The water is everywhere. Falling from the skies, dripping from the trees, stagnating in the swamps, the last of which the men of the 44th штрафбат/isekai regiment huddled in, soaked to the soul, if not already having had their souls drained from their bodies in the biting cold of the standing water and mud.

Not a sound came from any of them, even as some disappeared down the water, never to be seen again as the cold embrace of the bogs took them forever. No one of them dared to break, for they feared the consequences of disobedience more than death itself. If nothing else, the methods used to cull the undesirables tend to provide the desired results… and the high cost in lives was not of those who be’s concern. As an infinite number of monkeys will after enough time produce the works of Shakespeare so will an infinite number of isekais be transformed into a sufficient number of disciplined soldiers.

Todd was one such man: a generic useless NEET in his previous life, the crucible of suffering and misery have forged a very different character. Thinner, more emasculated, hollowed. Yet for all that a new fire burns with a passion within. What fuels that fire he could not tell, and in all honesty he did not want to dwell too much upon. Terrible things had been done upon him, and in return he has done terrible things upon others.

So he and the others lay in wait as the time went by, as the rain and the dying continued unabated, the clouds and the tree cover making the passage of time impossible to tell. All a haze of grays and wetness, muffing the needless suffering of thousands.

Just another drop in the bucket in the endless maw that is the vanity of those who are, whose endless hunger for the glories of war had already consumed a world’s worth of lives, and now the lives of other worlds.

Gradually some of the more perceptive ones began to notice a series of changes in their surroundings: the sounds and smells of nature slowly fading away, being replaced by the unnatural, but not unfamiliar sounds and smells.

The time at hand was near.

Soon enough the sight of the first horses and wagons of the enemy caravan appeared, trodding on the wet and muddy path, occasionally slipping and tripping in the sea of brown. A sea of cursing emanates from a little above the sea of mud, as the soldiers and camp followers of the caravan vent out their frustrations in the way humans have always done.

Still they waited, as time itself seemed to have slowed and the agony of the elements intensified. A few more of the ambushers slipped under the bogs in those handful of moments, but still discipline held, for the numbness has long before grace those present with its chilling presence.

As the first of the enemy vanguard passed the outermost of the ambushers the latter made their move. With a muffled shout they rose, slime covered creatures from the depth of the bogs, slowly moving as they shrug off the last of the clutches of the cold. Quite a few did not join their compatriots, the last ones to be claimed by the swamps. Like the others previously the living paid no heed to the dead.

A scattering of shots rang out feebly from the caravan, followed by panicked voices as the realization set in that the rains and humility had taken away the fires of wicks, and thus locking away the power of the gunpowder at a critical junction.

A mere small matter of life and death. Things that meant everything for those who are living for the first time, and meaningless for those who experienced otherwise.

Emboldened by the lack of incoming fire, the men of the штрафбат surged forward, their harsh guttural cries drowned out by the crashing of branches and the sucking sounds of the mud. It was all a rather slow affair, with the mud being a hindrance to movement, regardless of who’s moving, and for what reasons. For those present, it was as if time itself had slowed, as if some unseen force itself was savoring the moment for the maelstrom of emotions from the combatants and victims.

As the forces closed in, the cries of human and pack animals began to rise above the sounds of nature around, reaching a fever pitch right as the masses of humans crashed into each other, and immediately replaced with the sounds of killing.

Then the butchering began. Fueled by seemingly animalistic instincts, any semblance of order broke down the soldiers of the regiment let loose their bloodlust on the hapless caravan. The few enemy soldiers who resisted were casually swept aside, while the ones who attempted to flee quickly sank into the endless mud, and were then cut down where they stuck. Blood flowed freely, staining the ground for moments before being carried away by the rains. The sickening stench of killing hung in the air while the screams of the dying reverberated throughout the trees.

Almost as soon as it began, it was already over. Todd stood still, the sudden cessation of the sounds of combat snapping the red out of his eyes. With a start he realized he was holding onto an arm. A disembodied arm to be more specific, blood still dripping from the ends. Shaking, he dropped the arm, which quickly fell into the mud, before being picked up by someone else, who dug into the now filthy flesh with reckless abandon.

He could not tell what had befallen upon himself. The scenes played out all around him have long since become normal: the mass cannibalism in the aftermath of battles. The looting of the wagons of the caravan for any and all valuables. The full unrestrained savagery of men was on open display, if there was anyone to see such a site. Yet by now, none of those acts stirred anything within his mind nor soul. It was… simply war. War in this cruel and unforgiving world. Feelings, emotions. All were meant to be dashed against the rocks, just like the heads of innocents.

When it was over, not a single wagon was unturned, and not a single body undefiled. With the frenzy concluded, the men of the regiment looked at each other with shame, regret, and self loathing. All familiar emotions. All unwanted. All inevitable.

And almost on cue, the moment of spontaneous mass self reflection was broken by the sounds of vomiting, as many of those who just moments ago gorged themselves now felt the effects of refeeding syndrome… at least, the ones that were aware of that. For the rest, it was as if the higher powers were punishing them for their transgressions. Or really for anything. Or even for no reasons at all.

Is it hell? It could not be, for he, and others, have learned, grew, repented. For what they knew, even if they don’t have the words to express it if anyone cared to ask.

Yet the suffering and misery remains, with no light in this seemingly endless tunnel of this sick parody of life in another world.

He cried. WIth a suddenness that caught the remnants of his rationality off guard. He cried with tears he didn’t know he still had, drops mixing freely with the still endless pouring rain. All falling and quickly disappearing in the sea of mud, as if they never existed at all.

Just like the lives of the recently fallen, and the ones who will fall still. He knew. They all knew. This path is a well traveled one. One that many a caravan have fallen to ambushes, of which traces of none but the present one remain, and that not for long. The forests and swamps will reclaim everything.

At length, the tears ran out even as the rain continued unabated. He picked himself up and started trudging, with everyone else. Forward, elsewhere, somewhere. The war continues, as endless as incomprehensible as the day they arrived into this world.

Only the fires within them kept one foot in front of the other, but for how long? For them the question came quickly as the surviving troops formed into a misshapen column as stragglers fell out, quickly disappearing into the mud and swamps just like all the others.

Success, failure. It all goes by in a blur.