The purple mist seemed to writhe and sway like one great swarm. A singular will driving them.
By now. The whole city was enveloped. The mist seeming to condense on everything it touched, before causing the object in question to evaporate slowly.
Toppled skyscrapers seemed to effervesce, dissolving in the frigid night air. Turning into clouds of dust and material that swirled and whisked away. Toward the great shadowed spire that almost seemed to drink in the clouds.
Something meaningful was exerting its will on this... mist?... No. Mist made no sense...
Ren, on the edge of wake, and strength. Pushed his mind to its limits, straining for understanding in the haze of his thoughts. So little made sense.
The option presented itself. Nightmare? Maybe this was all some rancid dream. Some rancid fever dream. Made out of every little fear...
"No..." he kicked the idea away, with a sharp shake of his head as he stood, propped up against the charred wooden sign post.
The mist...
Focus. What about the mist?
He looked out across the burnt fields. Scrutinizing the distant colour of the aerial entity. A strange choice. It had to be... oh...
Ren jolted to full consciousness, he shook violently as the cold night air bit into his exposed flesh. His burnt leg screaming in protest. The dried blood on his forehead itching.
Fumbling, he forced his numb and broken body into the entrance of The Basement.
The darkness of the descent greeted him with open arms.
And with one last glance over his shoulder to the distant horrors.
He tumbled in.
A hard thud echoing up the kelcecrete steps.
YOU ARE READING
World In Turmoil
Ciencia FicciónAmongst the empires of the galaxy. Between the factions and the territories. On a rustic world left to itself. A young man had heros once... They were a force sworn to protect. They were a navy of saviours. In a time of need. ...
