Victory. A hollow and ridiculous notion. We are born from this thing, made from it, and we will be returned to it, in time.
The great family of man. A profusion of errant flesh, swarming, multiplying, living, dying. Until the stars align in their inexorable formation-and what sleeps, is roused once more.
To hatch from this fragile shell of rock and earth and bring our inescapable end.
So seek solace in a manner befitting your lineage and, take up, your nugatory vigil. Haunted forever by that sickening prose, echoing forever through the infinite blackness of time and space.
Ruin has come to our Family.