Finding Contentus

Chapter 6: Cleansing Bang

Pandemonium and chaos.

That would be the best way to describe the situation, no, the hell around them. For in every conceivable direction they saw pain. In every conceivable direction, they heard screams. And in every conceivable direction, they saw the scenery that they had lived in their entire lives before they came to Mootlakeng. The scenery they had forcibly become accustomed to, yet never really used to.

Pure, oceanic bloodshed.

Those that had some fight left in them took down as many of the primals as they could before succumbing to their own inevitable demise, and those that were too drained of energy were swiftly and unmercifully dealt with. The beautiful, artistic huts were aflame, as were the dispersed trees.

The rainbow trees that had multiple coloured leaves blew in one colour. Blackened remains. The dragonfly trees bloomed with dragon fire as the fluttering leaves flew towards their demise. The Buta-buta trees swayed in the storm like butterfly wings, melting like butter and tree sap under the ferocity of the hellish flames.

It was slaughter, a massacre, a message of unquestionable death. Cracked sounds like splintering wood ruled over Amrule.

To say that this was a hopeless situation would be an understatement. Not just in the sense of one believing it was, or one simply giving up on hope. But due to the undeniable fact that...

They had nowhere to go.

The overwhelming numbers of the primals were too big, and the underwhelming numbers of the surviving Racaans were too small. Had they had enough Amandla left in them from their prime years, it could be said that their chances of a better fight would have been substantially increased.

After all, their exponential abilities as warriors and crafters with their immune blood were the very distinguishing factors that made them the best suited to fighting and killing primals in the first place. Unfortunately, even if that was the case, the dire scenario would still end up in the same result.

Loss. Defeat.

The powerful vibrations and bright light from Amoar's lion headed staff held the primals off from attacking them in the center of the circle at bay, rerouting their senses to attack elsewhere, as he watched on in helplessness.

Like an aimless wanderer, Amoar stumbled upon the shores of emptiness, of irrationality, of stupidity, of foolishness at the dumb, idiotic and senseless savagery before his dark brown eyes.

Like a disappointed guardian, he failed to safeguard his people, he failed to safeguard his own emotions and stoicism, and failed to prevent the occurrence of countless lives being lost from both sides. The primals and the Racaans, with the numbers of the primals continuously pushing with more intensity and ferocity.

"Wave after wave they just keep on coming like the oceans of the world. And wave after wave after wave, we just keep on falling like a world deprived of heat."

Amoar's voice was laced to the brim with flat, emotionless and depressing anguish, not just upon witnessing the onslaught all around him, but also in regret at his own inequity. For amongst their surviving race, the strongest warriors were none other than himself and his younger brother Renero.

In their prime, Renero was the more charismatic, energetic and outspoken warrior, leading his people from the front, as their face, their figurehead.

Amoar was the more reserved and wiser warrior that took on more of a mentoring, tactical, strategic and advisory role. He was responsible for being their spine of indestructible steel, their backbone of impenetrable defense at their center, guiding the flows of warfare left to right, front to back, like horns, wings and claws of an enigmatic beast that could withstand land, sea and sky.