Time swiftly passed, bringing us two days later.
The ticking hands of the clock reached their end.
The day of fate's public fall.
Amidst the sky full of ashes and dust, the soldiers of the Wings of Resistance prepared themselves earnestly, their rough-hewn faces full of solemnity. One soldier exhaled deeply a puff of smoke, flicking the cigarette butt to the ground, and crushed it with his boot.
Beside him, a comrade nervously clenched his fingers, tugging at the gun strap on his shoulder, frequently scanning the surroundings, as if waiting for something.
Behind them stood the armed forces of the Wings of Resistance. The sunlight refracted off the tightly-knit armor, with their emblem partly visible and partly hidden in the radiance.
The engine roared thunderously.
