A few more steps. Just a few more desperate steps to safety. Then peace, quiet at last. But those steps? Sheer pandemonium. People yelling, bodies jostling, the stress and release palpable. The smell of fear and unwashed bodies settles over the rabble like a mantle of decay as they attempt to jostle closer to sanctuary, their primitive instincts taking precedence over civilized behavior. You are so close to refuge you can smell the sweet aroma of freedom. Five steps, now three. Just as you are crossing the threshold, you hear the booming voice of your coming doom. You recognize the voice, perceive what it means. It is Knoetgen, king of the gods, destroyer of worlds and devourer of souls. He calls out that you have been found in contempt of his decrees, and you shall be cast out of paradise. Once you are back in the wide dangerous expanse, he begins to exact his holy retribution. He vehemently informs you that the very earth, Gaea herself, bleeds for your iniquities, and that only by your sacrifice can the desecration be atoned for. You are to remain here for perpetuity, holding in the very lifeblood the essence of the earth with your bare hands. And there you reside in purgatory , in agony making penance for your fatal haste. You think longingly of your brothers in arms, those fortunate enough to escape the dreaded fury of Knoetgen. It is futile, you know, to wish for any fate but that which you have merited, for your chastisement is well deserved. This is your last rational thought before you slip away, your consciousness dissolving into the vast assemblage of those who have come and gone before you, all of your souls, your life essences being converted into glorious mass for the calves of Knoetgen.