The world was all a treasure quest. Anything and everything could be where the answer lies. “Blake Vincent Kueny,” spoken amiss, and the world unraveled. The secret withheld in a few spoken words. A crease in time, words tear the flesh of reality. Air begins to flush out of the room, a slow methodic leak, no loss of cabin pressure. The void twist and churns our dimensional space, as if it were dough in the hands of a baker. Soul rattling tones dance along the event horizon like shimmering reflections on water. A force, energy, odd but familiar, is sensed nearing the end of the blip. Fizzling like firework flashes, white light escapes in a multi directional burst. An opening iris lets forth an outline of man. Featureless form, a shadow, standing tall with the skin of mirage. Glancing side to side, the world hangs in the balance, called upon in time to set forth a destiny. Seeing all that will happen, playing forth eternity in his head, deciding to let it crumble or take us in his hands. The being began to raise his arms parallel with the ground, stretching wide, coiling up under an invisible weight. With an atlas on his back, the being set a small ebb to his body. Building slow and effortless in pace. The burden upon its back began to take on divisible form. A sphere manifest in the pulse of his effort. A thunderhead loomed above him, churning images of despair spin round in a storm of Jupiter. Starvation and slaughter glimpsed through a parallel universe condensing into our world. Perhaps drawn from the spring of our experience, molding sorrows into a mirror of our darkest reflections. Once more higher than the rest, the orb of obscurity was thrown skyward. The being stood at ease, a statue of discipline under the suspended suffering. It fell over him, everything explodes into endless black.