Ramparts rekindled only to fall once more; eyes to open merely in the bowels of darkness; mended hearts to shatter over a bitter fist: existence of the bleak and redundant. What has been shall always be, and what will be has always been. From beginning to end, the belittled seek only completion, as do the completed seek simplicity. Pain is to constitute solace, and solace will bring pain. In the end, altruistic acts will dwell in the eyes of the selfish no more. In the end, a beginning will rise from the ashes.



A galaxy’s innocence tarnished by its flesh and blood; its fruits devoured by those it created. The underlings rising against the creator for a joy of carnage and debauchery: but above all, the desire for the power and knowledge of gods. With every malicious bite in the hopes of carving at individual glory, a somber entity sheds its last tear of relent. The ministers of REM no longer find recantation possible following millennia of the galaxy’s suffering, and bonds to avarice require a dissolution only a revelation may redress. The Revelation of Ancients.

***

Soft shafts of light plummeted through cobwebbed rafters, amongst slated glasses of crystal and marble, between pillars holding-high a mantel of joyless – however elegant – bodies of gold, and finally into a hardened bed smelling perpetually of sweat and anxiety. Intricate emblems, revealing beasts of insidious brawn engaged in the attempts of slaughtering valiant warriors showered in white, decorated the chamber to an eerie result. With their jagged teeth gleaming in each snap of the sun’s golden fingertips, an animation of battle harnessed the room’s aura by its roots. Slowly the pasty face of an emaciated man began to shudder beneath a blinding beam, gradually subjugating his face to the light of morning. Steadily, the eyelids once frozen in sleep arched upwards, assiduously fighting an intense reluctance to fully succumb to the broad of day. However in time, the full sapphire hue flushed the figure’s face and a cerulean glow pulsated from his once desolate eyes.

"Today…"

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<!--EZCODE ITALIC START--> It was time. A lone, solitary figure watched as two aliens stood oblivious to the very fabric of life unravelling around them. Their own delusions of grandeur, delusions of power, deluted dreams all, yes, these tiny insignificant things that bleed the galaxy of it's own glory, ..<!--EZCODE BOLD START--> these<!--EZCODE BOLD END--> will be the roots of their own destruction.


Unsatisfying...

An empty thing now, this galaxy called life, drifting upon universal planes, with nothing to regale others of, nothing to be proud of.. for it's very children have left it ...to die.


The lack of purpose burned deep within the figure's soul. The lack of perception grating against his mind, dashing to pieces any hope for solace... any hope for the peaceful, if lonely, life of redemption.


Their own worthlessness never being uncovered...and, yet, as surely as the moon rises, so the delusions of lessor ones will continue to consume all for thousands of years to come....


Unsatisfying...<!--EZCODE ITALIC END-->



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<!--EZCODE ITALIC START--> The sceptor in the figure's hand crushes, his righteous indignation fueling the fire in his eyes.

Of what use was piety if this galaxy died?

Of what use would the prayers be?

Of what use would faith be?

Of what use is righteousness?


The bitter thoughts turning ever more sour as the two aliens began to fight among themselves.


"No..." the whisper escaping his lips as resolve settled in his heart.<!--EZCODE ITALIC END-->


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When a world is created, it cannot be constructed in small portions. Because the effectiveness of each component of a world depends on all of the others, simply throwing in pieces hap-hazardly will result in chaos. So a complex world is not possible, in the beginning, because nothing can be so quickly made to be. It must begin slowly, simply, so that only two elements may rely on each other. From here, a world is formed.

Every being in a world naturally and instantaneously develops an equilibrium with it's surroundings; a see-saw of nature, bounding up and down in perfect balance. But the galaxy was not created like this; it was created in just one stroke. An impossible beauty.

And yet, the future of the galaxy lies in the hands of those who possess the bane of the galaxy... abstract thought...

Trenst smiled at his own musings.

"Bane and savior. Bane and savior....."

Society, since the beginning of time, yearned for sovereignty: guidance. The ignorant sought leverage in strength, and the weak sought leverage in intellect. Nevertheless, both factions simultaneously rummaged for a power far greater than the extent of their mortal flesh: a supremacy ceasing not on the meager physical plane, yet reaching into the depths of human consciousness. It had been discovered that wholesome dominance derived not in physical muscle or intellectual mass, but in the individual psyches of mankind. The method of authority required a means centered to the independent mind, and including personal reward. A manageable form, they deducted, existed not in their reality, but had the potential if nourished within the imagination…and so bore the invisible meme.

Little had these pioneers known, for that truly an infallible force did exist…flawless, unlike their dreams.

In their imaginary pursuits, the truth stood in wait with open arms; neglected, the divine entity came to hug no more than the copious fantasies of their wake. Reality discarded, a surreal domain commanded the core beneath with greed and sin.

Granted new wisdom - the force - to retrace their steps, still, they ran.



Towards their false and pleasant gods, they transgressed. With this, how would they ever obey the truth? Their zealous to oversight pleased only glutinous bureaucrats, and so they continued without a second thought. Minds had been erased by the powerful, although with abilities still regulated by mortal bonds. Now…now the truth is revealed.

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<!--EZCODE ITALIC START--> One alien stood triumphant, staring down at it's victim with scarlet smeared upon a sharp instrument in hand.


The lessons of this pitiful life.. no, the "lies" of this pitiful life presented themselves in front of the figure in startling detail.


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Natural selection ... Bah!
Evolution... Bah!
Strong conquering the weak...Bah!

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These were the lies of higher criticism. Criticism of the "learned ones" ...


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Ignorant fools all!!

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Their tiny justifications, their small reasonings, a mere ploy to explain what they refuse, what they fear to look upon. The truth that stares down at them day in and day out of their worthless lives.


They have given life to the lies with their sad devotions. They have held their perceptions up as Truth itself, content that their theories merely tickle the ears of lessor beings.


For centuries, this aberration of Truth reigned triumphant...content with the goal of pursuing an uneasy balance between extremes.


..and amid the flood, the meme was lost.


The greatest creation ever....held together by supreme intelligence...held together by supreme will... held together by supreme design, the galaxy bore the brunt of life gone insane.


For centuries, it bore the burden confident that the Truth would reveal itself in it's due time. Confident that a select few would look upon this galaxy with care.


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Caretakers

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Those, taken from humble countenance, whose enlightenment to the simple truths of life's purpose would grant them appreciation.

Those who shed the shackles of lies .....

The inevitable fate in store for all life clearly evident as, with each passing year, the galaxy sheds greater light on their predicament:


...that the burden of lies weighs heavily..

...and the meme is tired.


Once past the point of diminishing returns, there will be no salvation for anyone.


The figure looked at the triumphant alien and his features hardened.

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The galaxy does not have time for this foolishness!

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..And so, with great confidence, the figure stepped out.<!--EZCODE ITALIC END-->


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