Thick, salty, slime dripped down into the mouth and into the face of an unconscious teen. The young man, with black hair matted by blood, was lying on the freshly grown grass surrounded by rubble. A short distance away was a collapsed building of an unknown height. The boy, based on his sprawling position, seemed to have fallen from building as it collapsed. Luckily or unluckily, he survived with only a deep gash near his scalp. Where the tissue parted, bone could be faintly seen. The amount of blood lost, forming a puddle around him, left it questionable if he would survive. Almost as if being roused by the taste of his blood and the wet soil beneath him, the teen attempted to get up. He pushed his hands into the wet earth before a strong wave of dizziness struck him. A hiss and ouch, followed by a strong string of curses, spewed from his adolescent mouth.

"Goddamn it," he griped, gingerly touching his forhead, "who the fuck beat my ass and kicked me outside?"

The young man rolled to his side, the building behind him, and looked into the distance. As his sight focused, to his dismay, he realized a forest lay before him. Startled, with adrenaline pumping, the boy say up too quickly. He stammered for a moment, a sign of his confusion, before he sat lost in thought.

Speaking softly to himself, the boy asked, "Did someone try to kill me?" A cold chill crept down his back. Tearing a piece of ripped cloth from his tee shirt, the boy covered the gash on his forehead. He mechanically staunchest the bleeding, not realizing the shock he was in, as he wobbled to stand.

Turning around unsteadily, the boy could see the vestiges of a building of sorts. Not connecting the dots, the boy walked towards the ruins. Cautiously approaching the wreckage with a limp, the young man came across a torn off hand. The connected tissue from the wrist looked like it had been wrenched from the body. Bone was fragmented and flesh was rended.

A wave of nausea struck the traumatized youth. He retched to the side of the hand, glancing at it from the side of his eye, allowing the cogs of his mind to turn.

"Wha-what the fuck is going on?"

The question the youth asked lingered in the air a moment. Feeling more anxious than ever, the boy began to laugh hysterically.

"What the FUCK is going on?!" He screamed. His vision was rapidly draining from bottom to top. He was quickly losing conscious. Sweet sleep took hold of his body as he relinquished control, fainting from the traumatic experience he faces.

***

Clouds of nearly imperceptible purple smoke lifted in the air. It twisted into faces of mythological creatures, dieties, monstrous beings, animals too grotesque to exist on earth, godly beings veiled in mystery, and more. Several scientists examined the mass, looking at the interaction the particles had with materials introduced within the environment it existed, rapt with focus and attention.

A gentleman, not wearing a lab coat the others wore, smiled while drafting a pipe. Grey smoke clouded the room slowly from the man's nose and the ivory mass his mouth held.

The man wore plaid pants, a brown vest, a rich gold silk shirt with a pocket chain that connected to his trouser clasps, sleeves rolled, a golden Rolex watch, diamond patterned socks, and custom made shoes from an unidentified material. He smiled watching the scientist work. There was a scar that ran down his left brow, arching to his temple, accentuating a dangerous feel to his person. His eyes looked at the men working like a mischevious child looking at ants.

"Anthony, Antoine, Olivera, how is the research going on my energy source. It's spectacular isn't it?"

A scientist with a noticeably larger frame, square face, and dark brown hair responded, " Th- this... I've never seen anything like this? And you said you identified this- this... - stuff - on earth?"

The other scientist stood beside the other man, seemingly ignoring his comment, fully focusing on collecting information on its sampling.

The suave gentleman with a sinister face pushed back his silver blond hair while sighing. "Now when did I say that , Anthony?" A dangerous glint passed through the man's eyes. "I said I found it, not that I discovered it."

The strange remark sent chills down the scientist backs. They had studied the material provided to them, and although they were aware of its existence, could determine changes to matter inundated by its existence, they could not categorize or interact with its existence. Several test proved that the purple mist had a sense of primitive sentience that sought to restructure and reformat material compounds to a more stable form.

Olivera, a masculine woman, turned with her brown and angular face , with shock. A scintillating sound came from her hoarse voice, grating in the air, "This mist is the spiritual air that is talked in of old... The breath of God. Wh- how?"

The man in the suit stopped Oliver's from speaking with a glance. She looked at him in dismay, her feet slowly lifting off the ground, being suffocated by an unseen might.

The man chuckled, "You're right, and the world will see the brutal side of the Gods might."

Slowly the man's voice altered into a language that the scientist identified they could not know. They felt the meaning of each of the man's words. The words echoed in their subconscious. Olivera was thrust into the chamber, warping from the sterilized field away from the purple mist, into the mist . She writhed in an invisible hold. Her body was forceably reconstructed, becoming more perfect as was willed by the breath, reaching a more feminine form from her previous manish looks. After being reconstructed, she lay on the ground seemingly lifeless.

Antoine attempted to run, but the doors to the room would not open without everyone's clearance cards. Effectively trapped, the three would have to wait.

"Now," the mysterious, ruthless, and suave man said, "let us await the day the Gods descend to this plane."

***

When the young man woke, he realized it was night. He felt like he had slept for several days. His rumbling stomach attempted to affirm that. The stench of vomit crawled into his nostrils causing him to bite his tongue. The bitter acrid flavor in his mouth, followed by a sweet salty flavor, told him that he was not dreaming before.

His enfeebled body stood with the speed of a toddler picking urself back up. Everything around him seemed more heavy, the atmosphere, his thoughts, everything ran sluggishly.

The young man approached the general direction of the severed hand. He realized the night sky was brighter than usual even though he could not see the moon.

Finding the hand, feet away from where he slept, caused the young man to experience chills. A passing by night wind did not help. Fighting back his uncomfortable feelings, the boy picked the hand up. After inspecting the hand, the boy took notice of a ring on the mangled hand.

Bringing the hand closer to his face, the boy was instantly shocked. He had seen that ring before. Not just once, many times before. After all, for every child there is a parent.

Cold water poured from the boys back. His mind churned with speeds faster than it has since he woke. He realized there was a slim possibility his father being alive based on the hand beside him. He also realized his mother was probably dead. Frenetically digging through the rubble until his hand touched something wet, flakey, and thick, the boy's worst thoughts were realized. Blood and guts, a pastry patty of human flesh, was the last of almost everyone in the building.