Storeys swerve in scaling, and terrors topple in the tellings.
The wheeling Warehouses in Neo-Baku, hidden behind the twists of concrestic pillars and waved chrome walls, houses a hole in the order of things. A scurrilous septician, a kernel of confrontation, a rough-shod resistance to the domineering dominion of the Diet.
“We are the true future, Brothers, for we are the Past, and from the past we will find the life-force of the coming days, when once more the sky will run blue, and the waters run clear, and the air run pure. Pure as the Holy Writ, pure as the Unstained Church.
“Apostasy will be met with a blazing hammer, as of old. Sacrilege will be staid in the womb with hot spikes, tethering the sinner’s soul to their guilt, and still-born will the sin be. All these things and more, Brethren, will be the Truth once the Renewal reruns. From the geary glades of Neftchala to the murk of the Azov Plashet, we are sown as Dragon’s Teeth.
“Our is the Power, and the Glory. Ours is the Past, and the Future!”
Thusly, midst the middle heights of Imperial Neo-Baku, is a plot born and borne on stealy wings.