The last to go

5

The lone soldier wandered through the streets until they emptied, fulfilling her task. Most people went out of her way, speeding up at the sight of her towering figure. Kyra couldn't blame them, she would have run too. Her shirt had torn on several places, revealing bleeding gashes and purple bruises. Most of them weren't even caused by the terrorist. Panic was a horrible opponent to confront.

The carries flew off to the gigantic ships that had gathered. She waved at them as they passed her. If she had been in one of them, just one, she would have been waving at the city. She would have gone home. First some time in the hospital, where she would be fed purple jelly until her tongue was the same shade. Her arm would forever carry the scars of the wire. The tip of the machete would be removed and that too would leave a scar. Then back to the base to complete six more months. She could almost imagine the faces of her teammates. Passive, timid Kyra with battle scars. If her mother had been alive she would have been so proud.

The building she leaned against used to be a school, as told by the large banner crumpled on the ground. There was a festival coming up. All the parents were invited to come and see the plays written, performed and directed by the students. She peered through the empty windows and mourned the broken tables and torn papers. A holographic display of the galaxy flickered on and off on the large desk in front. There was an abandoned lunchbox near her feet. Some of the pearly white beetles had escaped and formed a neat queue to a tear in the wall.

Kyra's nose scrunched up, she never liked those beetles. They were simply called Pearl, or 'Palé' in the local dialect. They tasted like soap and mint but were very healthy to some species. Kyra's mother would sometimes give them to her and Kyra would give them to Po. Dragons loved them. 

Unwilling to look at them any longer, Kyra pushed away from the wall and looked around. Sweat dripped down her brow. Her view was like a painting. The street shimmered like a sea of gold. The houses strained under the heavy rooftops and the sweltering heat. The heat made it look like the flowers on the roofs were moving. Rooftops formed a mosaic, depicting the heart of a bonfire. 

The fire dripped down the walls, pouring over the streets like lava. It dripped into Kyra's collar, down her back. Petals landed on her head and burned through her thick hair. Her blood dripped and sizzled on the ground. Kyra longed for some water. She stumbled to a stop under a roof and inhaled. 

The once overwhelmingly sweet scent of the fauna used to be addictive to the point where some would remain near the flowers all day, inhaling and rubbing the tender petals between their fingertips. Now it added to the rotting scent of decay in the most nauseating way. It was like having your favorite dessert, only to find that the insides were rotten. 

Some species omitted a terrible stench once they were dead and their bodies started to decompose. Others would promptly dissolve in a puddle or crumble to dust. The remaining bodies were still fresh and warm, only the various scents of blood lingered around them.

She could tell some apart, a result of a childhood spent in libraries and school laboratories. Kyra wanted to become a teacher like her parents once her mandatory enlistment was over. Teaching biology, her father's favored subject. Now she was soldier #3133347 and about to die in an empty city minutes away from annihilation. Voluntarily. She huffed and stumbled on.

One of the suns in the sky peeked over the library and send rays of heat in her face. She closed her eyes and searched for something cool to ease her headache. The city was silent except for the occasional groan and subsequent collapse of a structure. The whole city was once build from mud and flowers and had lived on, kept by the families that lived here. Technology had enforced brittle walls and kept them standing. Without the force of the generators keeping them up, the ancient buildings were doomed.

A thousand year of history, culture and inventions. All of it would be gone. Kyra wanted to take it all and put it in her pockets. There was so much that people had to see for themselves, not read about. Children shouldn't learn about it through films and stories. Xanbu could only be experienced. The scents, the noises, the feeling of the golden stones beneath your feet and the burning heat from the two suns on your face. That was Xanbu.

Not only was its beauty reveled, Xanbu was one of the most important cities in the galaxy. It had traders come in from all over and thus the economy thrived. Precious stones were made into expensive jewelry, flowers were made into crowns and the castle was a popular tourist attraction. The cliffs at the end were perfect for anyone searching to escape the scorching suns by jumping down into the cool water. Afterwards you could climb on little heli carriers and be brought back up for a large bowl of shaved frozen fruits with nectar.

Even pilgrims came en masse, in order to visit the large temple of the Goddess of color, Ranga. Ranga was a patron to the city. She was often portrayed as a cloud with a single eye in the center. According to the legends, she was born on the spot where the well stood now. She gave color to the city and chose the royal families each year through a ceremony performed by High Priestesses. Ranga was loved and adored by many, mainly because of her lack of violent tendencies that were often found in other Gods. Ranga loved and brought joy, healing the souls of those depraved of the former two. 

Ironically, the temple was the first to get destroyed in the attacks. A plane carrying gravity bombs appeared out of nowhere and dropped the first load right on top of the structure. The fragile walls burst apart in clouds of powder when the little marbles hit them with the force of meteorites. 

Rainbows escaped their prisms. The towering statues crumbled and crushed their worshipers. The sacred image of Ranga became visible when the walls crumbled around her. She was watching. Priestesses tried to shield the eye with their robes but many of them died when the heavy canvas came down and caught fire. Ranga curled up in the flames, the colors burned black and the prisms woven into the canvas melted into little drops. 

Silence fell over the city as the citizens gaped at the ruins. Many burst into tears on the spot. Some tried to save something, anything from the remains. There wasn't much left. 

The terrorists took the chance to spread out over the city without resistance, but the foreign soldiers were not as shell shocked as the rest. The airborne troops started firing back and forth to bring each other down. Ranga's temple suffered more damage until not even memories would be able to bring it back. 

The ground forces jumped into action and rushed to the fallen carriers. Among them was Kyra who had set her sights on one of the jets. It was a small one but it had been protected by the others. She started to chase it, straining her neck to keep her eyes on it. 

Pushing people out of her way, Kyra stormed into the building the jet landed on and made her way to the top.