Beauty was all around. Triumphs of ages were shown in one accord. All reveled in the endless joy of ignorance and bliss. Marvelous sights and splendid majesty rose to claim its place among the heavens. It was a golden age of new discovery and bounties of wealth and happiness. Nothing could go wrong. But behind the mask of utter godhood stood a fear born of war. For years it threatened all who stood before it. Soon, however, the tempers of hatred were diminished and the power that was once so mighty seemed so distant and far removed.

Ill-bred thoughts still harbored in the minds of man. The revelry, which so many lived, was only skin-deep. Discontent swelled within the hearts of the oppressed exploded with a fiery fury that none could contain. Rebellion and malcontent began the slaughter. Those who thought themselves to be righteous retaliated in their scorn and self-pity to crush them but they would not be still. From all of this rose the power of the sun, which had lain dormant and forgotten. No one realized the rebirth of the demon and non were prepared for its wrath.

In the air was felt the pressure of the hand of God. Sudden winds drove a seemingly endless sun. The mushroom death towered above the golden calves of the second Babylon. For a moment, humanity cried out together. Then all is dark, silent; and soon none remember what was taken back from them. For too long had the sons of man ruled in splendor; now all that remained was ash and decay. Now the snows of the eternal winter rain down with the sulfur and brimstone. All lament in the chorus of the requiem of fallen race.