The Depths of Cold

It descends, swiftly, silently.

The air is petrified with cold, unbelievable cold. The lucky ones die, for the rest of us the terror has only begun. Huddled behind makeshift barricades or trenches we wait in agony.

The cold you see is their herald...


Hell, mankind did not believe in anything but their own superiority. We as a race stared outward to the far reaches of space, hoping, yearning for the voice of another species. Yet it never came, our calls into the void remained unanswered.

Humankind prospered, well some of us at least. We believed in our own might, with our devestating machinery, our weapons.

But it was all for nought, we did not even know where they came from. Within days all major population centers were nothing more than rubble, not burned out, smoking ruins but petrified, crumbling ones. As if time turned beyond measure.

Our first encounter with the enemy was a slaughter of epic proportion, of us. I remember seeing shapes, fingers numb with cold as I fired short bursts directly at the target.

Nothing.

It just kept coming, our weapons were useless.

Demons.

I don't know how I survived.