It began to rain. First beginning as little sharp droplets that stung that rapidly turned into fat beads that smacked hard on exposed skin. It blew in from the east, angled in such a manner that the trench sides offered absolutely no shelter, feeling like some ghostly silk net dragging across his skin and sending goosebumps up his spines.
It tasted of something faintly metallic, faintly chemical, muddled with rot and wet earth, vaguely scented underneath with something that tasted faintly like roses... how could you taste roses? Verdant suspected that it was residue from the attack that Harriet had mentioned, blown all the way from Sumire on the wind and rain. Some troopers had tied soaked rags around their mouths to block out the smell.
Verdant pulled up his grey scarf up to his nose. His mother had knitted it for him just before he was deployed but in the days since it had gotten rather frayed and the rats had bitten holes in it.
Flying barely high enough to pass over radio masts, a pair of Mantra Gunships wailed overhead with the force of their twin afterburners vibrating diaphragms and ripping many hats and helmets off the heads of unfortunate soldiers. They disappeared over the horizon. A few seconds later, the damp wind brought home the crump of detonations as they unloaded their payloads.
The sun had disappeared and was leaving behind only an amber smear on the skyline when they came out of the communication trenches into the firing trenches. It was far more battered up here on the frontline than back at the rear. There were no electrics here because artillery constantly cut the wires and it was too dangerous to go over the top and dig them any deeper. So in place of electric lights, oil-lamps and fire braziers were lit in their place. The rotting fuelwood used as fuel gave off a powerful stench.
A firestep made of stone lintels laid up against the base of the fire-wall beneath the steel corrugated parapet, loops of thick razor-wire, and the occasional step ladder that lead into the formless wasteland that was no-man's-land. Only the most insane and daring would have the courage to go up those ladders. Though, those descriptions more or less fitted the Combat Pioneers.
The evening's Watch-Officer of Post 291 was Sergeant Zure Mang, sitting at the table in a small hollow in the wall and filling out the crossword puzzle in today's edition of the Trench Papers by the light of a brass oil map. He was an ugly war-wracked man with a crooked grin and broken nose that had never healed who had been a veteran since before Verdant had been born. Though he had yet to fire a shot in hate, much less alongside Mang, the rumors going around fellow B Company recruits was that the Sergeant was a vicious fighter against the Archenemy, nearly matching Captain Sommel in his fury. But quite unlike the Captain he was far more approachable and to be frank, less terrifying to be around. A man with a fine hand when it came to cards and a damn good brewer of Nimri leaf tea, to which the entire company was grateful for it not only satiated their demand for any decent drink but also tempered the volatile nature of their commander.
"Sir." Verdant greeted.
Looking up from his crossword he said through a mouth with more gaps than teeth, "What's an eight-letter name that's supposed to go with the title of 'The Iron Marshall' or more alternatively 'The Butcher' or 'The Big Bastard?' I don't pay any attention to High Command's politics, probably a good thing, so any help from you tardy greenies would be swell." Greenies was the term used for any Southern Front soldier that had only been at the Front for three weeks. After that time you would be graduated to Mudslogger, of course after a hazing ceremony.
Verdant knew the answer but was reluctant to answer but Arras was less considerate of High Command's sensibilities. "Easy, that'd be Marshall Ironwood."
"Thank you."
"I think it's General now. He was promoted by the council after his actions at Flatbourgh." Verdant interjected.
"Par the course, for The Butcher. Comes in at the very last moment with reinforcements and takes all the credit from the poor sods who died and did all the work. Might as well walk over a mound of corpses and plant the Atlas banner at the summit."
"Now, sir, forgive me but I think that's unfair. Sure, in recent years he's not been a shining beacon amongst the infantry like he used to be, but you can't deny that when he was younger he was a great commander who saved Atlas and millions of lives during the Emergency of 67."
"Nah, he's always been this way. Trust me on that, just been letting that mask slip as he thinks he's becoming more and more untouchable."
"How would you know that it's not like you knew the man in person."
"You know you could get in trouble for arguing with a superior officer. Could put you up on Article 117 for that. Bad for morale for the others to see divisions in these trying times." He put down the paper and stood up, knuckles planted on the table in an ape-like fashion, "It could result in the forfeiture of all pay and allowances, and confinement for an entire year."
"Sarge-" Verdant sputtered, surprised.
"Just kidding," He said with an utterly deadpan face that hadn't even budged since the morning.
"couldn't you tell?"
"We all could, sir," Arras said with a smirk, having been watching from the sidelines with great enjoyment. She playfully jabbed Verdant in the side. "That'll teach the farm boy to stay in his lane."
"This is all nice fun and games, but you better get to your posts. You know where they set up the Dustmaster just down the way? Yeah, you're there. So get your pants moving." He sat back down and returned to his paper but just as the two were turning he remembered something. "Before I forget, take this."
He reached under the table and pulled out a brass flare gun, expertly flipping it over so that the grip faced Verdant. "It's simple. You see anything, and I mean anything that raises an eyebrow, you point this thing into the sky and pull the trigger."
"Well that's extremely complicated but I'm sure I've got a handle of it." Verdant snapped the break-action to check if the shell inside was dry, before slotting it into his chest holster. He and Arras were about to walk off when the sergeant spoke again.
"Oh, and remember to keep your eyes open the whole night, command back at Solace just issued a shooting order this evening."
"Shooting order?" Verdant asked.
"Yup. Shooting order. Anyone found dozing off during sentry duty gets a Section Ten, firing squad at dawn. But I wouldn't worry about it, probably a bluff cause they're so paranoid about the Grimm. Still, I recommend that you don't poke the bear."
"We'll keep that in mind, sir."
The two of them stepped into a machine gun nest a little further down the trench with a small corrugated steel roof over it. The rain battered a drum beat relentlessly. This flimsy roof while able to protect them from the cold rain probably wouldn't stop an artillery shell.
And it looked like they weren't going to be on their lonesomes during watch.
"Hey, Moss." Verdant greeted.
Trooper Mostyn Marne smiled and waved them in. "Welcome to my humble abode, friends. Take a seat, please. Please forgive me for the mess."
He was squatting on four empty ammo cans as a stool, operating a Dustmaster Light Autocannon that the nest's last occupants had been kind enough to leave behind. As one of the designated heavy weapon operators of the platoon, he had been equipped with a light steel chest-plate segmented at the end of the torso to allow for better movement, reminding Verdant of the tails of the crayfishes that he would often spend many hot afternoons hunting in the shallow creeks.
A big enough man on his own, with broad shoulders as thick as a tree trunk and a barrel chest, and with the two of them, it was going to be a tight squeeze. Arras managed to slip into a position right by the belt feeder while Verdant just plopped right down in the muck.
"Looks like it's going to be a long watch. We won't be relieved until dawn. Marne rubbed the heavy bags under his eyes. "At the very least after this, it's a general rotation back to the rear for the whole Regiment.
Pale as paper, blond, with blue eyes and a jutting chin. You couldn't get a more stereotypical Atlesian. Then again, Verdant wasn't one to comment with his olive-brown skin and almost oily-looking straight jet black hair. Couldn't get more Valean hillhick than that, he admitted.
"You think they'll let us take a leave during that?" Verdant asked.
"Maybe," Arras shrugged. "You said it yourself that the front's been pretty quiet. Don't think high command will see it that way though."
"If we do get leave, you think you'll take it?" Verdant said. "I'd take it, just any chance to get away from here."
"Understandable," Arras nodded "any moment out of this hellhole is, as you say, a blessing."
"Probably go back to the farming districts, back to Kansial."
"Aww," She said smugly "does the little boy already miss his mommy?"
"Yeah, this little boy does miss his mommy. Miss her a lot actually. What I wouldn't give to be back with her just for an hour."
He seemed so genuine that she couldn't bring up another teasing remark.
"Well I've got to cross a Grimm-infested ocean and I'm sure they won't let a lowly Guardsmen like me take up space on an airship. So it'll be hard for me to get leave back to Atlas approved in the first place." Mostyn said. "Though even if I did get it, I'm pretty sure father wouldn't want to see me again, so that's the entire point of taking it gone. To say he ain't proud of what I've done by signing up, well, that's putting it lightly"
Verdant sat up. "He should be proud, Moss. You're a Guardsman, nothing more admirable than that. Hell, I'll even consider you a proper bloody Guardsman."
Mostyn scratched the back of his head and smiled gently. "Thanks."
"In the poor bloody infantry no less," added Arras. "Your job is to hope that the enemy chokes on your corpses while the boys in the rear with the cannons have a good 'ol laugh and the lads in the skies twiddle their thumbs while the Hussars swoop in to take all the glory. If you're lucky a blessed Huntsman will use your body as a stepping stone... if that doesn't earn pride and respect in this damn world, I don't know what will."
Verdant was the first one, beginning with a chuckle that quickly transformed into a full-blown laugh. Marne struggled to keep it in, a grin stretched from ear to ear. And Arras broke out into a fit of giggles.
Though their reality was less than ideal and they all knew they were screwed, they couldn't help but find the humor in their grim situation.
But as the fun slowly died down there came an uncomfortable silence that no one filled. Just the rain pattering on the tin roof-tops, the distant drumbeats of the artillery, and the whispers of other conversations in the dark rain.
The worst part about being on the frontline wasn't the actual danger itself but rather the constant threat of it. The Archenemy was one that was fickle and feral in its behavior. At the most silent or fortified of lines, they would manifest from thin air and in such scale that there would often not be enough bullets for each of them. While the most beleaguered and battered sectors on the verge of collapse would see no actions for years at a time.
It was such a contradiction. One moment they acted with a reckless abandon that saw hundreds of millions of their kind dead for no gains made and seemingly with blind destruction being their only goal. The next they would coordinate offensives with such skill and in such perfect unity that it would make Guard Supreme Command look like schoolboys on their first day of class.
As seen at Sumire, they had indeed become crafty with their attacks here in the south. One of the most favored tactics they had developed recently was that on the eve of an attack, they would have a few dozen Grimm creep forward through no-man's-land, evading detection of marksmen and the spotlights, lying in wait silently in the move without even a single errant twitch. A hailstorm of artillery would then fall on the line and they would rise to their feet, charging the reeling troops and tearing them apart with their claws, sowing chaos and confusion everywhere, while the true horde advanced unresisted.
And it could happen at any moment.
Understandably, as a result, the tension of the air was always high, paranoia and insomnia being common amongst officers. Everyone remained coiled like springs, ready to erupt at the slightest provocation, the slightest hint that the gates of hell may be flung open so that they could slam them shut once more. It felt like a heavy static-laden thunderstorm over a wheat field just waiting to break. The oppressive agony of the feeling hit them hardest when everything was quietest and they had nothing to do to take their mind off it.
Like right now.
Arras was the first to break the silence. She patted her jacket, looking for something. She pulled out a carton of cigarettes that she offered to Marne who took one and wiggled the box in Verdant's face. "Want one?"
"No, thanks."
"Really? You're missing out on the one decent thing we've got in hell. Really?"
"Naw, tried one a few years back. Momma found out and she gave me an ass whooping I would never forget. Then she taught me how those things just rot your lungs away. I tell you, those little devils are gonna be the death of all y'all."
"I wouldn't choose any other way to go out then."
"Have to admit," said Marne. "I'd rather go out this way than an agonizing death at the hands of the Grimm. At least I choose my end on my own terms. Not that it's the way I would prefer to die - old age with family and friends by my bedside even if it's cliche - but it's better than the alternative. An almost sure alternative."
She made a sly smile. "I would go out on a bed too. With a good-looking girl under the sheets and a bottle of the finest whiskey in my hand. How 'bout you, Verdant? How do you want to die? I hope you have as fine of a taste as mine."
Verdant shifted a little. "I don't know. Guess I haven't put much thought into how I want to go out. It's a quite a morbid thing to spend time thinking about."
"Well, you better start finding that out soon, buckaroo. Given our collective choice of occupation, death comes to us fast and unexpected so you might never get the chance to decide. Start thinking Verdant, you might die in the next hour of all we know and you'll be found wanting."
"Well that was Brotherdamn dark," Marne remarked. "Well, to give you some news that isn't all doom and gloom… I heard from a friend of mine, he's in the logistics ministry, that we're going to get a shipment of Paladins down here. "
Verdant sat up. "You've got to be kidding, right? We're talking Atlesian paladins? Forty tons, six meters high, bristling with enough firepower to make an entire artillery battalion smart with shame? Those Paladins?"
"Yeah, those Paladins. Get this, there were a hundred of them."
"A hundred of them?" Excitement lit up Verdant's face.
"You heard me right, Volkov Verdant. Escorted across the perilous seas while being all the way hunted by Kraken packs. I heard we lost a lot of men and ships on that convoy route, almost like they knew, but we managed to get across a good hundred of them."
"A hundred of them! Praise be to the Brother and may those brave shipmen have their names blessed in His hall!" Verdant exalted.
"Religious nutter," Arras whispered just under her breath so the boy wouldn't hear. She shifted and asked Marne. "So, when are these Paladins and gear gonna show up?"
"My logistics buddy didn't know exactly when but he says that the ships are already coming into Vytal harbor. A week or two tops, he estimated. They'll first be packed in parts onto a railway that goes through the Forever Falls where they'll be assembled in the capital before coming down to the front on their two legs."
"Sooner the better," said Verdant. "This could be what we needed to win this war at last. Hopefully, before the end of this season, we'll, at last, have a major breakthrough and see the autumn leaves fall home. We just need to endure a little longer and this war will end, they always do."
"Great." said Arras grimly, "Looks like the boys in white up north decided to send some scraps down to help us. Awfully nice of them."
"Do you have to ruin everything?" Marne snapped. "You're always like this, bitching, bitching, and some more bitching. You only complain when your lips move."
"How the hell is pointing out that it took a million dusting lives to be lost before they decided to give us a pinch of attention, bitching?" Spat back Arras.
"Honestly can you really blame them?" Verdant admitted. "There's a reason why we had to send almost all of our elite troops to reinforce Atlas and that we aren't getting reinforcements. No one expected that Vale would become a warzone after seventy years of peace. No one expected that our defenses at the outskirts of Glenn would be overrun in hours instead of months and that we would see that the Mechanized Corps would be utterly annihilated in a single day. No one expected how thin the Holy Hunstmen would be stretched. No one can expect anything when it comes to the Archenemy it seems."
He sighed and buried his face in his hands.
"Arras, there's a reason why we're called the Secondary Front. I know sometimes you see me as naive - and yes, in some ways I may be - but I'm not so stupid to realize what the regimental daily dispatches are leaving out and seeing where they're lying through their teeth. I know something isn't right when, even though we're frontline troops, we're barely getting one meal a day and have a loaf of bread to share between an entire platoon." He patted the ammo pouches of his webbing.
"I know something is wrong when I'm given only fifteen bullets to last an entire week." He paused. "Fourteen, not counting the one I'm going to use on myself if things go too far south…"
He left it at that.
She looked ready to continue this fight but then her shoulders dropped, she didn't really have the energy to go on. But she didn't admit she was wrong, so she saw it in her eyes as some sort of moral victory. She wouldn't like some farmer boy to get the better of her. No one would, that was the way it worked.
Verdant dropped back as well. He was exhausted as well. This front, this war, found a way to bleed the strength out of its warriors like a stuck pig. The mud, the blood, the bodies. It was tiring enough to know such a place existed, but to live it in was… just… just… it was just pain. Every moment spent here actually hurt him, both wearing down his mental fortress and tearing at his body. At the very least it would be this night and then back to base. Before they would have to come back here in a week's time.
For a moment he entertained the notion that he may try to run. Trucks and trains carried supplies for the ever ravenous front in caravans stretching through the entire Kingdom. It probably wasn't hard to hide in one of those, dump his uniform, and somehow make his way back home.
But he knew he wouldn't get very far.
When they caught deserters, and they were very good at that, agents in black coats from Command came in discreet trucks in the dead of night to take them away. They would never be seen again but their fates would always be written down in their records as "Heroically Killed in Action."
Even if he did escape, all the way back to Kansial, he knew that he would never be able to live with himself for being such a weak-willed coward. He would have abandoned everyone, left them to die in this hell while he lived comfortably in some warm house, and woke up every morning without fear.
After all, wasn't it him that chose to leave all that behind? He chose this life and had made his bed. Might as well sleep in on that moldy mattress.
So just get through it, he told himself. one step at a time and one day you'll make it out.
"You know, speaking of ammo, I've probably only got half a box left. I had two but Magnolia and her dugout were dry so I let them borrow it. Probably not that big of a deal but I've had a strange feeling the entire day-" Marne stopped, realizing how insane he was sounding.
"I know the feeling," Arras said. "Call it the itch."
"The itch?"
"The itch. It's like something that's always at the back of your head. A feeling, like you said, but it just says there, stews in there..."
"Aye, it's like that."
"...until something really, really bad happens."
"That's just a superstition."
"Not really. Think about it. The moment we left our caves something was always just at the edge of the line of sight, waiting to leap and break your neck with its jaws. The itch kept us alive, telling us when a pair of eyes that we didn't like were looking at us. I get that feeling all the time… like right now."
"Hey, I'm right here!" Verdant complained.
"I didn't mention you. But, yeah, that was totally aimed at you."
He shrugged. "Least you're honest this time."
"Well that might be the case," Interjected Marne. "But this front's been quiet for a while now. Scouts say not even a mouse stirring there in No-Man's-Land for miles."
"To quote Arras from just last hour 'Lady luck's gonna take a big fat steaming dump on your dreams'"
"At last we agree on something."
"We can agree on things if the truth is clear."
"Well then, all the better to stay stocked up. I think the depot back at post twenty-three has some cans that the logistic boys can afford to part with. Does your highness wish to operate the Dustmaster in my absence?" Marne's voice dripped with annoyed sarcasm."
Verdant got up. "I'll go get it."
"I should really be the one"
"No worries. Can't feel my thighs already and I need to shake out my feet. Besides, you're dry and it wouldn't hurt me to get a little wetter."
"Thanks. Remember, it's point eighty caliber. Wani should know which one you're looking for if you tell her that. I shouldn't need more than one can, though two would be swell and dandy."
"Got it, which way is it to the depot again?"
Marne helpfully gave the directions. The trenches were a maze enough on their own for experienced occupants. Stepping back out into the blasted rain, Verdant pulled the collar of his coat up high to keep some of the rain out and plodded along the communications trench. Chains of men carrying supplies and weapons passed by him. The entire sector was in general rotation as fresh regiments took over positions from the 11th Mistral Tunnel Rats who were now returning to their billets.
The 11th were dressed in dark green fatigues and stood out from the others by wearing conical hats made out of straw instead of the bowl-helmets that the Patchers wore. They made up for this oddity by being the most terrifying and famed underground soldiers on Remnant. Verdant certainly didn't envy their job. Descending into total darkness with nothing more than a flashlight and revolver, in cramped tunnels barely large enough to draw belly-crawl in, they alone were the single reason why the earth beneath the frontline wasn't lousy with mines.
But other than them, everyone assigned to this sector were rookies just like him. They hadn't seen a lick of combat yet, never heard a gun fired in anger or the supposedly delicious sound of the wounded Archenemy crying out in pain. All of them were as green as the meat rations they were served, if meat was supposed to be green and have the general texture of a tire.
Men often joked that the remains of the dead were being churned up in meat grinders and served back to them. A man could lose his leg and by lunch, the next day, he could find his own toenail. Though given the quality of the chow, some part of Verdant didn't think it was a joke.
There was a sharp "thunk!" that came from just behind the fire-line and the trench was bathed in chilly white light. A few seconds later, more phosphor flare-shells were fired and dozens of floating balls of light lit up the sky. No-man's-land became bleached and cold, hard shadows shivering as the shells slowly floated down on silk parachutes. They hovered in the air for ten minutes each before fizzling out, soon replaced by another and another.
That meant only one thing. There would be a bombardment, sure as sure. He hadn't been told that any Guard formations would be doing one tonight for klicks around. Strange enough but it sometimes happened when the scouts returning from no-man's-land had identified the locations of the dreaded Grimm artillery forms and an unscheduled barrage was ordered to quickly destroy those constructs before they moved again.
There was another alternative though. They were anticipating a possible assault and were hoping to scatter any gathering concentrations. He didn't want to believe it so it was clearly the former that was true. Just something uneventful… Arras was just overreacting.
Verdant was just at the heavy gas curtains of the depot dugout when the sirens came on, a moaning haunting wail that echoed through the entire sector like a mother crying for the death of her only child. It sent shivers down the neck of his but he knew what it meant. So did the others as soldiers around him got to their feet and looked to the rear as one to watch was about to happen.
A whistle shrilly blew. All hell broke loose.
The ground beneath rumbled. The gun-pits and weapon-dens were roused from their slumber. Air and even reality itself seemed to shatter like glass. The flare-shells were drowned out by the blinding light. Large-caliber howitzers and siege mortars hurled thousands of tons of dust-enhanced munitions with deep body-shivering roars in seconds. Rockets screeched through the night, sounding like great blocks of steel grinding together and leaving behind them a trail of fire. The thunderous light show lit up the entire front. Muzzle-flashes strobed and danced blindingly for a hundred kilometers east and west. The marrow in his bones shook.
Verdant reflected that he certainly wasn't in Kansial no more.
He jumped up onto the firestep, already crowded by other troopers watching as well. Dozens of kilometers south, the fastest shells made their first impact. the horizon erupted in a solid wall of flame. A new sun was dawning in the distance. Then the solid wall of noise and blazing air came back and slammed into them, throwing up clouds of dust along the way.
The everlasting pulse of the guns simply just melted into one. He swore his heart was in sync with every new volley. It felt like he had become a drum and that someone was striking him again, and again, and again.
He allowed himself to somewhat be caught up in the excitement. He had to admit it was exhilarating. He saw how silly he had been when he was younger. He should never have been afraid of the dark. Because the Guard could burn away the dark with sheer firepower. At that moment, he wasn't that scared little boy that jumped at every bump in the night no more. No, he was a face in the greatest and mightiest bulwark to ever exist in the history of Remnant.
The barrage would likely continue until midnight.
In the meantime, he had a box of bullets to deliver.
Stepping off the firestep, he noticed a small blotch of yellow in a sea of filthy hair and black helmet, like a gold nugget on the banks of the muddy river. There was only one person that Verdant knew that had somehow managed to keep something that could be remotely considered clean hair. Mostly because of luck, mostly because the captain took pity. This only added to the confusion of what the hell he was doing here.
On his way, he noticed other strange things, familiar faces from other units, and regiments that were supposed to be on rotation out of here or at the very least far away from the front line. The trenches were more packed than usual, even accounting for the sightseers.
Pushing forward through the crowd, he found him trying to squeeze between the bodies. The poor bastard looked so confused at everything around him.
"Arc, what in the name of the Maidens are you doing here?" Verdant asked as he managed to pull him out of the crowd and into a small gap near the bunker's entrance. "You're supposed to be at the rear on mail duty, you lucky dog, you even had a heated hut while we had pits in the mud."
"W-We were told all hands on deck," Arc's voice was shaky. "I don't know why, just barged in and told us all to grab our guns and report in, here."
Verdant blinked. That meant only one thing. "That can't be right. This has to be some jokester with poor taste. Who told you this?"
"Your Company Captain was the one that ordered us here. He said he wanted us to occupy the fire steps and be ready for anything."
At that, Verdant's heart dropped. He struggled to swallow. Cold beads of sweat went down the nape of his neck. His collar and gear harness became so tight to the point he felt that he could barely move. The air was so dry and still. Was it him or was it freezing? And sweltering hot at the same time? The fact that Arc was pale and visibly trembling wasn't helping that.
He was panicking, he realized. What did mama tell him to do when he was filled with worry? Close his eyes, take a slow gentle breath through his nose, then exhale out of his mouth. Repeat. In and out. In and out. In and out. Count to five if it helps.
"They're coming aren't they?" When Verdant opened his eyes he saw that Arc was on the verge of passing out. "Oh, Brother, it's going to happen tonight ain't it? I don't want to die."
Verdant put a hand on Arc's shoulder. He couldn't help it. He couldn't just stand by. "Jaune, listen to me. Hey, listen. It's Sommel. He gets his pants in a twist every time a fly lands on his supper and he'll do anything so he can fight Grimm. So trust me when I say it's nothing. The Archenemy may be insane but not even they would be so stupid to try our line right here, right now. It's really nothing."
The moment the words came out of his mouth, he knew he was lying through his teeth. But it was either this or that he was sure that Arc would die from a heart attack there and then. Verdant wanted so badly to believe his own words. He really did.
"Yeah, yeah, you're right. It's probably nothing." Arc stammered. "I don't know what I was so worried about. Just-"
With a violent crack, a large segment of the line several hundred meters east disappeared in a stupendous burst of fierce light bright enough to sear pain into Verdant's eyes. A white-hot cone of fire arced up against the night sky, dozens of meters tall, followed by a massive shockwave that slapped away the undisturbed air with an almost agonizing force. Almost disconnected, a horrendous superheated thunderclap of noise snapped across the dark landscapes so loud it made the ground tremble. Surely not a misfire, Verdant thought. It must be a misfire...
As the blast began to fade away into the night, a lull fell over the entire world. To Verdant it seemed like everything was stuck between heartbeats, between breaths, between very seconds as it appeared as time itself froze. Thousands of heads turned as one and were paralyzed as one. Everything was stuck in a disturbing and eerie twilight between normal and total insanity.
"Oh, it's definitely something," said Arc rather matter-of-factly.