice steady. "Just let the artillery and tanks do their work."

As Adam finished his sentence, distant explosions echoed through the air, a grim reminder of the conflict unfolding around them. He shrugged, trying to maintain a sense of calm despite the mounting tension, and pulled out a cigarette.



Allied Army Tent

March 22, 2028 – 17:52 (22nd day of the Crescent Moon, 638)

The air inside the tent was thick with despair, the mood heavy and oppressive. Around a large wooden table, several nobles sat slumped in their chairs, their faces pale with fear. The situation had turned bleak, and morale had plummeted beyond recovery.

"How did it come to this?" one noble whispered, his voice trembling. "We set out with nearly 100,000 men, and now look at us. Less than half remain. How could this have happened?"

"Where is the Imperial Army? What are they doing?" another demanded, anger masking his fear.

"Not even the Imperial Army could stand against this kind of power," a third noble murmured, casting a wary glance at the entrance of the tent. "Should we not retreat while we still can?"

Amid the despair, one man stood unwavering. Lord Duran's hands rested calmly on the pommel of his sword, his expression grim but resolute. His heart burned with a fierce need for vengeance, the memory of his fallen friend driving him forward like an arrow loosed from a bow.

"We cannot run," Duran said, his voice steady despite the chaos surrounding him. "Not before I repay them."

"Lord Duran," one of the nobles began, his tone desperate, "we don't have the strength. Our forces are—"

"Perhaps," Duran interrupted, "we could manage a night raid."

The room fell silent as the suggestion lingered in the air, the nobles exchanging uncertain glances. None of them wanted to stay, but Duran's will left no room for argument.





Observation Post – Sierra

March 22, 2028 – 21:52

The cold night had settled in, casting long shadows over the landscape. On a hill overlooking the battlefield, Andrew scanned the terrain through his binoculars, the silence broken only by the occasional clink of gear and the low murmur of soldiers on watch.

"See anything?" Andrew asked, not taking his eyes off the horizon.

"No, sir," a Marine replied, adjusting his scope.

Andrew lowered his binoculars, the unease growing in his gut.

"Keep looking," he said quietly. "They're out there."

A nearby JSDF soldier glanced at him, frowning. "How are you so sure, sir?"

Andrew shrugged. "Just a gut feeling."

Minutes passed in tense silence as the soldiers and Marines continued their watch, scanning every shadow and treeline for movement. Suddenly, one of the Marines stiffened, his hand shooting out to adjust his binoculars.

"Sir!" he whispered sharply. "Enemy spotted—back trails, moving east!"

Andrew raised his own binoculars, his jaw tightening as he saw them. A massive column of soldiers snaked through the forest trails, slipping around the flanks.

"How many?" Andrew asked.

The Marine swallowed, his voice tight with disbelief. "Tens of thousands, sir. Four klicks east of the base."

Andrew's heart hammered in his chest, but his voice remained calm as he grabbed his radio and keyed the mic.

"Alnus Base, this is Forward Observation Post Sierra," he said. "Enemy has breached the line of contact. Four klicks east of your position. Over."

The radio crackled to life with a swift response.

"Roger that, Sierra. Out."





Allied Forces Advance

Duran crouched low as he and his men slipped through the darkness, their armor muffled by cloth to prevent clanking. His heart surged with hope. If they could reach the hill and catch the invaders unaware, victory might still be within reach. The gods, it seemed, had not yet forsaken them.

But then it happened.

Suddenly, the night was torn apart by an unnatural light, blinding and brilliant, as if miniature suns had materialized in the sky. They cascaded downward with an eerie grace, trailing fire and metal. The ground shook beneath Duran's feet, and a terrible sense of dread gripped his heart.

"This... this can't be..." Duran whispered, staring up at the descending barrage. It was as though the gods had judged them and found them wanting.

"No!" he roared, his voice cutting through the din of panic. "Forward! Forward, men! Footmen to the front! Cavalry, charge immediately!"

Madness consumed him as he kicked his horse into a gallop, leading the charge with reckless abandon. But in his frenzy, he failed to see the barbed wire stretched out before him. His horse stumbled and reared, throwing him violently to the ground.

Dazed but alive, Duran staggered to his feet just as his loyal guards rushed to form a shield wall around him.

"No!" he shouted, coughing from the dust and smoke. "Move away! Don't bunch up!"

But it was too late. The deadly rain of explosions consumed them, the enemy's relentless fire tearing through their ranks with terrifying precision. The bodies of his guards crumpled around him, one by one, as their shields proved no match for the enemy's otherworldly might.

Duran gritted his teeth, grabbed a fallen bow, and notched an arrow. His hands shook, but his aim was true. He loosed the arrow into the night, fulfilling the promise he had made to himself.

"How..." he whispered, his voice cracking. "How could this have happened?"

A bitter laugh escaped his lips as the final light flashed. Then everything went dark.





"The Killing Fields" Special Region

March 23, 2028 – 06:23 (23rd day of the Crescent Moon, 638)

The early morning sun cast pale light over the battlefield. All around, the ground was scorched and littered with bodies, charred earth mingling with the stench of death. Itami and Kurata stood at the edge of the devastation, silent as they surveyed the aftermath of the battle.

Kurata's expression twisted with discomfort. "I heard we killed 70,000 of them," he muttered.

"Sixty thousand in Ginza," Itami replied softly. "Seventy thousand more here. That's 130,000 dead."

Kurata shifted uneasily. "Are you worried about the enemy, sir?"

A voice interrupted them from behind.

"There's no use worrying about the enemy," the man said calmly. "You just gotta focus on what's ahead."

Both men turned to see a figure crouching in a nearby crater. Kurata immediately noticed that the man wasn't wearing the standard MARPAT uniform of the Marines. Instead, he had on a simple grey jacket over Multicam pants. He looked different—seasoned, perhaps, but in a way that didn't fit the usual mold.

"Oh, Kurata," Itami said with a grin. "This is Master Sergeant Adam Woods. He and I go way back."

Kurata straightened and gave a polite nod. "Nice to meet you, sir."

Adam returned the nod. "Likewise, kid."

Kurata hesitated, his curiosity getting the better of him. "Uh, sir... if you don't mind me asking, why aren't you in uniform?"

Adam smirked. "I'm not a Marine, kid. I'm more of an army guy"

Before Kurata could ask anything else, Adam's radio crackled to life.

"Bravo 1-1, this is Overlord. Return to base, how copy?"

Adam pressed the transmit button on his radio. "Copy that, Overlord. Out."

He slung his gear over his shoulder and gave Itami a parting nod. "Looks like I gotta go. Catch you later, Itami. And kid..." He paused, smirking. "Don't take after him."

Itami rolled his eyes. "Oh, screw you, man."

With a grin, Adam turned and walked off, leaving Kurata standing beside Itami, still trying to make sense of the stranger.

"Is he always like that?" Kurata asked after a moment.

"Pretty much," Itami sighed, running a hand through his hair. "But you'll get used to it."





A/N:

- PACOM: Short for USINDOPACOM (United States Indo-Pacific Command)

I tried to make an accurate dialogue between the Forward observer (Perez) and the FDC (Boardwalk) I know I got things wrong so you Army 13 Series and Marine artillerymen (sorry can't remember your MOS) are very much welcome to correct things I got wrong thx <3