“Why have you issued no updates on the campaign?” Seii Gorgon Kassius demanded. “Why did it take a decree to force you to lift your communications blackout? Topheth commands a progress report. I should not have to gnaw on your tail to draw one from you.”

Akkad did not dare meet his master’s great holographic gaze, prostrating himself before the fiery pillar. “A situation has arisen that has delayed our invasion.”

Kassius loomed ever further over him. “What situation?”

“A Therian has emerged.” Akkad hesitated. “He has proven an unexpected obstacle.” Kassius hacked thrice in derision, his harsh coughs making Akkad wince. “I will adapt and overcome, Seii Gorgon.”

Kassius bared his teeth at Akkad. “I will accept no further impedance. I expect results. This communications blackout of yours will be lifted and regular reports of your progress will be made.

“Topheth granted you the title of daimōn and blessed you with command of this campaign to bring glory to our people. It is a privilege, not an entitlement to fritter away. Do not poison your blood with failure.”

“I shall prove worthy of Topheth’s favor,” Akkad vowed, rising to his knees as Kassius’ image burnt out. Akkad surveyed the faces of those prior daimōnes carved into the walls who stared doubtfully from the Cimmerian shadows at their heir. “I shall prove worthy,” he repeated in the face of their silent judgment.

From the deep a laelap emerged and floated toward Akkad, its emerald silhouette spilling out to report to its leader. “Daimōn.”

Akkad rose from his knees. “What have you to report?”

“We have found the Therian’s proxy.”

The daimōn’s tongue flicked out anxiously. “Show me.”

An orange projection of the Earth coalesced before the pair and rotated revealing the North American continent. “He was last spotted here on the western coast of this land mass.” Their view plunged into the planet descending through the atmosphere until an aerial glimpse of Los Angeles emerged. The point of view then corrected so that the skyline rose before them.

“How did you discover him?”

“The natives have been broadcasting stories about the Therian’s proxy on various radio frequencies for the past several planetary cycles. He has caused a furor among his people.”

“What have they to say?”

“They proclaim him a hero. According to their reports, the Therian’s proxy saved hundreds of lives in a recent incident.”

“Sounds like a Therian,” Akkad sizzed with contempt. “Rather than lead, he would be leashed by the masses.”

“It would seem this is not the first incident of his altruism. More stories are broadcast daily of prior incidents scattered across the landmass.”

Akkad growled, furiously swiping at the laelap’s avatar only for his exposed claws to pass safely through the green light leaving the laelap unfazed. “Did I not tell you to search for him thoroughly? Why did you not know of these incidents and track them? Why am I only hearing about them now?”

“We only have access to their broadcast bands which these natives rarely use to communicate with one another. They prefer to use their broadcast technology for eccentric purposes such as storytelling, lauding of products, and what we can only assume is song of some kind.” The laelap played a scratchy recording of “On the Good Ship Lollipop.”

“I do not need a vile sampling!” Akkad shouted, cringing at the assault of alien sounds on his tympanic membranes. The laelap abruptly ended the recording. “To use technology for such folly,” he spat in contempt.

“This quirk of theirs to use technology for recreation has caused some problems, hence why it proved problematic to deduce the whereabouts of the Therian’s proxy. It took time to realize that many broadcasts were of fictional characters and not the target.”

“Oh yes, the Shadow.” Akkad snorted and leered at the city before him. “This is an odd breed.” His attention returned to the laelap. “Surely they share news of the day.”

“They do but they print terrestrial events more often than not. Access to these periodicals is problematic as we have no units on site to peruse them. Even worse is the proliferation of periodicals with many simply being of a local rather than global nature narrowing their effectiveness at gauging what is happening in any given area.”

“You are sure this is the Therian’s proxy and not another fictional creation?”

“Yes, daimōn. We have corroborated the evidence with numerous sources.”

“What do they have to say about him?”

“They see him as something of a savior. Some broadcasts draw a comparison between the Therian’s proxy and a mythical being many of the natives worship. He heals their sick, saves many from danger. He has even acquired a name: Okie angel.”

“I see.” Akkad took a few paces in contemplation, his tail swaying behind him, before stopping suddenly. “I have discovered his weakness. Much like the Therian, his proxy cares. He actually cares for these natives.”

“Perhaps because he was once one of them.”

“This could work to my advantage,” Akkad said to himself. “Where is my proxy located again?”

Los Angeles receded back into obscurity as their view pulled back until the Earth in its entirety was visible again. The globe rotated right bringing the eastern coast of Asia into view. A red dot marred central Manchuria like a spot of blood. “He is there, across the great ocean on the eastern coast of this planet’s largest continent.”

Akkad approached the globe. “What is his status?”

“The people of the region have come to embrace him as something of a god. He has also acquired the confidence of one of the region’s tribal leaders.”

“They respect his power.” Akkad made a fist. “Excellent.”

“Our reconnaissance unit has discovered the tribal leader that your proxy resides with is planning a war with an opposing faction.”

“Indeed.” Akkad’s tongue flicked out, the vague structure of a plan coming together in his mind.

“There is reticence on the part of your proxy to join this tribal leader in his campaign, daimōn.”

“What do you mean? Does he not crave battle?”

“It is hard to explain. For the past three nocturnal cycles he has wandered speaking to invisible beings asking for guidance.”

Akkad thought that over before responding. “If he wishes guidance, then he shall receive it. These are a superstitious people after all. It is time that their gods made themselves known. Order our reconnaissance unit to make contact with the proxy the next nocturnal cycle.”

“But that will put our unit at risk.”

“I am willing to take that risk.” Akkad focused intensely on Asia. “The Seii Gorgon demands action. I cannot wait for these two to find one another. I will push them together myself. I want my proxy to incite a war. He will make thousands suffer. And his actions will draw the Therian’s proxy.” Visions of the slaughter to come led to that red dot hemorrhaging across the whole of China until all was awash in blood.

“He wishes to be a savior,” Akkad said of the Therian’s proxy with derision. “I will make him a martyr.”

***

Li Chen trod through the shifting shadows of the Imperial palace’s empty gardens, bathed in the night’s sepulchral glow. The grounds were silent and still with a curling brume clinging to the soil that swirled up and around bent, skeletal trees whose gnarled branches reached futilely for the heavens. Wandering aimlessly through the gloom, he thought over what Zhang Xueliang had said. “Lead us,” the marshal’s plea echoed.

“I will be a great man,” Li Chen rasped to the shadows remembering the promise he had made Jee Hae. How bitter those words now tasted. So many times he had looked off to the horizon beseeching the gods to help him escape his simple, obscure village and the role of farmer that ill-suited him. They had heard him, but the answer they gave and the sacrifices required made Li Chen weep. The stabbing ache in his heart ached until, frustrated by his pain, his passions ignited and he madly slashed at the nearest tree with his claws. Incensed beyond reason, he mutilated it before finally seizing the splintering trunk and ripped it free from the dirt, heaving its bulk with a shriek. The Imperial Guard came running following the crashing sound only to hurriedly retreat at the sight of Li Chen growling menacingly at them. Li Chen seethed and struggled to calm down, hugging himself tightly as he trembled.

The world had grown more complicated since leaving Beiyinhe. It had darkened and expanded beyond ready comprehension becoming labyrinthine and treacherous. The correct path seemed harder and harder to discern. Li Chen could not help but to feel lost in an increasingly graying world. He was afraid to venture any further toward his fate, overwhelmed by uncertainty. He was no hero. His was not divine wisdom. Why must he shoulder the burden of saving these people? Could he bear it or would the weight of responsibility crush him? The glory he had achieved seemed more a curse than a blessing bringing an evanescence of his childhood dreams of greatness. All he reaped was a wealth of problems. He was a destroyer, not a savior. Death clung to him, yet peasants believed he could save them. It was simpler when all he had to worry about was his own well-being. To decide the fate of others…Li Chen tore up the earth with his foot in annoyance, spitting a feral hiss at existence. Dreams and wishes did not belong in the waking world. Reality had a way of twisting them.

It was not simply the world that had changed but him as well. He was no longer an innocent boy. What he had grown into…There were frightening times when Li Chen feared his humanity was slipping away. He only partially recollected the nightmarish fugue he had suffered through in the forest after his transformation but what seeped into his conscious shook him. The creature that had possessed him then would emerge when the rage overtook him. When that happened, he became bloodthirsty and cruel; thoughtless and wild. Despite his revulsion for the beast within, it granted a wretched freedom that he lusted for. The strength. The power. To simply not care. To relish the beast that he could become. Pure. Primal. Power without reservations. Sweet, numb nihilism. A force of nature.

Li Chen’s thoughts turned to the city of Hsinking which surrounded the palace. These people, what were they doing to him? As much as he wished to save Manchuria from the Japanese, there were times he thought of leaving these peasants to their fate. They were weak. Clinging. Manipulative. Corrupting. Their tales of Japanese atrocities fed the fury within him and they knew it. They asked him to kill eating away at his morality bit by bit. They begged him to slaughter. Their malice transformed them into demons urging him on to avenge their pain with blood. In saving them he damned himself and they did not care. They wanted the beast, not him. Were such a people worth saving? Yet how could he hate them? Their story was his; a yearning for vengeance.

Looking to the veiled moon, he delicately held that pale jade comb he had given to Jee Hae in his coarse palm. Did Change’e look back? Did the stars see his suffering? Li Chen allowed his attention to pass between the moon and stars to the gulf of the heavens where he sought guidance. “I do not know if you can hear me, but I need you. The gods are silent and my ancestors will not answer. I feel so alone, Jee Hae. I do not know what to do. If only the gods would take this power from me. The responsibilities that come with it are too great,” he said in anguish. “Is it their will that I suffer? If I alone am worthy, then I will stand for my people. But I look into my heart and find nothing but doubt. How can I bring these people together when there are divisions within me?”

A green light flitted through the brush drawing Li Chen’s notice away from the celestial sea. The lambent wisp circled the periphery bobbing through the trees.

“Come out, huli jing,” Li Chen ordered the pernicious spirit.

It soon emerged, a shimmering shén whose radiance and shape reminded him of the entity that had cursed him those many nights ago. From its shining core spilled the vague shape of a man. “You seek guidance,” the laelap stated in an emotionless tone.

“Are you a messenger of the gods?”

“I come from the heavens, yes. My master has ordered me to aid you.”

“How?”

“To guide you. You have doubt.”

Li Chen paused briefly before answering, “Yes.”

“You should not. You have been chosen.”

Li Chen instinctively bared his teeth, taking a threatening step toward the figure. “For what?” he snarled.

“A great age is approaching and you have been selected as the harbinger. Those who dwell above seek to establish a new order upon your world.”

“Why me? There are greater, worthier men than I.”

“It is not your place to question but to fulfill your destiny. You have been chosen and you must fulfill the will of those who dwell above.”

“And what is their will?” Li Chen cut back caustically, jabbing a talon skyward. “What would they have me do? Tear down the foundations of the entire world?”

“They would have you crush your enemies and unify your people.”

The figure’s answer stunned Li Chen. “I thought the Kangde Emperor was chosen by heaven to reunite the people of the Middle Kingdom.”

“Was he blessed with the blood of those who dwell above? No. You have been selected. Glory awaits you.”

“Glory,” Li Chen repeated with irony. “I do not want glory. I want vengeance.”

“You must put your personal desires aside.”

“They are all I have left. The gods have stolen everything else from me. My home. My humanity. My beloved Jee Hae.”

“Those who dwell above have given you more than you can ever understand.”

“I am not a leader,” Li Chen murmured. “I am not.”

“Then perhaps you require persuasion.” The emerald figure flashed and a buzzing filled Li Chen’s head disorienting him. His knees buckled and he fell to the earth upon his belly, the jade comb passing from his grasp. White hot flashes washed over him as his vision narrowed until all he could see was that brilliant green figure.

Jee Hae’s incorporeal spirit flashed before his eyes. “You would not leave me?” she ruefully asked before her form withered to dust.

Li Chen’s heart sped up until it thundered loudly in his chest pumping a rush of tingling fervor throughout his flesh that ate through reason and qualm. Struck deaf, all he heard was the drumming reverberating from his center.

The Japanese gibbered above him, kicking and beating him with the butts of their rifles. “Shina, shina, shina,” they mocked.

Li Chen became lightheaded as his breathing shallowed out and sped up, his senses imploding. “Jee Hae,” he cried.

Li Hsu leered down at his son contemptuously. “She is dead, Li Chen, and you are responsible for killing her.”

“Why?” Li Chen hoarsely asked his father. “Why did she have to die?”

Li Hsu morphed into Hiroshi Ishiguro. “Must there be a why?” Behind Ishiguro, the dead of Zhongma rose from the earth to stare accusingly at Li Chen with blazing white eyes. “Stupid boy!” Ishiguro yelled in the voice of Li Hsu.

Japanese soldiers appeared once more and began firing at the dead of Zhongma tearing their corpses apart. “Save us,” the dead pleaded.

“I can’t,” Li Chen meekly confessed, his tongue dry and swollen.

“I don’t want to hear your excuses!” Ishiguro screamed in the voice of Li Hsu. “That is all I ever hear from you is excuses!”

Li Chen’s ghosts surrounded the boy condemning him. There was no escape. “Tell me what I must do,” he demanded in frustration.

The clouds of the sky parted and a blazing light shone through as if Shangdi himself were bearing his face. Through the gap a great fire fell from the sky slamming into the earth consuming all in an inferno that swept away the darkness flowing over and swallowing memory. Li Chen drowned in a lake of magma, the flames scorching his flesh. “Jee Hae!” he wailed in agony.

Within that conflagration came Jee Hae’s voice. “I believe in you.”

“Lead us,” Zhang Xueliang pleaded once more.

That great fire coalesced around and entered Li Chen’s body as he rose back into consciousness, his hands curled into fists which he pounded on his chest with aggressive élan soon going rigid and howling savagely at the firmament. The gods had sanctified him with their fortitude, the adrenaline thick in his heart. He felt invincible.

“Smother your doubt and harden yourself,” the laelap ordered Li Chen. “Many more must die. Nothing may stop you for the blood of those who dwell above flows in your veins. You shame not only yourself but your masters with your trepidation. I have infused their confidence within you. You have a role to play and that role is to defeat the enemies of your masters. You must prepare the way for them. Think not of yourself. Act only according to their will.”

The haze of Li Chen’s uncertainty dissipated and a clarity of vision emerged. “I will turn south,” he gutturally told himself. In siding with Zhang Xueliang rather than charging toward Harbin, he would do much more than simply free Manchukuo and establish his independence of Puyi’s authority; he would set in motion the liberation and unification of China after decades of civil war. He would build an empire upon the bones of his enemies. Li Chen would become emperor. The mandate of heaven was his. All would be his. Despite himself, his hunger for power was aroused.

The laelap scanned Li Chen. “Do you understand?”

The last vestiges of Li Chen’s soft, boyish features hardened. “Yes. I will submit to their will.”

“Do not hesitate. Show no mercy. Harness your aggression and let it drive you on toward glory. Do not fear your rage. It is the fire of those who dwell above imbued within your heart. You are a warrior, a conqueror. Let nothing stop you. Crush the weak and bring strength to the strong.”

Li Chen knelt before the divine spirit and bowed his head. “I will defeat those who would stop the gods’ will.”

“Do so and you shall join their ranks and achieve immortality.”

***

South of the Wànli Chángchéng in the wooded Luanhe Valley, Zhang Xueliang’s forces camped. It was a premature hour, twilight steadily giving way to a purpling autumn dawn. A cool breeze from the south passed through the forest rustling branches and stirring an arboreal ripple that flowed north into Manchukuo. Beneath their boughs final preparations were being made for the march into Jehol; gear was checked, ammo passed out, and orders given. Zhang walked among his men inspecting their progress and raising their morale for the battles ahead. It was an unnecessary exercise. Enthusiasm ran high within the ranks. These men were the exiled veterans of the first defense of the Great Wall. Manchurians every one, these soldiers prepared to reclaim their lands from the foreign devils that had stolen them, their fervor fierce as any crusader’s. This was more than a war; it was a struggle of national survival. They were determined to turn the tide and push the Japanese back into the ocean from whence they came. They yearned to fight, and if need be, die; their blood enriching the soil and their bodies the building blocks of tomorrow. It was a scene Zhang had never expected to see.

The young marshal had been surprised when a new meeting was called between him and the Kangde Emperor. Zhang had believed that cooperation between their factions was untenable after their prior exchange. Upon entering the throne room and preparing for another immature tirade, Zhang found Puyi sulking on his throne; a sharp contrast from the arrogant façade the Kangde Emperor had presented at their first meeting. He would discover that the Lóng Wáng, not Puyi, had called the second meeting in order to force an alliance and dictate the focus of the campaign. The Lóng Wáng had sided with Zhang despite the passive protestations of Puyi. Zhang took great satisfaction in watching the Kangde Emperor shouted down, the leader of Manchukuo cowering like a child beneath the wrath of a demigod. The Lóng Wáng ordered that Puyi’s forces would strike south toward Shenyang drawing Japanese forces north. Puyi’s forces would be led personally by the Lóng Wáng thus preventing the likelihood of treachery on the emperor’s part. When the Kwantung Army moved to meet this threat, Zhang was to push north into Jehol attacking the weak southern flank of the Japanese.

With the Lóng Wáng’s forces finding early success in their drive for Shenyang, Zhang prepared to invade Jehol with Chengdu as his initial objective while a detachment to the east would thrust towards Shanhaiguan. At Zhang’s disposal was a loyal army of 100,000 men supported by the Nanking Battalion, a force consisting of 10 Pz-I A light tanks, 20 L 3/35 tankettes, and several SdKfz 221 and 222 armored cars.

Leading the Nanking Battalion was an eccentric and adventurous Wermacht officer, Hauptmann Harpenau, who had initially served as an advisor to Chinese forces in the establishment of their armored forces in the Nationalist capital. Brave to a suicidal degree and bored with his academic posting, the fanatical, fair haired German proved a useful ally who readily joined Zhang’s side when he heard of the young marshal’s audacious plan to invade Manchukuo. Even as Zhang showed doubt in his plan, Harpenau served to galvanize the young marshal telling him, “Nothing great in the world has ever been accomplished without passion. Knowing is not enough; we must apply. Willing is not enough; we must do.”

Zhang’s plans were nearly derailed when the local commander of the Nanking garrison had refused his request for transfer of the armored battalion. Harpenau replied by taking direct control of the unit himself and ordering it north against the commands of the garrison while threatening to blast any soldier who got in his way. The men of the armored Nanking Battalion willingly followed, enamored as they were with their brash Teutonic leader who offered them a chance for glory rather than a continuation of ruinous armistices and whose readily excitable nature proved infectious to his subordinates. But the garrison commander saw this move as an affront to his authority. Harpenau’s defiant act nearly led to a firefight between Nationalist forces as the Nanking garrison attempted to halt the armored column despite the warnings made. The garrison commander only backed down after Zhang had called in numerous favors, though bad blood remained between the two men. It was a risk Zhang had to take. Charging headlong into Manchukuo without armored support was suicidal. Zhang remembered how effectively Kwantung tanks had ripped through Nationalist forces two years earlier due to a lack of Chinese armor or anti-tank guns. Hopefully the Nanking Battalion would make enough of a difference this time around.

Zhang’s intelligence revealed that the Japanese had two divisions in the area including an armored unit consisting of 10 Renault NC1 light tanks. Following the southward drive of Puyi’s forces, the Kwangtung Army had shifted the majority of their mobile units north in an attempt to halt the Kangde Emperor’s assault while also reinforcing Dairen should the Lóng Wáng break through. The Japanese had taken the bait.

To divert attention away from his main avenue of approach, Zhang had sent a diversionary feint toward Lengkou Pass while the main body of his forces would drive through Xifengkou Pass. By capturing Xifengkou, the Japanese would be hard pressed to dislodge him.

Zhang Xueliang nervously waited those final few minutes, Harpenau at his side. In launching his assault it meant open war between China and Japan. It also meant Zhang’s betrayal of Chiang Kai-shek who had implicitly ordered him to avoid confrontation with the Kwantung Army. Whether the Generalissimo publicly condemned his actions or not, Zhang knew this was the only option. Short of an improbable alliance between Kuomintang and Communist forces, the internecine bloodshed would continue allowing the Japanese to pick China apart province by province until the Kwantung were too powerful to repulse. Chiang’s obsession with destroying the Communists was threatening the survival and stability of the country. It was because of this blinding obsession that Zhang had been able to move his forces unbeknownst to Chiang into the region to prepare for war. Zhang had tried to reason with Chiang, but he would not listen. Already the warlords were beginning to back away from their alliances with the rabid Generalissimo, plotting as they always did. And now Zhang was one of them. How long before the country plunged into another civil war? Hating himself for taking this measure but seeing no other way, he rationalized his betrayal. If Zhang did not act, China as an independent state would not survive.

“Will I be remembered as a hero or as a traitor?” Zhang asked Harpenau.

“Does it matter?”

“I risk danger of the greatest kind.”

“The world is not dangerous because of those who do harm but because of those who look at it without doing anything.”

Zhang nodded in understanding.

As the sun broke over the mountains of Luanhe Valley shining down upon his forces, Zhang gave the order.

The tanks of the Nanking Battalion rumbled to life belching petrol fumes. “Auf in den kampf!” Harpenau shouted urging his armored forces forward into Xifengkou Pass. Zhang’s infantry soon marched after in lock step. The Second Sino-Japanese War had begun.

***

General Kenkichi Ueda, commander of Chosen Army, pored over maps in his command tent amidst the bustle of his staff tracing the ever shifting front. Crackling reports received over the radio from scattered Kwantung units told of the great Dragon King leading Puyi’s forces to battle in Liaoning shattering whatever resistance the Japanese put up. Descriptions of encounters with this Dragon King seemed almost mythical; a golden armored behemoth that strode through gunfire as if bullets were nothing more than fireflies and brushed aside tanks with brute force. Shenyang was as good as fallen much as Ueda had expected. The Japanese had never planned on holding the city or the province. They only sought to slow the enemy’s advance and as planned, apparent victory had blinded the forces of Manchukuo. In his drive south, the Dragon King had left Hsinking vulnerable creating an opportunity Ueda could not pass up. Indeed, these were strange times.

General Ishii had informed Ueda and his colleagues about this figure the peasants of Manchukuo called the Dragon King, warning them of the danger they faced. Whether he was a product of disease, mutation, or demonic forces, this creature was most assuredly not divine or immortal. Ishii’s descriptions of the twisted bodies he had seen in Zhongma’s morgue gave evidence to that as did his recollection of gutted cattle these monsters had fed on. Ishii had also recounted what had happened at Zhongma that final night, how this Dragon King had managed to tear apart the heavily guarded installation. His account, once doubted but now proven accurate in its veracity, was further bolstered by reports given by soldiers who had also encountered this beast during Minami’s campaign to pacify the rebellion. Tales of this creature decimating entire divisions and destroying armored battalions altered the plans the Kwantung Army had composed concerning the situation in Manchukuo.

As invulnerable as the Dragon King seemed, the subjects of Manchukuo were not and therein were his greatest weakness. A subordinate within the Kwantung Army, Major General Yasuji Okamura, had devised a strategy to render the victories of the Dragon King void: Jinmetsu Sakusen, the Burn to Ash Strategy. Okamura poetically summarized the problem Japanese forces faced in Manchukuo. “This territory, for good or ill, is an appendage of the great Japanese Empire. Sorrowfully, it has been infected. If Japan is to survive, this limb must be amputated and the tissue consumed by fire that the infection may not spread.”

If the armies of Manchukuo wanted to push the Japanese out of their lands, Ueda was prepared to render their kingdom barren.

Kill All.

Burn All.

Loot All.

Ueda was determined to break the back of Manchukuo if only to prevent a later invasion of Japan itself by this demonic creature, something the general staff feared was a certainty. This threat had to end here even at the expense of a nation. The Yalu was to be extensively fortified to protect Chosen from any and all assaults with the Kwantung Army eventually retreating east behind the river and the fortified wall on its eastern bank. All food within Manchukuo was to be gathered either for shipment back to Chosen and Japan or for use by the military. What could not be seized was to be burned. The peasantry was to be liquidated where possible to establish an environment of chaos and mass panic further slowing any advance by the enemy. Cities were to be gutted and industry either dismantled or demolished that such could not be used against the Japanese at a future date eroding the enemy’s ability to wage war or to establish a viable, industrial state. The Dragon King and his forces may triumph, but their forces would starve to death afterward inevitably turning on one another for survival thus dissolving Manchukuo’s army. When the people of Manchukuo had vanished from the earth, the Japanese would return to reclaim what was theirs.

Rehe Province had already been largely liquidated freeing up Kwantung forces to move north and aid in the continuation of Jinmetsu Sakusen. The port of Daishen was prepared for detonation once it was no longer feasible to use to evacuate men and materiel. And Shenyang…Ueda wished he could see the looks on the faces of that peasant army as they entered the necropolis they had battled so hard to liberate. With Hsinking within their grasp, the state of Manchukuo faced collapse. That bastard Puyi would pay for bringing this demon into the world.

Exiting his tent, Ueda stepped out into the early evening and gazed at the smoldering ruins of Baishan against the velvet horizon. Stacked bodies were doused in petrol and set ablaze. The shadows of men danced around those fiery pyres while the sounds of gunfire and screams echoed throughout the crumbling city beyond. Pyramids of severed heads, the work of overzealous soldiers, stood as monuments to a savagery not seen in these lands since the days of the Mongols. A dark and acrid cloud hung over the land. Hell had come to Manchukuo.

Next Chapter: Chapter 19