Frostbitten mirth. Cities submerged in necrotic latencies, remorselessly engulfing brilliant minds in an ever-growing comatose situation. The few rule this earth. The many are incapacitated by their lethargic emancipation and their inability to find the lies behind the “truths”. A nothing life. A faulty living. Superabundance of stupidity. Preparations must be made. Humanity will be the rotten fruit on the ground of existential holocaust. All must perish in a blink of an eye. “I am the grimoire. I am the ancient egregore of forked tongues incarnated in one man.” Hood retracted… hands raised… “I call upon thee o lords of antimatter qualities. Thee whose veins are pumping with acidulous hatred. My cause is just, my lords. Empower me with the arsenal of cruelty. Root out with your unblemished glaive the very last segments of humanity that thrive within me. And like the alchemickal magnum opus let me descend to the abysmal tar of Kosmos. Mingle with darkness. Endorse the darkness. Become the darkness. And steal the puissance from the old accursed ones who antedated time, matter, fire, word. For to ascend like a blackened Phoenix. Glorified in my devastating magnificence to bring this universe to its very end. Abandon all hope ye who dwell here.”
