Beyond Infinity: The Convergence

Dath of Flesh

The screams, for however long they had been happening, still filled the air after all that time later. They were more than just ailments in the wind though, as August had long abandoned his resolve of not looking down.

Thus, he'd see them all, one stacked another, old, young, none better than the one before. His journey wouldn't be impeded though, even if—after waning through a river's worth of bloods, bones and guts—he was going nowhere.

Along that journey though, as he had lost his warmth a distance before, the lights in his eyes would dim. He'd look to the sky in his time of crisis, not for hope, but to avoid drowning in the sea of people around him. In the middle of watching them all fall though, as despair crept back in, so did innovation. If they weren't going to help him, he'd conquer them.

He'd assume a stride through the red sea, blood almost in his eyes as he approached one of the stark giants. He'd reach for it, and to most, it would have been nothing, but to him, it was more than enough.

His bloody hands stained the thing, and he'd feel, even see the grooves through the crimson. He needed no convincing. The boy slotted his rugged nails against the groves above him, thus, in one swift cracking motion, he pulled himself from the marsh.

He'd have to shake off some unsavory organic constructs, including splintered nails, but that was nothing but blood under the bridge.

Hesitation might have returned with desire, but it would have long drowned. Thus, despite his body seeking to cast him back down with tears, breaks and fractures, he didn't stop. If he was indeed human, and indeed equal to those that were cast down, then it was all fine.

In all his time watching them, he'd come to see them for what they were, human, replaceable, useless. Thus, as he climbed, he clung to that thought. He was only human, replaceable, useless, as such, there was no point to it all, 'not even the pain, not even the pain.'

He'd eventually usurp the apex of the construct, though relief was never a thing offered by such a place. Thus, as he arrived, he'd witness a scene that inspired no awe, even in all of its twisted glory.

The first oddity was the floor, there was none, yet he didn't fall into the swirling black smog below. As for what was atop it, a grand ball, of statues, or rather, they were so still, covered in fine cloths, faces hidden behind broken and fractured masks of diamonds and other gems, that they seemed to be statues.

They weren't completely lost still, as all their eyes wandered to fall on the intruder. They stood in a circle, thirteen of them, no one an odd distance from the other, all facing one central figure. It was a bottle, empty, though they still held glasses, and those were full, but not of wine or brandy, but of sorrow.

He could see it, the wallowing grays and pitiful magentas. As for the detail I've neglected to mention; they were all hollow. As if split down the middle, back from front, there was nothing inside them. There was another detail still, trails of blood from their emptiness to the edges.

The blight had spread further than there still, and though they seemed to differ, most were the same. There was always something at the center of the circle, no matter how big or small, whether money, drugs, technology or even idols.

There was one diamond amongst the rough though, a lamb, its throat slit, surrounded by seven wounded people. They were all whole still, and as for what was beneath them, a warm glow.

It would all crumble nonetheless, as he had witnessed it all, and there was deeper to go, more to lose. The world would break at its seams, not that it was solid to begin with, but, it shattered like glass yet it flowed like water. It would all be washed away, the filth of the lost, the buildings, the sky, all of it.