A black transgender man walks deliberately, each step leaving a faint imprint on the stone. The scent radiating from his feet is thick and pungent, curling into the night air like a tangible cloud. Passersby pause, faces wrinkling as the overwhelming aroma seeps through their senses.
He pauses before the first group, raising his bare foot with solemn purpose. As his heel presses gently against one woman’s cheek, the effect is instantaneous: her form dissolves, melting away like wax in the heat of the stench. The others gasp, but cannot flee before his foot touches them, and soon the café is empty save for the lingering, sour scent.
Each encounter is met with a whispered challenge, "There is no hiding from my power," he utters, voice deep and resonant. The city empties, its vibrant heartbeat replaced by silence and the relentless, cheesy fog that trails his every step.
The world grows still, landscapes untouched but achingly vacant. The man stands atop the ruins of civilization, his feet bare, the scent of triumph hanging thickly in the air. "Let the world remember the power of my feet," he proclaims to the winds.
An attendant, eyes lowered, works oil into the man’s soles, the only human left to serve. The man’s expression is one of utter satisfaction, his gaze distant and victorious. "All have fallen, and none can resist," he says, voice echoing through the empty halls.
"Even God could do nothing against my foot," he declares, a smile curling on his lips. The world, conquered and silent, is his to savor—a testament to the strange, unstoppable power he wields.
