It happened at the festival.

The Astari were partying hard, as they were wont to do, when tragedy struck. Several of them dropped down dead and a few trees burst into flames. The flames were quickly put out, but this occurrence shook the Astari to their core. The wrath of god had struck, but for what reason they knew not.

For the next few days, the Astari prayed harder. They were devout to their god. They worshipped it dearly. But no dice; the trees burned again, a pox came upon their land, and more Astari dropped dead. Some died when their masks caught on fire and burned them to death, and some died in the swamp, and some died from the touch of god, but no matter what, there were deaths. This was repeated a third time approximately halfway through the lunar cycle, with another ring of deaths and many trees burning down.

By the time they held the next monthly festival, only 171 citizens of Astariville were left. 28 of them had died in the godly rage; 3 of them had left for the other island of their own accord. And they might have had the right idea, as the godly punishment was still coming down. The swamps grew larger, drowning people; most of the fruit trees burned down, causing a famine; and the Astari continued to drop like flies when the finger of god crushed them like bugs.

Near the middle of the month, only 141 were left, with all of the lost thirty being deaths at the hands of god. At this point, the Astari were divided for perhaps the first time in their history. Some wanted to leave the island, as their god had obviously abandoned them. Others wanted to stay, and worship harder to ensure that their god would come back. The fight went back and forth and back and forth in the main hall of the main settlement.

And then it happened.

Man has always feared death from above.

Why this is, is unknown. Perhaps it comes from a deeply ingrained fear of carnivores that pounce so that the last thing you see is one descending towards you, all claws and teeth. Perhaps it comes from an understanding that the higher ground is often tactically more valuable. Perhaps it just comes from the realization that the highest point of the body is also the weakest and the most valuable.

Whatever it is, death from above has always been scary. And who can argue otherwise? Throughout the history of mankind, death has regularly come from above. Lightning strikes, hurricanes, hail; all have been deadly and have come from the skies. Volcanoes have blasted out magma rains that drop onto bodies, burning them away instantaneously. And if natural causes aren't enough, there's always humanity. From castles upon hilltops, rains of arrows have flown, causing massive losses to armies. From those same castles, boiling oil drops down to guard the entryway. Later on, cannons blast into the sky, only for the cannonballs to rain down far away, wreaking havoc. Then come the aeroplanes and their bombing blitzes, raining down death upon London, Dresden, Nanking, Hiroshima, Vietnam, Cambodia, Iraq, Israel.

And finally, the most recent and most hellish source of death from above: the Mushroom War. The one that created this whole mess. The one that proved that the gods did not care about their creations.

Is it any wonder that man looks to the sky to plead to his gods? Is it any wonder that the heavens seem to always be watching? Is it any wonder that the final death of earth will eventually come from the sun in the sky?

Man has always feared death from above.

The sky lit up as the meteor streaked towards the ground. It impacted just outside the settlement. While in no way as large or horrific as the one that killed the dinosaurs–in fact, all things considered, the explosion was incredibly weak–it was enough to set the surrounding trees and the settlement on fire. The Astari ran outside to try and stop the flames, and most of them ended up being caught on fire themselves, regardless of whether they were wearing their masks or had the foresight to remove them. The burning victims stumbled around outside, screaming for relief. None was forthcoming, though, and all of them ran around on fire.

All of them died. Some died of falling into the swamp; some died of smoke inhalation; but most, most died by burning to death. And with all the Astari dead, there was no chance to douse the flames. The temple, the settlement, the entire village; all would burn down.

But it didn't. The flames were extinguished soon enough. This wasn't by an act of God, however; as soon as the meteor hit, the ruler of the world sat back and started tending to its people. Rather, it was random chance, a freak rainstorm, that saved the village. The rain came down and doused the flames, saving the settlement and the surrounding abodes, even if no trees were left standing.

And once the flames were out and the rain had stopped, two figures stumbled out of the settlement. Two cowardly Astari, who had stayed inside throughout the whole ordeal. Two people, who had somehow managed to survive the meteoric wrath, the fire, and the deaths of all their comrades. These two stumbled out into the daylight and looked around.

All they saw was destruction. The trees which had once borne fruit were now matchsticks. The settlement which had provided shelter had holes in its wall, its entryway blackened with smoke, and scorch marks covering the whole outside. And the rest of the Astari, the other remaining 139, lay on the ground dead.

The Astari looked up, up at the cold, soulless sky. They stared at the still lingering smoke heavy with human fat and realized that God was not there. They realized that God either no longer loved them, or he had never loved them in the first place, fattening them up for slaughter, or that all they had taken for the work of God was really their own work, and their entire society, system, civilization was one big lie.

They looked up at the sky and saw that God did not love them. And they shivered in the cold wind as they headed to the adobe with the least amount of damage. Tomorrow would be a new day, and they would decided on a survival plan then. Whatever they did, they were still standing, and they'd live on.

Even in the face of Armageddon. They would live on.

A/N: Yes, I made some Watchmen references there at the end. What can I say? It's a good comic.