Literature
Starting from the End: William Ryse and The Abyss
The ships wreckage lay scatter across the beach like shatter glass on a tile floor, the only difference of the sand was that it looked as if it was trying to eat the massive metal shards; trying to engulfed them in its beige abyss, not unlike a black hole. Bodies littered the wreckage also scattered, flung from where they been when they hit the atmosphere, with no shields.
"No shields," he coughed, shaking his head. Or trying to, it hurt to much to move for where he'd managed to prop himself up on the least jagged piece of metal that had once been his pride and glory. That had once been the only thing he'd loved. But now, he lay in
