(Planet Vorthas, 48 Hours After Its Fall)
The air above Vorthas hung thick with smoke and silence, as the fires born from hours of relentless bombardment at last began to fade, leaving behind only drifting embers and the bitter scent of scorched metal that clung to everything like guilt.
The green banners of the Righteous Faction fluttered across every street and government building, their insignia, a silver sun devouring a black serpent, gleaming proudly where the Cult's emblems had once flown.
*Step*
*Step*
*Step*
In front of the largest city square stretched a queue of Cult Commoners that never seemed to end.
Thousands of civilians stood barefoot on the cold cobbled floor, their faces pale, their wrists trembling as they clutched one another for comfort.
The once-bustling plaza of Vorthas had now been converted into a processing ground for slaves, where human dignity was methodically stripped away and replaced with obedience.
