Deus drew a line, abstract in nature and well rather a line it was a trail, it danced upon the floor, it flew in several directions unknown to even a compass and yet he arrived before one of the dark inky figures that sat upon a hair within his frame.
blood continued like a ravenous stream down his face, his neck and his body.
The man that blood neglected to smear was now coated, encased in such.
He was now art.