Many infinities ago,

in the waning light

of the Epuxian Empire,

when the holy grace

of the All-or-Nothing

had supplanted

the bloody fruits

of the Proto-Gods,

but the Epuxian people

had forsaken

the eternal endeavors

of civilization

for a vacuous lust

of wealth and power,

there once was a cool,

clear,

autumn night

like no other.

To the west of the city,

on the other side of

the River Alba,

a vast army of barbarians crept

in the shadows of

the moonless night.

Tens of thousands of clans

had assembled, teeming with

the sundry races and creatures

of the West —

humans, frogoids, stonemen,

eight of the nine lizard tribes,

fae-bots, murk ghouls, fungi pirates,

jungle wyverns, satyr mechs,

phants, faceless, androktones,

and many, many others.

They were not all savages —

the One True Faith had rippled

through their amorphous countries

as it had everywhere;

but the barbarians lusted

for wealth and power too.

The siege began.

For trillions of years,

Epux had been protected

by its quantum walls,

without fail —

the city had never been sacked.

But this time was different —

the winds were blowing

in a new direction,

the astrologers’ faces were grim,

the most confident patricians

dreamt tortuous visions

during the cacophonous nights.

The barbarians

had tamed a giant Time Gorgon,

and the anguished flailing

of its labyrinth-shaped body

shattered

the southwest quantum wall

like it was flawed glass.

A deluge of violence

pierced the city.

The imperial guard

was quickly drowned.

Unhindered,

the barbarians

gutted the men,

bashed in the heads of children,

and raped every woman and girl

they could find.

But the city of Epux was gargantuan,

spread across dozens of planets,

and four planetary systems.

It took a thousand nights,

an almost unending mayhem,

for the barbarians to suck

every speck of wealth and

drop of deprivation

from the city.

It was the Thousand Night Massacre.

Emperor Zineus the 37th

watched the fires

from the highest balcony

of the highest tower

of his imperial palace.

He had never wept before,

but now tears fell down

his hard face

onto his gold-threaded tunic.

What would all his fathers

think of him now?

Nearby,

the Empress Alumia,

only fourteen,

watched her husband

in trepidation.

She wept in fear,

rather than shame.

What would happen

to her now?

Her,

and her unborn child?

Hanging from the Empress’s neck,

was a gold neckless emblazoned

with the swirling lines that symbolized

the divine smoke

from the immolation

of the All-or-Nothing’s

One Son,

whom the Great Father

had bestowed in sacrifice

to die for the sins

of all peoples.

Was it not written

that the Epuxians were the Chosen People

of the Great Father,

and that the city would prosper

until the Final Day,

when the One Son

would return to judge

believers and disbelievers alike?

How could this happen?

Why?