Too many worlds have collapsed beneath its feet. Its fist always the decider, and always the final silencer. Each new day brings fresh blood, spilled upon mountains of decayed flesh and bones that have collected over the centuries. Yet, this was not its choice. This was not its decision. This was the doing and the plight of the smallest minded sentient creatures it has even known. Humanity sickens it sometimes, even as it intrigues it so. So, again and again, it has settled and repeated on the worlds whim, looking for new reasons to spare them.
Some call it god, some call it devil, but it is neither. It is alone, unseen and unheard in the eyes and ears of humanity. It is neither male or female nor son or daughter; it claims no identity as trivial as this. It knows what the truth is, the truth that these humans refuse to accept. The world is without reason. The world is random, and without cause. Even it cannot control the world, but only to occupy the cleansing alone. Yet, the humans place blame and praise on it without fail, and sadly, without the knowledge that they even do so. It now just wants to rest. It wants to let go of the chains tying it to this duty. It goes to slumber thinking this, and in dreams wishes it were true.