Nightfall
Whilst planetside it is noted that to the watchful eye the night does not fall, but rather it rises. The sloping black creeps upwards and spreads its spindly fingers over the rocks and countryside and casts them to shadow before finally swallowing the land to the gloom.
In space it is for ever nighttime. The day's ends morph into one and the darkness reigns supreme. For in the cold chasm of space spawns uncertain perils, both real and imaginary. Lurking in the fetid black nightfall is an evil presence that offers no hiding place.
Heavy steel boots clanked on the walkway, gradually gaining in volume before there was a brief moment of silence before the door hissed open. He had tried to gauge how many there were by counting the footsteps, but all he could think about now was his stomach twisting with a strange fear. He felt sick. In the confusion he had only just noticed that the ship had stopped completely.
There were four of them all clad in black trench coats. They looked menacingly professional. Everything about them was dark. Sinister. Evil. There was no escape. He looked around the passenger compartment. There was a sense of defeat in the air. The buzzing sound of a laser assault rifle charging in the hands of one of the black terrors quickly diverted his attention back to the front of the hold.
The black Brutor kicked at one of the crew members, dropping him to the floor like a collapsing dead weight, swinging his rifle around his shoulders in a style that suggested he was a proficient user of such a weapon, he then stuck his boot hard into the chest of the fallen crewman. What air he had in his lungs quickly exited with a sharp gasp.
The tall Sebiestor with his ghostly white face and black skull cap moved through the compartment as if he was searching for something of an unknown value. He stopped as one of the others shouted to him.
"Crat."
'Crat' turned on his heels.
They had found the prize.
His heart raced as 'Crat' approached him. His eyes fixed on him. He felt faint and his legs began to tremble. He closed his eyes as he approached him. People around him were crying, pleading with the attackers. He began to sob and he placed his head into his hands. He braced himself. He felt the man next to him rise from his chair. He opened his eyes again, the tears blurring his vision. He flung himself down onto the floor and forced himself to look back at what was unfolding right next to him.
The white-faced demon had the man by his collar with just one hand. With his other hand, and what seemed to happen in just a split second of time, he pulled the knife and sliced it straight across the man's throat.
He saw the light shimmer off the silver blade.
Blood.
There were no words exchanged. No offer of mercy. The man did not offer any resistance. It was as if he knew of his fate. As if he knew that the darkness had come for him.
The sound of heavy steel boots disappeared softly into the nighttime.
X
In space it is for ever nighttime. The day's ends morph into one and the darkness reigns supreme. For in the cold chasm of space spawns uncertain perils, both real and imaginary. Lurking in the fetid black nightfall is an evil presence that offers no hiding place.
Heavy steel boots clanked on the walkway, gradually gaining in volume before there was a brief moment of silence before the door hissed open. He had tried to gauge how many there were by counting the footsteps, but all he could think about now was his stomach twisting with a strange fear. He felt sick. In the confusion he had only just noticed that the ship had stopped completely.
There were four of them all clad in black trench coats. They looked menacingly professional. Everything about them was dark. Sinister. Evil. There was no escape. He looked around the passenger compartment. There was a sense of defeat in the air. The buzzing sound of a laser assault rifle charging in the hands of one of the black terrors quickly diverted his attention back to the front of the hold.
The black Brutor kicked at one of the crew members, dropping him to the floor like a collapsing dead weight, swinging his rifle around his shoulders in a style that suggested he was a proficient user of such a weapon, he then stuck his boot hard into the chest of the fallen crewman. What air he had in his lungs quickly exited with a sharp gasp.
The tall Sebiestor with his ghostly white face and black skull cap moved through the compartment as if he was searching for something of an unknown value. He stopped as one of the others shouted to him.
"Crat."
'Crat' turned on his heels.
They had found the prize.
His heart raced as 'Crat' approached him. His eyes fixed on him. He felt faint and his legs began to tremble. He closed his eyes as he approached him. People around him were crying, pleading with the attackers. He began to sob and he placed his head into his hands. He braced himself. He felt the man next to him rise from his chair. He opened his eyes again, the tears blurring his vision. He flung himself down onto the floor and forced himself to look back at what was unfolding right next to him.
The white-faced demon had the man by his collar with just one hand. With his other hand, and what seemed to happen in just a split second of time, he pulled the knife and sliced it straight across the man's throat.
He saw the light shimmer off the silver blade.
Blood.
There were no words exchanged. No offer of mercy. The man did not offer any resistance. It was as if he knew of his fate. As if he knew that the darkness had come for him.
The sound of heavy steel boots disappeared softly into the nighttime.
X
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