Ficly

Darkest Night

It is night and the planes have done their work. I can feel the power, floating in the currents of the air, lying on every surface. Doubtless the enemy is wondering what has happened, why there is grey dust everywhere. They’ve been on edge for days, expecting an orbital strike or a bombing. They have no idea.

We move up to the thick gate. I reach into the power and coax the motors into motion, moving the gates open silently. We are met by a hailstorm of lead. Perhaps they did have an idea, after all. Unfazed, I draw on the power and stop them all, the air buzzing with electromagnetic power. Beta raises a fan of metal and stabs his fingers outwards, spearing every soldier visible. Two tanks move their laser-sighted turrets onto us and fire. Three eases the energy out of the shells and they drop to the ground on top of the bullets, while I forge and throw metal straight through the tanks and the brain stems of their crews.

The night air is still but for the slow fall of billions of iron filings.

View this story's 2 comments.