Angel of Death Pixlriffs
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Summary
The Rapture was thousands upon millions of years ago, something that wiped out the twelve great city-states and the million of small villages in-between them that had scattered the land before it. It was a reset upon the world and upon human civilization, now simply a theory in the mind of modern-day historians and geologists. To Pix, it is his well remembered past. Not that anyone knows that.
But then the barren and sun-bleached skeleton of the home he had built with nothing but his two hands and a pickaxe for something far more sacred than glory is found by his modern-minded colleagues, and the past is dredged up far easier than he might have wanted.
OR
Pixandria sits barren of the life only his people were able to bring the streets he had created. This will not change.
OR OR
I have feelings about Pix and Pixandria and the Rapture and the pain of immortality and history and archaeology help me