Nothing special, just a dry, dry ground. Vast. Flat. Dry. Cracked.
Littered.
There were bodies everywhere.
The wind seemed to mourn, dull as it was, along with the sky, blanketed by dull clouds. Clouds that could only be summoned by gunpowder. Excessive gunpowder. Still tainting the air, the dark environment. Along with the unmistakable smell of iron. The smell of blood. The smell of decay. Rot. The smell of death.
A few beams of sunlight were allowed. Nothing else was given pass, the clouds made sure of it. Forcing the afternoon to behave like twilight. To add the trademark color. The color void of color. Lifeless.
A couple of wisps of cloth strolled over the horizon, as if surveying what their children made a mess off. A mess that could not be cleaned. A few pieces of burnt armor tried to take course in their wake. Rocking in vain. Some empty, only shells. Some containing the limbs they were assigned to protect. Nothing else moved. There was nothing else to move. Nothing else made a sound.
Silence. Deathly silence.
It were as if the heavens and the earth held their breath, to let the wind silently pray, pray for what lay in their vicinity. Pray for forgiveness, for what lay and for themselves; they could not stop what had happened. No one could.
YOU ARE READING
Daminion
Fantasy"Nothing special, just a dry, dry ground. Vast. Flat. Dry. Cracked. Littered. There were bodies everywhere." International Terrorist Organization, Granphdok has declared war. On the world. With a device that can blow up continents, they threaten w...
