By Daniel Fellows
Kullu scrambled to his feet and observed the carnage engulfing him. All around he witnessed his fellow Unmann dying by the minute at the hands of this latest Britanan menace. The puppet soldiers of the dread King Jorje had lined the crumbled ruins of the crucible and were concentrating their firepower on a narrow passage to the east forcing the Unmann into a death box.
Kullu could see the anguish on his kinsman’s faces as they fell to the earth yet he could hear nothing save for a dull ringing that pounded through his head.He had approached the Britanan battle line under safe cover and had intended to destroy the ghastly contraption that was spewing balls of lead at his forces, the death of Kulurk; a favoured Eotan, had been the catalyst that inspired this suicidal act of bravery. He had been just underneath their position when - BOOOOOOOOM!
The loudest crack he had ever heard shook through him and knocked him to the ground, he had barely glimpsed the ball of lead that spewed out from above as silence fell numbing him stiff with shock. He forgot about the Britanans for a moment as he stumbled out into view shaking his head falsely believing that his sudden deafness was a temporary effect. It was a small mercy that his death came swiftly as the Britanans on the west wall cocked their rifles and took aim.
