Yet, what would happen, if you were to send a man, a hero of the modern world to this realm? Would the gun best magic, or would our hero fall to the which he can not understand, accept, or believe?
Though only the most observant or expecting of people would be able to notice the mottled greens and tans of his uniform, the soldier still took precious care to seem no more then a ghost amongst the shadows. With each step, a heavy boot glided over the soft mossy ground, ever weary of a dry twig that could alert his presence to anyone... or anything near by.
With speed and brace the soldier moved from tree to tree, never hesitating very long in one spot, merely ducking from one to the next, using their sparse branches and meager trunks as a temporary cover. Ever cautious, his rifle swiveled about, scanning not only the surrounding forest, but oddly enough the tree tops as well.
Finally, the soldier found a spot that seemed to suit him, as in one fluid motion he dropped his pack from his shoulders and lat against the tree. The moonlight displayed a scene of frenzied commotion as the soldier with one hand still holding the assault rifle at a ready angle, dug through his pack. Pulling out a canteen he began to eagerly slurp the remaining water from the container.
This pause for rest allowed the first real look at the weary man, panting to catch his breath after such a long sprint through the trees. Covered head to toe, in standard military camouflage fatigues, even his face conformed to the uniform, blackened by stripes of makeup like ancient war paint. Over the breast pocket, a tattered patch read U.S. Air Force, and across, V. Tobias. Over his uniform, a once useful tactical vest hung empty. Its spare riffle ammunition, radios, flashlight and medical kits long since depleted. Following down, on his hip, in the drop holster, sat a formidable looking side arm, complete with a spare magazine.
Vincent Tobias. Colonel Vincent Tobias. Even multiple weeks of the strange hell couldn�t wipe all the memories of his former life away. The memories of his command. His team. The brave souls who had been condemned to this place with him. Now, he was all alone. A soul survivor of a doomed mission whose fate had been sealed upon their arrival four weeks ago. They just hadn't known it.
Even though the events after the crash seemed mostly a blur, at best they could be considered sketchy and random. The crash itself still remained perfectly clear in Tobias' head.
Sitting in his chair, strapped in against the wind howling through structural breaches. Dozens of warning lights flashing against the dim red backup lighting of the cockpit. And on top of it all the fire's flickering orange tongues dancing across the walls in waves of liquid death produced by zero gravity.
Yet surprisingly enough, it was not the dozen various forms of disaster that had scared Vincent the most. He was after all a veteran of such events. That was why he had been elected lead for the project. No, it wasn�t the fires, or the lights, or the wind. Not even the strange forest that slowly spun in the forward screen, distant, yet crawling up to meet them. It was the static. He could still here the comms officer vainly yelling into his headset, trying vainly to inform the base of there situation. Yet the only response was the static. The early white noise that echoed out a strange occurrence, the radio system was one of the most advanced systems on the ship. Designed to avoid just this type of massive failure so help could be dispatched in an emergency, this horrifying white noise didn't just a dangerous malfunction, but rather a disheartening since of loneliness. Without that radio, his team was completely alone. Cut off from all forms of rescue.
The forest, a moment ago so distant, was now dangerously close, the pilot yelling for the crew to evacuate. Tobias couldn�t help but pause for a brief moment at this, even in the surrounding disaster. There flight had originated in northern Alaska, far away from civilization that could become aware of the testing of newly developed and highly secret Air Force equipment. No one had come even close to guessing the reality of the situation, not until much later.
By the time Vincent had regained his composer, all but the pilot, a Captain by the name of Carlson had abandoned there seats, using the zero-gravity produced by the free fall to glide into the rear cabins. Though getting to the equipment lock-up had been made easier by the lack of gravity, the lock-up it self was a disaster, lockers had been wrenched from the walls, some torn open and spilling equipment into the air.
As some began to futilely collect random gear floating about a squelch issued from the wall intercom and brought them all to an abrupt panic. The four floating men hastily pushed them selves to various points of the floor, and began to brace themselves. No sooner had the last man positioned himself then a tremendous jolt shook the ship, a horrendous metallic squealing noise vibrating the very air.
Most likely each of those men should have died. Yet in the last moment before impact, Carlson had managed to pull out of the flat spin and push the ship into a steep glide. This also was what sealed his fate. No doubt he knew this, yet the act of sacrifice to save his comrades spoke lengths of the man's nature. The ship hit, instantly crumpling the forward sections, and continued to skip along the ground, tearing through trees for several miles. Along the way, the jarring bounces eventually peeled the cockpit and remaining forward sections.