The horizon ignites in fire, and distant, echoing screams can be heard over the line of light. The military is advancing towards the unseen danger, but none come back. A choir can be heard over all of it, and strings come to follow in the melody of despair and guilt. The hill suddenly bursts into a line of explosion, and flaming jeeps and tanks come rolling back down. A horrific sight can be seen.
A giant mechanical beast can be deciphered from the chaotic mess of what used to be a hill, 3 searchlights connected to long chambers of machinery gazing forward emotionlessly. The ground is shaking violently at a steady pace as it begins to rise and approach, and a torso can be seen now. The head is armored, protected by a kite shaped shield with a bend in the middle. The torso has huge barricades, 15 downward pointing spikes that twitch and move at their own will.
As it keeps rising to 50 feet, 3 legs can be seen under the monster, and the Tripod keeps rising taller as it barely begins to even reach the top of the hill. People run blindly, and who can blame them? The military is gone, splashed to the four winds, and all that we have now is ourselves.
The machine keeps rising. 100 feet. 150 feet. It’s still going. The crescent shaped blades emerge, connected to the underside of its shield like helmet by thin alien limbs. They glow with blinding blue brilliance, and then fire barbarically at the fleeing populace below.
Out of the sky, thousands of missiles shoot across the air, leaving a crowd of smokey trails behind in their travels. But, it seems that nothing can stop the Tripods. A green and blue barrier awakens the moment the missiles get close enough, and it surrounds the beasts from all directions. Yes. Plural. Two more have appeared by the leader’s side, and they show no plans on stopping anytime soon.
Then, it can be heard. A horrific sound bursting from the inner workings of the Tripods, blasting for all to hear in their final moments. An exultant, deafening howl that roars like thunder. It sounds like a brass instrument roaring like a lion, and howling like a wendigo. It’s a deep call that shakes the ground even more than it already is. The Trumpets Of Death have called the names of those below it, dooming the fleeing lives in the path of The Tripods.
