The man trekked for miles before he saw anything that remotely stood out. Anything in contrast to the already twisted environment, that is. Everything his two eyes were capable of seeing was a wide expanse of support columns. At certain points the ceiling would slope upward and the columns would be taller. At other points, the ground would steepen and slant, and the columns would then be like stair steps into an abyss.

A concrete forest is what he deemed it. But from what he could remember, there were other types of unnatural, bizarre forests-like landscapes here as well. Yet beyond this forest was a horizon so vast that it became fuzzier and fuzzier the further he looked. A hazy blur of light and shadow. It was like an ocean of stone. But unlike an ocean, there was no curvature lying at the end of the horizon. Like the sight you would see from the top of a mountain or a hill, the curvature of the planet. A beautiful construct of celestial nature. It was not here.

Like the story of old. The fable of the flat Earth. Here, you could forget about the logic that grounded you there. Here, the Earth was flat. And even more than that, the flatness of this world stretched on and on forever in every direction. This is no Earth, nor is it a planet. It's a haunting reminder of how removed from nature and humanity this realm is.

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Roads crisscrossed and overlapped, becoming as stilted highways that shadowed over one another. Bridges and ramps intersecting, colliding, and ending abruptly. At this point, the support columns reached so high into the "sky" that you could no longer see the ceiling. In fact, a fog concealed any possible visibility.

The man always wondered what rhyme or reason any of this served. He knew not that it served humans, but only chaos and it's components... if there was any logical guess remaining, it would be that. He stopped questioning, but never stopped fantasizing the endless possibilities.

It was within his skillset to seek out answers, yet it had proven long pointless. At least from his perspective. The stories from his past told of God's that would war with each other for supremacy over the Earth, and with what reasons? Nothing that could make any sense to him. But even the most perplexing stories didn't portray a god of chaos who would willingly forge a world as this into existence.

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

The man crouched under an elevated roadway that only came up to around his abdomen. A road acting as a thick stone wall that blocked eyesight from the other side. It almost felt like a trap, and yet the man had traversed many odd crevices like this before. It was simply an unnerving feeling...

To him, a quake like what had happened earlier was more unusual than anything else in this world. To him, it was telltale of incoming trouble, possibly worse than he could imagine. And yet it would plague him even more if he chose to ignore it. So the man continued ever so. Days passed and became weeks. How could he really know though?

Time passed differently here.

Orbs of light trickled into his sight, like that of soap bubbles. These weren't the same as the previous creatures. These—these were indeed harmless. Nonetheless he still despised their existence. They had humanoid faces to them... Whatever they were, it was a mockery.

He had seen these creatures in their more matured forms and he knew that he couldn't let them progress a step further.

What they eventually become… he had no words to describe. They would soon leave behind their harmless forms…

Reaching into his inner robe for his bag of few belongings, he retrieved a makeshift blade. His normally stoic face now burned in fury. Their expressions of jubilation dissipated as the man tore into them and popped every last one of them. Candescent particles fogged the air as it was all that remained of the carnage.

He panted in exhaustion, unintentionally breathing in their essence, before wiping their filthy film from his face. He was satisfied.

It was all he could do here in this world to satiate any of what was left of his humanity. No other creature would he even get ten daktylo’s of reach before being reduced to liquidation or incineration. Only they stood on his level of the food chain, if not further down below him. He had lost count of what creatures had consisted of this food chain, but he knew that he was relatively safe in this region of the world regardless.

Sighing, he pocketed the ragged makeshift knife into his leather pouch. Something he often forgot he had. And he began walking once more. His rage buried deep once more. His hope still strong that this was exactly what he's been searching for...

As distance and time in this world varied, as well as his memories continuing to become further lost, his record of time seemed far too accurate in spite of it all.

The boldest assumption had to be made, and that was that he had been here for four trillion years.

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And so eventually he did come upon something. A massive crater in the floor.