The heady smell of putrid wounds lingered about the drab desiccation of the once-bright city. A group of mangy survivors sifted through offices and homes; their grubby hands scoured and scrunched through items of all sorts: the precious, the personal, the peculiar, whatever might be found within easy access. A small child, a boy of no more than eight, pushed aside a rotting bed post to crawl into the little space beneath the collapsed wall. He'd just barely pushed himself into the crevice when a horrific noise crashed through the city, thrashing about in the alleys and streets. It sounded like a choir of a thousand angels, their throats burnt out by the fires and brimstone of Hell arisen. The young boy knew what to do when the armies of heaven began to sing: close your eyes and hide, but their cacophony of wailing was strangely alluring. He glanced through the blown-out wall, across city and there he saw it. It stood 900 meters tall, towering over everything on the earth below it. The bodies of the damned protruding from its torso, grappling with the ground in an attempt to claw out of their eternal torment. It's misshapen, grotesque head was wreathed in a halo of the burning heavens. It had no true set of eyes, but the boy could tell it knew that he'd seen it. His head seemed to catch fire on the inside, and his breath was ripped from his lungs. He knew then, as his soul was sawed out of his breast, why he was not to look at it. He understood the warnings while gazing at the beast. The writhing, fleshy protrusions and the bulldog legs of human arms gave him his answer: to gaze upon the face of your God is to die.