A black sheep wakes each day to a different dream, to a different glimmer of toil and hope from those within Oblivion's grasp.

A pale phoenix, called by Oblivion, purges its choir to flee his own becoming.

A rotting leech, the king of vultures, born of Oblivion's own coffin, desires no longer the taste of death, but of life.

Confined within the mist of those Watching, a land of flesh, bone, earth and stars, bleeds the very terror that runs through the veins of its cosmic wardens. Survivors, deniers, heretics, and purgists vie for the right to live, to further the world they dream of. 

But dreams are a playground reserved for the raptured, unsympathetic spirits and parasitic devils that pretend to grant salvation from the shadows. The only revelation reserved for man is the delusion of redemption and the cannibalism of free wills. 

The world is much quieter than it used to be.
That may be, because the screams are trapped within ancient stone walls and beneath abandoned sediment.
This world is too late for change, for it is already dead. But the souls within, couldn't be more alive. It is only a matter of time for when they see the light of day, and evolve to devour their own gods.