M
Miles Prower (Kebir Blue)
26 Mar 2009 20:30
Link
A darkened pall hung over the ashen remains of the once great city. Plumes of smoke massed in great columns towering high into the heavy sky, visible for miles around.
The empire had fallen. All hopes of victory had long since been extinquished by the rain of hellfire unleashed upon what had been a thriving metropolis. A way of life laid to rest with all the anger and fury of a final judgement
Nothing remained alive down in that barren waste of twisted metal and splintered concrete. There were no more cries for mercy - no more prayers for salvation or absolution. The Reaper himself had long since departed, his quota realised by those who had been damned that day.
There would be no great salvation.
From the passing of the first wave the attack had seemed different somehow - more ferocious, more vengeful than the last. Salvo after salvo had decimated the proud metropolis, megatons strewn freely to reduce the city to nothing more than a graveyard of ashes and rubble. Lives were cut short, snuffed out in the blink of an unforgiving eye, condemned and forfeit by unseen jury.
Resistance had been fierce, brief, and ultimately futile. Defences were cast asunder, torn to pieces and oblitorated before they could be fully brought to bare. Paltry losses inflicted upon the offensive were shrugged off as the aircraft swarmed overhead in their thousands.
Defenceless, citizens scrambled for shelter wherever they could find it - in their homes, in their cars, at their place of work. But in the end, as the true horrors of reality clamped their jaws around the mortal coil like vicious Cerberus without remorse or sympathy, it was all for naught.
The Reaper's first quarry of that day soon became a bounty, souls departing in time with each explosion of death and destruction.
And then the second constenation came. Those unfortunate enough to survive the first wave were greeted by an altogether more horrific twist of fate. Cruel tricks of chemistry and engineering, blistering the skin, the eyes, the throat - choking, blinding, maiming. Those who had not died soon wished for that one small mercy from their gods.
But for some poor, unfortunate souls the end still did not come. The final destination awaited them further down the line.
The final wave - an idignity reserved as retribution for the few who dared to cling to life - declared it's presence with hellish mechanisms more ferocious than that of suns.
The cause of such hate-filled anger did not warrant such asperity, but come it did, wreaking out final judgement on behalf of unforgiving gods. Though in the end only death prevailed.
The blink of an eye, a grand civilisation in ruins, smouldering now in a bed of its own ashes. Lives extinguished by a fate shared, irrespective of creed, race, gender or guilt. Damnation eternal, unwavering and absolute.
The darkest hour.
But for a few gold coins more, history would repeat itself.
Lest the player log off.
The empire had fallen. All hopes of victory had long since been extinquished by the rain of hellfire unleashed upon what had been a thriving metropolis. A way of life laid to rest with all the anger and fury of a final judgement
Nothing remained alive down in that barren waste of twisted metal and splintered concrete. There were no more cries for mercy - no more prayers for salvation or absolution. The Reaper himself had long since departed, his quota realised by those who had been damned that day.
There would be no great salvation.
From the passing of the first wave the attack had seemed different somehow - more ferocious, more vengeful than the last. Salvo after salvo had decimated the proud metropolis, megatons strewn freely to reduce the city to nothing more than a graveyard of ashes and rubble. Lives were cut short, snuffed out in the blink of an unforgiving eye, condemned and forfeit by unseen jury.
Resistance had been fierce, brief, and ultimately futile. Defences were cast asunder, torn to pieces and oblitorated before they could be fully brought to bare. Paltry losses inflicted upon the offensive were shrugged off as the aircraft swarmed overhead in their thousands.
Defenceless, citizens scrambled for shelter wherever they could find it - in their homes, in their cars, at their place of work. But in the end, as the true horrors of reality clamped their jaws around the mortal coil like vicious Cerberus without remorse or sympathy, it was all for naught.
The Reaper's first quarry of that day soon became a bounty, souls departing in time with each explosion of death and destruction.
And then the second constenation came. Those unfortunate enough to survive the first wave were greeted by an altogether more horrific twist of fate. Cruel tricks of chemistry and engineering, blistering the skin, the eyes, the throat - choking, blinding, maiming. Those who had not died soon wished for that one small mercy from their gods.
But for some poor, unfortunate souls the end still did not come. The final destination awaited them further down the line.
The final wave - an idignity reserved as retribution for the few who dared to cling to life - declared it's presence with hellish mechanisms more ferocious than that of suns.
The cause of such hate-filled anger did not warrant such asperity, but come it did, wreaking out final judgement on behalf of unforgiving gods. Though in the end only death prevailed.
The blink of an eye, a grand civilisation in ruins, smouldering now in a bed of its own ashes. Lives extinguished by a fate shared, irrespective of creed, race, gender or guilt. Damnation eternal, unwavering and absolute.
The darkest hour.
But for a few gold coins more, history would repeat itself.
Lest the player log off.
