It was much better that way.
Nixon had made it well past Tortria Den and its high cliff walls by then, counting on the solid rock barrier to act as a buffer against the coming blast. Although it caused an amazing amount of turbulence and unsteadiness for a moment, his considerable power and strength were able to compensate. His flight returned to normal and he continued on his way, determined to make it much farther away before any robotic scouts or reinforcements were able to survey the damage.
The village was quiet when it hit, most inhabitants either cowering or somehow oblivious. A blast of this power and magnitude would create a shockwave so strong that force and fire would hit you long before you even knew there was a problem.
Yet again, it was better this way.
The village center, starting in Longhold Park, was heaved up into a ball of dust and fire in an ever-expanding circle, disintegrating each thing it met along the way. Things in the way did not burn. They never had the time. They were quickly and effortlessly wiped away, no trace of them ever being known. All that was left was a hole in the ground that was left shiny from the instantaneous transformation of rock to glass.
Homes were blown off their foundations milliseconds before the flames devoured them and anything inside them.
Five seconds after the blast began, a man and his young son, who had come with one of the caravans from the deep south when the ships first arrived on the horizon and were seeking the rumored solace of Tan Torna Qu-ay, were out hunting between the rise that was Tortria Den and the village outskirts. They were the only citizens of the village to recognize what they were seeing before it hit them.
The father instantly grabbed his son, hugged him close, and turned as much as he could in that time away from the blast, desperately trying to shield his child from the coming horror.
His was not the only desperate act of heroism to come from this place, but it was to be the last.
In the end, it was equally as useless a gesture as the others. They were still consumed and vaporized by the storm of Hellfire that had approached them. Neither felt pain. Death was swift and merciful.
Such was the case for all who lived and loved in the village of Tan Torna Qu-ay.
May we all be so lucky.
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As promised, Nixon wept many tears for those who had died so needlessly just moments before. It was likely he was the most singularly powerful being in the world since the destruction of the false god, and even he stood no chance against this new power.
He'd seen the weapons of the old days. Their power and their weaknesses. They could perhaps put a cramp in his day, but not outright defeat him the way these could.
Now he was winging away as fast as he possibly could, carrying a man he was sworn to destroy and another whom he had no invested interest in.
Each new day brought more questions than answers. All he could do was hope he could find someone to help put it all together. That was why he knew his next step was to find Crystal, the true love of the false god, former bearer of the sword now in the possession of the unconscious person slung about his shoulder, and the one person alive who knew as much about the history of it and its holders as he did.
He had no way to know if she was still alive. So much time had passed. However, there weren't a lot of options open to him right now. He would take the sword-bearer to her, leave the other to his own devices somewhere down the line, and try to find out all he could.
It was terrible to be so alone, worse to know he was trapped there. There would be no sleep until his mission was fulfilled. Judging by his current whereabouts and predicament, it was clear that was not going to be as smooth as it had been in the past.
Nixon shed his tears and carried on.
Chapter 7
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The Benevolent Rotations
He wasn’t stupid.
He wasn’t naïve or foolish.
He wasn’t optimistic.
He was a man now, and men know better. Perhaps not in all things, but certainly more than when last he was at this place. This road both to and from his home that no longer existed. A home he saw destroyed before he could say 'Goodbye’.
He was not about to run in a desperate search for survivors, knowing full-well that a blast like that would leave none.
One more day. He only needed one more day. Loved or hated, his family was waiting with open arms and the honor he deserved. Welcoming and proud. He’d have died with them.
Johan found a quiet space among a small thatch of trees and sat, broken-hearted and alone. No man or woman of any age could ever be expected to hold it together in such circumstances. It's simply too much weight to put on someone’s shoulders.
The strength he had built was easily defeated. The things he'd learned, forgotten.
Where once a man stood, there was now a helpless child.
See him now. See him in this moment of abandonment and unspeakable fear. Imagine your feelings upon witnessing what he witnessed. Think deeply. Feel the heat. See the flames. Recognize his moment as if it were your own.
Every loved one’s face. Every park and tree. Every summer meal or winter rain. Gone. Taken away without reason or mercy.
Know now that this is not a moment documented often. The factors that lead us all to this moment are never so
