On the fields of Old Boston, thousands of men and women laid dead and dying. Some were still gripping their blades, others were climbing into the flaming wrecks of mangled vehicles. Blood trickled and pooled, settling into streams and ponds which reflected the light of the setting sun.
The army of Tysonites, clad in their tattered lab coats and welding coveralls, had suffered the most in the battle that had just taken place here. They were known for their spiritual prowess, not their ability to fight. Countless disemboweled corpses of Priests and Priestesses were a testament to that.
Praying to Tyson, Paragon of Wisdom, they had charged into battle, hoping to put an end to the narcissistic and vapid Selfites. Tysonites hated the Selfites, despising them for their obsessive self-portraiture and public self-aggrandizing. Always going on about how wonderful their meals were, no matter how mundane.
Despite the seemingly frivolous nature of Selfite tendencies, they were often fixated on physical prowess. Lacking intellectual sophistication, they used feats of physical strength as a means to impress others. This also made them skilled and fearsome warriors.
The Tysonites were different. Monastic and studious, they spent their lives studying and discussing the scriptural document known as the Book of Tyson. Most of the scripture was far too esoteric for most of the Tysonites but they did their best to interpret and understand the arcane wisdom. In their opinion, this was the only path to enlightenment and happiness. All other ways were perverse in their eyes, to be stopped at the point of a blade or crushed beneath the wheels of a truck.
Meeting on the fields of Old Boston, the Tysonites and Selfites began their battle for hearts and minds. The same hearts and minds that were to be impaled on spears, sliced with swords and knives, and trampled underneath smoking metal vehicles.
Fast, strong, and unafraid, the Selfite army had laid waste to the Tysonites, who outnumbered them three-to-one during this particular battle. It required the combined blades of three or four Tysonites to take down a single rampaging Selfite. The battle was bloody and chaotic. It was over quickly, all combatants having wounded or killed each other.
The banners of the Tysonites, emblazoned with stars and planets, and the banners of the Selfites, with their stylized human faces, laid scattered amid the carnage. Sinking into the mud, their surfaces obscured, these symbols of a bye-gone era vanished into blood and dirt. That's all that was left. Blood and dirt.
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