Ren, forced himself up on to two shaking tooth picks. His body flickered and jittered at the mere force of gravity upon him.
The world around him spun, as loose dust swirled around him. The distant smell of neuranic coolant so very stark against the cold ground. The mech lying in ruins behind him, torn in half, the large steel beam still protruding from it's husk.
The ground shuddered below him, faintly smeared with red, revealed only that his balance was near totally gone. He shivered. It was so oddly cold now... his fingers nearly stark white.
His eyes turned against gravity, up towards the sky.
Quazel, the distant sun sat quietly on the far distant mountain ridge. It's rays sinking down into the silent city. Warming his form, and yet. He was still so cold.
Through hard teeth, a grunt.
On shattered energy, but solid will, Ren wrenched himself up onto his best leg. He felt the sting.
It radiated through him, pulling him down. Working with gravity against the young man's will.
Now even his best leg, was injured. Hopefully it wasn't a fracture...
He grimaced, considering the situation with slow breaths. Looking off in the direction of the smouldering starship.
In hubris, and bravery, he laughed.
"Perhaps the protectorate will know to look here first..."
He gently set himself against - what would have been a shop - wall, letting the hard kelcekrete rub against his back, as he sandpapered down it onto the ground. Letting his body rest.
He let his arms lie on the ground, on the concrete paving that flanked what was a street, now simply a rut in the ground.
"It's only been... 12 hours?... ...12 hours... this war moves quickly..."
His eyes began to close, before he remembered the dangers of allowing oneself to accept death. Holding them open, muscles jittering to the effort forced. He eventually surrendered to the pull of gravity. And shut them.
He felt the winds cross him, the sun slowly warm him.
Distant birds - of the few species that were on Taraven - sang their songs.
Time swayed, and held it's breath.
*Crunch*
A footstep on stones?
*Crunch, crunch, crunch.*
Two footsteps on ripped gravel!
LIFE! Another living person! For the first time in hours!... For the first time since... everything.
Oddly spoken words echoed across the shattered street. Ren, opened his eyes in an instant.
Upon the obliterated road. A man, brown haired, clothed in an old ragged cloth walked beside a
a woman, brown haired, clothed in darkest blue and bloodiest red suit.
Rennand's fingers shot to life, and his body ached in response.
He wished to see better.
But who were these people?
Something stopped Ren from moving. Despite the overwhelming demand of his mind to do such things. Looking up from the cold ground towards the approaching figures, it was too far to make out their faces, but they were alive!
The woman spoke to the man, as she - seemingly - lead the way. Holding in her hands a large heavy Galzion Rifle. Nearly a meter long, and of considerable thickness. A peak-technology weapon made from Uber-Carbon and finest naval engineering.
YOU ARE READING
World In Turmoil
Fiksi IlmiahAmongst 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. ...
