Throne of Bleeding TowersMature

Lord Rook, the Benevolent Father-King of the Bleeding Towers, Master of Communications and Mother of Knowledge…sat stiffly in his throne of obsidian and silicon. The thought archives revealed nothing new or shocking, all his citizens were happy as usual, enjoying their well provided lives, safe from the turmoil that raged outside his city walls.


He had trained all of them well. Perhaps too well…it was no matter…a well-behaved city was everything what a just ruler  wanted and liked. Obedience brought his affections and protection. It was simply the truth of the matter.


There was a problem though, his security lenses. His birds had brought him news of afar. The ruins. Of those outside his Scrapers of the Sky, built out of inky blackness that swallowed the light. His city was a massive citadel, reaching straight into the sky, joined by tendrils of metal that jutted and wrapped itself around each tower, where information traveled through along with those who dwelled inside of him.


Occaisonally, the towers bled red. No matter. They, the Damned, those who were not worthy of his protection were mere fuel and food for himself and for his people. The red came from those who tried to escape. No one ever succeeded. They were now a part of the walls, living flesh generators that nourished Lord Rook, ruler and benevolent father of the city. The Damned did not suffer, they dreamt normal if not boring dreams. Of life before the veil was rended apart and humanity learned they were not masters of their own lives. And if they learned their lesson, they would be freed. But if they attempted to take their own lives, the walls would crush them with a bloody squelch.


The ultimate insult to one,s master who knew best.


After seeing the Creation suffer at the hands of these mere mortals, it was decided by the spirits that they had to bring back the glory of the Mythic Ages, when man and woman feared and respected them.


And everything was good and just. With mankind kept in check, he and the rest of the spirits thought naively that everything would be fine. Remove the perils and the sins of the modern age, and the land itself will heal. And mankind will grow again virtuous.


No more extinctions. No more land torn apart in search of resources. And a well-behaved populace, cowed by shows of power and punishment with the occasional reward. The carrot and the stick. Generations would past and peace would prevail, with each sector of the Middle Realms divided by the Great Spirits.


They were wrong. Humanity resisted as children always did, committing blasphemous acts in the way. Spirits who were incarnated, if only to learn a brief lesson in their eons old longspan, were then indoctrinated and assimilated.


Lord Rook had the highest rate of finding his lost offspring and servents. After all, as Father of Knowledge, it was his duty to know everything. And then manipulate it.


But his Beloved had eluded him since the many years since the veil fell.


There were a few signs. A feather there. A sighting here. But sightings were false, hallucinations of those in the city and the feathers were from other creatures who revealed themselves to humanity.


A fist in the wall was his only sign of frustration. The wall bled, crying tears of red, rivulets pouring down the black wall, branching down into the wall. Lord Rook raised a hand, gesturing towards the wall. It knitted itself back together, the blood clotting, and then scabbing over. The black material then flowed over the wound. It shined as though it was knew.


Lord Rook looked down at the city below. His fragment had returned.


With valuable information.


The End

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