Imperium of Man Terra Aeterna Season 01: Rise of Humanity's War Machin

Reuel released his embrace from Shizuka Marikawa. Now wasn't the time for things like that.

Shizuka looked nervous and reluctant to let go, but she didn't resist. Her eyes still sparkled, her cheeks flushed a soft red. Something stirred in her heart, but Reuel ignored it.

"Don't think too much of it. I've let go of you now. It won't happen again," said Reuel with a faint, almost cynical smile.

Shizuka nodded slowly, uncertain whether she agreed—or secretly hoped otherwise.

Suddenly, Saeko's voice called out from outside the room.

"Lord Reuel! The zombies outside are increasing in number!"

Without hesitation, Reuel rushed out. Standing on the balcony, he saw hordes of zombies beginning to fill the street leading to Rika Minami's villa. For some reason, they were being drawn to this place.

"We can't stay here any longer," he said firmly. "Everyone get ready. Tomorrow morning, we're crossing the river."

"Okay!"

"I'll prepare my things," someone else replied.

Night fell. A world baptized in fire and blood welcomed a new day… with the monstrous howls of the damned.

"RRAAAAGHHHH!!"

"HHRRRGGHHH—AAAAUUUUGHHH!!"

"GUUURRRHHH... SKREEEEKK!!"

Zombies wandered endlessly around the villa, screaming through the night until dawn broke. But before the morning light pierced the fog of devastation, heavy footsteps echoed through the ruins of the residential blocks.

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

Three heavily armed figures emerged from the shadows of the rubble. Their bodies were encased in jet-black power armor, adorned with the burning twin-headed Aquila upon their chests — the eternal symbol of the Imperium. They were Inquisitors of the Ordo Xenos.

At the front, a senior Inquisitor strode with purpose. In his hand, a crozius adorned with sacred skulls radiated an aura of unquestionable authority. Behind him, two young Acolytes staggered in silence: Pablo Escobar and Calpone — now but shadows of their former arrogance.

Their faces were ruined. One eye gouged out, one arm torn off. Open wounds festered without bandages. Their bodies dripped with blood, yet neither dared utter a word of complaint. Punishment had already been delivered by their master for their fatal negligence — allowing heresy to fester so near to the resting place of the God-Emperor Reuel himself.

Such disgrace could not be forgiven.

To atone for their failure, the senior Inquisitor had torn out one eye and one arm from each of them. Forgiveness was not mankind's duty. Mankind's duty was judgment.

And they weren't alone — more than a hundred Inquisitors had been deployed that very night, descending directly into the world of Highschool of the Dead, sweeping every narrow alley and collapsed building in the city of Tokyo.

Their mission was simple:

Purge. Heresy. Until nothing remains.

And when the gangsters were found — filthy men who enslaved their fellow humans, especially women — they weren't given a chance to speak. The Inquisitors descended like shadows. Silent. Lethal.

Arms were twisted until bones snapped. Legs shattered under ceramite boots. Hair was yanked. Bodies dragged and thrown at the feet of waiting Acolytes. They would be interrogated, tortured, and — when no longer of use — purified.

Zombies? A minor nuisance.

The moment they appeared, chainswords roared like holy saws. Bolters barked, blowing rotten heads apart with a single precise shot.

That night, the sounds of prayer, screaming, and bolter fire fused into a symphony of judgment. The city of Tokyo had become an altar of blood… and its guardians were the Imperium's angels of death.

---

A hidden underground chamber in the Tokyo region had become a holy site of terrifying purification. Rows of torture instruments lined the walls in brutal order: iron crosses, restraint tables, confession hammers infused with plasma, neural Interrogators, and other ancient and modern devices whose function could only be understood by those shaped within the Schola Progenium.

At the center of the room, a young Interrogator—freshly graduated from the Schola Progenium on Terra Aeterna—was about to perform his first session of torture. He was not alone. A senior Inquisitor and two Acolytes stood watch, their eyes cold and empty of empathy. All around them, thousands of gangsters had been captured throughout the night. Their numbers kept growing. The Acolytes came and went, dragging bloodied bodies and tossing them into iron cages like rotting trash.

With trembling hands but burning conviction, the young Interrogator began his task, following the teachings carved into his memory since childhood. One by one, the criminals were pulled from the cages by Torturer Servitors—holy machines built for a single purpose: to make men speak… or scream until their souls tore free.

Some were shoved alive into bronze cylinders and roasted until their flesh melted and dripped. Others were boiled in a massive cauldron filled with scalding saltwater, large enough to hold twenty bodies at once. Some were placed inside Iron Maidens lined with tiny spikes, standing still in silence until their screams erupted from within.

Others sat astride a triangular "wooden horse," heavy weights tied to their ankles, forcing their bodies open, inch by inch. Still more were flayed alive and strung from the ceiling, their blood dripping down like holy water.

But this… was just the beginning.

The young Interrogator dragged one of the gangsters to the restraint table. He placed a rat on the man's stomach, sealed it beneath a locked metal can, and laid burning coals on top.

"I heard you like kidnapping people. Raping women. Defiling the innocent. Now tell me—where's your hideout?"

Panicked by the heat, the trapped rat began to dig the only escape route it could: through the man's flesh and entrails. The screams erupted.

"Aaaarrrgghhhh! Stop! Please... I won't do it again!"

But the Inquisitor let out a long sigh. "Too soft," he muttered.

He shoved the Interrogator aside and gestured to the two Acolytes: Pablo Escobar and Calpone.

"Heat the metal to two thousand degrees. Ready the muscle-flaying tools. Get the saltwater. And bring the molten metal force-feeder."

Without a word, the Acolytes moved. Another gangster was dragged out. His hands were bound, his mouth pried open.

"Pour the metal down his throat if he dares lie," ordered the Inquisitor.

His scream echoed as the glowing red liquid poured slowly, searing his vocal cords from within. His body writhed but did not die. They would not be allowed to die—not yet.

"You harmed unarmed civilians," the Inquisitor's voice boomed from his respirator, heavy as a funeral bell. "Then let your blood stain your confession."

Electro-needles were driven into their spines. The criminals convulsed, mouths foaming, some screaming for their mothers, or a god who no longer listened.

"Faith is light. You are darkness. Your bodies will become torches to burn a path for humanity."

The night sky was choked with the scent of burning flesh, boiling blood, and hopeless tears. The chamber was never silent. It must never be.

One man—tattooed, once a leader of a small gang—now hung with his arms wide open, his body shredded. His tattoos were peeled off slowly, as though sins were being erased with a blade of steel.

"Please… stop…" he whimpered.

The Inquisitor leaned forward, raising a glowing red purity brand.

"You seek mercy? Then confess your sin."

"I… I was just following orders…"

CRACK.

The brand seared into his chest. Flesh hissed. Bone cracked. The scream that followed sounded like an animal being slaughtered—echoing far beyond the underground walls.

"Following orders is not innocence.

Ignorance is not redemption."

Another thug tried to escape, crawling in a panic. But the Interrogator grabbed him, dragged him back to the steel table, and strapped him down.

Above them, a servo-skull floated—recording everything for the sacred archives of the Ordo Xenos. Its red lights blinked, bearing silent witness to every moment of horror.

"Wh-what is this…?" the man gasped, his breath ragged.

"Judgment," the Inquisitor answered.

And that night, thousands of screams shattered the sky over the city. The cycle of purification would not stop. With every passing second, sinful bodies were burned, boiled, sliced, and burned again in the name of the Imperium—and in the will of the God-Emperor Reuel.

---

The Next Morning — Rika Minami's Villa

That morning, Shizuka and little Alice emerged from their room with dark circles under their eyes. Their tired faces and droopy gazes made it clear they'd barely slept through the night. The same went for Busujima Saeko. The endless howls of zombies outside the villa had made rest nearly impossible.

But unlike before, Saeko seemed to have begun adapting to this new chaotic world. Her demeanor was calm and alert—she looked as though she had fully embraced the reality around her.

"We're moving out. Everything's ready," said Reuel, his gaze sweeping over each of them with quiet authority.

"Shizuka, you'll drive. Use your friend's vehicle. I've checked it—it's in working condition."

"Alright! I'll drive!" Shizuka Marikawa replied enthusiastically. She jogged off toward the car while the little puppy in Alice's arms barked cheerfully, blissfully unaware of the dangers waiting outside.

Soon after, the entire group piled into a modified Humvee—enhanced by a Tech-Priest for rugged survival. Shizuka started the engine and steered the vehicle out of the villa, aiming for the far side of the river.

But the moment the Humvee's tires touched the main road, the sight that awaited them made Shizuka's breath catch in her throat—hundreds, perhaps thousands of zombies scattered across the road. Her hands trembled on the wheel.

"Don't stop! Keep moving! Don't turn back!" Reuel shouted from the top of the Humvee, ready with a bolter pistol in hand.

"I... I don't care anymore! Everyone, hold on tight!" Shizuka yelled, panic surging in her voice—but determination still burning. She slammed the accelerator, and the Humvee surged forward like an arrow. Rotting bodies were hurled aside, bones crunching under the armored weight of the vehicle.

From atop the Humvee, Reuel began firing at the zombies drawing near. His bolter spat explosive rounds that decapitated and tore through chests with brutal efficiency.

"Wait, Lord Reuel!" Saeko suddenly called from the backseat, gripping her now bloodstained wooden blade. "How are we going to cross the river?"

"This vehicle's been modified. It can ford the river. Look for a shallow channel—we'll push through it," Reuel answered firmly, eyes scanning the horizon.

Shizuka spotted the direction of the river, jaw clenched tight. She gritted her teeth and floored the gas pedal as the Humvee plunged down the embankment at full speed. The heavy tires slammed into the river mud, and the vehicle entered the cold, swift current.

"Waaaah!" little Alice screamed, her body lurching as the Humvee rocked violently.

The vehicle moved slowly but steadily along the riverbed, sending up massive ripples as it went. Reuel stood vigil on the roof, eyes sharp for any incoming threats. After a tense moment, the Humvee began to climb the opposite riverbank.

"If you want to get out—then don't hesitate. Floor it!" Reuel shouted.

"I know!" Shizuka yelled back. She pressed the pedal harder. The Humvee leapt from the water like a beast escaping its cage, slammed onto the dry ground with a heavy thud, then rolled forward smoothly.

On the other side of the river, the scene was far quieter. No zombies in sight. Just trees and a narrow road winding like a sleeping serpent. The Humvee continued down the cracked asphalt, its suspension creaking with each bump.

"We're heading into the city. Search for survivors, a base, or a place to hole up. Primary objective: stay alive and secure our position," Reuel said as he climbed back down into the vehicle.

Soon, the Humvee was roaring down one of Tokyo's main roads. Its engine howled, echoing off the walls of empty buildings. The vehicle was like a steel beast hunting through a dead forest.

The roar drew attention. Zombies turned and chased from every direction. But the Humvee was too fast. The undead were left behind, snarling in frustration.

The deeper they drove into the city center, the more zombies appeared—shambling in hordes, groaning, dragging their feet in an ever-growing, terrifying tide.

The deeper they ventured into the elite residential area, the more zombies they encountered. However, because those creatures moved so slowly, they never had a chance of catching up to the Humvee that barreled forward like a living steel tank.

Still, several intersections were blocked by rubble and abandoned vehicles, forcing them to keep rerouting.

"Hey… this intersection… I think I've seen it before," Shizuka Marikawa said suddenly.

Up ahead, the road was eerily empty. No zombies. No corpses. Not even bloodstains. The view was too clean for a world that had fallen apart. Even Shizuka—usually scatterbrained and careless—could sense that something was wrong.

"Stop," Reuel said sharply.

Without hesitation, Shizuka brought the vehicle to a halt. Reuel and Busujima Saeko immediately jumped out, eyes scanning the surroundings with full alertness.

"There are tire tracks here. In and out," Saeko said after tracing the faint marks on the asphalt.

The street might've been clean, but the traces of blood and wheels were still faintly visible. Something had clearly happened here recently.

"This place has been sanitized. We're not alone. If I'm right, someone will show up soon," Reuel muttered as he knelt to examine the tracks more closely.

"Looks like someone's set up a survivor base nearby. Let's move on, check this road further down."

They climbed back into the Humvee, and the vehicle rolled forward slowly along the narrowing road. Before long, they reached a heavily guarded checkpoint.

There, barbed wire fences and concrete barricades stretched across the road. Dozens—no, hundreds—of armed guards held the area. Some wore Japanese military uniforms, others carried firearms, while some wielded katanas and traditional weapons.

As soon as the Humvee came into view, two uniformed men stepped forward, raising their hands in a clear signal.

"Vehicle up front, stop now! Or we'll open fire!"

Shizuka hit the brakes just in time. Reuel immediately stepped out and walked slowly toward the guards.

"We were fleeing a zombie horde. What is this place?" he asked calmly.

"This is the Takagi family base. Anyone among you bitten?" one of the guards asked, aiming his pistol cautiously.

"No. None of us have been bitten. You can check us yourselves. If anyone had been bitten, they'd have turned by now. But look—we're all still human."

Reuel started piecing things together. This had to be the Takagi estate—just like in the Highschool of the Dead anime. But this was on a whole different scale. In the anime, only a few dozen survivors had been shown. Now, there were hundreds. This far exceeded anything Reuel had imagined.

He spoke again.

"Can we come inside?"

"You can. But you'll all need to be checked first."

The security personnel inspected each member of the group carefully. Once they confirmed no one was infected, one of the guards gave a nod.

"Alright. You're clear. But don't cause any trouble. We don't play around here."

"Thank you," Reuel replied, heading back to the vehicle.

The gate creaked open slowly. Forklifts moved the concrete barricades aside, creating a narrow path for the Humvee. Once Shizuka restarted the engine, they drove into what had once been a high-end residential area.

The Takagi estate had been fortified with serious defensive measures. In just days since the apocalypse began, they had built barbed wire fences, repurposed old vehicles into barriers, and stacked extra blockades outside the Takagi family mansion's towering walls.

But Reuel knew it wasn't enough.

Despite how strong the defenses looked, he knew what was coming. If the storyline continued to follow the anime, an electromagnetic pulse—EMP—would soon strike, disabling all communication and power systems. When that happened, all of these strengths and advantages would mean nothing.

The Humvee slowed as it entered the grand estate styled like a nobleman's manor. The Takagi family residence stood imposingly in the middle of a wide garden, now filled with dozens of emergency tents. Survivors bustled between barricades, making the place feel like a temporary military camp wrapped in the luxury of a bygone era.

"We've arrived," said Shizuka Marikawa, carefully parking the vehicle. She glanced at Reuel, who had looked unsettled ever since they passed through the gate.

In the back seat, Busujima Saeko cradled little Alice, whose eyes sparkled as she gazed around like she'd just stepped into a fairy tale. A stark contrast to the crumbling world outside.

Reuel stepped out of the vehicle and looked around. There were quite a lot of people here, but most of them appeared gaunt and pale. Some shouted like madmen, calling all this a punishment from God. But most looked relieved—just grateful to be in a safe place, at least for now.

Amid the crowd, Reuel's eyes locked onto a familiar figure—Takashi Komuro.

They stared at each other. Not a single word was spoken. Takashi's face, which had initially lit up at seeing an old acquaintance, suddenly hardened.

He was angry.

Why the fuck is this guy still alive? Takashi thought. Reuel should've been dead when he got off that school bus. But now… here he was. Not only alive—but looking like he hadn't suffered at all.

So different from Takashi, who had crawled through hell just to make it here.

Yeah… maybe we had our differences on that bus. But seeing you now... I can't pretend I'm happy about it, Reuel thought silently.

Busujima Saeko and Shizuka Marikawa stood by, silently observing the tense atmosphere. Little Alice was still mesmerized by her surroundings, blissfully unaware of the tension hanging in the air.

Takashi clenched his fists. The memories of Reuel—and the fear he felt toward the man—flooded back into his mind. Without saying a word, he turned and walked away.

---

Elsewhere, in the Shadows

From a hidden vantage point, an Inquisitor stood motionless, clad in the glorious armor of the Imperium. At his side, two Acolytes stood stiff and tense: Pablo Escobar and Calpone, two fanatical followers of the God-Emperor. Their gaze was fixed on a single figure—Takashi Komuro.

A heretic.

A living insult to the purity of the Imperium.

They had been given an assignment: to herd a horde of zombies toward the school bus where Takashi had been. The boy should've died. But somehow, he was still alive.

The Inquisitor's fury boiled. His eyes glowed with a fire that refused to die. He drew his bolter pistol without a word.

"Master! Forgive us!" Pablo cried out, panicked. "Give us one more chance! We swear we'll kill him!"

"YES! For the God-Emperor!" Calpone added, trembling.

"SILENCE!"

The Inquisitor's voice exploded like thunder. He struck them both with brutal force, sending them sprawling into the dusty ground.

They had failed.

Not once.

But twice.

And in the Imperium, failure like that was not tolerated.

Without hesitation, the Inquisitor pulled the trigger.

BOOM-THUMP!!

BOOM-THUMP!!

Their bodies dropped. Motionless. Lifeless.

The Inquisitor spat on their corpses. His eyes still burned with an undying fire of vengeance.

"Once trash… always trash," he muttered coldly, then turned away, disappearing once more into the shadows.