A storm rages over the city of Geneva. Compact and angry, its intention is focused. Clouds filled with darkness let loose their electric fingers. They tear into the concrete and steel, searching for the array of particle accelerators beneath, like a predator slashing at the throat of its victim.
Deep below the noise and chaos, commotion and violence are mirrored in a place few will ever see. Wafting smoke pulses with red light as sirens scream from all corners. Those who can run do. Those who can’t, crawl or stumble away in a futile attempt to find safety.
A breach in the wall of the Large Hadron Collider unleashes a storm, not of elements, but of space and time—a tear in the fabric that keeps the universe contained. Smoke curls to reveal a portal to another place. Perhaps hell itself. Except, the other side is calm. A vibrant purple moon hangs high in the clear sky, casting dim light over an endless, barren desert. Starting as a spec on the horizon, a lone figure strides forward at a steady pace.
When the figure reaches the portal, it stoops low to allow antlers as wide as an oak tree to push through. A muscled form of a man follows, but its eyes are not human. When The Lord of the Wild Things stands, none can match its size, but none are left alive to witness its arrival.
The horned god heralds a changing of the guard, a long-awaited opportunity for the rightful stewards of the planet to stake their claim—the beasts and creatures, above and below, seen and unseen. But before that can happen, final reparations must be paid. A cleanse is in order.
Seething clouds overflow across the sky. Tight spirals of glittering snow charge to the ground, stark and pure against a canvas of darkness. When the first flakes stick, they do not melt. Instead, they spark and ignite, searing the land. Soon, there will only be fire, confirmation that hell has arrived after all. But what comes after, for those who manage to survive, will be so much worse.
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Photo by Breno Machado on Unsplash
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