Ripping Canvas

Asgard has been destroyed, Mt. Olympus has erupted and Heliopolis has been sunk. Hell has been wiped out, Heaven has been abandoned, and most wondrous of all, Terra's Guard is dead.
The Earthite Empire is godless, and without their guardians, the savages of Earth will learn just how weak they truly are. How vulnerable they are in a galaxy, in a universe, that despises them.
The barbarians will fall with prayers to nonexistent saviors on their lips, and the empire that they fought so hard to create will burn with them, hopeless and alone. I will personally stalk the streets of their cities, and I will greet every last stupid, pathetic ape, every last one, by ripping the air from their lungs and boiling their blood as they scream for mercy that will never come. They believe that they are afraid, but they can not even begin to fathom the true horror that awaits them, even as everything that they believe in collapses around them.
The apes believe that they have created a monument worthy of the gods. What they don't know is that the gods don't care. I will reveal their delusion to them as I destroy their homes, devour their children, and ruin their false art. Their legacy is insignificant, and it will be forgotten, as if it had never existed to begin with. But they need not worry about that, for I will use the ashes of their worlds and the bones of their people to create a sculpture that will last for thousands of years.
And while I do all of this, I will sing the pitiful monkeys a song, a poem about beauty and awe. My words will be the cold, blunt knife of truth cutting through the lie that is Earthite culture. Each skin-ape, as they bleed into the dirt and the worms that they call home, will use their dying breath to look upon their paintings and listen to their music. And they will finally see their tapestries and their instruments for what they truly are: disgusting failures.
This will be my magnum opus, and it will be beautiful.