2: End of Culling

Alistair watched, leant back against comfortable velvet padding of the custom interior of the Lis-32, as six Lis-29s came in for the final run.

Their turbofan engines roared furiously, mimicking the sound of some ancient eldritch being awakening in the depths of an abyss.

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The designers of the Lisvette Bureau, clever psychopaths, designed the engine with special acoustics in such a way that their sound would be similar to the sound of some ancient eldritch being awakening in the depths of some abyss.

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Six bombs came out from the bomb bays of each aircraft before they fell with reckless abandon onto the streets of Winstet on which there were countless civilians, soon-to-be corpses, ran in panicked even as they were beng shot left and right.

The bombs exploded, releasing shrapnel followed by a toxic mist of grey.

The mist devoured the flesh of anyone unfortunate to touch it, burning and sizzling the very flesh of its victims.

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The special composition of the Gray Scorcher allowed it to continue this endless ignition of flesh via literally using the flesh as the fuel.

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The screams slowly died out, replaced by the attempts of screaming as the victims found their vocal cords burn after inhaling the deadly gas. Now, gurgling sounds were easily audible, accompanied by the sound of croaking, choking, coughing and wheezing.

Blood dripped out of the mouths, ears and noses of countless people, death was merely a statistic at this point. Their eyes reddened from the intense irritation, their skin reddened only to start burning and decaying.

Alistair spoke through a microphone connected for all to hear, his velvety smooth voice rang out from four mehaphones attched to the helicopter, "The culling will be of five minutes, may the fortunate live."

Many of who were running around paused even for a split second and looked up, eyes wide akin to a deer infront of headlights.

The soldiers took this as cue for the final phase of execution. They fired upon anyone who wasn't dead yet.

The roaring of Netheric Guns—Be assault rifles, handguns or, shotguns—rang out through the air.

Soldiers were running around in a rampage, killing anyone they found in the crosshairs of their guns.

The smell of death filled the air, making it hard to breath for the lucky few which lived.

The screams of terror were muffled by the sounds of weaponry. The massacre toll was rising. Some soldiers were even having a power trip as they massacred innocents.

"Time out," Alistair announced.

And, as if from some divine will, not a single gunshot was heard.

The soldiers put their guns to the side, slowly advancing, step by step. They inspected the bodies, searching for survivors, they'd inspect a body when they saw even a twitch of movement.

"Excellent." Alistair chuckled into the microphone, clapping his armoured hands together.

Alistair looked at the pilot of the helicopter, "Descend," He said calmly, leaning back and caressing the albino snake.

"Hm, Mist," He whispers to the snake, Mist, as he caresses it's head with his armoured hand.

Mist hisses softly, playfully biting Alistair's metal finger. Alistair chuckles at this, caressing Mist again and patting it's head with one of his fingers.

The helicopter descends, picking up dust like a fierce tornado. Alistair covered Mist's face to protect the snake from getting hit with the dust.

"Gather the survivors at the town hall garden, I'd be waiting there." Alistair orders as he leisurely walks to the town hall.

He takes in the surroundings, caressing Mist all the while. In response, Mist coils around his forearm harder and hisses.

"Hm, tightening, are you?" Alistair says, chuckling softly.

Suddenly, a low voice cooes through the comms,

"Alistair," The voice belongs to Voxxe Vaele of House Vyletier.

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House Vyletier, This house had been made from two houses—House Kestor and House Jeyxis—combining into one from Archon Urzaes' orders after the Wythrian Unification. Their role is related to technology, science, knowledge. They control over scientific endeavours of all forms and manipulate the circulation of information.

In short, they're the eyes and ears of Wythria.

Voxxe Vaele is the communications officer of the Wythrian Military, ensuring complete contact between the soldiers on the ground, the pilots who soar the skies and the sailors who part the vast waters with their leaders and even, their supreme leader— Archon Urzaes.

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"Yes?" Alistair's voice was calm and serene, easily contrasting the faintly audible whimpering of any survivors around him.

"I've come to give an apology in advance, you'll definitely be seeing consecutive missions in the nearby areas. The Xyresian Rebels League have spread out quite a while around this area, notably in the neighbouring or, sister towns of Winslet, Winschet and Winsget." Voxxe spoke in a voice that was bore the grace of a majestic swan that barely leaves a ripple in the water through which it glides through.

"Ah, I see," Alistair said calmly as if it was no big deal, voice as fluent as an unobstructed river.

"We'll load in the prisoners of Winstet and then depart." Alistair added, going to sit on the edge of a fountain that somehow remained intact from the bombardments of Winstet, its beautiful marble almost remaining unscathed safe for the black marks of dust and dirt that marred it when the townhall was bombarded.

The fountain's water flowed gracefully, contrasting sharply with its surroundings like some golden biscuit buried deep in vile mud.

"Well, make it quick." Voxxe said, humming for a split second.

"Yes, yes." Alistair takes off his helmet, revealing his face.

His skin is porcelain white with faint, nearly invisible, crack-like lines of black. His left eye is a striking and predatory black with a red pupil while, his right eye is an alluring and vibrant Phonecian Purple; a rich and aristocratic shade of purple.

Under his left eye, at his crow's feet, are black marks which faintly glow red.

His hair is a silver Gray, lustrous even and perfectly frames his face, which is one of blue blood—Nobility, having delicate, sharp, handsome and youthful features in an angelic blend.

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Nether and Aether can change the appearance of its user. If one uses Aether, one of their eyes would take on either a golden or, a sapphire blue colour. Along with this, the crow's feet of the effected eye would bear a marble white or golden colour.

Though, its not just their eyes.

Their hands will also be effected similarly.

And, lines of white or gold would faintly spread over their skin.

While with Nether, its the same case but the colours would be black and red.

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He notices a soldier walking towards him with a mobile console in hand. Mist defensively hisses at the approaching soldier who stops when he sees Mist. Not from fear of the snake but because of Alistair's reputation.

Alistair chuckles, shaking his head. He caresses Mist, "It's fine." He whispers, smiling.

The soldier resumes his stride, stopping in front of him at attention, he nods at Alistair, "My Lord, we've found surveillance footage from the security systems and surveillance systems of Winstet." The soldier says in a voice akin to when a Knight pledges allegiance to his king.

Alistair looks up at the soldier before nodding.

The console's gilded gold frame shimmers as Alistair takes it in his hands, his metallic finger masterfully controls over the small joystick that is next to the screen.

A joystick is preferred as it's easier to store than a mouse and it's better than a trackpad as one would have to remove one's armour to use it without damaging the sensitive device and, the same applies for a touchscreen.

Alistair's left eyebrow rose in interest, a small smirk of satisfaction emerging onto his lips.

"Voxxe, my men have found surveillance footage. I'll be forwarding them over to you for inspection, I'll report back in a moment." Alistair's voice was like a whispered secret, quiet and smooth yet, commanding attention.

"Hm, got it." Voxxe said in an equally smooth way, his low voice would've worked like a balm to frayed nerves, only if there were any in Alistair's mind.

Alistair looks up at the soldier, "I'm assuming you and your comrades are done rallying up the ragged?"