The craft hurtled faster and faster to the ground. Corrin gasped as he felt the hand barely holding him. The fingers slowly loosened their grip. Above him stood Krieg, his eyes blank as the night. His mouth was drooling, yet, somehow his face showed a slight emotion. He looked scared.
Corrin threw up his arm and grasped the pole above him. Where it would have been a support beam, it was now a bar with which he could pull himself up. He watched in horror as Krieg's limp body shot towards the bottom of the craft. The exit hatch blasted open and air seethed in.
He felt Grange's wait bearing down on him even more as Krieg became a speck in the distance. The speck was getting closer and closer. His adrenaline was pumping still, in that unnatural way. However, he had gained some control back. With all of his might, he pushed up on the bar and clambered atop it. With strength not his own, he threw Grange's body over his shoulder.
The ground was closing, closer and closer. He looked ahead, at a small window. This was his last chance. Dirt and mud exploded into the hull of the ship. Corrin lunged through the window. He felt glass shatter across his skin as blood trickled from his arms. Covering Grange's body, he rolled lightly across the sand below.
There he lay, for a moment, covered in loose, hot sand. He raised his head and looked about. It was desert, all desert. He stared out across the endless plains of heat. A massive leviathan of smoke and fire shone on the horizon.
"Promethius…"He whispered. He groaned and closed his eyes.
"Hey, these ones are alive!" Said a gruff, Imperial voice. Corrin cursed. He had not the strength to fight.
"Yeah, Frak! How'd they survive that crash? Take them back to camp." The was a series of noises. Then, one of the Imperials yelled. Corrin's ears were filled with gunfire. He felt warm liquid splatter his back.
"Look!" said a new character while the fight raged on. "They've got prisoners." Corrin sighed in relief. It was Merican. "He's got Merican badges alright, he's a Merican soldier. Looks like he's got a friend."
Corrin's eyes fluttered open. Imperial bodies littered the ground. Mericans stood all around him. Their uniforms were black, signifying the city of fire, Promethius. They smiled at him. He nodded. One of them hoisted him up to his feet.
"Can you walk?" He said. Corrin nodded again. "Let's go." The voice ordered. They began to move along a small, worn path. Corrin turned back to see Grange being dragged along in the sand. He didn't say anything.
A thick layer of smog engulfed the area and his lungs burned.
"Jacobs, new-comer." A person, hidden by smoke, said hastily as Corrin coughed. There was a ruffle. A small object was stuffed into his face from out of the grey.
"Wear it." Another said. Corrin looked down. It was a mask. He placed it over his face slowly. His eyes looked through thermal sensors, and his mouth was covered by a small filter. "Don't want to get sick."
"So who the Hell are you guys?" asked the voice that had given the orders earlier. Corrin opened his mouth and coughed again. "Damn, he's recovering from the smog…"
"Sir…" said a rather feeble voice. "I caught a glimpse of his face. He's, he's Corrin Grant!" There were various calls of approval.
"Good god! Corrin Grant? Sorry we haven't given you a proper welcome!" Said the commanding voice. "We just want you to know that, what ever the Frak you're doing, we are all rooting for you!"
He was bombarded with questions.
"Is it true you freed and entire prison camp single handedly?"
"Did you really overthrow the Imperial rule in Mercador in a day?"
"Did you actually spit on the Emperor's feet?"
Corrin laughed at the last one. He coughed again. "Please, I'm not that much of a hero. None of that I did alone." He said in a low voice, to avoid cracking his voice. He still felt the burning heat of the dozens of eyes on him.
"Corrin, I welcome you to Promethius." said someone finally. He could hardly tell the difference between the city and the desert. A thick layer of smog still covered his vision. He barely made out the graffiti covering the wall before him: Welcome to Hell. The walls of the buildings were pock marked. Their windows were broken, and their supports were crumbling.
They walked silently. The heat signature of the lead Merican raised its hand. They all stopped. There was a flash, and his heat waned. It turned blue. Corrin roared in anger. Snipers.
"Kill the Crin, all their kin. Kill the Crin…" He heard it repeated over and over again as they dodged around into the rubble surrounding them. He raised his slug rifle and fired endlessly. He felt the cartridge fall out, and replaced it instantly. He would not hide anymore.
He threw himself over the rubble. His rifle was bursting with light and fire as the Imperials fell all around him. "I," He bellowed, "Am Corrin Grant!" He fired more and more. Bullets bit into the skin of the Imperials. They howled in pain. He heard the Mericans around him rising and joining him.
He danced a dance of death, spitting ravenous bullets across the field of battle. "Shit, Shit," He heard an Imperial whispering. He drove the nozzle of his rifle into the man's gut and fired. The bullets, soaked in blood, shot through his body and embedded themselves in the next enemy.
He spun and locked arms with another. With little effort, he flipped the man to his back. His rage was building again. It wouldn't be long. He whipped the man beside him with the butt of his rifle. The Imperials would go no further than the City of Fire.