Carry on up the Styx.

The authority dissolved as the batons fell to the ground; the arms operating them too exhausted and impoverished to resist the tide that consumed them.
   Beyond them, the nodes of authority; old and infirm; cruel from the vantage of a crumbling fortress, bandied, abused civil law and the corruption of healthy appetites; it allowed for a handler less than human, more than parasitic. They cowered and moped. Sobbed for their right to life and begged mercy from the mob that tore the bricks down.
   But mercy, like authority, had dissipated...like kindness. 
The savagery couldn't have been more cruel. And after, the wolves slept soundly, occasionally lapping a jowl, blissfully remembering the blood bursting forth. 
   And from then on, letters gathered dust and questions were dropped to the ground to rot in the sun. Study became taboo and was pushed to the hinterland so as not to provoke this dark age, which had been so tenderly nurtured into fruition.
   Respice post te. Hominem te memento. Memento mori.