Phantoms of Old Corinthea
The weak light of the twin suns faded as evening fell over Corinthea Prime, casting the capital city in a shroud of burnt crimson. The low blanket of maroon clouds danced with flickering shadows over the tops of broken skyscrapers, cracked metal and glass facades glowing dimly in the dying daylight and rising flames. A chill wind swept through the ravine-like streets, swirling dust off the rubble and whipping the blaze into a hadean storm that consumed vehicles, blackened storefronts and carried the screams of the damned.
The rumbling echoes of rifle-fire and detonations blended with the screams of thousands as men, women and children stampeded through the streets. Streaks of bluish-purple tore through the air like colored lightning, cratering walls and rending body parts as they cut down civilians beyond count. Driving the chaos were rows of paramilitary troops that steadily advanced, firing volleys of plasma into the fleeing crowd. Armored vehicles rolled about, blasting buildings and residents alike with their canons, thick treads crushing anything in their path.
‘Specter, relax your grip.’
The quiet words pierced Sean’s trance-like focus and he glanced aside, loosening his white-knuckle hold on his rifle. Commander Vasse’s black-clad figure was hunched almost in half to avoid scraping her shaved head on the jagged ceiling of their crow’s nest formed in the rubble of a half-collapsed apartment building. The Commander’s grey eyes were on him, glinting darkly by the fires visible through the gap they used to observe the anarchy beyond.
