Into the gleaming future. Episode Three.

An empire is born from the fallen bricks of another empire. The little Mussolinis guaranteed that from the ruins of the last fallen empires nothing more would last except for, precisely, ruins. And the dust of bricks is not enough to assemble a single new brick. In increasingly smaller fragments, there’s no structure left, even if symbolical. Power… what are flags, stars, fire or dirt under the nails good for? The words of order multiplied to such an extent that they don’t fit the larynxes. And the huge clouds that float above do not mirror the fences and ink-traced lines in the ground. Mammals mark territory with excrements. Mammals with a few more brain circumvolutions mark territory with ink-and-paper shit, not a lesser stench.
Divide to conquer. In less than seventy years, with so many divisions and sub-divisions, there was nothing left to carve up. The blood of cowards was shed with the blood of the brave, one amalgamation covering the maps.
Sebek. He who incessantly bites his own tail, he who devours himself, and is born within and from himself.
The ulterior wars to the Rekonquista, commandeered by the interests of the Paisans, became a single panfagic war, leaving no new hopes for Phoenix’ hatchings.