Chaos is God in a system of true disorder. And I seek to my title of God, I have no care for whoever crumples to nothing in my persuit to achieve such.
Ash will ever be ash. It does not carry weight if it blows memos of consensus and devotion; it will eternally be the ash scraped from the bones of blazed bodies.-APalace Of Ulric labyrinths, Elvira Crest.
࿐SILVER࿐ |Garzabel- December 31, 7408|
THECEREMONIAL city of Torsnne, harmony of the Garzabel planet, buzzed a pessimistic cadence of brief and ignorant euphoria as many people pushed their young evening through the coarse populace of the streets. The inner municipalities brought out an exotic spark in the opaque titanium clouds that foresaw fictitious fireworks from the neon displays of the industrious shops, the 3D pixelated billboard that flaunted the latest money-grabbing schemes which possessed eyes of accordance, and lastly, their humid air that streamed about with oscillating energy bursts that were set free via the jetting local vehicles that meandered passionately just above the soaked ground.
Some would think such beauty would not be allowed to just sit there and dampen in every dismissal of its great existence. But here was such beauty, its satchel of delicate tears evermore considered a nuisance.
The northern and central parts of the planet were a place the rich slumbered and freely doubled in fortune with pride even the veins of Mammon's essence deemed disgusting. Their skyscrapers were dazzled with fluorescent propaganda of naked women as they indiscreetly peered over the bleak mists. Even at their most loose, the poisoned jewels still strived to sprout above the remainder, monopolizing them as if they were deserving of titles such as Gods while their scripted electrical bolts and clamors of proclivities charged connections to the trashed concrete.
Miles away and far below their titanium towers of cupidity were holes of their edition of gulfing hell, booming with a fresh element of pained energy.
Armed guards shaped a chained border, separating the impoverished and wealthy as their maltreated blood protested. Their lives were in the clutches of a force that held levity appraising them, defenseless insects singeing under a magnifying glass created not to see any closer than they were but to smolder wicked from their positions afar. The soldiers held their gazes over the hoard of battered people-their people of Ma'kef. No machines were to be wasted on the outer cities like the ones employed in the inner areas, that piece of information seemed to ameliorate a few of the stationed troopers that had the first-hand brutality of the polished metal intelligence deformed into their nerves- just like their priding creators, the droids held heavy wires of hate and bigotry.
Save us, their people would scream, don't let them control us. We are just as human as them, our blood is just as sharp as theirs, our children are just as innocent and in need of love as theirs. Who was to tell them that their humanity was not a trait found in the north? Who would tell the labored souls that no matter how many voices they would use to scream, how many tears they would let stream, no matter how many bodies of their loved ones would duplicate in their dreams..they were never going to be seen equal? The Nuesis stripped their world of balance. They stole the underside of life's coin, broke the scale deeming what was plausible of the word human. What did we do to be punished in such a way? Our hearts break the same, our skin breaks the same, they would cry, What did we do to deserve our children dying young, our fathers battered blue and purple from bolstering, our mothers disconnected from trauma? Even at the brink of death they still catered plenty of strength to question those who they knew would never spare a glance their way, let alone a breath in their direction to answer a question they were taught was futile.
