Father Of Hundred WretchesAnd all of them had gathered around, all the immature and ugly, all the wicked without identity. They were a sad lot but persistent and they had remained in this polluted land waiting for this day to come. Decades ago they lost their purpose, roaming these forlorn streets like dead spirits that didn't know how to move on. This was their empire, built by their father from steel and cogs and springs. The sky above them had lost its brightness permanently, stained black by coal. The sun and moon and stars had stopped visiting the town a long time ago, repelled by the pollution of the different machines and factories that operated on a daily basis. This was the home of these poor wretches and there was absolutely no one who loved them. “Daddy! Daddy!” Their moans filled the air of the town of misery, sounding so extremely haunting that it would disturb even the bravest. They marched through the streets like veins of filth upon the paved ground. One could easily find their appearances pitiful, for they had been mutilated and molded into something unnatural. But these were the unholy children of the father, such a bond would never break. Some of the wretches had mutated into beings that barely resembled a human anymore, having either too few or too many limbs. Some had even grown spikes on their bodies. But mostly they had crudely become half man, half machine. A black metal now tarnished their grotesque bodies, replacing parts of them with varied severity. Limbs, organs, patches of skin… Some had a clockwork running their rotten brains. They were absolutely hideous, an insult to mother nature. And yet, they existed and had become part of this world. The little wretches had all got drawn to a mansion at the edge of town, summoned by a mysterious force, almost like telepathy that connected their fragmented minds. There hadn't been much going on inside their skulls during their miserable pointless lives, but this was something that had ignited some sort of thoughts and even longing. They were all part of something bigger; they knew this deep down in their rotten souls, but since their creation, since their rebirth, they hadn't been quite complete yet to be useful in the grand scheme of things. They knew nothing but loneliness and violence, but now, they could sense that things were about to change, that they would learn something else – but what, they didn't know yet. It was almost impossible to tell, but as the wretches were joining together, it had become nighttime. The sky was even more black than usual and made it look like their little polluted town was floating in the middle of a void where there was no escape from. The darkness was somewhat cast away by the lamps powered by electricity, but even in their illumination the town was dim. On the courtyard where the wretches were gathering, a cluster of lamp posts that had been carefully crafted into black pieces of art were surrounding the area, offering light for the grandest celebration the most miserable dwellers of the town had ever participated in. While the whole town was vastly in a state of decay and disrepair, the mansion appeared surprisingly well kept. The pavement in front of the building was still in good condition and the flower beds had actually been taken care of. They were blooming, thriving, unlike anything else in the town. But how could they possibly flourish in a place that hadn't been graced by sun in a lifetime? And yet, they did, blossoming in black and purple and white, as if mocking the rest of the plant world for being able to do this while everything else was withering. Perhaps it was one of the father's achievements as well. “Daddy! Daddy!” The creatures of filth and sin were crying out in front of the great building that had once been the home of their father. Still it appeared as a place suitable enough for the country's elite to wine and dine in. The mansion was black, like drenched in ink. But it had a grand design, all the windowsills and the one magnificent balcony on the front were beautifully shaped. Even after the passing of father, it still retained the look of belonging to a wealthy and successful man. It wasn't abandoned at all, no, somebody else had taken it as their home. The door on the balcony slowly opened and forth came a figure. Somebody who appeared as a young man even though they had already lived decades, just another testimony of the father's brilliance. His right eye, part of skull, the whole contents of his chest and right arm and hand had been replaced by the black metal. This was the first son of the father and the only one who was his own flesh and blood. And still he had made him part machine, perhaps to prolong his life, loving him too much to let go. But alas, it was the father himself who had lost his life. All that was left behind was his heart. Right at that moment, the first son was holding this heart in his hands. He stepped forward on the balcony, to be closer to the crowd that had gathered on the courtyard. He raised the heart above his head with both hands, holding it up for all the wretches to see. They cheered loudly after catching a glimpse of this one and only piece that was left of their father. The heart was still beating, although slowly. It almost looked like a normal human heart, but it had turned black. Perhaps by coal, perhaps by his own design. But to the wretches this was the most precious relic, it was the one thing that connected them. They would even be prepared to die for it if they had to. “Brothers!” the first son shouted loudly, his voice carrying into the ears of the wretches, and they suddenly went silent. “We were left with the ultimate sorrow when those beasts that called themselves righteous slayed our dear father. In the end, after all these decades, nothing was left of him except his heart – and his greatest work yet.” The first son paused his speech for a moment and lowered the heart to look at it fondly. He had taken care of it all these years, so this day would finally come. Then he returned his attention to the crowd and they were hungry to hear more, he and the heart were their full focus. It was almost like their brains were working as one, like cogs in a machine. And the first son started to speak again: “I took it as my responsibility to care for our father's heart, to ensure his legacy was safe. Most of you don't know this, but our father was working on something grandeur that was then left unfinished when he passed away. I believed it was my sacred duty to continue our father's work and I studied his notes with utmost care. And I understood them, our father's ingenuity, I could claim his visions as mine. I continued his work where he left it, but it truly was a tough one. It took me decades to finish what he had started, but I did it! And because of this, my dear brothers, we have gathered here tonight. Our father shall live once more!” The group of wretches cheered again, this time even louder, and their bellow was heard by the whole town. The first son disappeared back into the mansion with the heart while the crowd of the mutilated ones were left to wait. Their excitement was immeasurable, but they were patient. After all, they had already waited for years. And then, finally, their wait was over. The wretches were practically screeching from joy, their voices distorted when they saw the main entrance of the mansion creaking open. From the dark bowels of the grand building came forth a figure, one completely made of black metal. The wretches hadn't seen this form before, but they knew who it was. This person marched out of the mansion with heavy steps and walked closer to the crowd, the light of the lamps shining on his black metal body. He was twice as tall as a regular man and all his plates of metal had been carefully crafted to perfection. He had the head of a hawk with shiny blue eyes and there were other bird-like details in his body, such as talons on his feet and hands and wings on his back. And in the exposed metal ribcage, a black heart was beating; the heart of the father. After all these years, they had got their father back, in the form of a metal deity. He had seen the awfulness of the mankind who had forgotten their god. Disgusted, the father had then begun to build a new god for people, something real they could pray to. A machine was perfect for this, for it was something that would not get bewildered by human emotions. And its body would last the tides of time, the fangs that would normally gnaw at the bodies of mortals would be deflected by the perfect metal shell. These were the visions the father had been guided by when he started to work on creating a new deity for this broken world, but he had never thought that he would be the one to give his machinery the consciousness. But so it happened after the first son had inserted his heart into the machine. There was no more flesh on his body, no more blood running through his veins. Physical human weaknesses didn't apply to him anymore, except maybe the heart, the only organ he still had, his very core. He was a perfect organism, god of metal and steam. But a machine can't show fondness, can't bring warmth through a mere touch. As the father stood there by the entrance of his mansion, in this moment of reincarnation, he felt proud for his children, especially for the first son. But alas, he couldn't show this for all these miserable little beings he had disfigured, he couldn't show any emotion at all. He could just look at them all and feel the pride in his core. The first son had appeared by his side, a loving expression on his face as he looked directly at the metal structure that was now hosted by the father's consciousness. “Welcome back, father. We missed you.” Shifting his gaze from the crowd of wretches to the first son, the father replied with a metallic sound: “I didn't expect to become a living being anymore. But your love has brought me back from the dead, in a greater form than when I was killed. My son, I am proud of you; you did a magnificent job at completing my last project.” The first son gave him a respectful bow and said: “I appreciate your words, father, with all my heart. I simply couldn't stand your unjust death. I did what I had to.” “You have my gratitude.” The father then looked at the wretches again. If he could smile, he would be doing it right now while observing the beings he had personally turned into these hideous abominations that were against human nature. So royally he had wrecked their brains that they thought of him as a holy figure, feeling affection rather than resentment. It was just one more thing he had succeeded at. And now, his brilliant mind had returned into this world. Tonight, a new era shall begin, and he, as the deity of the machine, would bring forth a better future and make people believe again.gifheadphonestrophyplay_arrow