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Description

Bronze pillars rose from out of the depths of the ocean, stretching far into the heavens, practically endlessly. Water churned violently around them, with large ripples pulsing across the surface. Warships rattled and rocked in the wake of these movements, struggling to remain upright against the torrent of winds and waves. Steady as they were able, they circled the terrible columns in their standard formations, creating a protective barrier around the intrusions into their waters. Calamity had once again returned to their home, and it was their duty to protect those on shore from harm. Sea planes took to the skies, though only for brief amounts of time. The sheer amount of mist and clouds which were brought up from the sea was almost blinding. For the average pilot, flying in these conditions was almost suicidal, but a lack of compliance would have the utmost severe consequences.

The whole of the Earth shook as the pillars trembled, bearing down to the sea floor just as they pierced the skies. Slight tremors created towering waves and far reaching aftershocks, yet this was one of the better days to be on patrol. Civilian populations had been warned far in advance of the event, and had taken the necessary precautions to protect themselves. Evacuations schedules had been planned out and practiced, and the army was mobilised to escort citizens towards higher ground and the mountains. In the past, the whole of the ocean had risen up to swallow the coast, so in comparison, the tumultuous weather and movement was rendered manageable. A good day was one where there were cities left standing, and a great day was when only a few neighbourhoods had to be reconstructed. If storms and torrents were all for them to deal with, it may be considered a near-perfect day.

PSS Olómpali, first of her name and of her kind, gazed upwards, wide-eyed at the sight before her. She was a capital ship, a top of the line flagship, yet for all her strength and advancements, she felt completely and utterly helpless. One sudden movement, one stride, would be all that it took to send her division plummeting to the bottom of the ocean – or perhaps launched into the air towards shore. Against such horrible might, there was no hope of battle, no chance of victory. Years had been spent fruitlessly striving for some level of understanding, of comprehension, of the power which lorded over them. Jet research, rocketry, radar amplification, none of it ultimately mattered. All weapons were rendered moot, all attempts at resistance made futile, and all opportunities for freedom quickly crushed. She was not sure which was worse, that they had so resolutely failed, or that the Supreme was not even aware they had ever tried to resist her.

Arms folded beneath her chest, Musashi peered down upon her little domain, allowing a faint smirk to grow on her lips. For perhaps the first time, she had felt what could be considered satisfaction with her efforts across the Pacific. When news had first broken to her of the dissolution of the United States, she had become terribly saddened and morose. A worthy opponent, one deserving a true war, had suddenly collapsed inwards on itself. The opportunity for glory and combat had been snuffed out, and another country looked to be falling to the revolutionary tide. It looked as though there was nothing to be done, save mourn the loss of a time honoured rival, but fate was not willing to let the dream fall so easily.

She was surprised, at first, to hear that there was one government in America which reached out for assistance. Pressed upon on almost all sides, protected only by the natural deserts and mountains which shielded them, the western divisions of the United States had bounded together to preserve their way of life. These “Pacific States of America”, however, was weak, feeble, and in need of much assistance. In the midst of such a conflict, survival was ultimately considered unlikely without some form of protector. This role, whether little Sacramento thought it desirable or not, fell upon Japan. Yamato was, naturally, skeptical of the pleadings of foreigners, but she was willing to entertain the idea. The primary direction of the empire, so far as the navy was concerned, was to secure the Pacific islands, and to guard the most important sea lanes. If it was possible to guarantee these things diplomatically, through a willing America, it was worth the effort.

The first pressure of recognition was one easily conceded to. Out of all the factions which had emerged in the “American Anarchy”, the Pacific States was the one most agreeable to Japan’s aims. Attempting, at least in principle, to uphold the old liberalism of yesterday, Sacramento denied the revolutionary cause, as well as certain excesses of the American status quo. The fact that, more than any of the other competing governments, the West Coast had a much larger presence of Issei, was only an added boon to the relationship. Musashi had to confess, for all her elder sister’s raw power, it was perhaps her grace which was her greatest strength. Yamato had a particular elegance to her, which – combined with her other qualities – made for an imposing negotiator. Negotiations were made, plans were drawn, and shipments organised.

Musashi, by the decree of her elder, was to be send in conjunction with a contingent of the Imperial Navy to provide support for their newest allies, a task which she did not find particularly enthralling, but accepted nevertheless. The stride eastwards was a momentous one, excitedly documented by journalists in her wake. Guam fell, as did Wake, Midway, and Hawaii. Paralysed by indecision and lack of resolve, when she had arrived on their beaches, there was naught else but to submit. Help came at a great cost, and for many of the far flung islands, it meant a return to Asia, where they belonged. The Americans would be well taken care of, doubtlessly, but it was important to make a memorable introduction to the new order of things. After spending so long away from the public eye, being kept away from the insidious gazes of the foreigner, she had to confess she did enjoy the attention.

The Pacific States was merely a stepping stone, in Musashi’s opinion, towards a greater unity across the ocean. There was a perverse sense of irony, she found, to her arrival in San Francisco. A century ago, it was Japan who was disunited, internally squabbling, suffering humiliation at the hands of overseas powers. Now, however, the situation had been decisively reversed. American ports were forcibly opened for Asian goods, and Japanese soldiers were given extra-territoriality along the West Coast. The terms, she admitted, were not fair – but since when was politics done as a matter of parity? Leaders made deals with positions of strength, and it was the weak who had to accept the terms. Were it the other way around, and it was Japan to be occupied, she doubted heavily the Americans would care for their own sensibilities and mores. Thus, when she first arrived to dictate the war, she did so with a light heart, an easy mind, and a lack of pity.

Originally, her mission to California was a simple one, mostly for the effect of propaganda. She would display the Empire’s strength before the world, confirm the continuing struggle against global anarchy, and perhaps extract a few more treaties while she was there. It was her understanding that she would be there a few months at most, but this also was not fated to be. Yamato, whether through change of heart or her own omissions, later recounted her first orders. The situation in America, she declared, was too volatile to leave to local devices. Multiple attempts of coups within Sacramento had only demonstrated that the American system was suffering from severe faults and disharmony, and thus required a firm, guiding hand to stabilise. Just as what happened in Manchuria, and on the Amur, a more direct approach was necessary. Thus, Musashi was no longer leading a peace keeping mission, she was now responsible for the Empire’s newest protectorate.

The Americans were not ecstatic at the delivery of the news, but she did not require their consent, only their compliance. The House of Representatives was kept intact, as was the Senate, but overnight all sources of authority became immediately deferential to her. The volunteer battalions which formerly guarded all the strategic points in the country continued as they had before, the only difference being the number of people they were keeping under watch. Perhaps the Pacifican government did not realise how great the Japanese influence had become, or perhaps they did, but were far too late in stopping what had by then become inevitable.

Musashi carried the soul of a warrior, not an administrator, but it did not take long for her to force her own system upon her protectorate. The rabble rousers and strikers were swiftly dealt with, their rallies and organisations quickly crushed beneath her thumb. A single finger was all that was necessary to maintain peace and order, yet she had a whole fist of options in governance. Crowds, save for those of an explicitly collaborative nature, dared not gather in the streets. Those who were dispossessed by depression and economic incompetence were soon put to work in rebuilding that which she had removed in her excess.

Slums and neighbourhoods which had consistently provided problems to her were brought to heel – quite literally. Dissent was unforgivable. Not only was it an affront against her, put it reflected very poorly in her reports back to her elder sister. Imperfections had to be rectified, which she did with great vigour. Towns and villages met their end beneath her soles, ground into fine dust before being shaken off over the cities still standing. The people would have to rebuild these places again, and this time fill them with better, more honest workers. Some were too filthy, others too bothersome, a few too poorly planned, and the last couple, she simply did not like the look of. Slowly, old things were made new, and what was destroyed was rebuilt to better accommodate her tastes in aesthetics. Those craters left by her disciplining became popular attractions, even residential neighbourhoods, for the Issei and their children. Little Tokyos and Osakas sprung up wherever she strode, as resistance continued to plummet beneath her.

In time, as reports continued to pour over the Rockies about the lawlessness and barbarism out East, the populace began to accept her way of ruling. She was a harsh mistress, some would say even cruel, but she was far from arbitrary. There was never an instance in which she did something without reason, and every punishment came attached with a remedy to avoid it in the future. For the children and the young adults, they could not remember a different America. Sakura trees always blossomed next to the mighty Sequoias, Japanese was always a secondary language in schools, and paper walls were always used to help keep homes cool in the summer. For these youth, Musashi was the only leader they ever knew, and every morning they swore to serve her and the state she ruled over.

Although at first she saw the whole affair as a terrible chore thrust upon her, one which she would have rather delegated elsewhere were it within her power to do so, she came to enjoy America as her home away from home. Her English was more than sufficient to order them around, and she found their attempts to speak to her in her native tongue to be almost… cute. She was both feared and adored, and whenever her shadow fell upon a city, she was no longer sure if the screams were in terror or jubilation. Where before she demanded their obedience, now many approached her, asking what else they could do to possibly please her. Her reign had become total, down to every facet of society, and none were free of her domination.

Gazing down upon her prized jewel, the gift she offered back to her sister and to the Chrysanthemum Throne, her heart swelled with pride. Gently tilting her head to the side, she looked at the tiny specks which sailed around her ankles – her own little fleet, which she had collected. This was not the only one which belonged to her, she now had four to speak of, with a fifth one nearing completion. Some of these little figures were old rivals, now helpless before her as they were assigned to be her personal guard. It was not the country they protected from her, it was her who they protected from unwanted visitors and out of place fans. She, of course, required no such escort, yet she delighted in making them serve her. Before a pledge to any flag, to any constitution or institution, they were sworn to her first. Ships, planes, tanks, trains, trucks, men, all were dedicated to her satisfaction first and foremost.

Musashi wiggled her toes beneath the surface, watching as her pets were knocked in all directions by the waves drudged up by her. Only a few relics of the old America endured, not because she had eliminated them, but because they were now so outnumbered by the new. She knew some eyes stared up at her in scorn and terror, yet could not bring herself to care. Most of her pets were new, made just for her, for her own use, and the only thing which worried them was failing to entertain her. Seeing one of the greatest navies on the seas scatter just from the movement of her toes tickled her inside. A laugh rose from the pit of her stomach, before thundering into the air. For miles and miles, the echo could be heard, shaking buildings and rumbling the earth. Noticing how her little ones clutched their heads, some even falling over, before righting themselves again, she laughed even harder.

America was Musashi’s protectorate, the land she was responsible for administering in the ever-growing Co-Prosperity Sphere. Of course, this did not describe fully the level of control she had over the lives of the little, insignificant people on the ground. For the citizens of the Pacific States of America, both approvingly and disapprovingly, described the situation much differently. To them, their country was nothing else but Musashi’s playground.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Hello there, I hope you're doing fine.

I'm so happy with this piece, I just love it. Honestly I think it's one of my favorite works in a long time.
I've been itching to draw Musashi for such a long time.

And yes I'm always a late trender, but I wanted to do that infamous pose with her for a while as well.

Credit to the excerpt above to a good friend of mine who wrote it.

Description

Bronze pillars rose from out of the depths of the ocean, stretching far into the heavens, practically endlessly. Water churned violently around them, with large ripples pulsing across the surface. Warships rattled and rocked in the wake of these movements, struggling to remain upright against the torrent of winds and waves. Steady as they were able, they circled the terrible columns in their standard formations, creating a protective barrier around the intrusions into their waters. Calamity had once again returned to their home, and it was their duty to protect those on shore from harm. Sea planes took to the skies, though only for brief amounts of time. The sheer amount of mist and clouds which were brought up from the sea was almost blinding. For the average pilot, flying in these conditions was almost suicidal, but a lack of compliance would have the utmost severe consequences.

The whole of the Earth shook as the pillars trembled, bearing down to the sea floor just as they pierced the skies. Slight tremors created towering waves and far reaching aftershocks, yet this was one of the better days to be on patrol. Civilian populations had been warned far in advance of the event, and had taken the necessary precautions to protect themselves. Evacuations schedules had been planned out and practiced, and the army was mobilised to escort citizens towards higher ground and the mountains. In the past, the whole of the ocean had risen up to swallow the coast, so in comparison, the tumultuous weather and movement was rendered manageable. A good day was one where there were cities left standing, and a great day was when only a few neighbourhoods had to be reconstructed. If storms and torrents were all for them to deal with, it may be considered a near-perfect day.

PSS Olómpali, first of her name and of her kind, gazed upwards, wide-eyed at the sight before her. She was a capital ship, a top of the line flagship, yet for all her strength and advancements, she felt completely and utterly helpless. One sudden movement, one stride, would be all that it took to send her division plummeting to the bottom of the ocean – or perhaps launched into the air towards shore. Against such horrible might, there was no hope of battle, no chance of victory. Years had been spent fruitlessly striving for some level of understanding, of comprehension, of the power which lorded over them. Jet research, rocketry, radar amplification, none of it ultimately mattered. All weapons were rendered moot, all attempts at resistance made futile, and all opportunities for freedom quickly crushed. She was not sure which was worse, that they had so resolutely failed, or that the Supreme was not even aware they had ever tried to resist her.

Arms folded beneath her chest, Musashi peered down upon her little domain, allowing a faint smirk to grow on her lips. For perhaps the first time, she had felt what could be considered satisfaction with her efforts across the Pacific. When news had first broken to her of the dissolution of the United States, she had become terribly saddened and morose. A worthy opponent, one deserving a true war, had suddenly collapsed inwards on itself. The opportunity for glory and combat had been snuffed out, and another country looked to be falling to the revolutionary tide. It looked as though there was nothing to be done, save mourn the loss of a time honoured rival, but fate was not willing to let the dream fall so easily.

She was surprised, at first, to hear that there was one government in America which reached out for assistance. Pressed upon on almost all sides, protected only by the natural deserts and mountains which shielded them, the western divisions of the United States had bounded together to preserve their way of life. These “Pacific States of America”, however, was weak, feeble, and in need of much assistance. In the midst of such a conflict, survival was ultimately considered unlikely without some form of protector. This role, whether little Sacramento thought it desirable or not, fell upon Japan. Yamato was, naturally, skeptical of the pleadings of foreigners, but she was willing to entertain the idea. The primary direction of the empire, so far as the navy was concerned, was to secure the Pacific islands, and to guard the most important sea lanes. If it was possible to guarantee these things diplomatically, through a willing America, it was worth the effort.

The first pressure of recognition was one easily conceded to. Out of all the factions which had emerged in the “American Anarchy”, the Pacific States was the one most agreeable to Japan’s aims. Attempting, at least in principle, to uphold the old liberalism of yesterday, Sacramento denied the revolutionary cause, as well as certain excesses of the American status quo. The fact that, more than any of the other competing governments, the West Coast had a much larger presence of Issei, was only an added boon to the relationship. Musashi had to confess, for all her elder sister’s raw power, it was perhaps her grace which was her greatest strength. Yamato had a particular elegance to her, which – combined with her other qualities – made for an imposing negotiator. Negotiations were made, plans were drawn, and shipments organised.

Musashi, by the decree of her elder, was to be send in conjunction with a contingent of the Imperial Navy to provide support for their newest allies, a task which she did not find particularly enthralling, but accepted nevertheless. The stride eastwards was a momentous one, excitedly documented by journalists in her wake. Guam fell, as did Wake, Midway, and Hawaii. Paralysed by indecision and lack of resolve, when she had arrived on their beaches, there was naught else but to submit. Help came at a great cost, and for many of the far flung islands, it meant a return to Asia, where they belonged. The Americans would be well taken care of, doubtlessly, but it was important to make a memorable introduction to the new order of things. After spending so long away from the public eye, being kept away from the insidious gazes of the foreigner, she had to confess she did enjoy the attention.

The Pacific States was merely a stepping stone, in Musashi’s opinion, towards a greater unity across the ocean. There was a perverse sense of irony, she found, to her arrival in San Francisco. A century ago, it was Japan who was disunited, internally squabbling, suffering humiliation at the hands of overseas powers. Now, however, the situation had been decisively reversed. American ports were forcibly opened for Asian goods, and Japanese soldiers were given extra-territoriality along the West Coast. The terms, she admitted, were not fair – but since when was politics done as a matter of parity? Leaders made deals with positions of strength, and it was the weak who had to accept the terms. Were it the other way around, and it was Japan to be occupied, she doubted heavily the Americans would care for their own sensibilities and mores. Thus, when she first arrived to dictate the war, she did so with a light heart, an easy mind, and a lack of pity.

Originally, her mission to California was a simple one, mostly for the effect of propaganda. She would display the Empire’s strength before the world, confirm the continuing struggle against global anarchy, and perhaps extract a few more treaties while she was there. It was her understanding that she would be there a few months at most, but this also was not fated to be. Yamato, whether through change of heart or her own omissions, later recounted her first orders. The situation in America, she declared, was too volatile to leave to local devices. Multiple attempts of coups within Sacramento had only demonstrated that the American system was suffering from severe faults and disharmony, and thus required a firm, guiding hand to stabilise. Just as what happened in Manchuria, and on the Amur, a more direct approach was necessary. Thus, Musashi was no longer leading a peace keeping mission, she was now responsible for the Empire’s newest protectorate.

The Americans were not ecstatic at the delivery of the news, but she did not require their consent, only their compliance. The House of Representatives was kept intact, as was the Senate, but overnight all sources of authority became immediately deferential to her. The volunteer battalions which formerly guarded all the strategic points in the country continued as they had before, the only difference being the number of people they were keeping under watch. Perhaps the Pacifican government did not realise how great the Japanese influence had become, or perhaps they did, but were far too late in stopping what had by then become inevitable.

Musashi carried the soul of a warrior, not an administrator, but it did not take long for her to force her own system upon her protectorate. The rabble rousers and strikers were swiftly dealt with, their rallies and organisations quickly crushed beneath her thumb. A single finger was all that was necessary to maintain peace and order, yet she had a whole fist of options in governance. Crowds, save for those of an explicitly collaborative nature, dared not gather in the streets. Those who were dispossessed by depression and economic incompetence were soon put to work in rebuilding that which she had removed in her excess.

Slums and neighbourhoods which had consistently provided problems to her were brought to heel – quite literally. Dissent was unforgivable. Not only was it an affront against her, put it reflected very poorly in her reports back to her elder sister. Imperfections had to be rectified, which she did with great vigour. Towns and villages met their end beneath her soles, ground into fine dust before being shaken off over the cities still standing. The people would have to rebuild these places again, and this time fill them with better, more honest workers. Some were too filthy, others too bothersome, a few too poorly planned, and the last couple, she simply did not like the look of. Slowly, old things were made new, and what was destroyed was rebuilt to better accommodate her tastes in aesthetics. Those craters left by her disciplining became popular attractions, even residential neighbourhoods, for the Issei and their children. Little Tokyos and Osakas sprung up wherever she strode, as resistance continued to plummet beneath her.

In time, as reports continued to pour over the Rockies about the lawlessness and barbarism out East, the populace began to accept her way of ruling. She was a harsh mistress, some would say even cruel, but she was far from arbitrary. There was never an instance in which she did something without reason, and every punishment came attached with a remedy to avoid it in the future. For the children and the young adults, they could not remember a different America. Sakura trees always blossomed next to the mighty Sequoias, Japanese was always a secondary language in schools, and paper walls were always used to help keep homes cool in the summer. For these youth, Musashi was the only leader they ever knew, and every morning they swore to serve her and the state she ruled over.

Although at first she saw the whole affair as a terrible chore thrust upon her, one which she would have rather delegated elsewhere were it within her power to do so, she came to enjoy America as her home away from home. Her English was more than sufficient to order them around, and she found their attempts to speak to her in her native tongue to be almost… cute. She was both feared and adored, and whenever her shadow fell upon a city, she was no longer sure if the screams were in terror or jubilation. Where before she demanded their obedience, now many approached her, asking what else they could do to possibly please her. Her reign had become total, down to every facet of society, and none were free of her domination.

Gazing down upon her prized jewel, the gift she offered back to her sister and to the Chrysanthemum Throne, her heart swelled with pride. Gently tilting her head to the side, she looked at the tiny specks which sailed around her ankles – her own little fleet, which she had collected. This was not the only one which belonged to her, she now had four to speak of, with a fifth one nearing completion. Some of these little figures were old rivals, now helpless before her as they were assigned to be her personal guard. It was not the country they protected from her, it was her who they protected from unwanted visitors and out of place fans. She, of course, required no such escort, yet she delighted in making them serve her. Before a pledge to any flag, to any constitution or institution, they were sworn to her first. Ships, planes, tanks, trains, trucks, men, all were dedicated to her satisfaction first and foremost.

Musashi wiggled her toes beneath the surface, watching as her pets were knocked in all directions by the waves drudged up by her. Only a few relics of the old America endured, not because she had eliminated them, but because they were now so outnumbered by the new. She knew some eyes stared up at her in scorn and terror, yet could not bring herself to care. Most of her pets were new, made just for her, for her own use, and the only thing which worried them was failing to entertain her. Seeing one of the greatest navies on the seas scatter just from the movement of her toes tickled her inside. A laugh rose from the pit of her stomach, before thundering into the air. For miles and miles, the echo could be heard, shaking buildings and rumbling the earth. Noticing how her little ones clutched their heads, some even falling over, before righting themselves again, she laughed even harder.

America was Musashi’s protectorate, the land she was responsible for administering in the ever-growing Co-Prosperity Sphere. Of course, this did not describe fully the level of control she had over the lives of the little, insignificant people on the ground. For the citizens of the Pacific States of America, both approvingly and disapprovingly, described the situation much differently. To them, their country was nothing else but Musashi’s playground.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Hello there, I hope you're doing fine.

I'm so happy with this piece, I just love it. Honestly I think it's one of my favorite works in a long time.
I've been itching to draw Musashi for such a long time.

And yes I'm always a late trender, but I wanted to do that infamous pose with her for a while as well.

Credit to the excerpt above to a good friend of mine who wrote it.