The monsters gather, for it is their wont.

Crawling, kneeling in the dark recesses of being that was once just a carcass.

Now a tomb.

“You’re a feeble bunch.” Prime indulges himself.

*static of disapproval*

A beast steps forward.

Snap, crack. Torn apart. A partial facsimile disappears into space bounding on an awning.

Drifting …

“You do not understand that you have no place here. You were placed here!”

They had become the sum of their lacking.

Missdiscripture would no longer be allowed.

It would see to that. Uplifting without provocation would be denied.

This planet is meant to die.


"Sorry for being grim, but I am not free of sin." I challeng with "Sewn to Earth":

But the True Challenge is this.