He’s there.

He’s there watching, laughing. He feels no pain nor emotions, no being of his tier should. He doesn’t listen when you call, nor does he rejoice when you are pleased. Some call him father, others, mother. Some call him a friend to all.

A friend to all of death.

He sits in his throne, servants for his desires, whores for his pleasures. And what of us?

Us, for his fun.

Some look up to him, for reasons I do not know. Bowing before the hand that struck the Earth so many times before.

And will so many times again.

Your denomination matters not, he will ruin you. It doesn’t matter your intentions, he will smite you.

He is the beginning. We are the end.

High above the clouds, he watches us, with a mischievous smile plastered on his face.