Before he could understand his surroundings, amid other conundrums, a huge storm came his way. Without wasting even a milisec, he punched the magical button fitted within their high-tech suit and went up above those giant malodourous puffs consisting of the precious essence. He came down after a complete earth deca-second, thanks to the quick attraction pull and the almost dead battery of their device. They quickly went to the arsenal to get the remaining weopons. No one knew from where out of the hell another disastrous tragic would arrive. Every blossom of blunder drooped sadly, shedding petals like unlucky signs, accidentally pointing to a fall in the dark valley of deaths.
The barren, dry, and seemingly unlivable land, full of contrast, dark atmosphere, was somehow blessed with leaf-woven treasure called Nivora. Though oxygen flowed through auroras, the odour in the gleam-filled clouds was equivalent to a hundred rubber tubes burnt together with tens of rotten carcasses. Oxygen was cleaned by the filters in helmets, so the stinky fumes did not spread inside.
The setup to extract Nivora was still not completed due to those fatal impediments. Two of his team had already got freedom from the sadism of this Cosmos. Others barely were left, with a body full of marks and deep cuts, now visible from out of the suits. Blood had started spilling out through the cracks.
Overcoming the series of catastrophes, they got back to the setup, which too was damaged but not to its fullest. When bullocks began balancing back again, out of nowhere struck a massive shock of spark, following an unexpected, eyeblinding flash, which ran through his flesh, and he departed to serve his creators.
My trembling eyes, betraying to all that I've glimpsed, saw a premonition, that is not final, and destination was still waiting for him to break the walls of misfortune. I bolted upright in bed, heart pounding, sweat-soaked sheets clinging to me, utterly shaken by the stench-filled nightmare. To have a vision in dreamy land that my sheild and root, who carved my route, was sucked up above space was parallel to my own death. Hoping that this may not be true was, although optimistic, a little ambiguous too.
My dada was chosen as the leader of a voyager's group for a real gleam's extraction, which was unique to a planet known as Vileon-S19, a dark wasteland but consisting of clouds filled with life-saving material, Nivora.
Nivora was used to fuel large sonic weapons, which acted as deterrence to avoid direct violence escalation with neighbouring stars and planets. The setup was an east-made instrument, large enough to fit almost a ton of the essence. The machine used a laser mechanism for extracting the treasure out of the stenchy, dark hazard.
Among his team were the most capable and experienced voyagers, away from their close ones to bag up the tiny, bright, sapphire-like essence. But his catalogue was not bound till space and had its gems back on earth too. As I felt my need in the mission center, I rushed hurriedly and sat on the spacious, cushioned seat. The ride, which earlier felt like a paper boat floating peacefully in a quiet river with smooth flow, now seemed one sailing across a thunder rain. Frequency waves of information were trembling like a kite caught in restless skies; it quakes. We already had issues with voice connect following an unusual turbulence, and Dada's suit was losing its power. My blood stream was at its top speed, and my soul was screaming a cacophony of mishappening. And suddenly, the waves came to rest, which created a vacuum within our nerves. Now, the red fluid flow inside it was sounding like a subsonic launcher deep beneath waters. All gems imagined a hundred kinds of havoc.This year has been easy neither for cosmonouts nor for natives. Since its beginning, two advanced expedition crews for the search of Nivora, like birds blown off course, were lost far from home. This was the third such mission from a third planet, which seemed eager to meet its lineage. Dada might have seen the last words of his lifebook and met my premonition. Waters of misery were spilling out of red channels.
All of a sudden, the system got waves, and out of the blue, my ears detected a mellifluous melody, making my mind's minor music notes fade away. It was Dada who played the symphony of victory out of his instrument, which was composed by me and my master, my tutor, my everything, Daddy. I heard him. My eardrum's salsa and my soul's peace were recovered. We all hugged each other and started humming the tone. He will be on earth with a grand amount of Nivora, and apart from that, he will be back; it is a duo's win . . My nostrils, which can't wait for his smell, my skin, which is amped for his touch, and my beats, which are elated to their peak, are roaming around and are thrilled, awaiting Dada.
On 29 December 2107, my hero landed upon his home. As I saw his peek, I started hopping like a bunny; I got my life back. Our hearts pumped graciously and kissed each other, necks tied crosswards, knees grounded to motherland. The fragrance, which was separated from flowers, attested back rightly in the garland.