Parable of the Sandbox

He was master of his domain. None dared oppose him long; many had been sent away in derision. Not a few left flying through the air. He didn’t expect any to take his word for it, and openly derided their ability to even understand.
It didn’t do any good to tell him he should get outside the sandbox, though. He built up all sorts of dreamy sand castles, then beat them down with his stick. Sometimes a few would compete from neighboring sand boxes, and he had no trouble jumping the box sides to smash their castles, too. Most of those who paid him any attention would often join him in the sandbox, celebrating his victories over the sand castles. But if it wasn’t in one sandbox or another, he disdained to get involved.
Of course, there were lots of sandboxes like it all over the world. Those who claimed their own sandbox would challenge someone else to come and build a better sandcastle. But it was always by their own individual rules, and with their own unique blend of sand, their own special stick. Only rarely did it seem any of it bore any relevance to any other sandbox.
Meanwhile, high above in space, someone was playing Makrugh and the world on whose surface his sandbox and the others stood was scheduled for dissolution under his very feet.
All he had to throw at the energy weapons in space ships was sand and a stick.