Hammerport

His followers had demanded his intervention. Darkness was rampant; the dispossessed roamed the streets seeking to vent their pain; a vast spider’s web of disinformation, spanning the globe, had ensnared thought itself. Even the project of faith had failed, culminating in an incomprehensible self-cannibalism of belief, where lives became currency used to purchase access to the empyrean.

And finally the anger overpowered the king of kings; he acted.

He aligned himself with a battered third world nation that had seen its share of misery and torment. He spoke through its citizens with words of violent disappointment to the gangster nations. Their poisoning of the earthly well would be endured no longer. With their foul propaganda and corrupt strategies they had attempted to put an end to free will, but his new people would stand against the advance of the war machines and the exploitative industries that followed in their wake.

Empowered by the divine light, his people killed the dark men in their thrones and tore down their false temples. When they were done, the name of the king was carved into the sky.

It was only then that the king realised the consequences of his single action, a gut-wrenching moment of clarity slicing through the rage that had possessed him.

The see had sawed and faith began to feast feverishly upon on its own flesh once again. Those who held the sharpest tongues and the sharpest swords embarked on bloody culls for their own definitions of religious purity. The king, having conferred his powers to a people now gone mad, was powerless to stop this tragic play from reaching its closing scene.

Not even his tears could rescue the world as it dissolved in a scalding nuclear bath, screaming his name in suicidal ecstasy.