Heroes to Hunted

There are no heroes in war.

'To think I once thought differently.'

In a time that Sato had felt was so distant, so detached from his current reality, his aspirations were as bright as the afternoon sun. An optimism that would yield none.

Or so he thought. 

Ultimately, the light within him wasn't everlasting, but deceivingly fleeting–a moon that had simply yet to wane. Such naivety was extinguished once Sato learned that war, real war, wasn't the romanticized feat of glory it had always been painted to be.

War was just a means to cultivate the most profound of fears. It was an event that left one paranoid, shaken, and broken to the core. As for the battlefield? Such a place was where one's morals went to die. They'd be cast aside–shed like molted serpent skin and left to rot on the bloodied ground below.

It was for these reasons that Sato…

'It's a joke. All of this.'

 …found it impossible to believe that heroes could be forged in the crucible of the dead and dying.

Quite the contrary.

Akin to the underworld's influence, those all-engulfing flames served only to melt away the shell of one's humanity. And, from within those molten ashes, a shadow of what once was would emerge: a true monster.

The deep reverb of a distant explosion echoed across the city skyline. The streets–once peace-loving–had been transformed into a battlefield trampled by the boots of clashing modern infantry.

Amongst the chaos slumped a single man. His name: Sato Katsuro. 

"Guess I'm still kicking," he strained beneath his breath. A wall of coarse concrete tingled his back.

Ears: intensely ringing with the fury of a tolling bell. 

An unnaturally loud thunderclap punched through the heavens and repeated popping of gunfire. Then another. And yet another. They were the consequence borne from modern war machines as they carved new scars into concrete flesh.

Eyes: blurred to obscurity and burning with a stinging dryness. 

Looming above his view were titans of glass and steel. Their sleek, modern forms were now gnarled beyond recognition. Pillars of blackened smoke belched forth from within their frames. Each column swirled together to form a massive ashen cloud.

Nose: crinkled in disgust by the disturbing odor lacing the seaborne winds. 

Sato flared his nostrils and swallowed a deep breath. He hoped to catch a whiff of the salt in the air. Yet it wasn't the aroma of the open sea that flowed so freely across the wind. It was offensive–a gut-wrenching mix of bittered copper. 

"Gunpowder and blood," he muttered, then winced from a constant throb jabbing his innards. He shifted his body to relieve it to no avail. The feeling only worsened. It echoed across his flesh like lightning bursting free from his fingertips.

"Some…help would be nice. How're the rest doing?"

Sato narrowed his eyes upon his team's armored transport. What was left of it.

The vehicle had become a heap of flaming scrap with trails of fuel bleeding from the within. Once they'd made contact with the orange embers below, each bloomed into rivers of serpentine yellow flames.

His comrades were next. Those brief bonds of duty were now severed, fragmented into a confetti of flesh splayed across the ground. The puddles of gore were enough to make Sato's stomach churn to nausea.

"This is hell."

Slowly, Sato slid his eyes over the ground. As he announced the dead to himself, the world seemed to grow lonelier, darker, and colder. It was as if the weight of isolation were tightening around his neck like a strung noose, choking him as it slithered shut. 

Sato's eyes fell upon his final squad member. They were yet another kill-confirmed.

"Well, that's it." Sato bit deep into his bottom lip. The sting of his right canine digging into skin matched the frustration he felt inside. "I'm the last one left."

Gazing over these recently departed souls, a growing melancholy ached in the soldier's chest. Yet he did not weep. Though those lost were friends, or as close as Sato could ever come to it, he couldn't muster the strength for tears. He was too tired.

'It's just how it is,' he thought. He cast his gaze beyond the smoke to see another squad down the block. Bullets whizzed past them in a flurry of streaks as they huddled behind what cover they could find.

'I should get a move-on. Can't stop yet.' 

Sato latched his hand around the armbar of a nearby street bench and pulled. He'd lifted himself inches from the ground when his strength sapped away. He tumbled back to the ground, banging his head on the wall behind him.

"W-What?"

Bewilderment lit up Sato's face like a flame. He couldn't believe that the body he'd been training for so many years was failing such a simple task. Then the realization struck: though he hadn't followed his comrades to a swift afterlife, his body was far from unscathed.

Sato blinked. His eyes moved downward to assess the damage. 'Wonder what kinda medal I'll get,' he thought, a crooked smirk tugging at his lips.

The skin of his arms were shredded, frayed like a rope worn to threads. Both of his legs were mangled in ways he hadn't thought possible. A pool of crimson spread between them, and a jagged bone jutted from his right shin, resembling a shank of meat waiting to be carved. Finally, a large fragment of sharpened metal had pierced straight through his stomach.

A tired sigh left the soldier's lips. "...a medal won't cover this."

The fact he hadn't noticed these injuries until now proved the kind of shock the soldier was in. Though his body was battered and broken, Sato couldn't feel a thing.

"I'm not walking this one off. Maybe it's my time, after all."

The turn of events was no surprise; a sudden death had always been part of the job description. What did shock Sato was his agreement to the mission to begin with. Even on paper, he and his team knew they'd be forced to make the ultimate sacrifice.

"Yet we all nodded our heads. We're fools, aren't we?" 

A large hostile fleet had pierced the protective naval blockade defending Japan's shores from Western incursions. 

Unobstructed, the foreign forces targeted several Japanese strongholds–one of which housed military personnel that were resting or injured from a previous mission. Unfortunately for Sato, his team was one of many tasked with defending against a force much greater than his.

During the fighting, the air was a riot of noise–the snap of bullets, the thunder of collapsing walls, the shouts of desperate voices. Yet above the chaos, a whistle cut through the air, high and shrill, like a blade slicing glass. It seemed to burrow into the ears, setting nerves on edge and forcing hands to tremble.

'Maybe they're finally doing something,' was Sato's thought at the time. He averted his eyes upward toward the source. So much did he hope it was much-needed aid from Central Command. That it would swoop in and save a dying day right in the nick of time.

But reality's truth was always harsh. After seeing it, Sato's heart sank into hopelessness, quickly followed by buckling knees.

"I should have known there'd be no 'saving' for us…"

That sound wasn't a timely aid like a hero on horseback. Its origin was far more ominous.

That whistle…

Growing louder, and louder...

It was the harbinger of death–an artillery shell.

Back to the present, Sato looked toward home. There were dozens of transports fleeing with evacuating civilians and soldiers. It was evident that he wouldn't be on one of them.

"The bastards abandoned us," he cursed beneath his breath.

That's when an encroaching flame crawled ever closer. A few moments later, Sato found himself completely engulfed.

Sato clenched his bloodied fingers with an opening mouth. He wanted to scream but no breath was left. He'd become a human torch–blanketed in a heat so intense his blood seemed to boil beneath his skin. Yet, strangely, his flesh began to feel the coldest it had ever been.

'Someone…help me…' he pleaded into the sky. But only Death stared back, his visage not bearing that of a dark hood and scythe, but dozens of spear-tipped missiles riding upon tails of white-hot propellant.

They were high above the city lines, streaking across the skyline and heading straight for the convoys he had fought to protect. In a matter of seconds, his sacrifice, the sacrifice of all of his comrades…it would all have been for nothing.

Sato closed his eyes with gritted teeth. 'How could I expect anything different? How could I have expected to make a difference? Did I really expect to die a hero? To MEAN something?!'

The darkness was closing in on all sides. His hearing was dulled, all sound fading into the loud droning of a constant hum. He laughed.

'I'm such an idiot,' Sato thought. 'I'm an idiot and…' 

A lone tear rolled down his ashen cheek.

"...I don't want to die."

***

Sato regained consciousness to find himself in an odd situation.

'It's so dark…'

He blinked, but nothing changed. All around him was the darkest black, as if he had been swallowed whole by a giant beast. There was nothing. No sound, no light, no scent–only an oppressive, all-encompassing void.

His pulse quickened, or did it? If Sato could feel, he knew his every heartbeat would've pounded against his chest like a batten drum. He reached out, fingers desperately grasping for something, anything, to hold on to, but his hands met only the same impenetrable darkness.

'Is this it? Am I dead?'

Curious, the soldier scanned the space around him. 'I kind of expected…more?'

Indeed, there was nothing awaiting him. 

No reward for good deeds, nor a reprisal for sins committed. 

Just…nothing. In this space, Sato was the only being present; a lonesome speck of existence left to float within a vast plain devoid of it.

'Will I be alone here…forever?'

His life flashed before his eyes. His every choice and his every regret, everyone he'd ever met and everyone he'd ever lost–they all appeared and vanished in front of him like flickering scenes of film.

'I wonder if anyone will remember me? Will I be missed?' After considering it for a moment, Sato shrugged to himself. 'Eh, probably not. I've never been much of a "people-person."'

Sato took a moment to process. He would never again see another. Never experience another winter or make another attempt at "playing the hero". Still, it would be wrong to say what Sato had felt in that moment was sadness or anger. 

Deep within Sato's chest was a sense of tranquility. The waters that were usually so turbulent within his heart and mind were still, devoid of even the smallest discordant ripple. In fact, for the first time in many years, Sato felt…

'...calm?'

Astonished, Sato drifted in silence for a few moments. It had been so long since he genuinely felt at ease. There was always a looming cloud of despair waiting for him just on the horizon. Always fear waiting around every darkened corner.

But now there was nothing. And though Sato couldn't feel it, he knew he must've worn his most heartfelt smile at that moment. 

'That's right! It's over! It's finally over!' the soldier cheered internally. 'And you know what? I could use a vacation! I won't have a care in the world! Not that I'm actually there anymore,' he internally chuckled.

Sato leaned his head back, the warmth of pure satisfaction welling up within his chest. He was fully resigned to his fate, ready to embrace his eternal rest.

'Time for a little R&-'

"-proaching…" 

A disembodied voice, faint but clear, broke through the darkness. It was masculine in nature–holding a rough and raspy quality that could only belong to a man of advanced age.

Sato's eyes snapped open and darted from side-to-side in surprise. 'What was that? Is someone out there?'

The soldier shot his eyes in every direction, trying to locate the voice's source, but his efforts were in vain. The voice seemed to echo across the void, emerging from deep within the darkness in every direction simultaneously.

"Is someone there?" Sato attempted to call out. Though his mouth performed the motions, his throat produced no sound. 

'What? I can't speak?'

A quizzical expression painted over Sato's face as he pondered, but the strange voice returned, this time sounding significantly closer. 

"-epare…ar…val…heroes."

Sato turned his head toward his best guess of the voice's origin and pondered, 'Someone's out there. Could it be one of my comrades? Or maybe an enemy?'

A moment of deliberation passed, and the soldier shrugged. 

'Who cares who it is? It doesn't matter either way. Not like they can kill me when I'm dead already.'

Abandoning a vocal response, Sato tried reaching out a hand, only to be halted by a jolt of stabbing pain as it flashed through his chest like lightning.

'What…was that?' he winced. 

Almost in response to his question, the sensation returned with a vengeance. 

It began as a pinch, a minor irritation, but as time passed, the pain only grew more severe. The pinch became a throb, and the throb became a stab. It wasn't long before Sato's body was transformed into a vessel for the word "agony."

The soldier gritted his teeth, and his head jerked backwards.

'It's like my body's being torn apart from the inside!' 

Sato keeled over and curled into a ball. The sensation of serrated needles piercing every atom of his being was a vast understatement. Even the feeling being consumed in a gout of flames was just a stub of the toe in comparison.

'Get it out of me! Get the hell out of me!' he pleaded, but time just mercilessly trickled by. The minutes felt like hours as he writhed in place. 

'Why?! Why do I have to keep suffering?!' 

Sato began to claw at his chest with desperation, seriously considering the possibility of tearing it out if it meant the suffering would cease. It wasn't long before his mind lost all sense of orientation.

Was his body lifting down? 

Was it falling up? 

Was he in control of his movements? Or was he a mere spectator doomed to suffer with no end?

Sato couldn't tell anymore. 

All he wanted was for it...

'...to end! Please just end! Let it end!'

Eventually it did. 

Several moments after Sato's plea, the searing stab in his chest began to recede in waves. Though slowly, the pain vanished back into nothingness, thumping away with each heartbeat.

'Okay… Okay… It's over. It's finally over…'

Only it wasn't. 

Relief would remain a distant memory as an odd physical sensation coiled around Sato's leg–one of the only he'd felt aside from the pain.

The soldier shifted his gaze and was confronted by an otherworldly doorway of light. Within its deepened depths, swirling waves of glittering energy danced, each bearing sparkles of strange distortion.

Then, without warning, the pressure around Sato's leg tightened, and the gateway gradually grew in size. No, it wasn't that the door's stature was growing. Instead, it was as if...

'...it's getting closer?'

A thousand possibilities thrashed through Sato's panicked mind. 

'Where's it taking me? What's going to happen? Should I fight?!' Sato braced his mind and readied his fists, only for that flicker of resistance to fade away like a spent candle.

'What's the use? It's pointless.'

Sato took another glance at the doorway and sighed in resignation.

'I'll just accept whatever comes my way. I won't fight it.'

But, little did Sato know, he couldn't have been more wrong. Wrong because his end was the beginning. The beginning of a decades-long war that would engulf a world within a fiery struggle for power and survival.

Little did he know, he was about to be dropped right in the middle of it.