Dark skies wafting between red, blue, and black. Ash raining just as much as it didn’t. Turbulence carrying it off to fall anywhere else. But its attempts were stopped at taken up brim and that clung to scarf. Kept back so resolve could keep in the face of this nightmare.

  This lone road out of Brighton, all the same as it ever could be. More burned skeletons of homes and stores. More bashed open out cars and walls. More blood stained rubble. More destruction. More lives obliterated by the people Seth had known. By his own…

  By his family made something else. Something…

  Something caught his eye, as the town thinned away to small suburb. As the light of a real sky allowed it to glare at him. A dark stain, almost like a splatter pattern full of chunks of compact. Chunks that looked like flesh that hadn’t rotted yet, but merely changed to this disturbing color as it dried. Desiccated and crumbling… to dust.

  And there were more. So many more.

  They were piecemeal, far outweighed by the blood that dried away more natural. But slowly it began to dominate as Brighton slumped away to the fielded outskirts. Until it outright painted the road in a deep consuming black. Asphalt overtaken, grass swallowed whole, trees that still stood rendered gradient, not even the ashen rain could cover it up. Nothing standing in its way to remain prominent. Seen. And yet stay dead, as what it all lead to became known.

  In the distance, down this only road away. A roadblock. Militarized and fortified. Tanks and firing positions laid out wide, before the tree line made it claustrophobic. Yet all of it, every sandbag and armor plate, was shattered and tossed aside. Till the blood and the black were mixed together.

  Craters and bullet holes strewn across everything, filled and masked by the black dusty stains. But it could not hide the battle that took place here. Or the casualties. A thought that finally drove Seth to pick up a chunk of this desiccated flesh and see for himself that…

  “It… It is a piece of them. What is left… when they can no longer hold themselves together.”

  Speaker had stayed silent, but finally relayed information he had only just learned himself. As the horror spread amidst all those gathered together Garkah. As power tingled across his hand to judge it for all the regret it brought.

  ‘Then… this was the thunder from before.’

  “It would seem so. Your military may have killed many of…”

  Speaker stopped. Seth was shaking, unable to look away from the crumbling chunk in his hand. Unable to not see the death that surrounding him on all sides. Unable to not to see-

  “Hrggg.”

  His hand pulled wide and tossed the chunk away. Dashed it aside before the worst came of it. Speaker had taken control away for briefest of moments, but could only stymy the spiral as it came. As Seth’s dried up eyes held back from balling at the thought that his parents were here somewhere. That worse things were ahead. But Seth’s control was given back, and that spiral abated in gripping need to stop. He couldn’t fall down yet, he had to escape this. He was afraid, but he had made a promise too strong to break now. And he had… he had friends looking after him. Stepping up for him when even he couldn’t. Even when that numb feeling across his hand had tried to take away his control.

  He continued to walk, through the blackened road into the line itself. Seeing it now as little more than haphazardly placed sandbags that touted armor support. Those tanks ripped open like cans, plates shredded and whole turrets seemingly torn off their mountings. Emplacements crushed and slashed apart, what concrete blockers caved and dashed to pieces. But it was all just scenery, just more of the same with a different motif. Seth kept its full brunt at bay and accepted its cost, its adage to his promise and continued through. Continued even as the black stains dwindled and more and more blood colored this canvas.

  As behind this invalidated defense was a convoy strewn about, military trucks moving up at the worst possible time. And… and civilians running away far too late. Flatbeds scathed and twisted, but saved from evidence of massacre by fire purifying. The blood burned away and the bodies long gone, just metal scored of its lesser coatings and gradient with white and rust.

  The fires had spread here from the town, the fields and forest to either side fairing far worse. Burned away trees were strewn along the road, and defined paths cut across the char of the forest floor. The creatures had swarmed through like a river. And showed no mercy.

  Seth finally made it away, the road clearing up to an empty long stretch. With tire tracks more mundanely burned into the asphalt. That raised hope above the buffeted. At least someone had made it away. At least not all of this town was lost.

  But… but soon enough someone had chosen to stay behind. A massive wash of black taking up the whole road. A road shattered and broken as if beaten as much. Yet, still the dark stains abounded. Surrounding but one single stain of blood. Someone had sacrificed so the rest of the trucks could get away. Someone… some…

  Seth could see it, but felt the ache before ever knowing certain. It was dashed away and trampled to splinters. Pushed back over where its wielder had fallen as if wanting to die alongside him. Stone black and glossy imbedded in wood carved and streaming red and green feathers now nothing but bone and tatters. It was unmistakable, but he couldn’t stand to bear ever knowing. It was powerful, but meant this was truly a nightmare. It was-

  He ran, ran past it as fast as he could, his own will defying everything wanting him to fall to his knees and wail silently till nothing existed anymore. Till that black dust swallowed him up as well and took this pain away. But he couldn’t. He can’t. He had to run. He had to get away. Till he couldn’t feel the pull anymore. Feel that soul boring glare from what judged him in death just as it had in life. Laid a blame he had accepted upon him as all that it was drained away.

  As the bladed club that was Tlatoani’s laid broken upon its owner’s grave. With malice unearthly at seeing him run from his crime.

  Run… till distance bred numbness.

  Till tainted determination found a groove to fall into and stay upon and deny his want to look back. To go back. And return to the one memory he could not forget.

  Of a parade, a day trip to Kadia to see it up close. To see General Advance on his flag plastered tank, to see Burning Eagle in the flesh…

  To see Tlatoani…

  To wave him to cheering with bought headdress and action figure in hand. And end up with him smiling in Seth face. Letting him see what a real hero was like up close. Letting him feel that pull from the blade he wielded. The one that judged and cut only those deserving. That read the soul as much as it rent. That… made him… almost loose his smile. Yet regain it and put a tough hand on Seth’s shoulder. So he could remember…

  So…

  Miles disappeared. Seth made it to the next town in line. With nothing to show for it. Much less destruction, but still in ruins. Damage from more than blunt force and claws. Cratered as if it were bombed to smithereens over and over again. Like his heart. There was no blood that he could see, but plenty of black amongst the rubble. A massive indent caving away the center of this town too. But scattering all that had been in it to the winds.

  The fires hadn't spread here yet, despite the intermittent night they left aglow. And a surprising lot of the town still stood, despite the mother of all bombs laying claim. So he stopped, hunkered down here to take stock and scrounging up what was left of bombed out lives. Finding a small home with its doors blown in and a bed left empty upstairs. So he could curl up into a ball and let out what would bring on sleep faster.

  Till his eyes threatened to bleed with no more tears left in them.

  This trend continued, day in and day out. Just with waning degrees of fugue like pressing forward and passing out to get to sleep. Though it was clear that it had taken its toll now, as time blended with distance. And the environment blurred to little more than what he needed to pass.

  Camping out in the quiet nights between towns, huddled in that bed roll for only the want to be fetal and find some comfort. Though nothing was left to disturb him. Nothing left but trees and ash.

  Though trends did find root. Every place he passed proving less and less destroyed. No more blood in sight beyond maybe a random deer or elk. But there were certainly more and more black stains present. More and more craters telling of effort put forth. And so no reprieve was allowed from the need to keep moving. Though the smoke seemed to dissipate in the direction he walked.

  After a few days it had allowed for a clear sky once again. And so he came upon a new sight in the light. A torn and beaten field, not burned by the fires but trodden en masse. Brown defeating green as claws flowed over. Though at the far end something broke the ecological devastation. Crash sights. Blades strewn about a line of broken hulls. Helicopters. That looked like they had all crashed at the same time. There was even a gash burned into a hill some ways away from the road that looked like a plane had gone down. Such wide spread destruction, but no reason for it. Those things… couldn’t fly.

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  ‘Could they?’

  The stupor of distance and pain failed as Seth just couldn’t understand. But for some reason he felt guilt. Felt Speaker’s apprehension ease him toward his focus. Something had gone very wrong again.

  He approached a crash close to the road, propeller draped over the torn open canopy, hiding the fate of the pilots. But the blood surrounding it left little to imagination. He put a hand to the crumpled chassis, followed what Speaker had taught him about feeling for the power within it, or at least the pathways it chose to follow. Because this broken hulk shouldn’t have gone down like this. And yet it was cold, both in life and in feeling. Its circuitry had been… fried. Melted. But it was familiar, like the radio back in that basement in Brighton.

  “It has been overloaded. Disrupted and distorted. Like our Ark.”

  Speaker stood by far grimmer than normal.

  “The... monsters. They did indeed bring them down.”

  Seth eyed the whole line up, some more torn and wreaked than his.

  ‘But… they can’t fly! Right?’

  Speaker seemed to lighten at Seth’s naiveté, but his grim attitude held.

  “No, but their energies do not need to. The power they have is… is so much like yours. So much like ours. Only with so little control. They must be able to take in power, siphon and eat it. But have no understanding of just how or why. Of its feeling and rhythm. Its resonance. Only that it is… something they want. Not too dissimilar to your outburst before, except even then you were far more guided. Even then you had felt what it meant to wield what you have inherited.”

  Seth thought back to the first night, but couldn’t really understand what this all meant.

  “Something for another time perhaps. When survival is less paramount and power more plentiful. There is a more pressing concern here.”

  Seth felt Speaker shift his focus for him, tighten it beyond what he’d been taught to. So as to look into the melted down wiring and circuitry inside the helicopter. To see what was left behind.

  “There are striations. Infinitesimal, but they are there. Marks in the melt. It reads like a… fingerprint. Unique to an individual, if not muddled as they are now. Though to the untrained and those not looking for it, it will look indistinct. Generalized. Like the one who siphoned the power from your village did so to this machine as well.”

  Seth thought for a second, but realized quickly.

  ‘They… Would they really think I did this?’

  “If given a chance, and a reason. And with such loss already, it would be far too easy for them. You… you have already begun to get ahead of this. Already thinking so very far into the future. For a whelp. But… but still you have taken on enough blame as it is. Do not feel this as anything you are a fault for. The actions of others, even… animals like these, should not be laid upon you. You have already taken on enough.”

  Speaker’s apprehension melted into some small pride, but Seth couldn’t get the thought of those… Of really being like those things. Of being seen as-

  He shook. Shook that thought out of his head. Let Speaker’s words really sink in. He was ahead of it. He was just another survivor of Brighton. Like all those people who made it away. Who just had to find their own way out.

  He let the helicopter go, let the prospects of its death lay where they fell. Continuing on down that single road, but still feeling a weight upon his back that wasn’t there before. A guilt in the blind that he couldn’t help but accept.

  As more miles and more days came and went.

  His situation growing ever dire as it went on and on. More and more towns were passed through, but each one more destroyed than the last. Some had seen intense combat, military holding as best they could. Or distracting with force more mobile. Some areas were still built up as full defensive lines, but some were just haphazard killboxes. All seemed older than the helicopter graveyard, tanks torn open in motion or outposts set up with electrical infrastructure. A kind of good sign, maybe. This fight was back and forth, not endless swaths of death that flowed forward. But still it bore the blood of those who tried to stem the tide. And broke the fugue of walking with more pain.

  One spot deep in the empty shell of a downtown rise slowed him. A funnel of sand and rubble that lead all comers into someone’s sights. Forcing Seth to walk the maze of blockades. Or what used to be. Till he came to a sniper position up and away from it. Built up and hidden so the work could continue. Even as the barriers had been disregarded, the funnel overflowed, and the sniper’s position too clear for Seth to see now. To see the blood stained window with a smashed rifle wrapped round the sill. Ripped away armor plates and other positions complimentary just as bad. Seth didn’t dare get closer, but he was sure there was… was an arm still in one of them. But one of metal rather than flesh. A powersuit, or at least what was left. Whatever had happened, it was long over, and someone had paid too high a price to stay here.

  Seth kept going, walking through destroyed defenses and the small town high-rises. Toward what was left of the town’s grocery store as the snapped out of state allowed him to take stock. Though the smell of it was the greatest signifier to its condition. Still had to be sure. Rotten produce, torn and burned packaging, mold and ash contaminating everything that had survived being bombed to smithereens. He slumped and continued on, the grumbling of his stomach becoming too much to ignore. He was running low of food and running out of places to find it. The gas stations were obliterated as fuel bombs, the homes emptied before being flattened, and the corner stores tossed to the winds as just in the way. So he could only scrounge around the rubble for what had survived.

  Soon the towns stopped even existing, as did the forests surrounding them. Vast fire scorched swaths dominating everything ahead, reblackening the sky and the land in tandem. Towns reduced to concrete slabs and defiant skeletons, if not simply flattened to moonscape. A few burns continued to persist, keeping Seth’s face buried in his scarf, but his head was kept low by hunger anyway. And fatigue. What power, what electricity he’d taken in was running thin. An empty feeling in addition to already present hunger pangs. And sources were even harder to find in useable order. Abandoned and burned cars don’t hold their batteries very well. And what do powerlines even look like anymore?

  What food he had left was running short, houses scrounged through only netting him a few boxes, bars, and water bottles to sate what they could barely. And he knew the countermeasure took precedent over keeping the strain of walking for so long at bay. Thus the only permanent addition to his supplies was a walking stick borrowed from a surviving convenience store. It kept him up, but only just. He just wished the cooler hadn’t been raided and the shelves scattered through the windows. He really wanted a soda, even if it was warm.

  The rationing wore him down, taking bites of rock hard granola or dusty gram cracker every so often so he could eat more the next day. Only allowed small sips of water so he would still have something. The pain in his feet had started to numb away, but his joints creaked to fill the gap. And to top it all off he…

  He stopped…

  He was stopped…

  As the silence was broken.

  It was low, hard to hear, but it rumbled against his chest. Over the horizon like a distant stampede. The burned forest around him echoing it, shaking as it rose higher in an instant. To audible intensity. A thunder, like before but almost encompassing the entire world ahead of him. He could feel it in the ground, see it in the ash shaking free of the trees. Someone was fighting, holding the line. And it…

  It gave him hope.

  He stopped at the ruins of a gas station, little more than a wall left to lay against to keep out of the ash and embers around him. The thunder never abated, if anything it increased. Though his senses were numbed by his constant hunger, he could smell a tinge on the air, like metal and garlic mixed with the ash. He was still far away, but the day was already too far gone. He scrunched up against the wall as the thunder rocked his eyes closed. Messaged him to the same empty sleep he’d had since this all started. But one he chose at least. One he could smile into as he imagined what was beyond. Imagine the end of this.

  He awoke again on the… twentieth day of walking? He had lost track and could barely remember it all at this point, but he knew he still needed to keep moving. His food was gone, the last of a wrapper’s crumbs and drops from a plastic bottle. But the thunder drowned out everything else. He could swear he was picking out the cracking of shots too many to count, explosions of shells whistling into the ground, roars that made his spine try to carry him higher. He was even sure he was making out some shouting between rises. He was getting close, but to what he didn’t fully know.

  As he closed in the fighting seemed to peak if not go unbaffled. The air and ground violent and rippling from the unending torrent that was before him. His heartbeat was drowned out, but he felt it rumble his being with every desperate step forward. His lungs burned with every breath, but he still kept going. There was nothing left to feel but elation at the cacophony. This was what stymied this hell. This was what stopped it from getting worse. This was someone keeping it all back…

  But before he could see it. Before he could know it in full flaring splendor. Before his final destination through all this decimated forest and metallic fog of war came to be. Before he could finally see his salvation at last.

  The gunfire abated right down to nothing.

  Hope weathered. The frantic beat of his heart hit him unmercifully. The strain against his frame reeling against gravity left mundane. But… but a shout on the wind. Some small signal it wasn’t the end of whoever was fighting on. That hope stayed him upright. But the direction of that shout was… off. High.

  Finally the forest began to abate to little more than stumps and smoke, wisping away both in smolder. Allowing him to see clear what he had poured his hope into. For as far as he could see, curving toward and around him.

  There was a wall.

  A wall… stretching higher…

  Wrapping around him…

  And blaring its…

  *rRr*

  Blaring an alarm that pulled Seth out of the empty drift. The wall of his bunk greeting him hazy. He rolled over to the late time glaring at him. Glaring a deep red as he silenced its insistent beeping. His schedule popping up on his terminal to outshine the numbers blurring into…

  ‘Hrmmgh!’

  He shook the image away. The half thought that tried to become real. Those blurring eyes becoming his set back times. They were allowing to sleep in. A reprieve so he could collect himself. Think on what Para had said. The guilt and dry depression still slowing him up, turning morning routine into slogging trudge. But that wasn’t able to drag him away so easily.

  He scooped up the trainers the room had been piled high with a poor variety of, a toughened up white t-shirt and breezy yet long grey shorts just to mix things up. Rubbing the crud from his eyes all the way into the bathroom, he blindly brushed his teeth with a hand to his face. But as he cleared his vision, he paused. He’d been so busy and rushed the entire last month he never really noticed the muscle he gained. Just about looking the part, on par with most of the other heroes he’d seen around. Not too bulky but definitely built up from what he managed just moving suit parts around all day. Though that was all that had changed.

  That stark white still stabbing at him. Reminding him. But there was no point falling back. He let the immutable stand, decried more the still paled complexion beneath it all, and headed out for whatever training was still planned for today. But his suit stayed put against the wall. There was no sense in lugging it around everywhere anymore if he still couldn’t use it.

  The rest of the trainees were waiting and funneling into the arena as he got there. Another day as usual, but more filled with musings about the late start and whether it was another trap like the recitals. Aegis had said something to that effect. And the fact that there was no one on the floor to greet them only exacerbating that thought. No Para, no Aegis, not even a Mediknight. Even the stands were empty. So…

  ‘Yeah, that’s not good.’