Lords of Uncreation (The Final Architecture Book 3)

by Adrian Tchaikovsky

Junior was frisky and playful, like the universe’s most murderous squid-puppy.

He’d stand at the shoulders of the historians to make sure they got it right.

“Because it’s wrong to strive against the way the universe is made. The Essiel do not prey upon the lesser, nor rebel against the great. They know their place, as masters of those things they hold to, and that act on their behalf. When comes the fire, the tide, the storm, they have their shells. That is the way. Except there’s no perfection in this world, hence there must be exception made. Hence those who cannot live within their bounds are yet made use of. If railing against fate is wrong, let us do wrong. Let us do all the acts unspeakable. Break all the laws. Fight that which must be borne. Be wicked, know no grace. Refuse all walls. And so, though we be cursed, reviled, denied, so we yet serve the way that we have left behind. When comes the threat the shell cannot resist, there shall it find us, waiting.”

“This is the Devil turning up at Heaven with a list of complaints. How did you think it was going to go?”

“This is fucked up,” Olli sent to Kit. “There is no further up to which it might be fucked,” was his considered reply.

Then, after the absolute minimum of time to ascertain he wasn’t going to drop dead, they dragged him into a meeting.