Silence reigned over a terrifyingly empty wasteland, and the wind howled through empty streets. Windows were shattered and each and every cozy sill was fitted with the harsh glint of steel; Every familiar living room ripped to shreds and the floors littered with broken memories and dreams. The soldiers in these rooms were painfully alert, looking for any red eyed target; Man, woman, or child.
Reflections of fire raced up the metal noses and crystal lenses as the houses below were burst open one by one. Civilians and soldiers raced out to escape the flames; Only to be met by the striking crackk of rain, and the heavy thud on flesh is not that of a mere raindrop.
Bodies slumped to the ground. Clothes of pedestrian and soldier blossomed with the sickening nectar of death. Soon this routine is repeated; A small clicking sound echoes before the booming shock of terror.
Soon, the remnants of a small, cheery town are burned to the earth; Buildings and citizens both return to the ash from whence they came, leaving behind only blackened stone and smouldering ashes. Bones have dwindled to ivory toothpicks and knobs emerging from the slowly growing mountain of smoking scraps.
A single pair of feet prowls along the street this night. Shining leather gleams with new polish, and silver buckles glint in pride. The cerulean uniform is crisply ironed, all buttons done, and every clip and lace correctly placed. A silver chain sways from a waistcoat pocket with the movement of his steps, and the white parade gloves are imprinted with the telltale circles and writings of magicks. Hardened midnight eyes glance over this tortured landscape with slight remorse and heavy satisfaction. Perhaps he knows this may earn him another star on his shoulder?
Ebony tresses are slicked back against his skull and tucked under his hat. A splintering sound slices through the deafening silence as he carelessly steps on one of the bones. He stares at it a moment, and for one crucial second his visage slips out of place to reveal pity. Within a moment though, his humane side is hidden as he slides on the hardened paints and plaster that form the faceless mask of a soldier. He purposefully steps on it a bit harder, then continues to walk on to the next target. The next potential massacre in which only he will see the fighting.
He seems to know this as he walks a bit slower. He seems to realize that he is a walking bomb and a potential threat to everyone around him should he make one slip of his fingers. One careless mistake on his part could slaughter not only the enemy, but his own troops, and himself as well.
Sometimes he wished he would make one careless mistake.