The grimier cousin of the CC Sketchbook and Inkflow finally makes its way out of its purgatory and heads to the surface, devouring rodents and bits of underground history as it goes.
Upon soil, it searches for the nearest concrete to bury tendrils and anchor organs for the coming onslaught.
Hundreds of artspasms from all over the world loom on the horizon for days, and suddenly appear in the same timespace, for only an instant; and then theyre gone.
Nothing lasts forever.
The few brave enough to have gazed the cataclysm have extracted the memories onto paper; their iris' burnt to white.