IDES: Shattered Phase

[The Afterman]

Death Is A Reckoning


Bullets pierced the atmosphere like lead needles in oxygen skin, ripping their way into flesh and bone of the beings that inhaled the very same torn air that lingered all around. The warring sides did battle on a plain of yellow grass, set to fire and painted in blood. The bodies of the fallen littered the battlefield, their corpses improvised sandbags in some cases, stacked high to provide cover in this rather desolate, open field.

Above, their ships dropped soldiers by the dozens, or laid down devastating fire from plasma canons, erupting the viciousness of hell fire spewing from a dragon's lungs. The canon fire roared down from the sky; God's wrath materialized and scorching the world below, decimating all caught within its area of effect, breaking down the bodies into ashes, rendering them powdery corpses. Ground units were ushered across the field into the face of the enemy, an alien legion of ruthless beasts, knee deep in the blood of the human scourge they suppressed in these hallowed plains now set to fire. Their sole objective was the evisceration of all sentient life.

They were called The Firenge; savage creatures, made of part organic make-up, and partially machine, in a combination of horrid design that made them soulless wretches hell-bent upon ending their enemies, fueled by the fires of war and a programmed desire to take away life. They were cruel, to say the least, and there seemed to be no end to their ranks, as they seemed to rise as ants from an overturned bed, spitting fire and saliva as their snarls and tightened trigger fingers greeted the human soldiers. They were a threat to the galaxy; a menace to existence.

But they weren't her directive.

Morrigan Aurelius, bounty hunter. Some know her as the Galactic Fire, others as an efficient hunter with a angel's features, and a iron resolve. She dropped from a black Hawkship, just outside the combat area. Her dark red hair whipped behind her as the wind channeled from the Hawkship's thrusters soared around her being. She wore a black bodysuit, lightly armored, that clung to her person as if it were her very own skin. At her hip was her trusted companion and only friend, a blaster pistol made from hardened steel alloy, powered by thermal clips.

Her target was that of human origin, like her, fighting against the Firenge on this very battlefield. If he hadn't been killed, it was her duty to reign him in, and bring him into custody. His name was Xav Dekker, aged thirty-six, Caucasian, blue eyes, black hair, 6' 2", one hundred and fourty pounds. He was a sight to behold, indeed: He wasn't handsome in the slightest. In fact, his face almost resembled that of swine. She had remembered his face clearly, mostly because it was hard to erase it from her memory. However, finding him amidst a war-torn planetside would be quite the challenge, but she'd been through worse: she'd once been married.

Her helmet cradled in her left elbow, she beheld the burning land before her, awed at how, with all the death and destruction ravaging this area, people could erratically and ceaselessly fight on for a cause they were forced to believe in. She shook her head slightly, and donned her helmet. The Deus Mk II Combat Helmet had an interesting feature that made it Morrigan's favorite piece of headwear: if a long-haired individual, such as herself, were to wear it, it would instantly draw the hair in, style it up, and keep it secured, freeing the wearer from any fear of having hair in their face. Meanwhile, she looked intimidating: appearing as an all-black clad assassin on the hunt for helpless prey. The sunlight glared off of her visor, the internal HUD adjusting to the light change. As the internal systems finished their sequencing, she rushed toward the carnage on gale force footsteps, practically hurtling herself into the combat she had no business in being in. However, she had a job to perform, a hunt.


Looking around, she saw several faces explode as gunfire tore into the visages of many sorrow-laden men. Others were torn asunder by vicious bursts from the enemy's heavy weapons. All this mattered not to her, but was still very gruesome to behold. She scanned faces, devoured details, sized up everyone. Still, there was no sign that Xav was alive at all. There's no way she could have been mislead. Interestingly enough, she wasn't garnering much attention from the male population on this battlefield. If the truth were being told, she certainly did not lack the exterior womanly qualities that so often attracted the lustful advances of men such as these, but she supposed the sights of their brothers-in-arms dying superseded a busty, firm-assed lady in tight clothing on a bloodied slaughter stage in the middle of a grassy field. She wandered, practically, around the battlefield, scouring the faces of corpses now, hoping her mark wasn't dead: he wouldn't be worth as much if he was. She huffed, and actually hunkered down just in time to avoid taking a rocket to the cranium; this wasn't accidental, of course. She felt the projectile incoming. She had psychic abilities that worked that way. Ever since she could remember, she'd had an influence on the world around her: levitating objects, kinetic pulse waves, remote viewing, even compressing tin cans. She'd been either blessed or cursed with these abilities, and as far as she knew, she was the only person in the galaxy with these types of abilities. She called it lucky, supposing it was a gift from some omniscient being somewhere. Or maybe, she was just a scientific anomaly, a human whose brain had been fully tapped into somehow.

She didn't know the details, and didn't rather care. All that mattered now was that she find Xav, subdue the ugly bastard, ace this planet, and cash old Swineface in for a nice bounty pay. She smiled just thinking about it: she'd be able to afford that new couch that would look so great in her apartment.

[VindicatedPurpose]

I like this excerpt. The science fiction behind this could serve as a possible roleplay idea. If you were to start a roleplay, this scene could serve as the prologue, immediately catapulting writers into the thick of the action to keep their tongues salivating. Especially the setting, which I wish you could have elaborated on more. The yellow grass was an excellent start. Just my two cents.

[ViceVersus]

Listening to "Figure 8" by Ellie Goulding while reading this just makes it absolutely electrifying, I have to say that.

You've done an awesome job painting the picture of the battle with startling immediacy. My only issue is that it's too gorgeous. The language you've used is beautiful. I don't get a sense of the sudden sharp, halting, starting, terror that being in the thick of a battlefield can cause. But if your purpose was to make us get lost in the host of images and poetic language, then that was done expertly. It's clear you have a fine command of language.

A fine entry to this forum. Thanks for sharing.