The palace of the suicide kings and queens.
We call it the husk. You may call me Neia. I am their combat medic. I run the recycler and the vats where our new bodies grow. None of us know the sweet kiss of oblivion any more. We are in charge of our own destinies. No longer shackled to the wheel of random incarnation. No longer slave to karma.
Once we wish to die, our data will be wiped. Our soul itself will no longer exist. We have made sure of this. The final death.
Our fleshdrives hold our past. Powers, bodies, scant knowledge and memories. Not all the memories. Those themselves are the lost. The majority of it. We fear that if we are captured by the Eldritch, that they hold them. No Cloaked human who was been “re-installed.” Has ever come back to being on humanity,s side.
They only see us as insects, cattle, hunting toys, or mere children to be taken care of.
We hold no Wanted. Those unlucky souls who are somehow valuable to the Others. Entire nations have been razed in search of them.
None have ever escaped. Some, those know they are just a plaything, beg for the Final Death. We give it to them.
Most of us do Final Death when the Eldritch turn their attentions on us.
I must tend to N3t, make sure no Eldritch is using him as a reverse Masque….
------------------------------------------The envoy came from the Enclave of Raven Rock, Vault 101. They were on their way to make a delivery to the Allied Gulch of the House of the Iron Tree. Neutral half-Fae who guarded their human partners. It was a beautiful place. Cathedrals among the trees. A trading spot for the higher and lower planes. Caverns lead to the Great Down Below from the Enclave of Trees.
Crawling across the landscape.
On a battlescarred plain, tanks were flung around like toys. A shining lightbladed angel loomed over the plain. An aura of light engulfed her, six blades of light jutting out of her back, the light blinding everything with a certain radius. Many feet tall, she strode through the wasteland plain, the very sky smoky from the horrors of war.
The sky red as blood. Smog blanketing the entire ground, the angel a beacon of death. A tank would be flung into the sky, and then the angel would grab a blade, and spear it into the sky. Shot through the tank, it would explode.
These tanks had living people, the victims punished for committing the sin of warfare and going against their creator. The angel played with their tanks stoically, an indifferent expression painted on its face. Inside, glee overflowed inside of it. With amusement and outrage at these humans’ defiance. The creator had provided for them, had it not? Had the creator not given them a chance at eternal life?
These…mere insects had turned against their beloved creator. Who loved them all.
They needed to be punished. The tank crashed to the ground in a sickening crack. To the angel,s vision, it dropped slowly, second by second. Inch by inch. This process was always amusing.
The thoughts of the humans echoed out, letter by letter. The sound and emotion and imagery, crackling behind it. Layers and layers of it. So tasty and warm. Delicious.
It echoed out in rich waves, tasty vibrations. And their screams. Interlaced with fear and shock. The angel loved it.
You couldn,t get this in the Up Above. So controlled. You had to be up there. Every single breath counted and registered. One wrong minisucule move. Punished.
Everybody had to conform. Indifferent stoic faces. Thoughts monitored. Every straying thought banished.
Everything they had to do had to be for the glory for Creator and the Heavenly realms. Selfishness of any sort resorted in exile.
But down here, she could let loose. Even if it was only within. At least for a little bit, she could be as savage as she wanted, taking in the joy of crushing impure souls. No need to be in the birthing centers, creating more soldiers for the heavens. This was for the greater good after all. This corrupted lowly realm had to be cleansed out, so the Heavenly Realm can establish its new kingdoms and expand.
They were like sheep, these men. Needed to be shepherded out with a gentle guiding hand. A hand that can turn firm if needed.
.the whimpering broken souls fell out of the tank. Going through the metal. She picked one pathethic specimen up by its arm. It dangled uselessly. She grabbed two of its arms with the tips of her fingers, gently pulling it back and forth.
Such strange things they were. This was her first time down here. She collected them into herself, ignoring their screams within as she flew off into the heavens.