A/N: A little ficcie about the Black Arms. This is in the viewpoint of a Black Arms elite watching his comrades fall in battle.
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Estuans interius ira vehementi.
That's what we were. The violent anger burned in our eyes, burned in the crimson markings of our flesh. This was all we knew, we lived violence, breathed violence, tasted violence.
It was all we were taught from the moment we were born, the Spartans of the alien worlds. We were the fire-tongue of the proverbial dragon, the weapon, the cutting edge of the sword. We were trained to be lethal, vicious and spotaneous in our actions. But our lethality, viciousness, and spotaniety did us no good this last invasion. We weren't in charge of the strategy; our leader is. But he could give a damn less whether we fall or wheteher we stand.
So we fell. And we fell hard.
And it was all because we were too arrogant. We believed we could conquer this planet the way we conquered the others. But we were very wrong, very off in our bellicose calculations. It appears that these beings are just as bellicose as ourselves. But it isn't their bullets that hurt. The bullets just bounce off our adamant skin and we advance forward without mercy.
It's their secret weapon that destroyed us in the end.
Black and red like us, and just as volatile. But he was warm, and the light that emitted from his soul was nearly blinding. He wasn't like the rest of us. Our souls were bathed in a shroud of darkness, but darkness is just the absence of light, right? So why could this one creature make us fall like this?!
Our troops began to fall in the droves; we were being utterly massacred. Once our adamant exoskeletons were cracked, we were useless. Useless like the tiny larva that were crushed beneath the human's feet. What was he doing sending our fragile larva out here? Was he trying to destroy us?!
Although it looked as if we were losing the battle, this was only the beginning, the end of a foregone conclusion. Our troops could move mercilessly fast through the dense forests and jungles; setting up strongholds and overrunning the earth. We all complied to the guttural urging in our heads to just advance forward and destroy as many as possible before they destroyed us.
But it was all in vain. Even as we battled here in the city of Westopolis, our troops were being destroyed elsewhere too. We attacked too straightforwardly, and because of our blunder, we were as good as dead. We would not die noble as we had done before, but cowardly and shamefully, destroying our own to save our own lives; using the wounded as shields against the black creature's merciless attacks. Surely Black Doom wouldn't have been so foolish to leave one of our own...
A blinding pain in my head...he is enraged with me. I musn't think that way...shall I be reprimanded harshly. We shall operate as a group, not as an individual. My muscles will move on their own accord, and I will be thrown into the seventh circle of hell along with the rest of them.
They are all dying. Our blood paints every surface in macabre splatters and designs in ebony. Their screams echo off the skyscrapers that we haven't destroyed, shrill, keening screams reminiscent of thousands of wailing souls. The sight and smell and sound of death frightens me, and I am reprimanded once again for my cowardly fear. 'You are one of my elites,' he tells me, 'You shall have no fear.'
But I do fear. I fear my own mortality, even moreso than ever. Maybe not just mortality, but maybe the inevitability of my mortality. That I, just like all the others, will die. But suddenly the screams cease and the gunshots stop whizzing past my frame. And he is walking up to me. The weapon.
My legs and feet refuse to move even though my mind is screaming, 'Get out! Get out while you can!' and I am struggling for the first time against my master's command. I feel his control deepening, I can nearly feel his long, pointed fingers wrapping around everything inside me, all from my mind to my soul and everything else that was inside.
Slowly, he takes complete control of me and I curse him for doing this to me. Suddenly I am driven to look around, and everyone else is dead. They are all dead. Once again, my mind squirms against his control like a fly caught in a spider's web. I want to run, even if it means falling to my own master's hand.
The weapon stops in front of me and I am forced to look down. He is no more than three feet tall at the most, black with red streaks just like me. His eyes show no sign of anyone else's control, and I wonder, how do they control him? How do they make him fight for them? And suddenly, my thoughts are ceased.
I let out a primal scream and leap for the human's commander against my will, and it was then that I felt a searing pain ripping through my chest as the upper half of my body is cleaved from my lower half, spraying my surroundings with my own acidic blood. I scream no more, I suffer no more, and I am fully aware of my death.
It is a macabre sort of euphoria, feeling my soul separate from my body as I leave this world. Before all goes black, I hear my master whisper, 'It is over.'
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Whew! It's done. But man is it short. Oh well, it's pretty good. Please read and review please please please...