[Archive] He Broke Your Throne [Japan]

[china]

Would you mind if I killed you?
Would you mind if I tried to cause you hell?
Cause you have turned into my worst enemy.
You carry hate that I feel.
It's over now,
What have you done?
— What Have You Done, Within Temptation

[/i]

December 13th, 1937 → The Battle of Nanjing & The Nanjing Massacre
Allusions to → Battle of Shanghai (Flashback Sequence w/ Kiku's Permission)
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☢ THIS THREAD HAS A (MAJOR) [R] RATING, DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE SQUEMISH OR UNDERAGE!
Things that will (probably) be in this thread:

[/i]
☑ The Massacre/A LOT OF DEATH (uh…point?)
☑ (A Very Descriptive) Torture Scene
☑ (An Alluded to) Rape/Non-Consensual Sex
☑ A Therapist at the END of EACH POST, because you might need one.[/font][/left][/size]

The breaking dawn on this cold morning was like any other Yao Wang had seen in his lifetime. No matter the era, nor the actions of humankind—the sun still rose in the East, and set in the West. It followed an unending, relentless cycle or birth and death; impending rebirth rising like a phoenix, or vermillion bird in the lustrous morning. Fenghuang ₍ ₁₎ watched from above the rafters, silent as always—the bitter, metallic taste of blood in his mouth reminding him of how despite nature’s ongoing influence, humankind did what it must to survive. Coughing weakly, mist billowed from the early morning frigid air—his people were suffering, and he was too. Everything within him ached, from his war-calloused hands to the gashes on his feet due to the marching of his army. His Emperor of Qing had urged him to stay back within the safety of his castle walls, and he had refused. No matter where he ran, or hid; the Japanese would find him. They would torture his children, cutting them open and gutting them without humane restraint. Poison them with the plague, force them to their knees until they called out for him; already, Yao could hear their pleas. From Shanghai to Beijing, his people were crying.

Crying to him.

To their ancestors.

To a silent God that could make this colossal anguish go away, this internal agony of losing a loved one. A son or daughter, husband or wife—even children were not safe from the wrath of the vast onslaught of the Japanese Army.

The Battle of Shanghai had been a disaster. They’d held the line for as long as they possibly could have, fighting off every Japanese soldier that reared their ugly heads—but he was not prepared. China was no prepared, mentally or physically; especially not militarily. His people rushed into battle for the future of the Chinese Empire, spilling the blood of what once, hundreds of years ago—they considered their brothers. The rage poisoning the citizens had become like a taint, festering across the land with restless abandon. For each man that fell, for each woman that was raped mercilessly, and for each child that pleated before its throat was slit—Yao Wang’s body grew more, and more broken. His lungs contracted, thickened with saliva and blood that he’d been forced to swallow. Having bitten his tongue to wrap the burns, gashes, and chunks of flesh now missing from his body; the Chinese shouted at a nearby medical tent. Ignoring the pleas of his foot soldiers that he should retire from the battlefield.

”No,” he rasped weakly against the soldier’s shoulder that was supporting him as they retreated from Shanghai, appearing at the border of Nanjing. ”Get me bandages, I can bare this pain far longer then what you realize.”

[/i] Pulling away from the man, the Chinese ‘general’ wobbled from the group and collapsed near one of the trees close to his encampment. The soldiers obeyed, vocally protesting at first—but the glare that Yao sent them quickly sent them on their way to the many medical tents. Housing his wounded, barely scraping lives from the floor as the buckets of blood and bullets were discarded into the basin nearby. There was more then his body that was beginning to shatter. His Empire was crumbling at his feet, his people were losing faith in his Emperor and turning towards the Soviet forces as soon as they had offered their volunteers to help keep the Chinese public safe as possible. Empty promises. The Soviets had given them some form of airforce, but as with anything that was distinctly Western—it was taken away at the slightest hint of selfish disposal. Either way, he owed it to Ivan Braginski to stay as strong as physically possible; if the Japanese were to breach him, Russia would be fighting on two fronts.

That, and he would probably be dead.

What has happened to you?[/i] Yao thought, his mind reaching back into the recesses of his memory where a smiling, youthful boy played with his toys and smiled at him. Speaking in Chinese, and then swapping with a Japanese dialect—teaching Yao as much as Yao had taught him; he’d learned to be happy. For such a long time, it was simply China. Only China.Then—then Japan had come into his life, and then his fate was sealed. The child with the smiling eyes and taunt lips would become his downfall. He’d raised Kiku Honda with the utmost sternness, but security as well as fairness. The Asian nation, even on his small island, had not been abandoned by the Chinese Empire to the West of his shores; Yao always remembered, shared what he could, and loved him as deeply as any nation dared to love another.

Emperor Hirohito, his dear Emperor of Qing, had warned him before he stepped food on the battlefield. Do not misunderstand, he means to kill you, my nation. There is no mercy in those eyes, nor has there ever been since he set himself outside of China’s arms. He remembered those words vividly, and he recalled dismissing them just as easily; turning his back to his Emperor out of rage that he would say such a things. Demeaning his relationship with Kiku Honda—yes, he was Japan; but Kiku was also his brother, his little brother—his protégé.

Now he understood how true those words rang,

his mind flashed back to Shanghai.

//

Yao’s vision darkened with the memory and lapse of blood coursing through his veins. It had been mid-day when the horns blew, the terrible sound of echoing gunshots pierced through his ears. Covering them slightly, the Asian took a pistol on his belt and aimed at the nearby rope drenched in gasoline leading up to the large pile of explosives they’d found in Shanghai’s storage for festivities. Shooting off three rounds, the searing bullet pierced the dangling rope that lay before the charging Japanese unit. I’m sorry, find peace in the next life—. The eruptions went off in sequence, the stench of burning flesh invading his nose; forcing his long sleeve to cover his mouth and hack at the vile smoke filling the air. ”Yiban!”[/i] One man cried, barely old enough to probably even bare thinking about starting a family—but already playing the game of war. Approaching and ducking down among the ongoing explosions around them, the Chinese mustered his courage to keep a straight face while speaking to one of his field generals. ”We are loosing ground, they’ve begun a charge to the west now! There’s a man leading them that I have not seen before,” the citizen paused and covered his head quickly as debris and wind ripped through the air around them.

”He has short hair, carries a katana, and has these—cold, emotionless eyes. Like he is a ghost, Yiban.” The boy looked disturbed, and Yao honestly couldn’t blame him. The scout had obviously been close enough to stare into the face of death, the face of Kiku Honda when he no longer held love for anything but the addicting elixir of victory. Yao nodded his head to the boy, and reached out to gently touch his forehead with a fondness he had not felt since Kiku had been ‘born’ into this world. ”I think I know who that is—no doubt, the most feared Japanese unit leader. Stay far away from him, if you see that face again, run. There is no shame in living another day when China could use your bravery.”[/i] Smiling with an almost tired gaze directed towards the shocked Chinese. ”Tell me, what is your name? If you tell me yours—I will tell you mine.” It was unlike tradition, showing such respect to your higher-ups; the young Chinese obviously seemed conflicted, mouth closing and opening as his cheeks began to darken in embarrassment. ”It is alright, we bleed the same—my brother. We should share names as men, this meeting might be our last.”[/i] Years of wisdom lay embedded in those words, and did not surpass the young man’s field of vision. Bowing his head to his General, trying to drown out the sounds of battle around them; the boy smiled weakly—fondness in both his eyes and gesture. ”My name is Zheng Ying, Yiban.” Yao blinked twice, thrown completely off guard at how—utterly ironic the child’s name was. A long time ago, before he was crowned—the first Emperor of a unified China bared the exact same name: Ying Zheng.

”And I am Wang Yao, thank you—Ying.”[/i] Getting up with a slight stumble, the Chinese man reloaded his gun and snapped the barrel back into place. He was one of the lucky soldiers, most did not have a firearm. Like Ying, who glanced at him with confusion as the wave of Japanese were held off for another turn, Yao doubted that they could do so again. Using wit over their lack of supplies would not last forever. ”Ying, take this—do not go anywhere without it. Protect our people, for the both of us.”[/i] Before the boy could protest or scream out, the gun was thrust into his hands and Yao’s swift feet were off. Hundreds of years in Shaolin monasteries had trained him to be as quick as possible on foot; using the foliage around the site aided in keeping him completely shielded from the now oncoming rush of Japanese invaders. He had to find Kiku, had to talk to him—his brother would listen; perhaps they could talk each other into placing a mutual retreat, or at least delaying the killing that would be done on both sides. Jumping over one of the large stones in his way, the Chinese man placed his feet gracefully upon the trunk of a nearby willow. Climbing up, and clenching his bandaged hands against the rough bark; footfalls of soldiers passing under him no later then some minutes after he’d fled up the natural armor/camouflage.

Narrowing his eyes, he kept his gaze sharp on each one of the faces. These were just normal food soldiers, and Kiku Honda was not among them. He was phenomenally quiet, foot etching up the branch seamlessly and without any disturbance in the tree. Finally, after what seemed like an hour—the face he had been awaiting appeared. The march of soldiers on Shanghai had been completed, with Kiku’s unit bringing up the back—possibly for a flanking maneuver. Dropping down from the tree, he pressed his back against it as a shot ricochet off of the wood. His heart began to beat wildly, eyes widened as he took deep breaths; closing his dark amber eyes as he listened to the sounds of Japanese banter coming from the unit. When he heard Kiku’s voice amongst them, his hands went up in the universal symbol of surrender. The shots being drowned out by the sound of thunder rolling of the hills of Shanghai’s mountains; leaving Yao with hope that his once little brother would see the reasoning behind his approach. So many were dying, and even though China was at the disadvantage—he was fighting for the lives of millions on his mainland. Something Japan should have understood, all of Kiku’s men were soldiers, Yao had to take into account the lives of innocent civilians tangled within this mess.

There were sounds of disbelief as Yao stepped out from his coverage, palms raised with his eyes closed. ”I just want to speak with your leader, aru. I’m the general from the other side—my name is Wang Yao.”[/i] Guns were instantly cocked in his direction, but one hand motioned for the soldiers to be at ease. The silhouette of the man he once called his own ‘little one’ stepped before him; striding towards him with no emotion evident in those phantom-like orbs of darkness. ”You’ve come to surrender, Wang-san?”[/i] Yao frowned at the tone, trying not to clench his hands into fists as he narrowed his eyes—hoping to keep calm. ”I want to negotiate a mutual retreat, your men are dying too—didi.”[/i] The name seemed to hold no response, mentally or physically as the contest of both Asians staring went on.

”Is that so? Most unwise of you, Wang-san.”[/i]

No mercy.

There was a sound of thunder, but not from the heavens—not from the mighty dragons banging against the clouds in rage of humanly antics. This thunder came from the barrel of a gun, held in the hand of Kiku Honda; held point blank as the bullet shredded Yao’s flesh and embedded itself into his upper ribcage. He was in shock at first, staring at the smoking mouth of the gun as warmth seeped through the right side of his uniform. Dying it dark crimson as the drops trickled like the impending downpour from the sky; his hand shifted down to cover the wound as his shoulders trembled. Wheezing suddenly, the sharp intake of air was met with the shrill laughter of Japanese soldiers—and Kiku’s gun clicking to the next shot.

But he was deafened, muted, and numbed to everything besides the feel of blood painting his fingers a most alarming rate. Wide eyes staring, simply watching as his hand lifted off of the wound and those wet drops rolled over his fingertips; splattering onto the ground below.

Y—you..

You shot me.

He hadn’t heard the order from his didi to restrain him; nor the sound of footfalls coming closer towards the both of them. Yao’s mind was a blur, his chest was in pain—and not only from the bullet now lodged between his ribs. The fist clenched, and instantly he knew that his Emperor had spoken the truth. You mean to kill me. It all made sense now, Kiku’s desire to wipe out anything that was Chinese and replace it with the superiority of the Japanese race. Even if it meant making Wang Yao disappear, breaking down his foundation and everything that once taught Honda Kiku with a loving, trusting hold. Flashes flew before him, and the shouts drowned out. They should have bound his hands and legs first.

Grasping one of the shoulders of a Japanese solider, Yao yanked it back—dislodging the joint from the socket with an audible popping as he spun the male around. Using him as a shield, and sliding the gun from the holster. His eyes flashed red, rain now falling on them as Yao’s breath became hitched. He placed the barrel that had no doubt killed many of his men against the back of the Japanese’s skull—and then he pulled the trigger. Blood stained over his neck and the other side of his torso; as he dropped the body and slid the gun into his empty holster. Retreating back, shots were fired as men crowded him from both sides. Some were minor flesh wounds, grazing over his skin and missing their target all together as Yao zigzagged his way through the bushes and rocky terrain. He knew his land, and that would be Kiku’s greatest misstep. Two men attempted to latch onto him from both sides, the voices draining out as the rain hid the slim margin of tears sliding down his cheeks. His svelte arm ensnared one of the soldiers easily, wrapping around his neck while a balled fist rested under the chin. One sharp push up, and the spinal column snapped. The trachea crushed under the pressure, and his arm rotated backwards quickly—bringing the head to an unnatural angle as the man fell to the ground. The other, whom had only some seconds to contemplate what just happened to his comrade; was rewarded with a swift launch of the heel into the melding point where both arches of his ribcage came together.

Sharp crackling sounds came from beneath his boot, the smaller pieces of bone lodged into the vital organs—causing the man to bleed from his mouth and collapse onto the ground. A bullet pierced into his shoulder, causing the Chinese to stumble backwards before his hardened, reddened eyes glanced up at the perched male shooting at him from on top of a rock some yards away. Charging without thought, Yao pummeled a fist into the man’s gut, ignoring the second bullet that burned into his shoulder at point blank range; sindging his flesh. His hand curled while he punched the torso, linking to the open arch under the ribcage from above the naval—and pulled. The heart and lungs collided with the surge, and he could feel them rupture from within the man’s body. Trying to quicken the death, Yao’s leg curled up—hooking around the neck and slamming the body down into the ground. The neck had been broken far before he even hit it—the impact on the rock would have split his skull, either way.

There was no hope now, Yao would have to retreat towards Nanjing.

The rest was a muddled within him, Yao did not know how many Japanese soldiers from Kiku’s unit had come after him—but he killed every one of those mother fuckers with his bare hands.

I will not die.

If it were just me, Kiku—you would have already killed me with your betrayal. These people need me. I have to keep fighting.

No matter the cost, China will remain—or fall together.

His breath became short, miles away from the camp where he knew his people were awaiting him. Blood loss, agony, and exhaustion got the better of him—and Yao Wang collapsed into the wet grass. The water falling from the sky cleaning the moist blood off of his face, hands, and clothing; his eyes opened to see the light dissipating from the sky. Thunder masking the gunshots, hiding him from the world that was in such turmoil, as his eyes closed—he did not register the familiar voice of a Chinese boy, serving as a scout; pick him up and take him back to the encampment.

Moments later, the order to retreat to Nanjing was given.

//

Ying crawled next to him, attempting to apply pressure to the wounds. The medics at camp, while they retreated, had pulled out the bullets lodged in his shoulder; even though the one in his ribs remained. There was talk that he should have not survived that bullet wound, even if it didn’t pierce any of his internal organs. Yao turned his head towards the boy, soft at how Ying reminded him of Kiku when he was younger. ”Have I been out for a long time?”[/i] Ying nodded wordlessly, his eyes dancing over the man’s body as he slid some of the bandages over the soiled ones. Applying ointment as he went, the younger scout pulled tightly to keep the pressure on and hopefully clotting up whatever stress ‘moving’ had done to Yao’s body during the retreat. ”A few weeks, sir. We thought you were dead for sure, but—I’m glad that you are not. That—that was so brave,”[/i] Ying befell a kind of hero-worship as Yao shook his head and dismissed it altogether. No doubt many men had died in his absence on the field. It had been—foolish of him to run off to try and speak with Kiku. ”You are wrong, I made the wrong decision. Now my men are dead, and more will be dead if we don’t surrender Nanjing.” Rising, the man clasped a hand over his chest—ancestors it burned.

Ying frowned, anyone with eyes could have seen the bodies—what Yao had done to them in a fit of rage. Perhaps he had even lost count to how many he’d contorted beyond bodily means. ”Surrender Nanjing? We only just got here, there are others ready to fight, and we took down so many in Shanghai I—I don’t see why—.”[/i] Yao growled weakly, turning his head to the young boy. So stubborn, so full of hope for his country. ”And how many of those bodies were Chinese? At least double what the Japanese lost, I assume—no. There are too many of us in Nanjing. I want an instant evacuation—and a formal surrender to Japan for Nanjing. We will have to move back I—Aiyah, tch---.”[/i] Yao’s hand clenched against his now bleeding chest, but quickly pulled on his uniform jacket to hide it. ”We’ll move back towards our northern ally. We have no other choice but to hold out as long as possible.” He had no doubt the surrender of the city would go down without an issue, but the sudden call went out with Yao’s push against the other generals on the field. Most of whom, had died in battle—only a fraction were left. The city was left in shock, feeling betrayed—even as some managed to flee.

Yao’s feet carried him to a high point overlooking both the city and the border leading into it. The army looked like angry swarms, but when the symbol of surrender was hoisted—the entire nation of China watched in distress as it was burnt to the ground.

By the spirits—dear Shangdi.[/color]

His city was on fire. His people were being slaughtered in the streets, innocent civilians without weapons or any means to protect themselves and their families. Children, women, men—pricks of fiery pain stung his body. Ying, whom had helped deliver the word of surrender (much to his displeasure) watched with his jaw agape and tears flowing from his eyes. The screams, dear god the screams. Yao’s hand shot out, grasping the boy’s shoulder as he turned around. ”Listen to me, Ying—run. I am staying, but you must retreat with the rest of the army now, we can’t do anything anymore here!”[/i]

The look on the boy’s face was a mixture of terror, but also stubbornness. With tears still rolling down, he shook his head and tried to stiffen his lip. ”N-no, I won’t leave you here! They’ll kill you, I know they will, we can’t lose another general like this! You should go! I should stay!” Yao’s eyes softened, and he moved to suddenly grasp one of his citizens in his arms. The warmth, the body that made his body possible. ”We need more then generals, more then soldiers—but right now, if you don’t leave, China will fall. Run, and don’t look back.”[/i] Yao whispered, watching as the young man looked up at him with almost pleading eyes; knowing what he said was true, but not wanting to admit such a terrible thing. When Wang Yao turned Zheng Ying around, the scout took off. Running for his life with the rest of the army, and civilians (both wounded and healthy) fleeing from the burning city.

Turning his now apathetic face to the slaughter, massacre happening in front of him; he waited. Walking slowly down, and knowing that above all else, the Japan that was not his Japan would find him.

Only time stands between us now. Come for me.

I won’t run from you this time.
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((NOTES:
HOLY SWEET FUCKING JESUS, this post is a MONSTER.
In any case, you should probably read it in segments. Unless you’re Kiku. Then you have to read it all at once. >D

Kiku’s consent was given for the clip in the Shanghai flashback. I just wanted a foundation for Nanjing, since we wouldn’t have the time to do both Shanghai and Nanjing on this thread. We might reference to it, though. I did not steal that from one of our personal rps…NOPE.

Okay so, // \\ → Memories referencing the Battle of Shanghai, which to give you a TASTE for how stupidly good the Chinese were at fending the Japanese off here are some statistics:

CHINA HAD
600,000 troops in 75 divisions and 9 brigades
250 airplanes
16 tanks

JAPAN HAD
300,000 troops in 8 divisions and 6 brigades,
3,000 airplanes,
300 tanks,
130 naval ships

THE LOSSES WERE
~100,000 to 200,000 on China’s side
and
~70,000 on Japan’s side

China lasted from August 13, 1937 – November 26, 1937 and retreated to Nanjing where Nanjing was handed over almost on site to the Japanese Army—which then led to what was called the Nanjing Massacre.

This travesty happened on December 13, 1937.

During this period, up to hundreds of thousands of Chinese civilians and disarmed soldiers were murdered and 20,000–80,000 women were raped by soldiers of the Imperial Japanese Army.

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED FOR HOW DARK THIS THREAD WILL BE.

The overall estimate of civilian/soldier deaths are around 300,000 for China.

That is all for now.))