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The Remnants

Apocalyptic Earth


a part of The Remnants, by MysterySnail.

The world is destroyed, charred to a crisp.

MysterySnail holds sovereignty over Apocalyptic Earth, giving them the ability to make limited changes.

232 readers have been here.


Default location. The sun scalds the earth and green life withers under it's gaze.
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Apocalyptic Earth

The world is destroyed, charred to a crisp.


Apocalyptic Earth is a part of The Remnants.

1 Places in Apocalyptic Earth:

3 Characters Here

Mikhail Tchovsky [1] A wrathful beast.
Catalina Morris [0] "It's mine and that's final."
Jaci Lynch [0] β€œArmageddon was yesterday, today we have a serious problem.”

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1 Characters Present

Character Portrait: Mikhail Tchovsky
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The sun peaked at the highest point in the sky, crowned by a few wistful clouds that glimmered orange. Since the Reckoning, the sky was an unfamiliar, dangerous orange, as if the sun were perpetually setting. Even at night, in the dark, the stars and the moon were eternally yellowed. Clouds were scarce - burned away by the waves of heat radiating from the crust of the baking planet.

Mikhail stared up at the sun, a calloused, square hand shielding his face from it's scalding glare. His cheeks were pinked under his beard, his nose peeling a little. Light eyes contrasted with the steep shadows of his rapidly aging face. The sun beat upon him like a lash, and he nearly reeled back from the heat. It seeped through his dark clothing, sticking his boots to his socks and his feet, slicking his unruly dark hair down to his skull and forehead. He almost resented his choice in clothing, if not for the lack of burns across his body. He could handle the irritation on his face and hands. The road spilled out before him, sprawling like the web of a spider stretched a little too thin. He had come to the top of a hill, and stared down the country road, through the fir trees and past the bones of cattle that had grazed in a field a few hundred feet from the hilltop. The fir trees were withering, crisped by the sun. They engulfed a few fields of yellow grass that bubbled off of the slithering asphalt highway. The Southbound was potholed and cracked, if not from the sun, then by trucks. In the distance, smoke billowed from the national forest. He could smell the cinder even five miles away.

The road is unforgiving, he thought, looking at the wear on his boots. Granted, he had walked more than a thousand miles in two weeks. He licked his cracking lips and tore his gaze from the sky. From the hill he could see the valley - the small settlement town, the blaze in the west, fields, the southbound to Los Angeles. He resumed walking, ignoring the twinge of pain from his blisters and bruises. The city of angels. How ironic, he sighed, walking beneath an overpass sign. It was still a month's journey to the gleaming city, the central hub, but he hardly let that bite at his mind.