With a flick of his wrist, the young god Aman toppled the tallest building in the city. Great clouds went up from the collapsed structure, and the screams of thousands merged into one long, eerie wail that he could barely hear. The men walking the streets with the end-of-the-world signs were right. They just didn’t know how right.

Some work remained, though “work” was a generous description for his favorite activity. He was happy Father had sent him to this unfaithful place. He had a secret desire for women of this species. They were simply incredible, and surprisingly complacent when fearful. His agitation upon hearing of this world’s non-compliance with Father’s wishes was entirely feigned.

Father would want a full, detailed report, of course, and he would be happy to give it, but a few things would be left out. Being a god, Aman knew, in the way that gods simply knew, that 5,358 beings had died so far during this punishment visitation. Aman would save one. Father didn’t need to know about that.