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ultra-violet-heart · 2 years ago

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86 -Eighty Six- Magical Girl Regina ☆ Lena ~Fight! Galactic Cruise Battleship San Magnolia Ep. 1

This is the fan translation for the 86 -Eighty Six- Magical Girl Regina ☆ Lena ~Fight! Galactic Cruise Battleship San Magnolia side stories!

(They are original bonus side stories from the 86--EIGHTY-SIX Blu-Ray DVDs, written by Asato Asato and are illustrated by Suzume Somemiya). Will be translating all of these side stories soon. If you can, please support the full manga adaptation of these side stories (published by Comic Alive and are also illustrated by Somemiya as well here!)

Catalogue / Next Chapter (to be up soon)

Please ask my permission and credit me+this post if you will be retranslating this to other languages. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST THIS TO OTHER SITES. Please take the fan translations here with a grain of salt. If anyone is feeling generous, feel free to buy me a coffee at Ko-Fi!

Episode 1:

The catapult started to light up.

“Spell activated! Magical Girl Battle Dress: Juggernaut [1], on!”

A beam of light emanated from the launcher’s magic circle, just like a trail of footprints left by lovers on the sands of a beach, or like railroad tracks from the distant past. As if pointing the way forward, Lena stepped into that path of light stretching into the starry darkness of outer space, and her Battle Dress fluttered, woven from particles of light.

The chiffon frills of the dress overlapped each other like rose petals. It has ribbons like a kaleidoscope of butterflies, and the full-on set of this Battle Dress has various trinkets imbued with magical protection: a tiara, a brooch, bracelets, a pair of earrings, and a necklace. It resembled a beautiful fairy in a fairy tale, or something akin to a luxurious bridal dress.

The dress’s hues were all sky-blue, the color of the heavens as seen from the ground on a long-distant home planet. To Lena, who was born and was raised in a Galactic Cruise Battleship, it is a color she feels distant with, having only seen it in videos.

“Setting up the Guardian Spirit Control System. All units, Wehrwolf, Gunslinger, Sirius, Kirschblüte, stand by.”

Particles of light started to gather at the four vertices of the star-shaped brooch above her chest, materializing and fitting themselves in form of four small gems with various colors: a strong iron-blue, a clear gold, a burning-flame white, a gentle cherry blossom pink.

My four precious Guardian Spirits [2].

The space traffic controller then announced: “Launch path clear! Magical Girl, Handler [3] Regina ☆ Lena, prepare for take-off!”

The light from the launcher’s magic circle brightened, changing from a warning signal of red to a go signal of clear blue.

Taking a deep breath, she answered loudly: “Vladilena Milizé, Regina☆Lena, rolling out!”

Casting propulsion magic on her back, she soared through the vacuum of outer space. She took another deep breath after passing by the Fleet’s final defense unit. The Magical Girl Battle Dress’ barrier maintains such airtightness as a space suit, and said barrier also protects the Magical Girl from everything, including the enemies’ low-level attack magic.

Looking back, their mothership, the Galactic Cruise Battleship San Magnolia still lied in all its majesty over the sea of stars. The extremely gigantic immigrant battleship, which contained a single country inside of it, still looked large on her point of view, despite her being away from a considerable distance because of the launching and propulsion magic casted on her earlier. Even if she passed by the final defense Fleet’s barrier, she was still within range of the space traffic control communication magic from the mothership. Thus, she could directly hear the controller’s comms as well as the voices of the other Magical Girls responding to it.

“Setting up FCS [4]. Laughing Fox, Black Dog, Snow Witch, Falke, stand by.”

“Handler Owlette☆Annette [5], prepare for take-off!”

“Yeah, yeah. Henrietta von Penrose, Owlette☆Annette, rolling out!”

A figure clad in mint-green got launched from the now-pinhole-looking Magical Girl launcher catapult. Said figure stops next to Lena after the launch, shaking off dusts of light left from the propulsion magic. It is Annette, a Magical Girl around Lena’s age, and she has short silver hair and almond-shaped silver eyes.

By the way, Annette’s Battle Dress has a mint-green color, and the color of the dresses are determined by the wavelength of the Magical Girl’s innate magical power. However, for some reason, these colors are rather biased towards cutesy-looking colors like cherry pink, cream yellow, or orchid purple, so the Battle Dress colors are very, very unpopular with male Magical Girls.

Anyways.

“Owlette☆Annette, to think we share the same sortie shift!”

“For now, seems like we’ll have the same shift this whole month, Regina☆Lena!”

It is mandatory for Magical Girls to address each other by their callsigns, not their real names, when on duty. Having the ☆ on their callsigns is also mandatory. Neither Lena nor Annette knows the reason why though.

Far out of their line of sight, Annette’s eyes narrowed as she looked at a corner of their first line of defense.

“As predicted, the first offensive barrier’s been broken through… they even got the fleet of Fidos on our second line of defense.”

Their current automatic defensive system consists of the first defense line, the offensive barrier Gran Mur, and the second defense line, the Fido Fleet of automatic fighter machines, but depending on the enemy’s strength, both lines can be broken through.

In case something like this happens, Lena and the other Magical Girls are responsible for intercepting the enemy.

Lena reacted by listening clearly to the unfolding situation on the great barrier. Fortunately, it seemed.

“Looks like there’s only a few which broke through.”

“Yes… let’s finish this quickly.”

“Right.”

As the enemy’s vanguard unit came into sight, both chanted at the same time.

“Snow Witch, Activate!”

“Wehrwolf, Activate! Enchant, Sirius!”

On the brooch on Annette’s chest, a snow-white gem flashed and vanished, but at the same time a missile pod appeared above her outraised right palm.

From Lena’s brooch, the iron-blue gem and the burning-flame white gem also sparkled and vanished, and then suddenly beside it, a Gatling gun with six barrels appeared, and blazing white flames swayed from its muzzle.

Snow Witch, Wehrwolf, Sirius: these are the Personal Names of the Eighty-Six, the Guardian Spirits who materialized as weapons to protect their Fleet.

“FIRE!!!”

The pod then aimed and fired a group of missiles at the enemy.

The Gatling gun fired a rain of bullets wrapped in flames.

Far away in outer space, all bullets and missiles pierced through the enemy vanguard.

***

In search for a habitable planet to move into, the Galactic Cruise Battleship San Magnolia continues to navigate a faraway galaxy. The battleship, sailing on a sea of stars, has been embroiled in a long war that has spanned more than 100 years.

***

After taking off the Juggernaut in the dressing room, Lena then headed back to the waiting room, where she saw Annette (who returned earlier) raising a hand.

“Good job today, Lena.”

“You too, Annette… and everyone as well.”

She smiled at them while everyone rested on the table, murmuring in response while munching on magic-replenishing cookie-like Ether Crystals like a human munching on a whole apple.

“Good work, Lena. Raiden and Kurena, too.”

“Thanks for your hard work, too, Kaie, Kujo.”

As Lena pulled a chair and sat down, the Eighty-Six resting on her shoulders or head slid down to join the others lounging at the table.

“Want some?” Annette handed out some of the Ether Crystal to Lena, but the latter raised her hand to say it wasn’t necessary. Annette tilted her head in response.

“Don’t you want these cookies as snacks, then? It’s my new recipe, made with real eggs!”

“It’s not like… those that taste like cheese when they don’t have cheese in them, or those which look like black smoke coming out of them… right?”

Before Annette could reply, however, someone from the table answered.

“Sadly, those cookies seem like the type that has black smoke coming out of them…”

The reply came from one of the Guardian Spirits on the table. With the height of less than 30 cm, they have large heads, short limbs, and bodies the size of infants or probably stuffed toys.

For some reason, they are clad in desert camouflage combat fatigues and have silver ear cuffs attached to them. They also have fluffy triangular ears and bushy tails like those of puppies, though overall they have a human-like appearance.

They are the Eighty-Six.

They are human-like magical weapons, partnered with the Magical Girls, also called as Handlers, who protect the Galactic Cruise Fleet. These Guardian Spirits have protected the battleship and its people throughout this long war spanning more than 100 years.

“By the way, Annette, why are these little ones called Eighty-Six?”

Annette nodded.

“It’s said there were 1,010,110 Guardian Spirits in total from the beginning.”

“Huh?”

She didn’t get what that meant.

“The binary number of 86 is 1,010,110.”

“I see…”

“Well, to be honest that’s rather a stretch…”

Annette’s Eighty-Six, Snow Witch, Anju, smiled wryly. She has the appearance of a young girl with silvery-blue hair, and the fur on her ears has the same color.

Returning to the topic, Theo continued to speak. He has golden-brownish hair, jade eyes, and golden-brownish ears. His Personal Name [6] is Laughing Fox, and he is one of Annette’s Eighty-Six.

“Rather than seem to be, those cookies now have black smoke coming out of them, so don’t eat them, Haruto, Daiya.”

“Okay.”

“Yeah.”

Black smoke, however, continued to puff out of the mouths of Haruto, who has copper-brown ears, and Daiya, who has golden ears.

Lena froze with a vague smile. Those two of Annette’s Guardian Spirits usually like making noise, so them being oddly silent for today… maybe that’s why.

“BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” Lena’s Eighty-Six, Kujo, whose Personal Name is Sirius, pointed his fingers at the two and continued to laugh loudly, so Lena pinched his ebony-colored dog ears to rebuke him.

“Hey!”

“Do-wah!”

Kujo rolled his eyes, then fainted. The Eighty-Six’s ears and tails are very sensitive, and touching their tails and ears weaken them.

Lena’s Guardian Spirit, Raiden, whose Personal Name is Wehrwolf, gave Annette a side-eye and said, “Can’t you just give up on making sweets, Annette? They always end up as charcoal anyways.”

“DON’T WANT TO.”

“I mean, isn’t that your Curse in the first place?”

“Since that Curse makes things impossible, it’s kinda stupid to fight that, you know?”

As Lena’s Guardian Spirits, Kaie and Kurena, continued the current talk, Annette went fuming.

The price Handlers pay for in exchange for them to use the powers of the Eighty-Six is always having a minor inconvenience in their lives, or what’s known as a Curse.

In Annette’s case, it is “to always fail at making sweets.” For Annette, this is a very painful Curse, as making sweets is her hobby.

“I’m sorry, but I’ll have to pass on the cookies, Annette.”

She really didn’t want to breathe out black smoke, too…

“Ugh…” Annette looked even more angry.

She pouted at Lena sullenly and then pointed a finger at her accusingly.

“Hold on… so you dare say that after you see people now spouting black smoke. When it comes to cooking, you don’t even know how to crack an egg open!”

Lena averted her eyes away.

“Mother won’t let me do housework as she said it would roughen my hands, and the kitchen is off-limits as it’s the cook’s territory…”

As said, Lena is someone who hasn’t cracked an egg open, nor does she know how to.

“I know you’re a young lady from an aristocratic lineage, so I don’t blame you for not knowing how to. Still, you don’t have the right to talk about me like that!”

“Well, if the cookies are a little burnt, that’s fine, but I think people will complain if you make them eat something that’s completely charred…” Daiya said this while coughing black smoke, but Annette ignored him.

With a bit of surprise in his voice, Theo chimed in. “For some reason, I knew you’re a rich young lady.”

“Lena, you’re really some sort of a princess, huh.”

“Don’t say that!”

Lena swallowed her words, trying to ask if Raiden and the others can crack an egg open. She didn’t think the Eighty-Six’s tiny hands can break eggs open, and it might be wrong of her to say so. She did hear eggshells are tough and hard. However, the Eighty-Six coolly nodded at her.

“We do know how to, though.”

“We know how to crack an egg open.”

“I mean, I can still do it, maybe?”

“You can’t really crack an egg open with one hand.”

“If we have two people doing that, then maybe…”

“Wait. With just one hand…?”

Lena groaned in surprise, while the Eighty-Six just nodded at her.

Not that it mattered much, but a stuffed-toy-sized Eighty-Six cracking an egg open looked like a very fairy-tale-like image, or the stuff out of picture books, Annette thought.

***

After parting ways with Annette, who said she'll go shopping, Lena was walking alone in the defense area corridor when the enemy’s second unit launched an attack.

She heard the space traffic controller’s comms again: “Course, clear. Handlers Drunken☆Sanders, Gluttonous☆John, Super Cool☆Tom, prepare for take-off!”

Said Mr. Sanders, Mr. John, and Mr. Tom could be heard replying. They sounded… heartbroken.

“Enough with these Magical Girl names! Can’t we change these to sound more like Magical Warriors or something?!”

“Can’t you also change the Juggernauts’ design to something more military-like?! We’re soldiers, too, after all!”

“My callsign sounds way too half-assed!”

Instead of the controller, however, girlish, high-pitched tones responded to the complaints.

Lecca, Mikuri and Myna respectively are the Guardian Spirits for Mr. Sanders and the others.

“Can’t be helped, it’s tradition!”

“The whole Dress, including the frills, the ribbons and even the gems are part of the magical defense schtick, you know.”

“Yeah, Super Cool sounds really half-assed.”

The space traffic controller replied coolly.

“It’s fine! Prepare for take-off. Forced launching activated. Bye!”

“DAMMIT ALL!!!”

The three then left a trail of different colors of flight magic as they faded from sight in the sea of stars.

Seeing this happen on and then off screen from beyond the spaceship’s window, Lena smiled strangely. By the way, as one may have guessed, Mr. Sanders, Mr. John, and Mr. Tom are all adult men, contrary to the Magical Girl moniker.

Or rather, the moniker was derived from the first Magical Girl, Handler Saint☆Magnolia, who first fought with the Eighty-Six more than 100 years ago, and there is no particular age or gender restrictions to become a Magical Girl.

It doesn’t mean that not everyone is not dissatisfied with being called a Magical Girl, having such excessively decorated Battle Dresses, or their rather-embarrassing-to-use-even-in-ordinary-times callsigns (to repeat, having the ☆ is mandatory).

The demand to revise the names continues to be rejected, the authorities being adamant about this being tradition. And “Super Cool☆Tom” truly sounds way too half-assed.

Well, that’s what Lena thought while walking.

“Ah!”

Lena felt her toe got caught in something, but she actually fell in the middle of nowhere.

In the technologically advanced Galactic Cruise Battleship, while walking in the seamlessly constructed spotless corridor of the defense area, Lena fell with a loud thud, though the ship didn’t even so much shake after.

“Ugh… it hurts…”

She did quickly get her hands and elbows together to shield her face, but then her hands, elbows and both knees hurt… it was pain she had grown accustomed to even if she’s not exactly happy about it.

That’s the nature of Lena’s Curse, “to often fall down at random.”

She never gets too injured, and it does hurt and not hurt at times, but it’s rather embarrassing when her Curse activates on public. Also, the reason why Lena has never set foot in the kitchen is partly because her mother is afraid the Curse might activate when Lena uses a knife or fire while cooking.

Lena stood up, sighing as she did so. Brushing her knees, she then saw something that certainly was not there before she fell.

From an arm’s length, there appeared to be a cardboard box.

“Farm-fresh oranges” was printed on the label of the box’s side, and it looked like someone from the public used the frayed box as some kind of container just lying around their home or something. On top of that, for some reason, rain started to fall, soaking Lena and the box in a blink of an eye.

Since this is just some kind of activating magic, please refrain from thinking how rain managed to pour inside the corridors of the Galactic Cruise Battleship, much less inside the corridors of both the defense area and near the residential area. [7]

However, in front of Lena, who was silent…

Triangular, black furry ears popped out from inside of the box as the lid opened.

A small head then followed.

Then her silver eyes met his blood-red eyes.

***

Freshly laundered bath towels and face towels are always available at all the captains’ rooms of the Galactic Cruise Fleet. This is because the manifestation of the Eighty-Six randomly happens by a cardboard box having one inside appearing in front of a randomly picked Handler while it randomly rains coldly on top of them. And since supervising Magical Girls are among the captain’s duties…

At once… the captain’s secretary placed a bath towel on Lena’s shoulders, but she didn’t bother using it to wipe her wet hair and clothes. One can see the Eighty-Six wiping his hair using the towel given to Lena while she lifted him with both hands and hugging him tightly close to her chest.

“Uncle!!! Can I take this little one with me?”

“Um…”

For the time being, Captain Jerome Karlstahl of the Galactic Cruise Battleship San Magnolia wondered if he could change this stupid manifestation ritual, which seemed to be like that common trope of a child adopting a stray dog.

His best friend’s beloved daughter, who he helped raised to be honest, is rather a little too honest… The Eighty-Six boy with black hair and crimson eyes, who was still wiping his hair, perked up as he was suddenly picked up, his pitch-black furry ears now flat and his bushy black tail wagging from side to side. Karlstahl thought it was like a dog’s tail when said dog is not growling, barking, or biting anyone, but didn’t mean the dog is on a pleasant mood, either. That Eighty-Six boy wasn’t a dog, but judging from his narrowed eyes and the crease between his eyebrows, he did resemble one…

Perhaps the boy noticed Karlstahl’s gaze, so he implored with a look that said Help me! but Karlstahl pretended he didn’t notice and nodded with a very sociable-looking smile. The crease between the boy’s eyebrows went deeper and it was a sorry sight, but Karlstahl didn’t care at all.

The girl he helped raised was just too honest. If he even tried to suddenly tear out that Eighty-Six boy out of her arms, she would probably say, “I hate you so much, Uncle!”, which made him depressed. Even thinking about it made him depressed. Compared to that, being resented by an Eighty-Six was nothing. He then put that aside and then gently pointed out an important fact.

“Lena, you already have four Eighty-Six with you. While it’s true the maximum number of Guardian Spirits a single Handler can possibly possess is up to five, it doesn’t mean there’s no consequences to reaching that maximum. You’re well aware that a shortage of magical power can end in disaster, both for the Handler and the Eighty-Six they possess.”

“I’m well aware, but… our eyes happened to meet in the rain!!!”

That was not exactly an answer to what Karlstahl pointed out.

“I’ll take good care of him! And if it’s about my magical power capacity, it’s been previously measured I’m capable to possess up to five Eighty-Six, so this is favorable chance!” Or so she said.

The Guardian Spirits, magical beings who don’t have a physical body, have enormous amounts of magical power themselves, but they also require a supply of magical power from their Handlers in order to recover said power they spent in battle or during their materialization. Insufficient magical power, especially during battle, can lead to destruction of the Eighty-Six, or worst, the death of the Handler. Therefore, the number of Eighty-Six possessed by each Handler is strictly and carefully determined based on the Handler’s magical power.

And as she claimed, Lena’s magical power has been determined to be exceptionally enormous that it was certified she could possess even up to five Eighty-Six with plenty of power to spare.

However, Karlstahl was rather eager to say what many parents would have usually said to their children who picked up stray dogs: Return it to where it came from.

The Eighty-Six can be returned to the temple in the innermost part of the Fleet’s Battleship, and afterwards there is no way to return them to the captain, not to mention the Magical Girl, but that aside…

After all…

Karlstahl couldn’t care less if the Eighty-Six was a girl, but this was a boy they’re talking about.

He was like a pest [8], and Karlstahl didn’t like that at all.

Uncle! Lena pleaded earnestly while looking at him with the eyes of a puppy about to be thrown away, and Karlstahl let out a sigh.

“Lena.”

At the firm mention of her name, Lena held her tongue.

“You really are like your father, Vaclav.”

Lena smiled at Karlstahl.

“Even if you want to sidetrack this issue at hand by suddenly mentioning Father, you can’t fool me like that, Uncle.”

Karlstahl raised his hands in defeat. I can’t fool her any longer like this, huh.

Anyways.

“To begin with, which part of this conversation brought out that part about her being like her father?” retorted the Eighty-Six boy, who had been silent until now.

Lena then answered. “Even though he is posted away due to a work transfer, Father is also a Magical Girl. Guardian Spirits tend to choose him, and since he just can’t refuse every time he gets chosen, he ended up possessing the maximum limit of five Eighty-Six.”

“Oh, so he’s still alive.”

Why did this past tense reference sound similar to earlier? [9]

In any case, Lena faced her new Eighty-Six. She placed him, standing, on a low table in the captain’s lounge suite, and then she crouched down so he could see her at his eye level. She took his little hands after, smiling, the gesture somehow resembling wedding vows.

“My name is Vladilena Milizé, and I am a Handler. Please call me Lena. From now on, I’ll be counting on you.”

“……….”

The Eighty-Six boy lowered his eyes and let out a small sigh. For now…

“Handler, can you please change your clothes?”

Underneath Lena’s now-sticky-and-wet blouse, the sight of navy-blue cloth and the white frills [from her undergarment] asserted itself so fiercely, the boy looked troubled as he averted his eyes.

***

The Eighty-Six boy called himself Shinei Nouzen.

“So, your Personal Name is Undertaker, right? Is it all right if I call you Shin?”

“If you like that, Handler.”

They left the defense area, walking onto the residential area of the battleship. An image of the sky was projected onto the high ceiling, and Lena walked along the green-looking boulevard with Shin in her arms.

Shin looked like he had given up on Lena trying to hold him like a puppy or a stuffed toy and has stopped resisting the way he was being held.

On the other hand, Lena raised her eyebrows at his curt responses. She didn’t mind if he was gruff as he might be that kind of person, but the way he called her…

“It’s Lena, Shin.”

“… Lena, then. Excuse me for saying so, but you’re rather strange.”

“Is that so?”

Shin glanced up at Lena, who tilted her head.

Such red eyes.

“The Eighty-Six serve as weapons to defend the Fleet. I thought it was common practice for Magical Girls to leave them dormant except in battle to reduce magical power consumption.”

Lena blinked.

It is true that most Magical Girls are capable of possessing only one Eighty-Six, and the Guardians who are not possessed are usually put to sleep [11] in order for them to be able to keep up in battle. However, for that matter, Lena and Annette are exceptions.

“I don’t need for my Spirits to be put to sleep. It’s more fun if they’re awake and they can materialize and do a lot of things.”

Even if the Eighty-Six are magical beings without bodies, they still have feelings and wills, just like humans. If she didn’t need to put them to sleep, she wanted them to do whatever they want, and let them do so if they’re not in battle.

“That’s why the little ones with me are usually up and about and they just play around.”

“I see… Come to think of it, I heard you already have four Spirits.”

Lena slightly smiled.

“Yes. They’re really good kids. I can introduce them to you on our way back.”

***

She didn’t even need to introduce everyone.

“Ah, Shin!”

“Thought you’re someone else, but it’s Shin. Long time no see!”

As soon as he entered the room, Kurena and Raiden’s voices greeted him. Shin’s eyes widened a little, and Lena was surprised.

“Kurena… Raiden… Kaie, even Kujo?”

“Yeah, here I am, Shin. Long time no see.”

“I mean… you’re here…. BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Why is that the headless Reaper of the Eastern Front here and brought out like a stuffed toy BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

Kaie raised her hand and pointed at Shin being held by Lena, causing Kujo to burst out laughing. Shin silently twisted his body to escape Lena’s grasp, jumped on the table where the four were located, grabbed an Ether Crystal from a pot there, and then threw it. It hit Kujo’s forehead directly, causing it to split open. Kujo, who fell flat on his back, managed to catch the Ether Crystal with his mouth and then munched on it. Lena saw that he seemed to be joking around, and turned her attention to Shin, Raiden and the others.

“You all know each other?”

“Well, we do, for quite some time now.”

“We’ve worked several times under other Magical Girls.”

Now that it’s mentioned, the Eighty-Six have been fighting for more than 100 years, protecting the Galactic Cruise Fleet alongside successive generations of Magical Girls.

In those 100 years, they must have had at least stood on the same battlefield and had materialized under the same Magical Girl, even once.

Suddenly, Lena realized something, and she just had to ask. What if…?

“If that’s the case…, have you all been acquainted with the first Magical Girl, Handler Saint☆Magnolia?”

She was then greeted by a faint silence. Not an “I don’t know” or “I don’t remember”. The gesture was peculiar to those who were being asked something they didn’t want to remember.

They all responded while averting their eyes away from her.

“No.”

“I’ve never met her.”

“I don’t know her.”

“Me neither.”

“Me neither, I guess?”

They were lying.

She wondered what happened… or rather.

Lena wondered what kind of person the first Handler was.

As a sense of dread enveloped her, she was about to speak and ask further questions—

Suddenly, the alarm for a sortie request rang from the mobile terminal comms.

***

“Geez, two sorties in one day? And this time it’s the enemy’s main force attacking, Regina☆Lena.”

“Right, Owlette☆Annette. Seems like the Legion we dealt with earlier wasn’t just the enemy’s vanguard unit and then the main force, but all of them were just the vanguard.”

This keeps being repeated a lot, but it is mandatory for Magical Girls to address each other by their callsigns, not their real names, when on duty, and the ☆ on their callsigns is also mandatory.

Anyhow, they passed through the first defense line, the offensive barrier, and then the second defense line of the automatic fighter machines.

Hordes of the enemy then rushed in.

They are hostile beings dubbed as the Legion, in testament to their vast numbers. They are the never-ending enemy forces fighting against the Galactic Cruise Fleet in this hundred-year-war.

They are the enemy of all Magical Girls and Guardian Spirits.

Looking at the enemy, Lena held the brooch above her heart, where her Eighty-Six currently were contained in. The star-shaped brooch now has five small gems on all its vertices: iron-blue, gold, burning-flame white, cherry blossom pink.

And then a deep, transparent, blood-red crimson gem.

Annette sniffled.

“It’s rather a blessing in disguise the enemy looks like… Sheep.”

The enemies’ shape, as the name suggests, do resemble sheep. Kind of like pressing twisted wire, or a collection of lines drawn by children using crayons, with different colors, thickness, and length. One could say they’re a caricature of a large flock of sheep.

The Sheep were strangely flat, visible to the eye but weren’t substantial enough, and they gathered in unison as far as the eye can see, rushing immediately like ants.

Their name is their army, of which there are many.

The countless lines that made up those countless Sheep suddenly untangled themselves.

They then gathered again in one place and swirled in a circle, and in a flash, the innumerable lines suddenly weaved themselves into a large, complex-looking shape. Each of said line is a Legion, making up the body of a large, united Legion unit.

They are said to be similar to the Eighty-Six, except these magical beings cannot communicate, though each and every one of them also possess enormous magical power.

Countless Legion then assembled, interweaving as they formed a magic circle, which shone brightly as it got activated. It was bombardment magic, aiming at everyone and everything in their line of sight.

Which included Annette.

“Laughing Fox, Activate! I’m counting on you, Theo!”

“You don’t need to tell me twice. Don’t bite your tongue, Owlette☆Annette!”

The Legion’s bombardment magic circle blasted out a large, bright star beam.

Just moments earlier, Annette barely succeeded getting out of the bombardment magic’s range using Theo’s Laughing Fox magic, a materialized virtual wire anchor that shoots a wire that gets fixed at any coordinate, and the wire hoisting the caster away to said coordinates at high speed.

At the same time, Lena completed chanting.

“Gunslinger, Activate! Enchant, Kirschblüte!”

“Copy that, Regina☆Lena!”

“Leave it to me, Regina☆Lena!”

The gold gem and the cherry-blossom pink gem flickered like bubbles of light, materializing a steel-blue sniper rifle on Lena’s hand. Kurena’s Gunslinger magic is a sniper with magic bullets that aim perfectly at its targets, and this time it has the added effect of Kaie’s Kirschblüte enchantment.

“FIRE!!!”

They shot at the Legion. The golden light beam rushed out, piercing through the center of the Legion’s bombardment magic circle, causing it to crack. As Kirschblüte’s enchantment was in effect, myriads of small blades of light resembling cherry blossom petals then appeared, slashing through the Legion which made up that magic circle.

“Switch now! Black Dog, Activate! Enchant, Falke!”

Annette’s double-hit blow struck after: Daiya’s Black Dog magic materialized as a rain of high-explosive projectiles, and in effect, Haruto’s Falke enchantment appeared after as a shower of falcon-plume-like blades attacking the enemy.

As the explosions and slashes blasted the Legion away, the bombardment magic circle shattered completely, vanishing without a trace.

“What a pain in the neck… Regina☆Lena and I have to blast those away one by one…!”

Annette possessed four Eighty-Six while Lena has five, and they have enough magical power to keep them materialized even when not in battle. If a Handler has two or more Eighty-Six, they can double their power by enchanting one with the magic of the other.

It took the doubled offensive magic of both Lena and Annette just to take down the bombardment magic circle of such a large scale. The Legion’s number is that vast. And yet… even after destroying said magic circle, the majority of the Sheep in the main Legion force were still active and moving.

“We need to reduce their numbers first, even just a little…!”

Lena took a deep breath, trying to materialize a wide-range machine gun using Raiden’s Werhwolf magic.

Out of the blue, Shin spoke.

“Handler.”

Her callsign, Regina☆Lena, seemed to be something he didn’t want to say.

“With those vast numbers, it would be better for you to use me.”

“That’s…”

Since it hadn’t been long since they met and the sortie they were in was rather abrupt, Lena wasn’t able to confirm what kind of magic Shin’s Undertaker would be, how much magical power it consumed, and how powerful it might be. It was why she hadn’t planned to use it yet.

Lena’s lips tightened. He went out of his way to tell me he thought he would be useful in this battle. How could I, a Magical Girl, not believe in that?

“All right, then. Undertaker, Activate!”

The blood-red gem on her chest glowed.

Like an ephemeral bubble of light, it diffused, with the same blood-red light placing itself on Lena’s hand, materializing…

What appeared was a long hilt, as tall as Lena, with the color of dry bone. Its curved blade was dyed red, the color of frozen flames. The weapon looked sharp and gave the impression of danger, like it was some kind of ominous threat.

It was a scythe.

A melee type of weapon, huh? In this case…

“Enchant—”

She was about to enchant the scythe with Kujo’s Sirius flames when Raiden interrupted her.

“Don’t, Regina☆Lena. Use that one alone… No matter how much magical power you have, it will run out if you use him.”

“Huh…?”

Scarlet lines then ran across her field of vision [11]. Then there it appeared: a visible trail of how to cleave through the Legion’s main unit, as if the trail is whispering: Here. Cleave.

She was still doubtful about this, but her body moved on its own, as if fascinated by the weapon. As if impelled by the scythe’s will, she swung it wide, and cleaved.

In the blink of an eye.

The Legion’s main force, comprised majority of those countless Sheep, were obliterated in an instant.

“Wha—?”

Lena, who swung the scythe, and Annette, who was beside her, just stood there, stunned into silence.

They had never seen such an enormous amount of magical power; one could describe it as a violent, overpowering destructive force. Her magical power, however, got so depleted quickly that Lena, who possessed an unparalleled amount, even felt dizzy, but this was expected with such destructive power from such a weapon.

It is no exaggeration to say that this is a trump card in humanity’s fight against the Legion—a very powerful one.

The other Magical Girls deployed to other coordinates to clean up the Legion’s main force were far away from the activation of Undertaker, and so were less likely to be shaken by the event. The Legion’s numbers decreased so much one could see that these Magical Girls would be fine without Lena or Annette there helping them.

In a daze, Lena stood there, shuddering. As if she was shot by some divine force out there, she whispered. This is…

“Undertaker…”

***

The other Magical Girls took care of the Legion remnants Shin missed, and their numbers seemed to have decreased to a level even the automatic fighter machines could clean them up. A somewhat cheerful battle then ensued, the window-like monitor showing how the dog-like Fido automatic fighter machines chomped up the floating Legion debris and the remaining surviving Sheep.

Even with her vast magical power, Lena was exhausted from using such an enormous amount all at once. After going back to her room, she went straight to bed, with her five Eighty-Six resting in the adjacent lounge. Although the five can materialize and remain active outside of battle due to Lena’s magic supply, it is more efficient for them to sleep for a certain amount of time and focus on their own magical recovery.

The Eighty-Six have their own egg-shaped crystal pods where they can sleep. Shin has been allocated a pod of his own, but as he crawled into it, he opened his eyes as he heard someone. Hey.

From the pod next to Shin’s, Raiden turned his iron-colored eyes at the former.

“Now that you’ve come here, it means that is coming soon, too, huh?”

“Yeah.”

Those that are close echo each other. Because… they call out to each other.

“Brother. He’s calling out to me.”

To be continued…

Translator’s Notes:

Some of the images posted here are taken from the Regina Lena manga. This SS covers Chapter 1 of said manga as well as part of Chapter 2.

[1] Yes, the 魔法少女舞闘衣装 (literally rendered as “Magical Girl Battle Dress” in English), is read as ジャガーノート (Juggernaut) in katakana. I honestly don’t know what ran through Asato’s mind naming said mahou shoujo outfits…

[2] The 守護精霊 (Guardian Spirits), besides being written as “Eighty-Six” in katakana, are also written in an alternative kanji as 精霊, which means “spirits of the deceased”. This will be significant in the other Regina Lena SS.

[3] The 魔法少女 (Magical Girls) are called ハンドラー (“Handlers”) in katakana in this SS.

[4] FCS = flight control system

[5] Annette’s Personal Name as a Handler is アウレット☆アネット, and the katakana of アウレット can be interpreted into three: “outlet”, “aureate” (which means “golden”) or “Owlette/owlet”. I chose the third one due to the PJ Masks reference and this referencing to LN canon in Annette’s Legion-designated callsign of “Minerva”, the name being the Roman version of the Greek goddess of wisdom Athena, and Athena’s symbol being an owl. This personal translation of mine is obviously subject to change depending on if we get an official translation of Regina Lena.

[6] Personal Names in the Regina Lena SS are written as 術式発動名 in kanji, and this can be alternatively translated as “Summon Chant”.

[7] Asato said this, not me. DON’T ASK ME WHY, I FIND IT ABSURD, TOO 😞

[8] 悪い虫 literally means “bad bug” or “pest” in Japanese, but it is an idiom for “undesirable lover”. Why do all Lena’s father figures hate Shin LMAOOOOOOO

[9] This has two references, one referencing to Karlstahl’s talk of Magical Girls being in danger due to lack of magical power, the other is on… Regina Lena Side Story 4 (I will translate all Regina Lena SS if Yen Press has not, which I kind of doubt they would as of the moment.)

[10] The Eighty-Six here are usually put to sleep (like literally just SLEEP, nothing else). This is a phrase that’s a double-edged sword in future Regina Lena chapters LOL

[11] Based on how I read Regina Lena so far, this very description reminded me of the Mystic Eyes of Death Perception, if anyone here is familiar with Tsukihime or Kara no Kyoukai. (Another in-line reference, Lena’s Japanese VA, Ikumi Hasegawa, also voiced one of the pivotal characters/love interest, the True Ancestor, Arcueid Brunestud, in the Tsukihime remake made by Ufotable/Type-Moon. ARCUEID BEST GIRL btw)

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shazzeaslightnovels · 2 months ago

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86: Eighty-Six

Author: Asato Asato

Illustrator: Shirabi

Mecha Designer: I-IV

Label: Dengeki Bunko

Release Date: 10 February 2017

My Score: 5/5

English Release: Yen-Press is currently publishing this series in English.

I struggled to create a summary for this premise so I'll just use Yen-Press's for volume one: "The Republic of San Magnolia has long been under attack from the neighboring Giadian Empire's army of unmanned drones known as the Legion. After years of painstaking research, the Republic finally developed autonomous drones of their own, turning the one-sided struggle into a war without casualties-or at least, that's what the government claims. In truth, there is no such thing as a bloodless war. Beyond the fortified walls protecting the eighty-five Republic territories lies the "nonexistent" Eighty-Sixth Sector. The young men and women of this forsaken land are branded the Eighty-Six and, stripped of their humanity, pilot the "unmanned" weapons into battle..."

To build up from that summary: the volume focuses on Lena, an officer in San Magnolia, as she becomes in charge of the Spearhead squadron, a squadron of the Eighty-Six. In this squadron is a soldier known as the Undertaker and it's rumored that every handler for this squadron goes insane. Lena is more emphatic to the Eighty-Six than most people of the republic and the volume focuses on her confronting her own biases against the Eighty-Six, and her blossoming relationship with the members of the Spearhead squadron, particularly the undertaker himself, Shin.

I've been wanting to read this series for a long time, but I got scared because I'm not great at reading military fantasy in Japanese, and I heard this one is very difficult to read. The volume was heavily discounted on Bookwalker recently so I decided it was finally time to read it. Thankfully, it wasn't too bad. Yeah, I had a bit of a struggle following some of the battle scenes, but there aren't that many of them and the volume tends to focus more of the human drama then on the battles.

And that human drama element is very well written. I was so invested in the story and the characters, even as I knew how the story would turn out from watching the anime. I'm obviously not an expert, but I feel like this series is one of the better portrayals of fantasy racism in fiction. It shows how racism is systemic and that it is created by people in power wanting to keep their power. The volume does a great job at exploring that.

The prose was also really good, especially during the emotional moments. Honestly, I wasn't too interested in the Shin/Lena romance in the anime, but I understood the appeal here. It is pretty cute to see two people form a connection without ever seeing one another.

I did want to rewatch the anime for this review, but it adapts the volume across 11 episodes and I didn't have time to watch more than the first two. But I do think that it is a really good adaptation that builds on the strengths of the source material. The music is amazing (The Answer has been stuck in my head for the last week), and I appreciate that they added some anime original content, like episodes 10 and 11 (unless these end up being in volume 2 which I doubt). It expanded on the source material in meaningful ways and it's definitely worth the watch.

I'm glad I finally read this volume, because I loved it more than I thought I would. I'm definitely going to be reading more when I get the chance.

#86 eighty six #dengeki bunko #asato asato #shirabi #I-IV #September 2024 #5 stars

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rikiblues · 2 years ago

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shinjū (心中)

featuring. enhypen ni-ki x fem!oc contents. 86!au, angst, heavy angst, major character death, assisted suicide blood and gore, detailed injuries, racism, discrimination, mentions of concentration camps, forced military enlistment. fluff, love confessions, first kiss.

track. voices of the chord, sawano hiroyuki word count. 5080

note. some world notes; they're fighting a war against war machines called the legion, the 86 are people w colored hair and eyes thrown out of san magnolia by the alba, people w white/silver hair and eyes. they fight in war machines called juggernauts that don't account for pilot safety, and they communicate using a device called para-raid. handlers are alba military officials who direct them from inside san magnolia, typically incredibly abusive, and the 86 have little to no rights at all. that's it for this au, hope you enjoy ahah

Hazy darkness begins to give way to golden light.

Riki Nishimura opens his eyes slowly, aware of his head spinning, aware that he's practically numb. Not good—he has to be bleeding badly somewhere. Being able to feel pain, he's learned, is better than experiencing so much pain that your body goes into shock.

He blinks, and blinks again. Slowly his awareness spreads out, and his nose is hit with the metallic tang of blood. So much that he stiffens, wondering just how screwed he is. Just how many others they're losing again today...and if he himself is on that list.

That nonexistent list only etched in the hearts of their comrades. The only memorial allowed to them. Nothing else—not even a simple grave, not even a burial.

He chuckles a bit when he remembers Shinei Nouzen and his scraps of metal retrieved from ruined Juggernauts, engraved messily with the names of fallen comrades. Riki hasn't yet lived long enough to be a name bearer, but regardless of whether he doesn't have a call sign, Shin will take a piece of his Juggernaut and write his name. It comforts him.

Of course, the thought of this all means that he's dying. He wouldn't think like this if he truly believed he had a way out of here.

A small sob gets his attention, and his head—thankfully he can move that fine—snaps to his left, and he jolts. There lies Mila, soaked with blood, her brown hair so soaked with it that it's darker, drippign droplets of it. Not all of it is her own, that much is obvious.

And she has a gun pointed right at Riki's head.

"I'm sorry," she hiccups, "I'm sorry, I can't—this isn't what I—"

Watching the only girl he's ever loved do this breaks his heart. Nobody should be subjected to this. The gun's muzzle is a full six feet or more away from him, and he will die instantly should Mila pull the trigger. Like he knows she will.

"Mila," he says hoarsely, "please."

Her hand shakes but she does her level best to keep it steady. "Riki," she lets out another sob. "Why? We—we were supposed to—"

"I know," Riki is beginning to feel the first sensations of pain from somewhere around his chest, a stinging ache. Crap. A chest wound. He's not getting out of this alive. "But remember what we talked about. Remember what we promised."

Mila cries harder.

𓆩♡𓆪

Midnight meetings at the age of sixteen aren't out of the norm, especially as an Eighty-Sixer. Comfort is hard to come by, and they will take any of it that they can.

Riki Nishimura is one of those many hopeless Colorata, clinging onto some pathetic resemblance of hope and humanity when really, what is there left anymore for him to live on for? Perhaps the pride of an Eighty-Six. He knows he values that above far too much—never will he ever descend to the level of the white pigs.

Even if it means biting his tongue bloody as the Handler throws verbal assault at them. He wishes so badly sometimes he can rip the Para-RAID off his ear, but of course, it's permanently attached, while the oh-so-wise and noble Alba get to wear pretty little collars as they like. Hilarious. But unsurprising.

Why is he getting so angry about this at one in the morning? Probably the lack of sleep. He doubts he's ever slept this badly in the two years he's been serving as part of two different squads. Part of him wonders how he's still alive, and then he remembers he'll just die anyway, so he chooses not to worry about that.

"Riki?" a voice hisses in his ear. "Where the hell are you?"

He stifles a giggle. "I'm looking for something in my Juggernaut," he whispers back. No one is actually in the hangar with him right now—Mila just likes to worry when he doesn't show up to their little rendezvous on time, hence the Para-RAID call. "I'll be quick."

"Riki, it's literally pitch-dark in the hangar. What do you think you'll be able to find in there? And anyway, where are the mechanics?"

"Asleep in their rooms, I'd assume."

Mila lets out a sigh. "Well, be quick and don't trip over something. You'll get in trouble."

"I know, I know," Riki mumbles, squinting in concentration as he feels around the cockpit of his Juggernaut for the rock he had picked up today while out on sortie. They'd lost another squad member today—Harua, the only other Orienta in their squad—and he'd spent too long crying over him. The only upside was the little, albeit kind of stupid, gift he had found for Mila while they retrieved another squad member stuck in the wreckage of his own Juggernaut.

"I saw Shin walk past just now," Mila says after a moment. "He looked...sad."

"He can emote?" is Riki's automatic, unthinking response. He immediately winces, realizing how insensitive that is. "Sorry, I...I just mean, he usually looks so..."

Cold. Unfeeling. Like a reaper.

"...he had a piece of Harua's Juggernaut, I think," Mila responds quietly. "There was something metal and shiny in his hand."

"Oh." Riki bites his lip, continuing dig around the cockpit. The metal is still warm from the day's sortie, not aided by the fact it has no cooling system whatsoever (or that the hangar is just a wooden warehouse-looking building with the mechanics' tools in it). "That's...that's good."

At least Harua will be remembered, Riki consoles himself. Shinei Nouzen is a strange boy, but a mostly reliable one. Riki says mostly because he knows next to nothing about the guy, other than his apparent interest for reading.

Everyone knows of their silent squad mate's habits now—from his absolutely silent footsteps to his tendency of collecting remnants of fallen comrades' Juggernauts, engraving their names on the shards, and keeping them hidden away. The Eighty-Six aren't allowed to have graves, which just contributes to the Legion problem, so Riki supposes that it happens to be Shin's way of giving them one.

Like a reminder. Like a memorial to who they were in life.

"Found it!" he mutters triumphantly when his hand comes in contact with a small, cooler object round but slightly oblong in shape. He quickly closes his fist around it and clambers down from his uncomfortable perch of leaning over the side of the Juggernaut, massaging his ribs with a grimace as he lands on his feet lightly.

"Found what?" Mila asks.

"You'll see," Riki replies cheekily, trying to keep the mood up. Losing squad mates is nothing new, honestly—by the next sortie, either they'll all die or they'll have to be reassigned to different squads. Riki knows which one is likelier, but a small, stupid part of him hopes he and Mila will make it.

"Okay, okay, just get over here already," Mila says impatiently. "I'm getting antsy. Do you know how weird it is to just in a corridor by a closed door? Not even by a window? When it's one in the morning?"

"I'm almost there," Riki whines, hastening his footsteps, making sure that Mila hears them. The settings on the Para-RAID are usually kept to the lowest—only transmitting sound and unfortunately, just a hint of emotion—both because Riki hates people reading into anything more than what he shows, and also because he refuses to be caught off-guard by the Handlers. Besides, it's funny to stomp his feet and feel Mila's wince as she no doubt thinks about the scolding they'll get if they're to be caught.

The darkness isn't so absolute that Riki can't see his hand in front of his face, but it's still a relief to emerge into the moonlight. The Eighty-Six don't exactly have electricity access, at least not at night, so they usually guide themselves by moonlight. And, well, on moonless nights...there are other ways.

"Riki, hurry up unless you want Raiden to go all mom-mode," Mila hisses, "because I think I just heard him talking to Shin!"

"I'm almost there," Riki repeats, "meet me outside. I've got something for you."

Immediately, Mila falls silent. "Okay," she responds, and he can practically hear the gears in her brain turning. It's amusing how he can do things like this and Mila will give it genuine thought.

It takes less than two minutes for them to meet outside the barracks, and Riki reaches up to cut off the Para-RAID connection himself. Mila looks up at him with narrowed eyes for a second before looking at his hands clasped behind his back. She knows better than to try and look at it, instead raising an eyebrow at him.

"Patience, Mila dear," Riki says mischievously, much to her frustration. She frowns at him and strides ahead, but Riki knows all too well that she isn't actually upset, just messing around with her. Okay, and maybe a little pissed he took so long to get here, which. Fair.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry!" he calls out, giggling, striding after her. His longer legs help him reach her faster and Mila turns around, her own face breaking out in a grin, sparkly in the same way her blue eyes are. In the moonlight, both her eyes and her brown hair—signifying her mixed Deseria and Rubis ancestry—take on a silvery, washed-out sheen, but she's no less beautiful.

Mila Clemens is so beautiful it hurts to look at, a little bit.

(Okay, so. Riki might be a little whipped for her.)

"I do not want to be subjected to another scolding," Mila scolds, "and I don't think you want one, either."

"Then let's go before we get caught," Riki says, taking her hand and breaking into a run. Mila's startled shriek pierces the air as she's forced to run on light steps, dragged along behind him. He knows nobody will actually care—Raiden knows they need times like this after days like this, before days like tomorrow inevitably will be—and that in the end, as long as they don't wander too far, they'll be fine.

"Riki Nishimura!" she shrieks, but she's also laughing and her other hand is clutched around his wrist. "You're going to make me fall!"

"You're more nimble than that!" Riki calls back, giggling harder than ever as they reach the small hill they usually find themselves climbing at night. He sprints up to the top without pausing, and neither do his giggles or Mila's frantic yells and laughs and curses.

"I swear to god—" Mila cuts herself off with another high-pitched shriek as the two of them tumble to the soft grass, all because Riki throws himself down and takes Mila with him. They hit the grass in an undignified heap, giggling uncontrollably.

Riki unentangles himself from her. Their laughter dies down and they lie on their backs side-by-side, gasping for air as they look up at the night sky. If it weren't for the moon, they wouldn't be able to see each other at all.

And this is their purpose: going out almost every night, especially on nights when they lose members (which happens far too often) to look at the stars. To look at those distant lights, to wonder if there exists other beings in one of those planets, watching the Legion War, watching country after country be wiped out, watching San Magnolia kill off the Eighty-Six in their characteristically brutal fashion.

All of a sudden, Riki misses Harua with a sharp aching just behind his ribs, right over his heart.

Harua is far from the first teammate that Riki has ever lost. But they'd been closer than one might expect—a sort of expectable bond forged from being the singular Orienta in the squad. The white pigs may be just that, but that doesn't mean the Eighty-Six are great all the time, either. Riki and Harua had both seen their fair share of discrimination for their skin color, for the difference in how they looked. Even if their current squad members are all pretty cool, the hurt stays, always. Especially when you're supposed to be sticking together against the Alba.

"Mila?" Riki whispers. "Today, when I was going to check on—on Harua, I found something."

He can feel Mila turn on her side to look at him. Harua's Juggernaut had been downed, and Riki had stupidly jumped out of his own wrecked one to go get to him, before Raiden had sharply ordered him to stay where he was. Raiden isn't their squad captain, but they've learned to listen to people like him and Shin, by now.

Riki had spotted the shiny little rock in the ground right before he'd climbed back into his Juggernaut, biting his lip at the fact that one of his teammates was fighting to protect him. In the end, that teammate scraped by with a little bit more than a nasty gash to the face from flying shards of metal during the battle.

That little rock was what he held onto, hunching his shoulders, biting his lips, as he listened to Harua's terrified scream echoing through the air, through the Para-RAID connection, before the Legion unit brought a blade down and neatly beheaded him. Nobody was able to save him. Nobody was able to end it for him before they took him.

Such is their life, but it doesn't stop him from getting upset every now and then.

"What did you find?" Mila asks, and that's when Riki turns around to face her as well. He reaches out a fist between the two feet that separate them, and drops the shiny little rock. Mila picks it up, examining the smooth, blue surface. "It's pretty."

"I know it's stupid," Riki says awkwardly, "but you saved me today, so I just..."

There are a hundred different things he could've done. Take her laundry duty. Help the girls in the kitchen. Go hunting with the boys for a change and bring something back for her. So many acts that could've won her over, and he chose to give her a stupid rock.

But he can't find it in himself to regret it, knowing Mila likes these small gestures better than anything else. Something small, meaningful. Though what the rock is supposed to mean, Riki isn't really sure, other than that the shade matches her eyes.

"I didn't save you," Mila says, "and it's not stupid. It matches my eyes, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, well..." Riki coughs. To this day, he doesn't know how to handle it when Mila calls him out so obviously like this. "Don't deviate from the point. If you hadn't warned me, I would've been dead. That Ameise would've—" he makes a slicing motion across his throat.

"Julien warned you, too," Mila points out, turning the rock over in her hands. She likes it, Riki thinks with a burst of joy.

"Yeah, half a second after you," Riki counters.

Mila laughs. "Okay, okay, I get your point," she says, turning onto her back again. Riki somehow finds the courage to stay where he is, looking at her. She must notice, but makes no comment on it. "Is this some kind of courting gift, Nishimura?"

Riki blinks. "Huh?"

"I said," she repeats without turning to look, but a playful smile curls on her lips, "is this some kind of courting gift?"

His ears burst into flame, practically. "I—I don't—know?" Riki stammers out, which prompts Mila to burst into laughter, finally turning to look at him again. "Why would you—?"

"Sophia told me you may have a crush on me." The words make Riki's face and ears burn worse. "And, well, once I started looking for the signs..."

What little he can see of her blue eyes seem darker. "We don't know when our last sunrise will be. So...I thought to myself, what's the worst that could happen, if I went for it?"

That kills the fluttery feelings swirling in his chest, the hotness in his face. He exhales slowly, turning onto his back, too, eyes tracking the shapes of the constellations in the sky, trying to work out what to say, and how to say it.

"At first," he starts, "you didn't really seem special to me."

Normally, Mila would be making fun of him for that, but now she just listens quietly, humming in response. Riki sucks in another breath, because what he wants to say is by no means an easy feat, but he feels the need to say it, because he could die tomorrow, and he doesn't want to leave anything unsaid. As somber as it is, the thought of it kills his nerves.

"You were just another Processor," Riki goes on. "Yeah, you're really pretty, and yeah, there aren't many girls in our squad—" or even among the Eighty-Six as a whole "—but I was just focused on getting better at...not dying, you know? Because the truth is, death scares me. Even if our entire lives are shrouded in death."

"What changed?" Mila asks. Her hand finds his in the semi-darkness overlaid with silvery light. "Or, well, when did that change?"

"I guess when the platoons were first reorganized," Riki reflects, "and we had to work together. I dunno. I just know we started to work together more and it kinda went on from there?"

"It was like that for me, too," Mila admits. "I mean, it's hard not to notice one of the only Orienta in the squad when he's basically a loner, but...you get what I mean."

"Yeah," Riki agrees, "I do." A beat of silence, and then, "it's—it was Harua who helped me realize. That I like you, I mean. That I like you a lot."

"Really?" Mila sounds startled; Riki doesn't turn his head to look. He's afraid he might lose whatever this rush of courage flowing through him is if he looks. "Harua?"

"Yeah."

"He helped me realize, too," she reveals. Riki blinks, but keeps his head firmly in place. "He pestered me about it a lot before I gave in and faced my feelings. He didn't tell me anything about you, though. That was all Sophia."

"So he was playing matchmaker the entire time," Riki huffs out a laugh. "Wanna bet both he and Sophia were in on it together?"

"Why bet when we know that for a fact? Sophia's a sucker for romance," Mila snorts, right as Riki lets out another giggle, thinking of their mischievous, hyperactive friend.

The silence falls, though, when the weight of her words settle in.

And yet, Riki refuses to let this chance go to waste. This could be their last night under the stars. Their last night together. The last chance to tell her what he needs to say.

"Mila." He sucks in a breath. His hand clutches hers tighter. "I love you."

She whispers back a quiet, "me too."

Joy bursts through Riki's entire being, and he turns to face her, grinning like the biggest damn fool on the planet. Mila turns to face him at the same time, and their eyes meet, and they're both giggling and grinning and just reveling in the sheer ridiculousness and euphoria of the moment and Riki just loves her so much he doesn't know what to do with all of this feeling.

"I'm going to sound really cheesy," Mila warns, "but sometimes I feel like nobody else complements me the way you do."

"Stop!" Riki starts actually laugh. "No romancing in the middle of the night!"

"You're romancing me too!"

"Only because I can't help it!" he protests, mouth aching from all this smiling. "You expect me to be able to help it—"

A sudden noise not too far off startles them both and they're up like lightning, ready to run, hands on the guns strapped to their waists. Riki's head swivels, heart pounding. He can't pinpoint where the noise came from. Did a Legion unit actually manage to sneak up on them? How much did they have left? Could they still run—

"Just a rabbit," Mila sighs out in relief, pointing to the animal a little distance way. "We're fine. Legion units make more noise than that anyway."

"Unless it's an antipersonnel type," Riki mutters, "but we're not on the battlefield, so."

Not exactly relieving, but Riki takes it. He sits down heavily on the grass, acutely aware of how ruined their mood is. Mila sits down beside him and lays her head on his shoulder.

"It's frustrating, isn't it?" Mila murmurs. "Knowing that there's love to be found in places as awful as this, but not knowing if we can live to experience it to the fullest."

"But I'd love you anyway," Riki says. "Even if I died, I'd love you."

"That's physically impossible."

He shrugs. "Just because something is supposedly impossible doesn't mean I can't promise to do it anyway. Because I will, you know. I will love you till death, beyond death, even."

"Okay, then," Mila says quietly. "I believe you. Because I will, too."

"But," he continues, "promise me you won't let them take me. If worst comes to worst...please. Do it. End it. Don't let them take me. I can stop them from taking you, but I can't defend myself if it comes to that."

"I'd kill myself before I let them take you," Mila whispers. "That's a promise."

"I won't let them take you, either," Riki vows firmly.

And when he leans down to press a kiss to her hair, she looks up. There's no negativity in there; she just looks sad and surprised all at once. "I love you," she murmurs. "I don't want to lose you."

But you'll lose me anyway. I'll lose you anyway.

Riki leans down to really kiss her, inching slowly so that she can move away if she doesn't want to, but she doesn't. Their lips meet and the kiss is simultaneously the best (first, actually) and saddest kiss of his whole life; they're slightly shaking in each other's hold, and Riki feels the sting of tears in his eyes.

"I don't want to lose you, either," he whispers when they pull apart. He hugs her tightly, burying his face in her brown hair. "I can't lose you, either."

But loss goes hand in hand with life anyway, doesn't it?

𓆩♡𓆪

And so, here they are. Trapped at the edge of a cliff of death where there is only one way to go—down. Down, down, down, until they are no more.

Riki's been impaled in the chest by flying shrapnel and he can't even tell if it's numbness or the actual loss of his right leg that makes him unable to feel it. Mila's entire left forearm is gone. There's shrapnel embedded in her shoulder, and a deep gash from somewhere on her torso is dripping blood everywhere. God, the two of them will not be making it.

Hence why they need to end it. Now.

"Do it," Riki urges, starting to inhale deeply, but stopping when pain ricochets through him faster than that bullet can travel. "Mila, come on. We don't know when they'll come back."

For all he knows, their squad-mates have driven the Legion away from Riki and Mila's ruined units to allow them time to end it, or something.

"I promised," Mila cries. "But I—I can't do it to you—"

"You should be able to do it because it's me," Riki lets out a rattling breath. He can taste blood in his mouth, in his throat. "Because you don't want me to be taken by them. Because you don't want me crying out for you for all eternity in a craze."

The admission that his last words would be about Mila snaps something inside her. He can tell from the way her eyes harden. The way she closes them, inhales deeply despite the pain wracking her body right about now. Because of course she doesn't want that; she wouldn't wish that upon anyone but the white pigs. And even then, being taken by the Legion seems all too cruel.

"I don't want that to happen to you, either," Riki whispers. Tears well up in his eyes, hot and burning. "Harua's already gone. I couldn't save him, so please. Please. Don't let it happen to either of us."

He fumbles around for his own gun, and levels it at her. His hands shake but he's sure of himself. Ending Mila's life by his own hands? A muchbetter alternative. The only choice he has.

It's better than being beheaded by the Legion, becoming nothing more than a central core processor for one of their units. To be multiplied infinitely until there's so many of them screaming their death throes over and over again.

Riki knows this, because he overheard Shin talking to Raiden. He wishes to this day he hadn't known that, because now it makes the idea of becoming a Legion unit all the more terrifying.

He steadies the gun, closes his finger around the trigger, begins to pull just as Mila begins—

"MILA!" a voice shrieks, accompanying stomping footsteps. "RIKI! Where are you guys?"

"Sophia," Mila's eyes widen. "Oh, no no no no—"

"MILA!" the high-pitched female voice continues yelling, even as every inch of Riki wants to yell right back, to tell her to be quiet lest they're found, but it's bound to attract more attention from any Legion which might be nearby. Besides, their blood is an easy enough trail for Sophia to find them, as gruesome as it is.

It doesn't take long for her to come across them, and she immediately steps back, golden eyes blown wide. "No," she whimpers. "Please, no..."

"Sophia," Riki rasps. "You don't need to see this."

The petite Heliodor girl glares at him furiously. "Bullshit!" she snaps. Ever a raging storm, that's Sophia, indeed. "We can—we can still take you back to base, help you heal—"

"Now that's bullshit on level with the white pigs' logic, Sophia," Mila stops her. "You know there's no saving us. Maybe if we had medical help..."

She lets the sentence trail off. The brutal honesty puts out Sophia's fire as quickly as it had flared up as she tracks her eyes from Mila's bleeding stump of a forearm, the shoulder injuries. The gash Riki now realizes comes from a piece of metal wedged deep in her stomach. Riki's chest, and his leg, which he really doesn't want to look at right now.

The Eighty-Six don't have medical staff. They have to make do with what little supplies they manage to scrounge up. The only 'valuable' Eighty-Six, in any sense of the word, are the mechanics and their only use is to maintain the Juggernauts.

The Eighty-Six's only purpose is to fight the Legion and die trying. Nothing else. If they get injured, then it's game over. From there, the only option is to die.

Being assimilated by the Legion is not an option most are willing to accept. Riki would just shoot himself here and now if he didn't think Mila would be left alone. He doesn't think she would able to do it with his body lying in plain view—just as he doesn't think he can do it if her body was before him, either.

Sophia lets out a sob, pressing her blood-covered hands to her hands. Riki doesn't want to know whose blood it is. "This is so unfair," she sobs. "I don't want to lose my three best friends all in the span of two days."

Riki wants to point out that at least she didn't have to watch Harua die, but she definitely heard his death screams. His cry of, "someone please help me!" right before he was taken. But he doesn't think that'll help.

"I'm sorry, Sophia," he tries, gentler than he's used to being. "I'm so sorry that it has to be this way. We don't want to leave you. We would never."

"We love you, girl," Mila inhales shakily. "We love you so much, you and Harua. But you should go. You don't need to see this. Nobody should."

"This world is so messed up," Sophia looks up. "It took my parents. It took my sisters. It took Harua. And now it's taking you, too."

Riki knows Harua himself had a bit of a thing for Sophia. The two of them were friends, but it was difficult to tell what their relationship was, exactly. More specifically, it was Harua who was more sure of how he felt, and Sophia who never gave a thought to the nature of their relationship.

Matchmakers who could've been in love.

"The world takes and takes, Sophia," Riki tells her. Oh, the pain is becoming unbearable now, the smell of blood only growing stronger and stronger. "It took my parents and sisters, too. Mila's parents. We're all a victim to it, and there's nothing else to do but soldier on through it."

He knows that so well. So many times have passed where he's had to tell himself just to stay afloat. Just to stay sane.

When he had watched Konon be assigned to a different squad and never heard of her again, Sola left behind in the camp before she would be inevitably forcibly enlisted too. Never knowing what happened to either of his sisters, or his parents, who he knows are long dead by now. He had almost wished to be back at the camp amidst the constant abuse, physical and verbal.

"I hate it," Sophia says, looking at them wide, wet eyes. "I don't want to keep losing."

"One day it'll end, one way or another," Riki says. "Please, leave. We don't have too much time left and I don't want you to see this, Sophia."

"Just—just please remember us at our best," Mila croaks out. "Remember that we loved you and Harua. That you were one of the best parts of our lives."

Sophia backs away slowly, swallowing hard. "What should I tell the captain...?"

"Tell him what you need to."

"Okay." Her golden hair and eyes glimmer in the sunset light. Harua would've wanted to witness this sight a thousand times, Riki thinks. He had always thought Sophia was a sunset kind of girl. "Goodbye...I love you. Both of you."

And then she's turning away and running, sobs wracking her frame as she goes. Riki aches to see her in so much pain, and it's worse when he sees the way Mila's closed her eyes, crying softly.

"I don't want to die," she confesses.

"Neither do I," Riki says. "But..."

"Yeah." Mila takes in a shaky breath. Levels her gun, and so Riki does, too. "I love you, you know. More than anyone else. You were my thin thread of sanity at times."

"You're everything to me," he admits softly. "I love you more than I can put into words."

"So then—" her grip tightens. Riki mirrors the action; it's like they're going to do everything together in their last moments. "Goodbye, love."

"Goodbye."

They pull the triggers. Mila's beautiful, beautiful smile is the last thing Riki sees before the bullets meets his forehead square in the center.

The best goodbye he could've wished for.

shinjū (心中), meaning "double suicide", used in common parlance to refer to any group suicide of two or more individuals bound by love, typically lovers, parents and children, and even whole families.

lovers committing double suicide believed that they would be united again in heaven, a view supported by feudal teaching in Japan, which taught that the bond between two lovers is continued into the next world, and by the teaching of wherein it is believed that through double suicide, one can approach rebirth in the Pure Land.

songs listened to while writing: - rock with you, seventeen - voices of the chord, sawano hiroyuki - my youth, nct dream

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akariamai · 1 year ago

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Welcome to Spearhead

Shinei Nouzen x OC

Word Count: 2321

Like an infestation, war trickled into every aspect of the lives of those the Republic of San Magnolia deemed to be less than. Those who do not possess fair skin and light hair were sent to internment camps, located in the wasteland beyond the walls of the city. The conditions of the internment camps were despicable — almost uninhabitable. Memories of sharing a horse stall with her family of four were engraved in her mind. Her family was shove into the stall — still full of shit — were left to tidy what was now there new home. Old forgotten hay laid bare on the floor as her mother and father shared the same feeling of helplessness. Her twin sister scrunched her nose in disgust as the vile stench of shit infiltrated her nostrils. Her mother put on a courageous facade before attempting to imbue the stall with a sense of home. She invested a considerable amount of time and effort in her endeavors but ultimately failed.

The family of four was given a month of peace before their mother and father received recruitment letters, promising citizenship and freedom for five years of service. Their father, cursed with his sense of pride, mindlessly accepted. The thought of dying and never seeing his family again hadn’t crossed his mind once. It was his family that kept him alive through the dark horrors of war but captivating notions were not enough to stop the autonomous AI-controlled drones known as the Legion. He perished believing in a lie.

Her mother struggled with her father’s absence. He was her pillar of strength; as long as he stayed by her side, she would always prevail. He was gone now, participating in a war for false promises. She stressed for his safety and health, as well as the survival of her children. She proceeded to smile though it was far less bright. Her children needed her to be in the present; to survive the harsh realities of the internment camp. It wasn’t long before her mother was taken from the sisters, a rebellion against their suppressors turned deadly, and her mother became an unforeseen casualty. Her body buried in an unmarked grave.

“Promise me.” Warm gentle hands held onto hers, “Promise we’ll stay together. That we’ll always have each other.”

“I promise.” Reva whispered.

Once the two sisters realized their father wasn’t coming back from the battlefield, they decided to join. The people, now referred to as the Eighty-six, grasped onto the realization no one was ever coming back. There was no freedom after five years of service. It was a mere lie to get the Eighty-six to enlist.

Reva saw her comrades die at the hands of the Legion. Friends she once smiled and laughed with. Their forms left bruised and battered, while their spirits departed, leaving their bodies cold. She heard the pain-filled cries of her twin sister before she perished with the rest of their comrades.

“Wraith!”

Reva, during the heat of battle, fought her way towards her sister’s irreparably destroyed Juggernaut. Her emblem splattered in blood — her blood — and a lifeless corpse surrounded decimated bricks from the ruins of a nameless city. She fired at the Legion, who stood above her sister’s body, relentlessly. Her finger pulled on the trigger countless of times to ensure her sister’s murderer could no longer move.

“Fuck you!” She screeched, unleashing a rage she didn’t know she had. “Just die!” She didn’t know how long she persistently battered the once mobile machine but once her madness subsided, it was nothing more than scrap metal.

The handler, an older man with an unpleasantly croaky voice, declared, “The Legion are retreating, the other Juggernauts are unresponsive, you’ll be transferred immediately.” The transmission ended with no condolences or congratulations. The Eighty-six’s were nothing but lambs to the slaughter, destined to die for the Alba. An unfamiliar ache etched into her beating heart would unknowingly become a reminder of her loneliness.

She heavily climbed out of her own Juggernaut, the corpse of her deceased sister lying motionless a few meters away of her iron coffin. The reality of the situation seemed to seep in as the sky above began to weep.

Her sister’s name lingered in the back of her throat as she stumbled closer. Breathing almost became too difficult as hiccups threatened to erupted from her lips. Her salty tears camouflaged with the raindrops trailing down her rosy cheeks. Her sister’s lifeless body laid above a growing pool of deep crimson blood, her clothing drenched in red. Once vibrant sapphire eyes faded into a dull emptiness. Reva wanted to roar into the darkness in despair. Embracing her sister tightly against her chest, she instinctively sought to shield her sister from the rain, a futile gesture.

“I’m sorry.” Reva barely choked out. She laid a gentle farewell kiss on her forehead, praying to one day see her again, and used her bare hands as tools to lay her sister to rest in the Earth. The downpour made it utterly frustrating but she persevered. Her sister deserved a burial. Mud soiled her pants as she crouched down onto the muddied floor, her hands shoveling away the filthy water and grime.

Hours must have passed as the daybreak glimmered through the dark clouds. The heavens wept no more, it’s tears all gone. It was the start of a new day without the constant presence she was familiar to; a sunrise her sister would never get to see. She solemnly limped back to her Juggernaut and returned to the deteriorating building she once shared with her squadron. Instead of dirtying the sanitize floors, she waited in her sullied clothing for her transportation.

~~~

The Alba men assigned to transport her to her new squadron showered her with dirty looks. Their light eyes acted as daggers; deadly if their glares could inflict pain. “Filthy pig,” They muttered under their breath, “Change!”

Reva didn’t bother to move. She had spent hours pondering over the loss of her sister. What gave these men, who were complacent when their neighbors were stripped of their human rights, the right to order her around. They were nobodies forced to work in close proximity to the Eighty-six, acting as mere errand runners with no true purpose or nobility.

“What are you waiting for?” They viewed her as nothing more than livestock; in need of control. They tenaciously held onto the perceived sense of superiority, ingrained by the institution that unlawfully detained the Eighty-six, over her being. Undisturbed by the objections from the men, she confidently moved towards her four-wheeled prison, closing her eyes once she found a spot that would be untouched by the machinery.

Once the men noticed she was not responding to their demands, the older man reached out his arm to drag her out without a care of her well-being. Despite her striking resemblance to a human, the “unnatural” color of her being prevented her from being perceived as such. His hand refrained from making contact with her form as she skillfully twisted his arm and forcefully directed his body to the ground. The Alba men before her have never seen the battlefield; they have never bared the hardships that came with war. They willfully lived ignorant of the truth behind “the war with no casualties.”

The younger man hurried to the aid of his comrade, assisting his higher-up, all the while casting wary glances at the girl, apprehensive that she might persist in her assault. “Are you okay?” The two men refused to take their eyes off of her as if she were a barbaric animal, ready to pounce at any given moment. Realization washed over them as they unwillingly accepted her decision and carried on with their assigned duties.

She remained unaware of the men successfully loading up her Juggernaut or her transport advancing to another battlefield — a battlefield she may very well perish. Her back kissed the metal plating, as the tenderness of her body hit her with the momentum of a speeding train.

Time slipped by before the entrance opened and the light flowed in like a never ending stream of welcoming ambiance. “Get out.” The men left her unattended, apprehensive of her being, standing by for her to step out and allow them to work. She ignored them, absorbing what would be her new home for the foreseeable future. There were two buildings in range of her sight. The first was a weather worn barracks’ hangar where the Juggernauts and other military equipment would be stored away, although the Eighty-six were not supplied with adequate gear or materials. The second was a rundown building; the place where she and the other Eighty-six would occupy themselves in. There was nothing glamorous about the building; there were noticeable cracks on the exterior and foliage sprouting to one day overtake the structure.

“So you’re the new recruit,” A man with an unkempt field uniform roamed closer to her. “Welcome to Spearhead.” He noticed the dried mud, flaking due to the movement of her clothing, and assumed the two Alba men must’ve tussled her around before transporting her. It wasn’t uncommon for the transport team to harass, even assault, the Eighty-six.

She nodded her head and gave him a pathetic smile. He was pleasant, she noted, by his subtle attempts to respect her personal space. By the condition of her clothing, it would be a rather fair assumption the Alba men physically attacked her; however, she would not get too familiar with him or the others in this squadron. Death awaited them, even herself. She will soldier on without the support of her sister, without a purpose to continue living. She will die on the battlefield; her existence disregarded while the life is scuffed from her body, countless of miles away from her sister’s resting place.

“The name’s Raiden Shuga; personal name: Wehrwolf.” To bear a personal name was a minimal act of respect Processors could offer veterans of the war, who returned from death’s door countless times.

Returning the sentiment, she offered him her true and personal name, “I’m Reva Nakamura; personal name: Hellfire.”

Where Wraith goes, Hellfire follows, a phrase old comrades used to comment. Two veterans whose coordination—without a single word uttered—reigns supreme among the other Processors. He was told, “They were two halves of a whole, you would never see one without the other.” Yet, here Hellfire stood without her other half; presumably dead and Raiden knew better than to mention it.

Instead he acknowledged her, masking the recognition of her personal name, “I’ll show you around, introduce you to the others. Some are busy with chores but you’ll see them afterwards.”

The Spearhead squadron had plenty of members, each a veteran in their own right, each with a story to tell. No matter how often she was transferred, seeing new young faces left a horrendous taste in her mouth. They were all going to succumb to the Legion; it was not a matter of if, but a matter of when. Death cradled them, awaiting for their gut wrenching cries of anguish and grief; to carry them away from the suffering of this bleak existence.

Forever wasn’t meant for them. It was more for the last person standing to uphold the memories of the deceased, although those memories will only persevere if they manage to stay alive. Living, however, does not guarantee memories will stay intact — memories fade through age or vanish in death. They were not meant to linger for eternity. Their sacrifices will not be remembered by the generations to come, only lost in the sea of nameless corpses.

“Reva, given a new change of clothing by Anju, a comrade who bore some resemblance to the Alba with only her eyes countering those thoughts, stepped into the dining room. After being given a bowl of soup, she sought to sit alone but instead was ambushed by her comrades surrounding her with probing questions. The one who lead the charge was Kurena, a rather young girl with chestnut-colored hair and catlike Topaz eyes. Once she heard the infamous Hellfire was sent to their squadron, she couldn’t contain her curiosity. Reva was nothing like the image she had conjured up in her mind. She’d imagined an unyielding woman harden by the numerous battles she’d face, instead the person before her was a girl like her.

“How did you get the name Hellfire?”

“Where were you from?”

“What do you like to do in your free time?”

Reva swallowed another spoonful of soup, made from overgrown fresh vegetables the group scavenged from the ruins of the nameless city. It was better than the horrendous rations the Alba sent the Eighty-six.

“My family comes from the United Kingdom of Roa Gracia, but I was born in the Republic.” Certain questions were ignored; they carried memories she’d wish to forget. Instead of being offended for the unanswered questions, they assumed unpleasant memories were tied to them, and moved on. They were strangers to her, after all, she didn’t need to speak to them but she did.

The group spoke about themselves as well, giving her the opportunity to enjoy her meal uninterrupted without pausing to answer questions. They collectively mentioned their captain would always be found with his nose in a book, Theo pencil in hand would sketch away in his notebook, Kurena bears the role of the group’s cherished little sister, to which she whined was not true, and so many more.

Shin, one of the many nicknames he’s been given, sat away from the group. He listened to them giving the newbie insight on each member of the squadron; an attempt to get her familiar to them. Another name he may have to carry before his death; another burden to shoulder in the battlefield. At the moment, he was content that his friends were cheerful. Moments like these were scarce. Each day could be someone’s last.

Masterlist

#86 eighty six #86 #shinei nouzen #shinei nouzen fanfic #86 fanfic #86 anime #eighty six #86 eightysix #shin nouzen #raiden shuga #theoto rikka #86 エイティシックス #86 light novel #oc #original character #shinei nouzen x oc #shin nouzen x oc

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my-anime-list · 11 months ago

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86 EIGHTY-SIX

The Republic of San Magnolia claims their war against the Giadian Empire has no casualties, but it's a fabrication. While the silver-haired Alba of the Republic's 85 sectors are protected behind walls, those who look different are locked up in a secret 86th faction. The Eighty-Six, as they're called by the military, are forced to fight against the Empire's autonomous Legion, led by the Republican "Handlers." Vladilena Milizé joins the Spearhead squadron, replacing their prior Handler. Outcast by her colleagues for standing with the Eighty-Six, she continues to battle their inhuman maltreatment. Shinei Nouzen is the captain of the Spearhead squadron and the only surviving member of his previous squads. He bears the names and desires of his fallen comrades. When the lives of these two youths from different worlds come together, will it light the way to liberation, or will it destroy them in despair's flames?

#86 eighty six #anime online #anime #8 #e

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teragames · 1 year ago

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Anuncian un evento de lectura de "86 EIGHTY-SIX"

Revelan un promocional para el evento de lectura en directo del anime "86 EIGHTY-SIX" (@anime_eightysix).

El elenco del anime 86 EIGHTY-SIX se reunirá muy pronto en el Tokorozawa Sakura Town’s Japan Pavilion Hall A el 1 de octubre. Los actores llevarán a cabo una lectura en directo del guion de la obra para sus fans. Hoy tenemos una linda imagen promocional del evento y el anuncio de la salida a la venta de sus entradas este 2 de agosto. Se anunció que el programa de radio “San Magnolia Republic…

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yasuiguzzu · 2 years ago

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HOT ‼️ 🚨 Ecchi Waifu !!!!! En su babydoll lingerie…Personaje femenina principal, una lider, cute, Bella, daring, sexy y si no sabes quien es…. Ella es Vladilena Milizé or lena for short. De la serie 86- Eighty Six. BTW…… recomiendo ese anime, apocalíptica, mecha que habla de los "Juggernaut" que son drones de combate no tripulados desarrollados por la República de San Magnolia en respuesta a los ataques de los drones autónomos del vecino Imperio de Giad, la "Legión". Pero en realidad lo de que no son tripulados es una farse, pues lo cierto es que los pilotan los 86, aquellos que se consideran menos que humanos y a los que tratan como meras herramientas. Decidido a combatir hasta su fin, Shin, capitán de un escuadrón compuesto por los 86, lucha sin descanso en un campo de batalla en el cual lo único que le aguarda es la muerte. Así que vayan a @crunchyroll o @crunchyroll_la y vean la serie les encantará. Y claro está figura hermosa créeme que es difícil de conseguir y cara!!!!! Así que sabes que YasuiGuzzu tiene precios casi imposibles para esta belleza! DM me now

#86squad #86 #vladilenamilize #lena #animegirl #animewaifu #hot #lingerie #pijama #highsocks #cute #kawaii #collectibles #animefigure #setup #collection #apoyalolocal #puertorico #geek #animefan #protagonist #explore #fyp #viral #trending #setup ##mustwatch #crunchyroll #longlegs #thighsocks

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bobhairgirl86 · 2 years ago

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The unnamed military police officer (憲兵) (けんぺい) Of the Republic of San Magnolia, appears in the Eighty-Six (エイティシックス) anime. He's an anime exclusive and only appeared in two episodes, with the last one being alluded to.

#military police #MP #86-エイティシックス-#86 eighty-six #86-Eighty-Six #86 #eightysix #Eighty-Six #anime #manga #fanart #military officer #uniform #digital art

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frankensteinshimbo · 2 years ago

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Mint Condition. Still in Box.

This story starts in Atlanta, Georgia and ends in Nob Hill, San Francisco, California.

Early July, Midnight. A well-groomed but regionally eclectic traveler prepares for a funeral across the country.

"Stéphane Boivin."

Stéphane shouldered into a soft white shirt. The open front framed the flat white plane of his chest. Watercolors from the outside painted dim blues and diffuse yellows through floor length windows. Midtown Atlanta pulsed softly through the distant night behind him. A trick of urban planning.

"Ticket Number zero, zero, six; two, one, one; twofivefour; ninety-eight...eighty-one."

Let the rich think they're secluded from the grime and grit.

"Yeah, I'll hold."

He tapped the screen.

11:30

Then, as if drawn, he glanced at the yawning mouth of the coffin that occupied the alcove of his bedroom. Colorless with dark, the maw breathed in all and exhaled nothing. Breathless blue eyes studied it, feet came to it, even as his hands diversified. One putting buttons through slits, the other pulling the curtains shut from the coming sun. Then the scratchy horrendous reality of the operator's voice returned. He pushed the casket lid shut, heavy wooden edges reverberating against each other as she rattled out her customer service prompt. The tepid but pleasant scent of funeral parlor gushed into his nostrils. Underneath it all, hints of magnolias blooming out of season flavored undercurrents of the box's contents.

Stéphane's eyes might've watered had they not been dry since the Louisiana Purchase. A chronic condition. He adjusted the phone's cradle against his chin and cheek. Eyes closed.

"No, I won't be participating in a survey at the end of this call," he cut smoothly into the end of her rattle and saved them both the hassle. He grasped one of the handles on the side of the casket and dragged it to the bed, leaving heavy tracks on the floor. Two suitcases waited, dutifully. "I wanted to verify into whose hands I'd be placing the care of my loved one in once I delivered him to the airport." zrriiiiiiiiiiiip "Mmmnhmn, okay.. ... Listen." He said as he hoisted both bags under his bicep, coffin handle in fist, leaving the other hand free to put the call on speaker.

"I am more than capable of overseeing the body's departure and handling the arrangement with the funeral parlor. This... TSA Agent, it just builds a middle man into the equation, no? More room for error, and I'd really rather--"

--Sir, I'm sorry, this is federal regulation--

"But no, no apologies. I understand. Truly," he said, the arch in his voice pressing vainly high, "but this is someone I love very..."

TSA will take the utmost care while shipping and handling your loved one. Would you like me to read the packing and refrigeration procedures?

"...Much," he sighed as the suitcases plunked onto the floor. An ankle kicked them straight. "No." Thirst crowded his throat drier than it'd been before. Circuit Boards were unyielding in the steel body of the New World. Voice wispy and still unnaturally high on the come down, "Thanks for your time, Darling. Talking to you was enchanting."

His eyes rolled a loop as he killed the white noise of the line. Consolation prize, call it.

He had tried extensively over the past weeks, but even supernatural charm couldn’t topple the best laid bureaucracies. There were rumors that charming Italians owned the airport. With oiled smiles and old-country words, they’d trade illegal cigars for a box of knick-knacks from the recently deceased. But handing a coffin to a necromancer felt like dangling a steak in front of a manged dog. No. Like many things Stéphane and the coffin had been through, they would just have to endure sacrifices when necessary.

12:00

It took the hearse a little less than three minutes to show up. Record. For this city. The driver was heavy-set and wore too much gold around his neck and teeth to make a living off of doing work in an industry that demanded respectability. A tattoo of a rose shifted in the same light that had painted Stéphane's chest blue and gold earlier. It was tacky, but his eyes stayed trained on it for the duration of the ride, following the dappling of yellow over dark dark skin. It was the last favor he'd ask of Marlene Jackson. The bitch.

But it still felt bittersweet.

The airport rose over a hill of asphalt bearing them up into the ring of drop-offs and pick-ups. All geometric silver and glass twinkling in spilled yellow light. This paint was gouache, rather than watercolor. Opaque and hard, it illuminated the bustle of an airport that was neither twinkling nor geometric. Stéphane didn't understand the turn of the millennium's obsession with clean chrome plating. What was the point of creating a sleek creature whose purpose was the illusion of modernity? He thought that architecture should carry the forward momentum of the age. Atlanta's airport was the busiest in the country and even at midnight, people still ebbed out into the night with no sign of clot. Sharp angled. Busy. He blinked dark metal struts from his eyes to pop the door into sweltering Georgia night. The inside of his mouth condensed with water, filling along the valley of his tongue.

The driver was already getting the bearing trolley unfolded on the edge of the walkway, so Stéphane opened the trunk. He could feel passerby starting to linger on the sordid sight, the lateness of the hour adding to the omen that mortal death carried. So both he and the driver took opposing ends of the big wooden slab, lifting it over the lip of the curb with a certain sag in their arms, movements aborted before they could carry all the way, eyes locking in conspiracy. Then, like a profane cake tier, it was aligned on a cart that Stéphane could probably waltz one-handed through security. Death weighed nothing to him.

"It's been real, Stefan."

"Should I get you a cigarette?"

He laughed, loud and inappropriate until he got into the car.

“You think since you’re leaving I can get a look at the Barbie you keep in that box?”

“You’re asking me for a very intimate thing. Unfinished art. The prose we leave unfinished, scared of thoughts we never should have had but won’t edit.. The many pages, I’m sure you've left bare because you felt too crude. Even plastic dolls have a way of being profane when they're lifeless and disused. Who can tell what your prying eyes might disrupt if you catch her unprepared.” Stephen flicked a lock of hair behind his ear - where it floated into place. “When he’s ready, the world will see him.”

“I’ll undress my music to anyone who asks in good faith. Call it crude, but there’s always someone else who’s gonna wanna put a black bar over your work without you doing it to yourself.”

Stéphane snorted. His hand resting on the lid of the casket had become a fist.The hearse drove away, and he turned back towards the airport doors. “Putain d'Américains.”

—

12:21

"I'd like a moment with him, please."

The loading room was gray and green tiled. Based on the Agent's goose pimpled arms, it was chilly. Only one other casket lay in the corner of the storage room. It was wrapped in gleaming black tarping. A barcode stamped itself over the top. It sat next to a metal chute that opened up the wall. Its throat disappeared at an angle, but even the shadows didn’t conceal the grotesque drop.

Stéphane glanced up to look at the TSA Agent. He offered the clipboard freshly inked with his signature back to him. His blue eyes were swimming. Inhales slightly breathless.

“Before he’s bagged up, like so.” He jerked his chin at the other coffin, glittering like an oil slick at the far side of the room. The man nodded in return, his stupid jaw slack.

"Thank you."

Dryness sucked down his throat again, clawing a little deeper into vast reserves of the limber body. Stéphane's knuckles and cheeks were tinged a bubbly rose, but against the contrast of the wood grain, the hands that gripped the lid were the same ivory as his shirt. Truth in contrast.

He opened it, breathing in magnolias that had once climbed the summer porch on a dusky June night. Hints of black tea from a stolen saucer. Cream. It was all still vivid underneath the flowery perfume of the embalming chemicals he’d spiked the edges of the fabric with. Better for mortals to believe that what lay inside was a dead thing.

“Hello, Junior.”

The truth was much more complicated. He looked the same as he had the day he’d died that fall in 1836, save for stressors of the swampy Southeast American climate on the body. The beads of water on his Childe’s face could’ve been condensation. But he could smell the tang of sweat dehydrating from humid skin and slightly damp hair. It was so strangely feverish, so human. Most vampires fallen to torpor were old and creased as paper folded too many times. Skin and lips white as bone china. Yet his Childe could’ve been sleeping through a fitful flu.

Tenderly, he cupped the still face. Perspiration fell away under thumbs trailing familiar paths. Stéphane, then, pulled out a small disc of setting powder. He patted it into the Childe’s skin until signs of ravaged humanity became matte death. Sandy colored foundation followed. No liquids, of course. Not anymore since the world had grown obsessed with bombs, but Stéphane had always been better painting creams onto a skin canvas. His palm knew how to contour the edges of the still face. The subtle line of flat cheekbones, full lips, warm brown skin. They were all measures of an exoticness unlike his flatly colonial features, but they were ones he knew better than Michael Angelo did David.

Stéphane tilted his head, viewing the work with a scrutinous eye.

“Là.” He smoothed messy curls into obedience behind the sleeping man’s ears. He leaned over the box, holding back a long blond ponytail. “Tu es belle.” Cool breath brushed the Childe’s ear. “Dans quatre heures, je te reverrai. Pas plus,” he pressed into the soft patch of skin just below his Childe’s ear. Stéphane could’ve sworn a soft shiver ran through the mammalian nervous system underneath his fingers as the lid closed softly behind him.

—-

1:00

The West Coast was blissfully dry. It would be closer to dawn when the ocean fog rolled in over the bay, and Stéphane planned to be tightly shut up in his hotel for that. With that dryness came a flux within his own body. The elevation sponged up the blood in his soft tissues, leaving him pleasantly beleaguered by his own thirst. Enough that eating would be a slow luxury rather than the quick urgency of starvation. That was merely a matter of slinking a hand around the waist of one the juice boxes he’d brought when their flight came in tomorrow. It’d be far from his first display of promiscuity.

At the deposit box of the gold and wood paneled lobby of the Fairmont, his auspicious casket followed with a hotelier. He had selected this particular hotel for this reason. Without pesky stairs flanking the stone entryways, there was little reason to pretend he needed help manhandling the casket up steps. Although he had draped the box with a sheet, the late night crowd pooling in the lobby paused amidst their hurry to gape. The ugly thing following such a beautiful man couldn’t possibly be what they thought it was. Stéphane, seemingly used to the spectacle this terrible procession, took control of the trolley and squeezed his blade of a body into the elevator.

As it seemed, vampires did not suffer jet lag. Swirling tiredness in the base of his skull had turned wakeful as the night had restored itself to youth. And yet, it wasn’t just the anatomy of the timezone. The South had worn on him for two centuries the way a hiding place wears on a motionless creature. It was only being freed of it that he could feel himself beginning to breathe again. Yet, his thoughts were far from bounding into bold nightly endeavors. Fingers tapped impatiently over the lid. His responsibility followed him. Always.

He wheeled it into the most closeted corner of the open comfortable room he’d booked. When he lifted it into his arms it seemed so light. So easy to bear to the floor even though the black plastic made the bulky rectangle treacherously slick. The pocket knife dug out from his suitcase incised the thin black skin. It yawned open around the wood, discolored by the whiter light of the hotel room. Stéphane pushed the bag, now useless as a birthed placenta, off of the casket. He opened it, revealed a softly perfumed white interior and nothing else.

”Turn in your Bibles to Mark sixteen. Verse Eight.”

For a moment, as Stéphane sat there, listening to the white noise of incandescence in that strange city, he recalled slipping into the backrow of a sweltering church. It was smaller than most churches of this century, lacking the tools to build higher. What they did have in the American South was the social prejudice to keep the small institution underfunded as most colored churches were. He was hardly the Catholic boy of his youth, but it was an earthly curiosity that had beckoned him into the Lord’s Foyer that evening service.

“An’ upon enterin’ the tomb, it was empty but for a young man sittin’ on the righ’ side, dressed in a white robe, an’ they were alarmed. He said to them–” Large dark eyes fluttered in a stumble over their thickly framed lashes as they marveled at Stéphane. In that pause, uncomfortable silence held the congregation upon viewing the white dandy in their presence, but Stéphane Boivin could be less interested in the others. He locked eyes with the Reverend up front. Brown skin and heavy bangs flushed with red from twilight stained a deeper wine as the preacher blushed.

“‘Do…” He cleared his throat. “Do not be alarmed. …” he restarted, eyes locked with Stéphane’s. “He has risen; he is not here.’ An’ they went out and fled from the tomb, for trembling and astonishment had seized them, an’ they said nothing to anyone, ‘cause they were too afraid.”

#gothic writing #short story #writeblr #my works #by quinn #gothic #Vampire: The Masquerade #San Francisco Nights #World of Darkness

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