Ghosts of the Past...

[Dab]

Raf'el stumbled through the cloud of sand and dust, attempting to find his soldiers or the ramp up into the ship. Through the whistling of the wind, and the sounds of sand hitting the ground and ship around him, he heard the clanking of metal on metal, gunfire, and the screams and shots of those around him. Gunfire sounded to his left. Turning that direction, working his way through the torrent of sand, he tried to find the source of the gunfire. The sound stopped, to be replaced by a scream cut short. Raf'el turned and shouted in an attempt to find the rest of his squad, when he stumbled and tripped. Looking down at the pale-white face of one of his commandos. Eyes staring, a dagger protruding from his chest.

The wind began to die down. Dirt, sand, and mud falling to the ground. Rubbing the sand from his eyes, he looked around. The man laying at his feet was not alone. The rest of the Spec Ops soldiers lay motionless in pools of their own blood. Almost all of them had a knife or dagger, sometimes multiple ones, sticking from their bodies. Left alive were Raf'el and the two Heavy Assault Unit soldiers.

Luciaden stood in the center of the landing field, his black robe crisscrossed with lines of splattered blood from those he had killed. In his hands lay a pure black sword of crystal, with a jagged red line going from the top and spiraling down and around, making one full rotation of the blade. Blood oozed down and dripped from the tip of the sword, falling to the ground.

Immediately, the soldiers in power armor suits swiveled and brought their guns and cannons to aim at Luciaden. Luciaden lunged to the side as the soldiers fired machine guns and cannons, which clew chunks out of the hard ground. He rolled across the ground, coming up onto one knee. He threw his arm out in front of him, and a second later the left-hand armor suit rocked backward, its front armor bashed in, smashing the man inside. He pointed a finger at the downed soldier, flicking it towards the other suit. A rocket flew out of the back of the suit, not propelled by its engines, but by Luciaden's new and unexplainable powers. Raf'el's mouth gaped as the missile sped toward its target, exploding with a bright cloud of fire, which consumed the suit, laving only a scorched pile of junk, with a large hole in its side. Flames licking out from the sides.

Luciaden stood, turning and gazing at Raf'el with intense and haunted eyes. Raf'el was rooted to the spot in shock. He could not fathom how Luciaden had done what he did, affecting physical things, instead of the strictly mental powers that Miralukans were gifted with.

"Your men and machines cannot beat what I have become... And neither can you. Your grave is here Raf'el, among those you betrayed when you became a willing puppet to our murderers."

Raf'el finally shook off his mental paralysis. "And just what is it you have become?" he asked, trying to inject insolence into his tone. His voice cracked as he talked, with more nervousness than he wished.

"I've become what your masters have always tried to make you. A monster"

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