Fuelling that – Pheel had been bred too to dream, in the same way as each of these.

He had been given the minimum organs too, required.

- He had been manufactured in the same fashion.

He had been given, only perhaps a little more, than a toilet with lips: that capacity to dream. Him.

Him.

Him, but what did it it matter – those eyes! - it was all superseded.

The wounds opened on the edifice sphincters themselves, the great fans that pollinated the planet. Each insane city at a time with the daily notions required to conduct whatever was necessary, momentarily, to keep the insane barking organ asylum, momentarily, even by the second, functional.

Pheel saw -

He saw -

those wounds open on the Sphincters themselves.

And the fat cell-bubbles, the visible hormones that burst your eyes, fell into your orifices, climbing wilfully upon your flesh; they were replaced, they were substituted by the hormones out the wounds -

- Black, those cell-walls that flew open upon the fresh winds out sphincters.

Shat into the air, winding through great artificial currents: winds conducted and manufactured from nothing - and simultaneously - in order to spread the new -

this new thing.

This new thing in its Theustian incarnation.

In order to birth

New Works:

This,

like an eyeless freak birthed-shat screaming before him.

He saw that corridor. Of ears. He saw that girl. Poor dreamunit - poor - slave, he saw all of them, just enough, just the minimum organs required; he saw the flaps, the genital flaps that constituted the vents that opened before them: flapping in those black hormone cells; cell-wall bubbles, he saw them waft inside that corridor and fall upon those all too vulnerable orifices, fall directly, fall greedily, fall directly in those holes - fall upon the flesh

and slink themselves like conscious cancers, inside them. The demonic hormones once inside -

That girl.

He saw her fight; he saw her half-mind convinced she had limbs that could escape them; he saw the desperation with which she sought to tear herself apart – anything – anything – any mad event in order to escape them, it, that thing, that demon, that demon hormone, crawling, but -

It was inside.

And her soul was replaced.

And that desperate beauty, that goodness, that goodness, that despite the – despite what those evil fucks[!]

had birthed her as – an ear with a cunt - that goodness despite everything she had managed to retain, it was... eradicated.

In the instant her soul left it was replaced by the fake one, the demon diarrhoeaed out of the absolute, by the Ontological Wound, in order to replace it – in order to -

Nothing would be allowed to remain that was good.

No potential

- for anything.

None of any of it; or the dumb virtues for which they fought. No beauty, no goodness, no life, no love, no truth. Ever.

This was New Works.

This was New Works, Pheel realised, as that girl sprouted the spider legs that pulled the ear, that was her entire body, with genitals inside it, and her face, and her beautiful face – off -

The spider legs, now part of her, prised her off the flat surface, and sat her body in the hall. Razor legs scraped her eyes out, scarring the visage that remained; making it ugly, making it a dirty making parody, as her soul left, of anything that might have had anything in it that could be loved.

And a new race was born.

They tore through the walls and burst screaming into Theust.

A scream of annihilation beyond language. Into absolute nothing.

Into the end.

And in response to it -

They saw New Works.

They saw it rise.

They saw that tired old structure of tiered corridors, induced into existence by the talent of Cyclops.

They saw it held aloft by one thing only now.

They saw him see it that way.

They saw that only he was required for exchange. That everything, now, on these separated planets - permitted to be exchanged - would go – only could – necessarily, and by definition - through him.

The rest had been annihilated. The people to whom they pertained. The planets.

All the goodness that only by supernatural means had remained.

His eyes behind the black structure that still hung there.

Only his eyes now.

An eye for each; they each returned what that glance contained.

They agreed to erasure.