‘A silver rose did bud!
A teardrop froze in stone!
A doorway opened up once more,
The Warrior was reborn.’
(Somewhere in the far future)
Apart from an aching forehead and sundry bruises he had a deep cut on his head that had congealed into a spongy clot, nothing to bother with. Arthur’s eyes thirstily drank in all every minute facet, although there was little color within this world for an artist’s imagination to toy with, yet he felt the presence of the master artist’s hand even within this forsaken monochrome wasteland. He was now standing atop of the ancient edifice the ‘Watchtower’ - an old deserted security forces building in some strange world of black and white; the feel of the strong winds was exhilarating. Yet he was not himself he felt different, he was in a different world somewhere in time, and a part of him still fought against it.
The raw energy in this world was invigorating; he felt the shuddering undercurrent of a biting cold that revived his battle weary senses. The sound of something familiar broke the stillness and he looked up catching a fleeting glimpse of a scouting speedpod and rider racing in the highways of the sky, roaring out its unearthly whistle of impending death.
Arthur watched in the distance the approaching armada of hundreds of battlepods and warships covering the gray sky like a horde of menacing insects. The past two-day’s fighting had been but a prelude to the real battle. Standing there upon the cold airy heights he looked out upon the gray lonely harshness of this devastated city stretching around him. Smoke hung everywhere, buildings, and monuments, ancient landmarks all shattered and lost to humanity. Here and there the remnants of old towers, skyscrapers and landing pods stood like broken sentinels reaching upward into the gray sky as if impeaching help from the gods.
Captain Gwenn’s hand touched his shoulder he glanced at her as she smiled reassuringly. They wore thick jerkins of warm furs; leather fur lined caps and gloves, huge boots up to the knees having good grips upon the soles. In his right hand was a laser gun and he had a soundblaster hanging upon his shoulder and a large handheld rocket launcher strapped across his back. Gwenn was likewise armed with various weaponry and accoutrement of war.
Strewn everywhere on the streets below were the bodies of countless rebel soldiers, their weapons lying around them. They lay side by side, dead enemies and the human rebels, neither caring any longer for the endless struggle they had recently been a part off.
Arthur sighed aloud, reflecting sadly on the carnage. Many of the bodies that would die here tonight would be the husbands and sons of women and families Gwenn knew well. If she lived to see the end of this apocalyptic battle Gwenn would have to tell them, she would have to break the news to them that their son or husband or father was not coming back.
A short look of love passed between Gwen and Arthur before the many facets of the oversight of the battle took over their minds. This would be the deciding battle for them!