Dead Superpowered Lifeforms.
And in the middle of all of it, on his knees in the wreck of a garden, one of them was still alive.
A golden-haired man!
He was built like something that had been made on purpose, enormous through the shoulders and the chest, heavy with a muscle that did not look decorative in the slightest, his arms thick enough that the chains upon them had needed to be thick as well, and he wore the same white and blue as the dead around him with the sleeves gone and the chest sign burned half away, his hair gold and short and matted dark down one side, his jaw set, his mouth bleeding.
And he was staring hatefully up at the army.
Not with fear, and not with despair, and not with the shocked emptiness of a being who had watched everyone he came in with die, but with hatred, clean and enormous and moving from face to face across an entire army as it took each one of them in turn and held it a moment and then moved along to the next one!
And he gave off nothing.
