[Posting with Dingo’s permission.]

Barbarous, savage, contorted bedlam in the siege and sea of terror and plight, drove archaic, malicious footfalls across the earth, watched it dim, die, wither, shrink and shirk its grandeur, returned to the onslaught of entropy that christened their existence. Rhythms of catacombs and tombs, a walk that incensed graves, that sculpted headstones, that denounced and reviled in the sinister swing of vile, monstrous bliss. His decomposing heart, with its blackened, scarred existence, beat an unholy crescendo; stitched seams of sin singing its wicked, derisive hymns, the distant, nonchalant, nefarious splendor of darkening hours. He was cruelty, villainy and atrocity in the slinking, slithering condemnation of life, peril immersed in strife, the arrow, the spear, the rapier dipped in venom; aimed to arm his subordinates with the same artifices, the same weapons, the same vicious, puncturing, piercing ardor. Tracing the seditious shadows, lingering in the brutal shades, damning divinities and dooming dreams, he fiendishly calculated another calamity, another fall, another ruin and devastation to wreck the helpless world, but they needed more, much more, to force the lands to rot, to coerce laws to fragment, to distort and demolish reality, to twist the kingdom into fallen shambles and shackles. To ravage the holy, to sacrifice the reverent, to annihilate and obliterate the chords of beneficence and serenity, their creed had to be reestablished time and time again, ghosts and wraiths spirited back into their hold, their fist, their glory of horror and animosity. From hostility brewed callous contempt, from loathing spurned wretched, predacious opulence, from abhorrence grew the immoral, iniquitous decadence of a pride, an arrogance, unsullied and eager to devour kingdoms left to mercy and clemency. The sinuous croon of war drums, the hum of odious, despicable creatures, the roar, the clamor of their choking, strangling, suffocating embrace, was enough to render him enticed, transfixed, ready to assist in building numbers, ranks, and odious heathens.

The voice did not call his name, but a score, collection, of others unknown and foreign to him. Were these to be the new beings gathered and assembled, established in the might and throng of malice and menace, rancor and enmity? Would they be willing to watch the world burn beneath their daggers, settle, sink, their hot knives into raptorial prowess, crawl into pernicious pursuits and poison the earth with their malignant intentions? Would they feed on friction, consume the weak, bludgeon, brutalize the despised, cross surreptitious chambers, and scour the walls with infidel, pariah plans? Who was ravenous, who was voracious, who was insatiable, and who was comforted by siege and triumph, by guile and guillotines, ripping into the core of tranquility and virtue? Deimos, General of dark, twisted creatures, drove his nonchalant, impassive stare into the rigorous lay of the lands, gazed upon promise and audacity, pondered which would rise and which would fall; an intimidating fortress and force to judge and execute. He acknowledged one of his own past recruits, Crowley, with a swift nod, and subsequently glared upon the rest, inquisition rendered, molded and formed, for persecution was made of many faces.