TERRA

By Marcus Sun

They came again from the skies. The Celestials. Their massive War Pyramids parting the clouds over Mnya. There must have been thousands, each of them a fortress; they cast a great shadow over the city in their descent. We barely overcame our surprise before their attack commenced.

We had thought our city hidden; the great tendrils of jungle leaves covered even the highest of our towers. The lightning from their weapons descended upon us regardless. Stone melted and fountains vaporized even as we withdrew the canopy and sought to defend ourselves. In retrospect, we must have made very easy prey.

My cohort was among the first into the fray. We were also among the first to witness precisely how far they have come in the ways of war. They swept down from the heavens with great constructed wings protruding from their backs. In their hands they held Thunderbolt lances with which they hurled down spears of lightning that shattered our long shields. Our close formations made us easy targets for these winged men and our shortarms could not reach them. Perhaps one or two were brought down through fortune or happenstance, but for the large part they circled us in the air and rained destruction where they pleased.

It was less a battle than a massacre. I do not believe anyone was spared. I was wounded in abdomen and leg, the sheer power of their weapons clove clean through my cuirass. I stymied my wound with dressing foam as I lay trapped under a mountain of my comrades. Their broken shields and bodies disguised me as one of the dead. By the time the first wave had ended, our legions were all but broken and not one of the Wind Torques had been fired. We were utterly overwhelmed.

He came down with the second wave. Not the Celestial Kronos himself, but their metatron, field commander of their armies. He did not have wings or the blue tattoo lines of the common soldiers. Instead he dressed in an impossibly white robe and held a tall golden staff. It was topped by a sphere and tipped in a jagged semblance of thunder. They called him Zeus.

He was not marked, but he was cruel. I did not see mercy or regret in those pale eyes as he ordered the “purging” of the city. Purging, that’s what he called it. They blanketed the city with fire from their Warforge artillery and demolished our towers with their lightning. By nightfall there was nothing left of Mnya save hollow shells and melted ruins. I think they would have incinerated those to create a berth had Lord Quetzal not arrived with his Serpents.

Perhaps they really did fear the Serpents. Perhaps they only believed the fleet to be more troublesome than was worthwhile. They disappeared into the clouds as quickly as they came. I do not know whether they took of our treasures or of our people. I could see and hear little from my position. What I do know I have recounted many times. I observed and listened until the admiral’s legionaries pulled me from the rubble.

I do not know why we were attacked. I do not know why they would seek to invade in this manner after a hundred years of peace. It is only my duty to report the events precisely as they happened and to relay the lost of Mnya to the High Council of Atlantis.

To the High Lady Gaia, Mother of the Empire, Daughter of Ra and Morning Light of Terra. I am Centurion Tulutec of the Second Cohort, First Century, Legion of the Panthers, and I council caution. The wars of yesteryear are upon us again, this time with greater horror than ever before. Three days ago, Mnya was a city of two million. Today it is not a city at all. Shambhala, Lemuria, Tollan, even Atlantis could be at risk of an attack. We must smear the black warpaints upon our faces and bring out the heavy shields, for our enemies rule the skies. I think they seek to rule all beneath it as well.