At first, all he could hear were the explosions—a cacophony of deafening blasts that shook the earth and his very skeleton. Then came the screams, one after another, culminating in some unidentifiable roar that couldn't be forgotten. Half of them were fueled by adrenaline; fear, second doubts, and other concerns released as instinct and training took control. The other half were the ones that truly haunted him—the ones laden with agony, a pitch that pleaded for mercy in itself, the screams that could pierce through any metal like it was hot butter.
Damien was then crouched in a crater, his armor covered in blood, dirt, and soot. Fellow mandalorians surrounded him in small huddles that were tending to their weapons or wounds. The rest would be at the crest of the crater, firing whatever they had left to cover the retreat. Even though the battle raged on around him, all he could hear was his own heavy breathing, each exhale slow as he tried to regain his senses. His body ached; scorch marks from blasters littered his armor, some pieces even having been ripped or shot off. The garments he wore underneath bore multiple thin line cuts, blood leaking freely from the hidden lacerations and soaking the cloth a dark red.
Feeling his muscles strain, Damien just spun around and rested his back onto the empty slope of the crater, his gaze forced upward. The sky would be lit up like fireworks as ships and mandalorians flew through the air to clash. Balls of fire would constantly pop in and out between the night clouds like proud stars themselves, helping maintain the illusion of a lightshow. That was until reality came crashing down in the form of ships and charred bodies, eventually splattering on the field below.
As his senses began to finally return to him, he felt a hand grip his chest plate and lift him up from the dirt and out of the trance the chaos had put him in. Damien was forced to his feet as he turned his grime-covered visor to find Balrock. A krayt dragon was painted over the warrior's helmet, easily identifying him from the rest, but it was smeared into an ugly pulp of colors from the battle. "We need to get moving now!" Balrock shouted at the top of his lungs, his voice still barely able to be heard over the carnage that unfolded around them. But right as the two fully got to their feet, another artillery shot would hit the edge of the crater and knock them right back down. Damien would be propelled into one of the slopes, his head knocked back and striking the compact dirt as he blacked out almost immediately. The last thing he saw was a mound of dirt cascading down on him and the inferno above that wept fire as ships continued to fall.
Damien was then crouched in a crater, his armor covered in blood, dirt, and soot. Fellow mandalorians surrounded him in small huddles that were tending to their weapons or wounds. The rest would be at the crest of the crater, firing whatever they had left to cover the retreat. Even though the battle raged on around him, all he could hear was his own heavy breathing, each exhale slow as he tried to regain his senses. His body ached; scorch marks from blasters littered his armor, some pieces even having been ripped or shot off. The garments he wore underneath bore multiple thin line cuts, blood leaking freely from the hidden lacerations and soaking the cloth a dark red.
Feeling his muscles strain, Damien just spun around and rested his back onto the empty slope of the crater, his gaze forced upward. The sky would be lit up like fireworks as ships and mandalorians flew through the air to clash. Balls of fire would constantly pop in and out between the night clouds like proud stars themselves, helping maintain the illusion of a lightshow. That was until reality came crashing down in the form of ships and charred bodies, eventually splattering on the field below.
As his senses began to finally return to him, he felt a hand grip his chest plate and lift him up from the dirt and out of the trance the chaos had put him in. Damien was forced to his feet as he turned his grime-covered visor to find Balrock. A krayt dragon was painted over the warrior's helmet, easily identifying him from the rest, but it was smeared into an ugly pulp of colors from the battle. "We need to get moving now!" Balrock shouted at the top of his lungs, his voice still barely able to be heard over the carnage that unfolded around them. But right as the two fully got to their feet, another artillery shot would hit the edge of the crater and knock them right back down. Damien would be propelled into one of the slopes, his head knocked back and striking the compact dirt as he blacked out almost immediately. The last thing he saw was a mound of dirt cascading down on him and the inferno above that wept fire as ships continued to fall.