Revolution.
A revolt against a higher power that can be trumped by numbers and will.
Earth is dead. The protective ward left by whatever god favored us in the past, is gone. Whoever was watching over us got bored and left us to rot in the corpse of this planet and burn in the aftermath of the end. The gate we could never see had fallen and the monstrosities in between The Crossing purged any life they could find, Gods toyed with our continents, The endless horde trampled our forests, and monsters hunted us to the thousands. Ashes cemented the ground and water a fools wish, blood was a delicacy and seeds a treasure. No soil was fertile, drought and destroyed. The religious fools who prayed to the above were snatched up first by whatever bloodthirsty beings felt inclined to listen. It wasn't a surprise to find out humans weren't the only malicious hearts in the universe, evil is only natural in a world gifted choice and minds given free will. That was, however, the only gift we had left. A gift that meant nothing in their faces, we have no choices left, it's die now or die later, we all die whether it be by their hands or our own. The few of us who walk are lost and dimming.
A shovel dug into the coarse yellow dirt as a cloaked man dug up shallow graves for the poor folk staying in the wooden shack, left ravaged by Filimites—small flying insects reminiscent of fish that travel in groups of thousands. As he finished his small act of kindness he dumped their tattered bodies into the pits and kicked the dirt back onto them. They left him nothing to reward his generosity but a foul stench on his boots, their shack nothing but a few logs and some straw, their bodies too decomposed to grab a quick meal. He left with a frustration the same as every other day, walking the barren woods full of stumps and trees ripped from their roots. He took the occasional stop to sit on a stump and eat from his pouch, a dark thick gelatin snack from boiling blood, it tasted like guilt, he had none left though so the taste was refreshing. It was rancid and horrible for his body, but the short term came before the long term.
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He ignored the piles of rotting and long rotted bodies as he ventured past more broken foliage, he wouldn't bother to bury the entire world, they didn't deserve his mercy. The old couple from the shack didn't deserve their fate, so he offered them that solace. He wasn't long for his destination at the end of the tree line, another group to hide with before The Descent come night. He walked slowly to their station, never stressing, unbothered by the dystopian nature, he never closed his eyes however. The dark circles under his eyes and the crust building in the corner of his eyelids, the dark red streaks that formed across his eyes, he refused to shut them for more than a moment, his ears tuned to the wind, should a slight change occur he'd notice. He'd bolt at a decibels change, and fight for his life should the shade sway.
As the trees faded behind his vision, he crouched in front of a hatch with a latch under yellow leaves. He knocked 2 times before waiting a moment, and then knocking 6 times. Several locks could be heard clicking, then the hatch swung right open and the man jumped right in, falling into a giant pit of paper bedding. “Colt, have you brought food?” Colt stood up, dusting his shoulders and shaking off the leftover bedding. “No hello? I got nothing.” He said with a scowl before dropping his bag with just a container of dark blood in it. The shorter woman sighed and took the bag before looking at him with a frown, and shaking her head. He walked into the lounge while sighing into his hands, what more could he do? It wasn't his fault food was impossible to find and every place known to man was emptied and ransacked.
He sat down on a stool next to an older man with balding hair behind his head, and put his head down on the table beside him. “Wilkins, what are ya doin?” The old man didn't look at him, but he hummed a soft sound. “That so? Glad for you chap.” The old man smiled and patted his shoulder before humming a serene song. Colt listened and held all his words so as to not let the sound spill from his ears, he bathed in the relaxing moment as long as the world would let him, Wilkins songs were a luxury down here. The Descent was only moments away again, Colt couldn't care less, it'd just be another morning burying more torn up bodies, so he kept his head down and listened to his song.
