The surface of the world is alive and crawling with wonders both beautiful and grotesque.
And among these creatures, the foulest of beasts, who’s perched atop a pyramid-like food chain.
Alone on his throne, the king in all his glory, sits clothed in the skins of all other life, while mountains of bones are erected beneath him.
He is risen high in the skies, but not in praise, nor worship, and certainly not in celebration.
For what has he accomplished, but to rid this world of any beauty that remains, and to leave his own stains of blood as a marker that he was really here?
But those skies are now tainted with reddened streaks of what was once good and pure.
The ground beneath his feet now soaked with the tears of his ancestors.
The soil now barren and laid to waste.
Towering buildings are constructed in his image, like morbid monuments, standing tall above a land now trampled and scorched.
And the subway trains are merely worms, infested with thousands of parasites a day, weaving their way through arteries beneath the skin of the city.
A festering world now left to decay, too beaten and battered to be passed on to the next generation, the next phase of evolution, the next civilization to inherit this once beautiful landscape.

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