The anatomy of these many complex machines reveals a singular purpose of their intended design. Despite its uncanny—oppressive poise, drumming extensively while corresponding with the occasional hiss and moaning of many voices. They are not transparent to the common ear, but those of an obtuse nature could hear them. A group of men gathered with tools, adjusting the bolts and shifting the parts that make the gears turn. The components of flesh and bone were—regularly doused with a special liquid. Both alive and dead, these individuals are not at all one or the other. No—the repetition and utter dependency beholds their sense of reality. Behind their solace gaze holds the thoughts of the empress, who is their beacon of hope in the darkness. As the tools penetrate their skin, twisting the flesh that binds them to this existence—reveals their smile—a simple smile expressing fulfillment. Finally, their remains are tossed into the fires in death, allowing the long pipes to exhale the dark clouds in the gloomy sky.
These workers take a moment to rest away as the hours pass. Their conversations are filled with meaningless exposition of their day-to-day life. Within the final hour, Molly made her appearance. Her visible exquisiteness brightens their eyes away from the festering decay surrounding them.
The dark shadow of her cosmetics complements her brown eyes. The clothes are modest, deathly in their shade, having a welcoming grasp that ignites the sparks of lust! She walks fluently as her heels clack against the concrete surface. Their ears become alert, thus willing to listen. And her voice—that magnificent tune, an angelic composition. She said:
“Why do you all waste the helpless remains? Are they not deserving of companionship before the end?”
They laughed as one replied: “They are nothing more than scraps for the empress to dispose of. Why would you care?”
“Because everyone, yourself included, should be given a better life. One of fulfillment.”
A different man replied: “If the empress demands our assistance, then we shall strike our hammers and refine the pieces into their desired positions.”
Another: “Besides, what else is there in this life besides working? The capital will suffer if we choose to save the forgotten. The streets will smell, the rot will increase in scale, and surely, there will be more mouths to feed… We still have our families to worry about; I cannot give a helping hand.”
She replied: “By giving the forgotten love, they can run the machines near perfection. By saving those who have slowed down, they will fill our stomachs, unlike the blood caches... How long do we have until our empress turns on us to satisfy their hunger?”
The men took a moment to think. One eventually replied: “We just have to work harder. That is the expectation, after all. By our hands, we will keep these parts alive as long it is necessary.” He turns to his coworkers, “Alright, let's get this done so we can go home.”
All of them followed except for a young man. He was nervous when he approached Molly: “I would like to help in any way I can.”
She smiles while hugging him: “By helping us, you will serve the greater good! Thank you…”
“I… What would you have me do?”
She slowly presses away while holding his hand: “Come with me. I will explain on the way.” The encouragement of the feminine appeal is the only feeling he needs to have to be swayed into darkness—and down the spiral staircase—down into the far reaches where the smell of blood-ridden dung is persistent. He never questioned the implications.
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The walls hum softly, notable upon close contact. Karthuras felt its consistent stream, containing a curious warmth—breath from many mouths, he realized. By guidance from the machine’s design, he finds the source of its life—of horrible alterations, fitting the many souls in a tight compounded space. Their breaths are heavy, their eyes spacious and dim—the gaze of inner turmoil. The wonder of perfection comes from its synchronization, the purpose within its dismay. With his right hand, he expands the pieces of their flesh, and in return, the cries become absolute:
“Empress! Empress! Have I not been faithful?”
Another piece said: “We have done our part! Our part, we did fulfill!”
“Please don’t toss us! We will work harder, I swear!”
Karthuras smirked as he thought:
Such anguish… A sense built upon the foundation Hettalies had created. What wonderous cries of love—from the false faith! What fools they are to believe in such nonsense. No… Just like myself, we were all pawns. I suppose it doesn’t matter now, and I—shall experiment with your remains to understand the limits of my conjuration.
He takes a step back, focusing his attention on the atrocity, then says:
“Taketh the life half dozen, transform the many—twist and turn, separate from each other, and reveal your insides!”
The lips vibrated as they yelled in the chorus—of torment, and no despair—willing, enthralled to follow his demand did they rip the other's skin! The pulsating tubes move ever so hastily from the singing heart exposed! Damned are the pieces that held the innards in place, slipping away, hissing like snakes!
He spoke within their symphony: “My heart sings with you all! And still burdened by the mistress who cursed us… Within my flesh, hiding the bones of truth that speak honestly, lies my greatest weakness, the tyrant! The contemptuous man! Gone are the days! Gone are the days—that I hope to find… Love, the bastard of all emotions—will keep me in this dreadful spiral until I rot within my perpetual fall…”
And gone is the life of this machine, filled with the excess of blood and torn flesh. He did not learn anything from this rampage, only indulging in satisfaction. His slaughter within the Cathedral of Vow could never compare because the phantom took that sense of pleasure for himself.
Was this the feeling I had ignored for so long? He thought. How marvelous it is—to be no longer the only one suffering in this world.
The wickedness of his mind began prospecting the wall further, having Molly find an ignorant victim for his next experiment under the pretense of ‘the ends justify the means,’ blinded by love, of course. And thus comes the na?ve young man, caught by the whims of lust and her curtain of purity. The two crossed Karthuras in his act of indulgence. Without remorse, he mutters:
“Taketh the sol and release the inner thoughts; let me see—let him speak the ways of these derelict contraptions.” The young man fell over without his demands being obeyed. However, his soul transferred to the mutilated machine, refilling the flesh and parts that allow it to function.
Now operating again, it moves the hydraulics and limbs with vigor, synced with the murmuring, and becomes comprehensive, speaking riddles to Karthuras, who could not understand—referring to the names and functions—as if describing the beating of a heart through a deeper investigation. Nothing is clear except the bounds of his conjuration. When he spoke to Molly about her progress towards the people’s willingness to join their new religion, progress had yet to be made thus far. However, her days of practice and observation gave her the insight to control another person’s thoughts.
He considered the machine's limitations, knowing they were not useless and were a fundamental step for the shambling ladder. Despite the signs of it breaking, its willingness to remain only needs a good reason to collapse, and what better reason is there than destroying the fantasies and conveniences both men and women hold? It may take weeks, perhaps longer—but he is forever reluctant, living and striving for Hettalies’s downfall.
He said to her: “I understand what we need to do now… this may take longer than I initially thought, and your beauty does not last forever—so thus, our work must be done with great haste… Are you aware of what you must do?”
Her right ear twitched as she smiled, “Yes, my love—this is for the greater good!”
