fiction part 2

Dark smoke and light morning fog swirl between the trees. The bulk of the wreckage is scattered in the distance but even this far away there are pieces of debris and torn tree limbs strewn about. One section of woods does not seem quite right. Instead of smoke or fog it appears as though one of the clouds is spilling out of its own crater. He tastes the electricity in the air at the same time he sees a flicker deep inside the cloud. He tentatively approaches, no longer sure if it was a flash of light or of movement within the cloud. The crater is more a scar, a line made by something driving into the ground at an angle, ending suddenly at an out cropping of stone. The stones themselves have been toppled. The cloud seems to be flowing out from behind and below the stones. Flickering light and the taste of static get stronger as he makes his way almost by feel through the tumbled stones. A sudden gust of wind reviews a figure trapped among the rubble. The cloud quickly reforms, obscuring the stuggling figure. Not sure he can trust his own eyes, he calls out to let them know help is on the way. The static is getting worse as he scrambles down the stones. A sudden flash reveals the area as lightning seems to dance among the stones, causing him to shield his eyes and drop to the ground. He hears stones being moved as he starts to stand up. The wind is stronger now, pulling the strange cloud away faster than it can form. As his vision clears he sees that the figure is not longer trapped but is struggling to move itself out of the crater away from him. Maybe it is the after effects of the lightning flash but he can not see any detail on the figure. There are two arms and two legs and a head but its entire surface is a uniform pebbly grey. He rubs his eyes in disbelief and slows down his approach through the crater debris. The stones and trees around him are in perfect detail. He looks again to the struggling form. Its limbs do not seem to want to support its weight as is drags itself over obstacles. Lightning is dancing around one fist, grounding itself with small pops against anything it touches. Wisps of cloud are forming on its pebbled surface. He moves closer to it, not sure what he is doing there. Again he calls out to it, gently, as he is almost on top of it now. The figure stiffens and starts to spin around to face him. The fist covered in lighting swings toward him in an awkward arc. He does not even think as he lifts the crowbar to ward off the wild strike. A brilliant blue flash fills his eyes as the crowbar meets the arm just below the fist. Both he and the figure are knocked backwards and left sprawled on the ground, electricity dancing over them.