Wireframe Eyes

Steel ground on wireframe eyes as the burning stars of angels fell gently to the earth. Glancing light firing off moonbeams of terror flayed deep into the nous, stripping layers one by one until all that remained was base instinct. Run.

She rushed over the torn bodies of sisters screaming, having stood beneath shelter too long to join them. Ash an attractor for her form. Then to the corpses of the old gods, beings of power and sacred names emblazoned on torn stele she made her way in the name of sacred war. War, the oldest and highest god, whose sweet words narrated her birth into life and wove her mind in language. Dust filled her mouth at the thought. Above the angel searched in its white hot titanium flying gentle loops.

She held to the safety of the shadows, defended from the perfidious flashes of light that threatened to burn her. On her back she lugged the device whose transmutation would fill the horizon with the sun. She fidgeted with her jacket, feeling past its symbols.

She groped past the stele that held the names of the old gods in endless omniscient form that promised her every view, but sat as ruined chrysalis. Past screaming tales of hypermedia scrawled on walls by those who had died to the fire as their minds leaked into the monad. Past a field of glittering diamonds chittering in the darkness which burnt as a trap. Up she climbed below the ghost of the weakened sunrise beneath the gnomon brought forth by the gods. Soon. Soon she would be there, the first of her clade at the point, and tear out the heart of a new god. First, since she was written.

She will be written.

Her hand clung to life upon a razor's edge, and it cut her, gradually, slowly, though she still remained hanging by it, above the fire. She stood on the edge of an empty field of dead grass whose nakedness exposed herself to the sky.

She threw three sticks across the line. Each flipped in the air and stood vertically as soldiers in attention on the ground. To the second path. She ran, once more, all she was good for.

Closer.

The stars were brought down in fire, flashes of light casting shadows across the concrete forest. The faces of the damned looked with charred expressions into the distance. Nothing more to concern herself with but the course. Between inferior statues of angels she passed. Beneath tainted soil stood her prize. Closer now. Closer to the monad.

But then, above her an insect buzzed, drawn by future ash, a message arrived before it was sent. The sword impaled her heart in an instant. Purity never could save her. Words dripped out of her mouth in poisoned murky bile onto shards of glass about her feet broken to receive them. A light rained gently on her, the angel screamed in infrared, a change from its full-spectrum radio fire crackling and burning on every channel.

She burst in purifying flame in a nanosecond whose fire could not move before it grew old and was swept aside while she stood in petrified stillness. For what is a hundred thousand kelvin to a nanosecond? Reflected beams from her carbonizing skin arced across the room in scattered patterns that burnt the walls. Soon she was an expanding cloud of carbon, silicon, gold, nitrogen, and phosphorous across a hundred metres. failure of her mission to her clade. In true form, she fulfilled her purpose to war, ash.