Thus the last generation of lechers sat upon thrones of mangled corpses and discarded fetuses weeping for the fall of their great empire. And their sons wandered the earth, the last generation of man. They were called the beautiful ones for they lacked any blemishes and their skin gleamed under the light of the dying sun. Their beauty was only surpassed by the white horse of the apocalypse, which wondered to and fro leaving behind discarded the bloated corpses of bygone kingdoms. They wandered as automatons without purpose, their eyes lifeless and without fault. There was no contention in the land for the automatons lacked purpose, and no sons were begat by the sons of Sacar ever again. When the empire was discovered a century later by Viruvian explores, they could but marvel at the beauty of the cadavers that littered the ground, and marvel at what could have possibly led to their fate.
