"Rustle, rustle."
Beneath the unseen cracks of walls and under the bricks and tiles, an ink-black congregation of ants gnawed silently at the soil and cement, lurking and moving like an underground river in perpetual flow.
Above ground, a figure cloaked in black hurriedly passed through.
Walking through this deserted alley, the figure glanced back warily. "He" saw a bustling crowd, a corner of a peaceful city shimmering under the sunlight.
But the figure loathed everything in front of him, detested words like "peace," "order," and "vitality." So...
"He" chose to avert his gaze.
A dark, smoldering flame burned within the figure's chest, roaring with a desire to annihilate everything he saw.
And indeed, "he" possessed that power: with just a flicker of thought, the black swarm of insects lying three inches below his feet would erupt like an underground geyser, showering death upon this street, drowning it entirely.
