The first of many waves, the first of many tears at the burning material that is the contemporary society...
As Crowdstrike's sting hits the framework... a face emerges.
Of a deluge the breadth of the Yangtze, flooding with famine and pestilence... on all lands.
The sound of pleasant birds, of the bell of harvests, comes to a sudden end.
The parched mouth of taskmasters, beating their slaves with their dying breaths.
And the face emerging, of reckoning, and a King - an absolute tyrant and a monarch - to feed the armies of the dead with the miracles and fashions they so worshiped unto death, because their King was Death and the King brought forth his child and they were crowned by death with pestilence, destruction and shame forever.
