The city, bold in it’s nature, stood out from the landscape. A spike, a thorn of untold and unknown destruction. Years past it’s conception, the city now pulsated with raw, unfiltered, energy, a far cry from a bastion of peace.
“The people hunger, my liege.”
“And so my promises break,” a voice sighed, “Send for a messenger, it’s time to leave.”
What a wonderful vantage point they had: direct view onto the writhing mass below, physical manifestations of their gods slowly becoming visible. These so called gods, new to exaltation, reveled in the chaos of the mass below, urging—forcing—the people to continue their now confirmed death march.
“What of the people?”
“Lost. Soon to be eaten by their own created deities.”
A voice rose from the cacophony below: “Pray, brothers and sisters, pray for those above to come! Their time is upon us. Commence their pilgrimage, allow their rise, create the new world!”
“Architect, if I may, isn’t this a success of your idea?”
A bitter laugh emanated from the balcony, “I suppose you’re right. However poisoned that success may be.”
They fell silent, listening to the ritual below.
“I quite liked these people,” the Architect said after another building fell to the ritual, “I had hoped that they would be able to overcome their vices, their faults, and grow this city into something beyond a leech.”
Pounding footsteps echoed from the hall behind them. After a short time, a younger man in blue tinged robes appeared, winded and out of breath.
“Sir, Ma’am, Lor—”
“Just call me Architect, messenger.”
The Messeneger took a deep breath, “Architect, what is the message you wish to send?”
“To Lord Alxithea: experiment 2X14B has failed. All indicates that the planet will soon fall along with the experiment. End.”
The messenger’s eyes rolled back into his head, mouth twitching with the ghosts of words.
“Done,” the messenger said.
“Good, time to leave,” the Architect looked to their side, “Is the exit prepared?”
“Yes, my liege.”
“Perfect. Messenger, if you wish to live, follow me.”