funeral pyres | event.
Impure.
The entire world he currently resided within now was corrupted, relishing in the decadence of obscene falsehoods, distorting in a discombobulated litany of corrosive self-immolation. In colloquial terms, corrosive from topsoil to its very core, as if a makeshift bastardization of clarity was inherent to its nature; even without spectres overtly traversing the land, his objective hadn't changed. If anything, it had quadrupled in intensity; there were no conglomerate guardians to instill even a contrived semblance of administration to the masses beyond the mere notion of a higher order.
Neither the Puppeteer nor his Add-Ons had come to his aid, either, which only served to perpetuate his (nonplussed) paranoia. And while his monomaniacal inclinations repulsed at duplicity, even subterfuge was better than the scandalizing state of affairs now, with anarchy debilitating into putrefying wickedness. Civilization would come to pass eventually, endlessly elliptical, but the territory itself decayed in its sin. In the end, that might've been the catalyst behind his arrival out onto the streets while the region excoriated with the vernacular behind the fire in flagrant ascension.
Pedestrians caught in the crossfire between mob mentality and scorching asphyxiation, fear cloying tangibly in the air, in the marrow of their bones. As the absolution of faith guided his steps, however, the Batter remained inflexible any significant shift in demeanor, opting to remain fixated at the central point of the catastrophe, indifferent to any stragglers attempting to escape the inferno. But as the building dissipate into smoke, he notes a sudden movement in his direct periphery and compulsorily swivels on his heel, staring out into the pollution exhaust with a corrugated intensity. The majority of the masses had chosen to desert the scene, after all.
"... Judge?"
