Black..

It surrounded him, engulfing him entirely, sinking through his pores, it became all he could breathe; Stifling air, smelling of the dead and dying. It soon became so thick he could barely take breath, managing only a few twitches from exhausted muscles and shattered bones.

Suddenly something began to break through the blackened prison in which he was kept, a light so blinding it seemed to dwarf the sun, so weak was he that he could not bear to look away from this light... this hope. Slowly, he attempted to reach for it. His fingers first, though he could only feel three of them. Next he forced his hand to move, grimacing through the agony it put him through. But soon, as he raised his arm towards the glimmering object, the pain seemed to cease.

And as his mud-covered, bloodied fingers wrapped around the hilt the darkness slowly began to lift. Through the dim lightened area, he forced his weary eyes to survey the immediate area.

About him were bodies, maimed and gored beyond recollection, all that he could make out were the scattered limbs, or so he assumed, and the numerous weapons they had once wielded. Lying across the outskirts of the field were shard’s of metal and iron, some pilot’s were evidently crushed inside. But a single image stood in utter clarity, amongst the death and decay that was blurred in obscurity. A figure stood, crimson draped about his shoulders and bending and twisting through the dead air. His body was draped in ebon armor, only the dim, disgusting color of blood stained it; Obviously not of his own heart, did the fluid emanate. But of all this only one image captivated the would-be corpse. His face. Pale, more so than the whitest cloud or the most polished silver. His eyes; as dark and as deep as the murkiest abyss, filled with nothing but hatred and a thirst with violence, surveying the field for new prey, most likely. The worst of this already horrific image was his mouth. Innocently it smiled, Like a newborn infant at first seeing its parent. So abhorrent this beast was, that he took an oath in the midst of the dead that he would ensure its destruction, whatever the cost.

Soon he began to gather his strength, and with an onset of malice, he rose to his feet. Planted firmly on the spot, he quickly checked to see what of his mangled body still worked; At least seven fingers broken, an arm....throbbing in agony, he assumed it was broken, possible internal bleeding, thought due to the queer feeling of liquid flowing outside his veins, and an immense feeling of pain each time he attempted to move.

He gazed upon this monster which took human form, a trickle of blood seeping from his jaw as he cursed and spat on its name.

With that, the beast turned its head, still wearing that despicable grin. The Demon dropped something red and ivory from his icy claws, slowly striding towards the survivor. When he got within a few meters, he ceased his approach, still grinning.

“Are you strong?” the demon mocked, in the same innocent tone as would be expected from such an abominable creature.

Without missing a beat, the old commander bore a hateful grin. “Strength.. matters not. This day you will die, Demon.” he replied.

He slowly began to raise his sword from the ground, gripping onto its hilt with what little strength he could still muster.

The demon grinned, silently mocking the commander.

And with this, it had begun. With a feral scream he did not even realize he possessed, the commander bore his shining blade unto the fiend with a second wind, funneling all of his energy, hatred, malice, and even at some point, a twisted admiration- into his blade.

Yet, no matter how strong he could have been, or fast, the demon was always superior. With a fluid movement, the beast twisted into the air, his left arm striking the sword, its blade shattering instantly. And as he turned from the shock of his sword breaking still within his grasp, the beasts elbow bore into his shoulder, muscle and bone being crushed under the incredible force. Yet, rather than let the survivor simply drop to the mud and die a horribly painful death, the demon whimsically brought his knee into the mans spine- laughing as the poor lamb winced and cried aloud, falling amongst its slaughtered brethren.

The commander laid in silence; unable to move and take breath. His face crumbled into an expression of shock, watching the demon kneel beside him. He saw the beast kick something nearby- possibly his battered corpse, though he could feel nothing at this point. Few moments passed, seeming like days of agonizing torture, unable to turn or close his eyes as he watched the demon stride back to his vessel.

Just as the demon vanished from sight, and his breath ceased, he heard low rumble. His vision was slowly blurring and sinking into nothingness as the Gebler vessel touched down. Another moment passed, soldiers in white and black uniforms exiting the ship and making their way towards the massacre. The final image he saw was one of them kneeling beside his tattered body, staring at him with nonchalant eyes. She looked unusually young, her hair like an amethyst in the sunlight. She turned and shouted something to the others, though at that point he could barely make out what. The woman turned back to him, with a reassuring smile, and she spoke again, this time with a hushed voice she spoke to the torn commander.

“You’ll be alright now, Commander Ramsus, We’ll take care of you.” she said.

Oddly enough, He understood her words, and it was the last thing he heard before his eyes failed him, fading into darkness.



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