Arcane Factories Iv

Lone machines hum and sway, back and forth to the rhythm and rage. Optics lens reflect refract and collect the thunderheads of blood-soaked clouds, build violent, violet lighting shimmers, capers, flickers, and fades. Lancing, dancing striking into a sick parade Of the damned the beaten and lost march in time to the metronome as the eye of creation watches from afar its sliver light graces all in its cold embrace... these white things, gaunt emaciated Wispy figures in the gloom damaged and damned doomed to toil in the Arcane Factories of nightmare and holocaust.