Spin-off

They came. It never even crossed our minds that we could fight them. They were utterly superior.
They asked for those of us with a mathematical understanding of the sensorial realm. Many of us died before we even began to understand what they meant.

There were few who could save us. Those who were willing to try were even more scarce. Those who did save us are hardly even known to most. But they are the ones that drove ravenous gods away by simple gestures and looks.

When They came, the first reason they spared us were the paintings of on Piet Mondrian. They seemed to hold some sort of code for them and when one mental midget asked them - "What do you see in them?" they learned that we did not understand. And they learned the rare glimpses of truth we saw were far in between. And so they asked.

Words, the men of words, they had nothing to offer them. All of them died.

Painters were absolved. Mondrian was their messiah.

Film-makers died by the thousands, until They found a film by Andy Warhol. We then became the film-makers' messiah.

Sound was their soft-spot. They were overwhelmed by information, but they emerged unscathed and enriched and full of angry confusion. They could not understand, at first, how come we could even understand the audible medium and not create perfect structures within it, always. Once again, we had proved we did not understand. They were assaulted by the likes of Frederik Thordental, Dream Theater, the G3, all trying to "shred" them with their skill. They died.

Only one group convinced them to spare the whole wretched race. They were our tool and their tool of mercy.