Летят самолеты, и танки горят… огонь, огонь, огонь, Агония… The disembodied, and in this case frivolous, voice of James was singing some gibberish from his world as the “panzerkampfwagen” spearhead continued its advance at what felt like a breakneck speed, so far as for tracks go. Through whatever arcane magic the gibbish from the shards managed to get translated into words he understood, with the smoothness that only supernatural forces could enable.

Out here in the seemingly vastness of the Northern Wastelands there were few agravs flying about, if only because it’s effectively a fight of bums. Quite a few tracks were burning though, along with plenty of fire and agony to go all around. The stench of burning fuel and screams of twisted metal hang in the air, overpowering the smells of burning flesh and the cries of the damned. The human element consumed by the vastness of metal and machinery that it surrounds itself with to do its bidding… but who is really in control?

“Admit it, you’re enjoying this.” Walter asked the shards in his mind. Things had been going a lot smoother ever since Earl Marshal Kurt returned back to Goten, having fulfilled the terms of his penance and thus released from his duties among the repentant levies. Although normally the strategic operations since then were being managed by Therese, the princess was shewed enough to leave the actual work to Walter… or merely too lazy to be bothered with the tediousness of all the paperwork and planning that goes into bringing the likes of her to glorious victories.

“Merely not hating this maddening existence for once. Out here it’s simple, more like in the videogames and those shitty isekai stories.” Came the internal reply from James, as lacking in context as ever. “None of that hypocritical morality nonsense that only fools like you still follow.” It seemed that he was still somewhat resentful of what transpired the last time he met with Kurt.

“The obligations to moral virtues do not disappear just because we crossed borders.” Walter reminded the uppity voice in his head. The constant vigilance against the forces of temptations and corruptions were trying enough as is without

“Ha! As if they were any in the first place.” Came the biting retort. “While we’re at it, where the fuck did you even suddenly find religion?” That question hit Walter all the harder, mainly in its lack of malice or sarcasm.

“I beg your pardon?” Walter asked, fishing for more context as an explosion nearby threw up plums of dirt, some coating the track that he’s on. While they might be advancing and winning, that does not mean that the violence has stopped. If anything

“You didn’t have such a stick up your arse back in your school days.” James replied.

“That was before the kiss of the fields.” Walter responded, the internal awkward silence that greeted him realized that the shards might have been asleep or distracted when that phrase was taught. Sometimes it do be like that with the shards. “It’s the brushes with death that focus one’s mind and soul on what’s important in life, and of the things that one should cherish. An epiphany, a moment of clarity, so to speak.”

“So this is what brain damage due to excess concussions sounds like.” The line from the shards was delivered in the usual dismissive tone, but for the first time there was a tinge of something else. Something that vaguely resembles uncertainty.

Then again, perhaps he’s just imagining all that. Heck, the real question is what isn’t being imagined or simply gaps being filled in. Is James real? The shards? Did he just made all of this up to disassociate himself from all those crazy and blasphemous thoughts?

Another nearby explosion rocked him out of his idle musings, bringing his attention back to the ongoing fight in the material world. It was another stray shot from one of the enemy mechas, futilely trying to take out the tracks. However, there’s simply too many of them, with the safety of sheer numbers forcing panic among the enemy, who with their jittery nerves became less accurate in their firing.

The invasion of the Turiacs was surprisingly smooth, almost suspiciously so. The initial battles, though barely large enough to count as skirmishes, were real, genuine victories for the tracks as they smashed the border levies of the Turiac forces. Small though those skirmishes were, they were still as brutal as any that came before… or after.

Something lit, or snapped, within them however, and now, as for the past handful of months since those now seemingly insignificant skirmishes, they were advancing, rushing, deep into the desolate Northern Wastelands, much like animals running towards the open gate of a cage.

As he watched through a pair of binoculars as a pair of Turiac mechas made a brave but ultimately futile last stand, quickly disappearing in clouds of dust and flame as a hailstorm of rounds smashed into them and the ground around. Once the dust cleared there was only shrapnel and scraps, as the luckless mechas and their pilots joined many of their compatriots before them.

The tracks are finally coming onto their own as a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield. Sure, the Turiacs weren’t known for their military prowess, and their kriegmeisters barely deserve the title of such. Still, they have come a long way from being fodder buying time for the real heroes to finally capable of going toe to toe against the gifts of the gods themselves, all in the span of a handful of years. Something that James had repeatedly muttered as an impossibility outside of things like “trash fics” and “shitty wish fulfillment”.

Wish fulfillment? Perhaps, for wishes are always fulfilled at the cost of something, somewhere. They certainly paid the costs already, in the wounded and the dead. And the costs will continue to be paid, as the crusades for redemptions rages on.

……​

It was nearing dusk when the forces reached yet another unremarkable Turiac village, a collection of dreary concrete blocks, all bearing the worn looks of the ancients who wished for the blessed release of oblivion. The narrow streets were completely deserted, with no human nor animal saved one lone old man, who was armed with a rusted pitchfork. The hardened gaze of

A thick silence descended, saved for the rumbling of the engines idling, a stark reminder of the violence of the past, present, and undoubtedly future.

“Orders?” The single word question hung in the air as the seconds dragged on. For some reason, this hit differently. Stripped of the metal and machines, the lone opponent seemed to focus the complexities of the conflict into clarity. A clarity that Walter didn’t want to face once he recognized it. Meanwhile James was reminded of the last time he and the person he inhabited in experienced such a power disparity. A mildier but still uncomfortable thought to chew over.

Suddenly the man disappeared into a cloud of dust and fire as a heavy caliber round smashed into him and the ground around. Before any of them could react a voice cracked over the comms.

“If you can’t finish the job, then leave it to those who are worthy.” The voice of Therese snapped out, an air of annoyance at the hesitation of the tracks and by extension Walter. The line was cut before he could respond, but obviously Therese had then given additional commands to the kriegmeisters as a moment later a storm of firepower was unleashed into the town, which within the minute was reduced to a mass unmarked grave for the thousands of innocents who had called their home. Hundreds of years of history disappeared in the blink of an eye and the pent of rage of the privileged discharged itself upon the defenseless.

As the kriegmeisters wade into the still smoldering embers, firing the occasional shot at the odd unlucky survivor with seemingly sadistic glee Walter fiddled with the comms, trying to establish a comm link with Therese.

“Why?” Was the only word he could croak out once a line was established. He couldn’t understand, while James only looked on internally in contempt from a meta perspective, whatever that means.

“Why what?” Came the contemptuous reply from Therese, who’s boredom was the only reason she even entertained acknowledging the call. It seemed that the fool still had his head stuck in the quagmire of delusions.

“Why that!” Walter has by then popped out of the hatch of his command track, waving a hand at the unnecessary destruction all around that they had caused. “What of your honor?!?”

“The privileges of civilization are not afforded to the forsaken.” Came the biting reply.

“And is that how honor and chivalry works? On technicalities?” Walter shouted back into the comms, not believing what he had just heard. Sure, James had long convinced him that Therese had not abandoned her villainess ways if not gotten worse since she started her road of repentance, but to be that blatant and cavalier about it, even out here so far from civilization?

“The matter is closed.” Therese said with a finality as she cut the link, leaving Walter to stew in his thoughts as the death and destruction brought upon by the kriegmeisters continues unabated.

Slowly taking off his headset, Walter buried his head in his hands and wept. It’s all so hopeless, he just wanted to do his duty. Yet so far he has only dug a bottomless pit, with no end in sight with either the bottom or his digging. Even James, still living rent free in a distant corner of his mind, was concerned, even if it’s more of his own selfish matters.

“Look, just a few well placed shots, and that bitch would stop being a problem.” James finally suggested. The kriegmeisters had by then mostly wrapped with their orgy of violence, only taking the occasional sporting potshots at the odd fleeing villager. “And I don’t think you care about what happens to yourself afterwards either.”

And James was right. It seems that by living he manages to just make things worse. A meaningful collateral suicide would at least put a stop to this continued dumpster fire that’s his miserable existence…

“No. I cannot throw away the lives of those in my care.” Walter replied, taking a step back from the abyss. A collateral suicide would be easy precisely because of the consequences would be spread out more than just himself. It would be the selfish choice of putting his own wants before what should be done.

“Point taken.” James acknowledged the issue with little fuss, much to Walter’s surprise. In fact, he could have sworn he saw a shrug from James, despite the shards still being incorporeal and all.

“That’s it?” Walter asked, having expected more of a fight from what’s rapidly becoming his alternate moral advocate.

“Sometimes even a fool like you have a point too.” James finally responded after a moment. “It’s actually quite easy to be a hard man making hard choices while hard. But it’s quite a whole other thing to actually make the true hard choices. Better pray for moral fortitude, because you’ll need it soon enough.”

And with that Walter was left in internal silence, a genuine fear chunning in the pit of his stomach. Far more is at stake than mere lives, but also of souls.

And with the existence of James proving the existence of something after the physical existence of life, the question of how to die has never been more important…