Bodies swayed to rhythm of nocturnal veils, sinuous, Stygian brambles, twilight escapades, inner turmoil and festering flaws; the visceral, feral, wild spirits dragged through their catacombs, shredded, destroyed, distraught. Hungry hearts torn, phantoms looming, the graceful melancholy, the besieged agony, the torturous, ambrosial savoring of cretins, devils, chimeras and hallucinations, evil in the stench, the rise, the fall of each drifting current, each idle tide. Sin’s carved moan, undying, relentless compositions of the blackened threads of virulent, belligerent circles, naked and exposed to the ruptured seams of eerie infidels. Intimate repose for the unholy, the ghosts, the wraiths, the clattering chains, the specters and demons rattled their bones, clenched their jaws, whispered the hallowed secrets of the corrupted, of the damned, of the labyrinthine dedication and degradation of demise. Woven incantations, heinous brews, intoxicating doldrums for the impulsive, inane and inept, burning, intertwining fingers grasping souls, worlds colliding into infernal feats of decadence, embroiled, simmering, smoldering anarchy. The immoral innards, the atrocious entrails, the cleverly subdued infatuations of mystery, of torment, of torture and horror, shed malice upon the argent oeuvre of the monster, the behemoth, the Grim, Tartarean beast. Absolved from the underworld, he entered the acrimonious tombs, swallowed the midnight gall, the strangling air, and smothered the frigid, chilling winds, the sorrow of desolate souls, with the plunge of his severe savagery. Hollowed, aching creatures starved for light, starved for dawn, starved for virtue and divinity were quickly strangled by the rancorous, ravenous devastation of the Reaper. He molded over crooked, gnarled boughs, carried noxious, nefarious secrets in the helm of his sword, in the mighty bones of his entangled iniquity, the cracked, wizened forests and copses, defeated by the nothing place of enigmatic, haunting allure. He felt the licentious void collapse around his form, the desolation crumble, the ruin linger, the listless, languid pieces mingling along, across, his arcane, reticent skeleton, called, lured, ensnared by the murmurs, the croons, the requiems and laments of his callous, merciless slaughter. With each movement, the empire left its dead behind his assailing footsteps, massacred, devoured, consumed, lacerating, choking, piercing the witching hour’s cool predilection. Precision and pernicious pursuits, aligned to the barbarity, the annihilating abyss, the wandering maze leaving immaculate corpses to wither, decay, and the vile, the irreverent, the sinful, the godless to triumph over their conquests. Bedlam’s favored son, the devil’s bestowed warrior, engraved and incised the portal of atrocities with the infamous kindling of his own despicable, villainous insurgency, layering and lacquering the chambers with brutal finality; quietus at the edge of his tongue, demise at the stroke of his touch. Swift motions embraced the stead of atrocities, fixated on the runes of his puissance, and conquered the remains of the earth before him.

[For Huyana. <3]