The Chronicles of Tanya the Holy (Youjo Senki/Warcraft)

Co-authored by Vahn

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Prologue

~o~

The train jostled along on the railroad track, unmindful of the harsh and bumpy ride it was providing its occupants. As for me, I was seated on the metal railing that constitutes seating in the supposedly first-class rail car, dressed in a military uniform that was lined with fur. Holding my Mondragon rifle tightly within the folds of my arms, I sat as still as winter, moving only in parallel to the rocking of the train. Indeed, if this was first class, then I didn't want to know how bad economy class would be. Maybe they simply packed them in like cattle.

The idle thought did nothing to ease my mind; instead, it felt even more muddled. I raised my gaze to the one sitting across from me. Major Weiss. His curved face and black hair made it impossible for me to not recognize him. Seated next to the major were other members of the 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion. More specifically, the soldiers of the first company. As my eyes turned to the side, they slowly settled on the person sitting next to me, First Lieutenant Serebryakov, who was chatting amicably with First Lieutenant Grantz who, in turn, sat next to her.

Yet, in spite of that, I could not hear what they were saying. Her mouths opened and close like a blur, but there was no sound. The only noise I could perceive was the rumbling of the rail car. Despite that, there was a strange sense of nostalgia.

A kind of feeling that I knew what they were saying in spite of the fact that I couldn't hear anything from them. The words, the sentences, the statement. Slowly, scattered fragments entered my memory.

"Ah." My voice, involuntary as it was, echoed through the silence, but even then, the quiet remained undisturbed.

Unhindered and untainted, it was in this glass-like moment that I remembered.

This was the mission where I died.

The rumbling of the train began to slow down, signaling that I had reached my destination: the frontlines to the Western Front. My men began filing out of the rail car, but I stayed, watching as each of them stepped out. Memorizing their faces.

Viktoriya Serebryakov walked over and stood in front of me, smiling in that simple way of her. She extended a hand toward me. An offering. An end.

I placed my rifle into her hand, settling its weight on her. She looked curiously at me, perplexed at me. Even I was, since I didn't know if this would work in a dream, as I pulled the trigger.

~o~

My trigger finger twitched. A triggered response—one that I was hopelessly familiar with. As I slowly opened my eyes, I noticed that the right side of my vision was layered with a filter of red. The slow realization of what it was made me want to raise my hand to wipe it away, but I couldn't; my hands felt too weak and lethargic. I could feel myself swaying, my entire body jostling to the beat of thunderous steps. It took me a moment to realize that I was staring down at the back of a person. It took me another to figure out that I had been hoisted over the shoulder of my green-skinned captor like a sack of potatoes. I was starting to regain some control of my arms, though that was still tough. All I could do was try to blink the blood out of my eye, but that was of limited success. I was probably bleeding from my head, considering how much of a groggy headache that I had. I could probably get rid of my wounds with a healing spell, but he would definitely notice it and knock me out again.

Was this the newest style of forceful conversion that Being X had thought up? It seemed like if I didn't somehow escape, I would end up as a slave, food supply, or worse, breeding stock. These green-skinned fellows were called orcs, but they weren't the piggish comedic mobs that my countrymen portrayed them as. No, these were muscular beasts that barely retained the shape of a humanoid, instead being more like genetically modified steroid abusers with intense penchant for violence and mayhem. I wished that I was kidding or exaggerating, but this was the kind of setting that Being X brought me to. Moreover, the stories I had been told of the first and second war hadn't been nice ones. This was the very reason that I had chosen to train as a priestess. A cushy job in the rear, healing people for a generous salary and stationed far away from the flames of war. What wasn't there to like? With the amount of divine magic I had been giving off, it wasn't like they could ignore me. If I didn't choose the healing profession, then they would have probably forced me into a more offense oriented job like being a paladin.

Well, if it was going to turn out like this, then I probably would have chosen to train as a paladin. However, regret was something that could be done after surviving. The first order of the work flow process was to identify the goal, which was to escape. The second was to assess the situation. I was riding on the shoulder of an orc—probably the one who attacked me—and his hand was pressing me on my back, pushing my stomach firmly against his shoulder. The ride was slightly nauseating, but I had regained some of semblance of the mobility of my limbs though I wasn't in a situation to test that. Looking around, I could see that I was still in town since there were wooden buildings around me, though I didn't recognize them that well since they were burning. I couldn't see any more orcs from my limited angle, and I didn't hear any except a little bit in the distance and mixed in with screams. Or at least I think it was in the distance since I couldn't be sure if my hearing had damaged or not. Still, it was a risk I would have to take.

The next step was to come up with a solution. I had a bunch of support spells at my beck and call, but for offensive spells, there was only one: smite. However, was it enough? I had to target somewhere vulnerable. The orc-ish body consisted of massive amounts of flesh and muscles along with an enlarged bone structure. However, even though orcs had a tough body, there was one place in particular that was vulnerable enough and that I was close enough to. A plan quickly formed in my head.

Now, it was time for the hardest step: execution. I pushed myself off his back, swinging my body upward so I could place both hands on his face. The words traveled through my mind even as my hands began to light up. There was a loud roar, and then my world went upside down. He had thrown me, and I—spinning through the air enough that I couldn't tell right from left—slammed into the ground hard, rolling along as the cobblestone scraped my skin and clothes. By the time that I had come to a stop, I could barely hold in the burning acid in my throat.

Last step, verify. If it wasn't for my work ethics, I probably would have just turned my head and spewed out everything in my stomach. As it was, I turned my head and tried to focus through my spinning vision. It was hard enough to tell through the blurred and tilted sight, but I managed it after a couple of moments. He was floundering about, roaring loudly as his hands covered his eyes. It was a success, but I felt no reassurance, no desire to celebrate. It had given me time, but how much time, I didn't know, especially since he was roaring at the top of his lungs. You would think for a warrior species, they would be stoic, taking pain like a badge of honor, but I supposed it depended on the individual. As it was, it was making my next task harder.

I wasn't in the mood to go into another work flow process since it all came down to just one thing: escaping. Despite the pain and agony, I quickly ignited a flash heal on myself. Feeling the wounds mend and my head starting to hurt less, I endured through the remainder of the pain and pushed myself up. Clambering to my feet, I stumbled a bit, but I was close enough to the building that I used the wall to stabilize myself, despite how hot the heated wood felt. Still, I had to move, and I had move fast at that. Using the wall as a support, I began to stumble and run along it.

The roads were stained with blood and corpses, such that it was easy enough to slip, but before I could really take in the sight, I was forced to quickly slip into an alleyway. The smoke was heavier between the two burning buildings, stinging my eyes and forcing me to breathe into my sleeve. However, it was a small price to pay for the cover that the smoke afforded me as a group of three orcs stomped by, dragging their frightened captives. When one of the captive, a woman with half of her dress drenched in blood and bits, started screaming, the orc swung her and smashed her head against a nearby wall. Tossing the headless corpse aside as if it was a piece of trash, the group continued on with hardly a word. Only when they were out of sight did I finally raise my free hand. Light illuminated my surroundings for a moment as the flash heal renewed my abused lungs and watery eyes.

I was thankful for the fact that I didn't have to invoke any incantations out loud. Still, I waited and listened for a few more agonizing moments before I came up to the edge and peeked out both ways. Only when I saw that it was clear did I finally step out. Removing my soot-covered sleeve from my mouth, I tried to take a deep breath, but I ended up coughing, as if I was trying to cough up pieces of my aching lungs. Not that there was anything that came out except saliva and maybe a bit of stomach acid. Spitting it out for good measure, I breathed in desperately. It would have been nice to hit myself with another flash heal, but the incantation for it was scattered in my head; I had to wait for it to re-piece itself before I could use it again. It was a weird state of being, and it took awhile initially for me to get used to the sensation when I first learned how to cast spells since it felt a lot like a small part of my brain being scrambled. Still, as a spell caster of supposedly divine spells, it was a necessary feeling.

If I was found, there was no question that any of them could crush me with one hand. However, just because things seemed hopeless didn't mean that there wasn't any solution. In fact, in a sweep like this, the best strategy was to hide in the already swept portion. Where was that? Obviously, that would be the center of town, the place that was hit the hardest. It was also the location I was knocked out and captured at. The easiest solution would have been to find a nice house and basement to hide in, but the fact of the matter was, given how peaceful this town was, they had decided to build each house closer than would be allowed in any fire safety regulations just to fit within the confines of the surrounding forest. Not that they had any fire safety regulations in the first place, which hadn't exactly been the best idea for infrastructure, seeing as how nearly all of the buildings in sight were on fire. This was why city planning should have been left to the professionals, but considering that this was originally a village that organically grew into a town on the very edges of the kingdom of Lordaeron's territory, I probably should say that it would be a surprise if they actually could get a professional to do it. Still, that begged the question of how they have avoided a fire from a cooking accident or a lightning strike for this long.

If I remembered correctly, from the signs that weren't already burning, I needed to head further for awhile and then take a left at Bob's Guns. Honestly, I would have liked to take a rifle from there while I was at it, but the guns were of the flintlock variety. The dwarves certainly weren't going to part with their most up-to-date weaponry to humans so the kind that Bob had still required gunpowder and a lead ball to be dropped into the muzzle. I had some practice with using a flintlock pistol, but who would let me own one of these volatile weapons? Especially since I was one of the few priestess in the town, despite me being only an apprentice. They would rather escort me everywhere instead of risking me blowing myself up by using too much gunpowder by accident. That was also the exact reason why I would be taking a wide berth around the store, much less going inside it. There hadn't been any large explosions yet despite the fact that there were barrels of gunpowder stored inside the store which made it a ticking time bomb. With my luck, it would probably blow up the moment I step inside.

I was jolted out of my thoughts as I ducked into a nearby burning building, making sure to keep away from the flames on the walls. It felt like my skin was being cooked, but I ignored it since the first degree burns were only temporary with my spell repertoire. Only when the orc rider on his wolf flew by did I move out. My clothes were heated, burnt and ragged, stinging my skin to the touch. The coolness of the air only served to bring my pained senses to the edge. Some would say that it was better to save my mana for a more serious injury, but the pain itself was dulling my mind so that was reason enough to use another flash heal.

As I made my way through the streets and alleyways, I spotted blood stains and randomly severed limbs far more than I saw corpses. However, it wasn't like they weren't plentiful. The town was a sizable one, but it was by no means large in comparison with Tokyo or even the capitol of the Empire, Berun. Still, I could recognize more than a few of the corpses or at least, those who weren't mutilated. On the right edge of the road, lying on his side with half his body bisected and his entrails slipping out was the baker who always gave me a free loaf of bread on the weekend, hoping to curry favor with an up and coming healer.

Impaled on one of the wooden spikes of a fence was a seamstress who—oh, she was still alive. Wait, no, that was just a death twitch. I held back my grimace as I turned my eyes away and moved on.

There was no real purpose in remembering them at the moment anyways. It was just a distraction, especially when I needed to concentrate. Looking up, I could see long trails of smoke rising to the skies from the various burning buildings. One of the rules of raiding and pillaging was that if you didn't want your raid to be noticed, then you shouldn't set everything on fire. As it was, reinforcements and rescue was bound to come; they couldn't just ignore something like this. I just needed to make it to the center and hide until they arrive.

I ducked into another burning building, making sure to keep near the doorway. The house was already falling apart, and while I could hide better further it, it was also more likely that a flaming wooden beam would drop on me, and I would burn to death. That would be an ignoble death. Not that there was a difference to me since I was avoiding every type of death. However, that was when I heard the stomping getting closer. I kept still.

It should have passed by already, but I could hear it getting closer. The fear was getting to me, but unlike other people, I kept handle on my rationality. If I ran now, I would simply be exposing myself and getting myself killed. That was why I stood still even as the orc raider stepped through the doorway. His head turned my way, and I could a burnt sear across his face that went over his closed left eye. The pupil in his right eye swiveled to me.

"There you are."

He grabbed my neck roughly and slammed me against the wall. Once, twice, trice. The impact went through my back and shoulders, and I could feel my thoughts disappearing with the flashes that scattered my vision. When my thoughts became my own again, I vaguely realized that I was screaming. He was holding me up as he rubbed the blade of his axe against my side, as to slowly saw through my rib cage. More that that, he was grinning. I raised my hand to try to cast smite or my healing spells, but every time I tried, he sawed a bit harder and a bit to the side—flaying another part of my skin and muscles—causing my concentration to divert.

As if tired of the game, the orc dropped me to the floor. Before I could do anything, he stomped on the biceps of my left arm and then my right, shattering the flesh and bone. Screams were already my trade currency, and I was nearly bankrupt by that time. I was barely aware of my surroundings as he dragged me outside by my hair, onto the already stained cobblestone street. The streaks of blood I left behind marked my passage, but I felt detached from it. I was barely conscious when his head dropped right next to mine, his sole dead eye staring into my own glassy ones.

I felt someone cradle my head, even though I could barely move it. Still, as they turned my head, I could see a stock of long blond hair, standing over me.

"She's still moving."

"Death hasn't taken her yet, millord. She's the last of the town's clergy."

"Then I'll handle this one."

A wash of warmth flooded through me, and I felt my tenuous grasp on awareness fade with it. That was, until I felt a sharp pain on my cheek, bringing me to wakefulness. Another slap brought me to attention, though my vision remained blurry.

"Wake, healer. Your townsmen need you." I could feel a hand pushing up my chin, forcing me to look into icy sapphire eyes. "I must push on, but Strahnbrad needs you now, more than ever. There's work to be done."

I could feel my fists clenching as I tried to force myself through the haze. On my mind wasn't anything about the town. No, I was focused only on escape, on my survival. Despite the pain, I focused my fury since this dire situation could only have been the work of Being X. I forced myself to sit up, even though I could barely tell one person from the next. While my body felt a little better now, my head felt like military-grade parade trumpets were blaring right next to me.

"She's strong, this one, but her fatigue is real. She's no good to us like this. You, take her back. As for the rest, with me! We'll sweep the orcs from this town once and for all."

The loud cheers didn't do anything to help my headache as I felt myself being lifted in armored arms and cradled. Even as I felt myself being carried away, my consciousness slowly faded out.

~o~

Author's note: This starts at the beginning of Warcraft 3.