THE LAST HUNTER - PROSPERITY

Prologue

"Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live."

- Norman Cousins

No one was prepared for it. How could they be? A direct assault had never been attempted before, and never on a scale like this. None of them saw it coming, and neither did he. A young boy, his normally emotionless face was contorted into a grimace, spattered with ash and blood, each drop leaving a dried crimson stain on his pale skin. He hid amidst a pile of bodies, silent, covering his mouth, for he dared not let even a breath escape his lips. His eyes stung, not from tears, but from the stench that met his nose every time he did breathe. Like rotten meat tossed over an open flame for far too long. A faint scent of ozone too, hung in the air, like a mist. Bodies lined the streets, some spasming as they bled to death, others stuck forever crawling for whatever safety they had seen when they still had life. Many had massive holes in their bodies, several still crackling as the flesh burned. Faint orange embers could be seen within them, glowing faintly, like a dying star.

He pushed it out of his mind, and instead focused on his goal: A massive metal spire in the center of his home city. If he moved carefully, he could access an escape pod, and free himself from this wretched new hell. He picked his body up, and moved. His muscles ached, and his head screamed at him. He could feel and hear his heart pounding as he sprinted with all his might. Deep, bassy thrums accompanied by screams and the clangs of metal could be heard in the distance. The remaining few who fought for their lives.

How could this have happened? He thought to himself as he ran. Their city was home to one of the most powerful races in the universe, and yet they had been caught not only off guard, but were completely outmatched. No ships were seen, no advancing armies, nothing. One minute there was peace, next there was blood. He shook his head vigorously. Now wasn't the time to think. He wasn't free, or safe. Every second he didn't focus, was another second he could end up like one of the hundreds of corpses he had passed already. He glanced down as he ran. His gray clothing had been smudged by bloody handprints that weren't his, and ash from burnt wounds. His scarred arms pumped as he ran, his feet pounding against the streetside. Then he heard a short ringing in his ears. At first he thought it was just his head, but as he looked up, he realized it was very real.

He jumped to the left, just in time to avoid a bright green flash. A bright orange hole remained where his right foot had been just a second ago. He stumbled to the streetside, stepping on a corpse as he turned down a side street. Heavy metallic footsteps lumbered behind him. Another whine, another blast, as he sidestepped again. This time, however, he stumbled, tumbling to the side of the road as he heard another whine. His mind had given up, but his body wouldn't. Every cell in his body screamed for him to lay down and die, but his body wouldn't do it. He leapt back up, climbing over a barrier and down a thin alleyway. He stumbled over pipes and cables, glancing back to see a massive shadow stopping at the entrance, going no further after him. He ran until the figure was in sight no more, as he tumbled to the floor, resting his body for a moment. How far had he run? Three miles? Four? He wasn't certain. While the City was only about 9 miles in diameter, he had made almost no progress to the center, constantly being forced to backtrack, or take side roads to keep from being killed. He had no way to determine how far he was, other than the constant sight of the tall, shiny spire that still stood as his final beacon of hope. He grunted, sitting up against a wall, and taking a breath. Truthfully, he knew he could run much further, but the constant state of alert he had been on had drained him, his body constantly tensed and ready to burst into action to move.

What are those things? They aren't alive, but they are decimating our numbers. He thought silently as he caught his breath for a moment. He couldn't wait long. If they began to fully regroup, and take the city center, he would never make it to the pod. It would be far too easy to hold, and stopping him with numbers would be easy. A twinge of guilt ate at his stomach. No one else was running, and the escape pods hadn't once fired off. No one had run. They were fighting for their lives. For their people. Wasn't he supposed to be a warrior too? But nothing could shake this feeling that sat in his core. A feeling he had never truly experienced: Fear. Fear so strong it overrode everything he knew, everything he had been trained for. He didn't understand in the slightest. Again, he shook the thoughts from his head, and stood up again, locking eyes with the massive spire once more. For a brief second, he stared at his hands. They were calloused from his training, and were firm and unmoving. And yet, they were covered in the blood of his own people, the dying and the damned. He closed his eyes tightly, inhaling heavily, before sprinting off again. His mind swirled with ideas and emotions he couldn't comprehend.