To Anabainon ek tes Abyssu
Let now the fifth angel sound. Let now all men be bowed by The first woe. I come before the skulking horror of seven maws to taste of its flesh and copulate with she who sits astride gilded behind seventy horns. Her name is MYSTERY and Babylon and from her cup I sate my thirst. “All Lords and Kings have I wooed with my gifts, and all in turn have glutted upon my fruit. Their seeds are mine to sow and I now give birth to abominations ten thousand fold to rend and tear the earth. It is I alone who rides the Beast and prepares this world for the coming of the rising Shadow, the ruin that wears a princely crown. Know my beauty and despair for I am the storm before the doom to come, the Harbinger of the End!” Oh, Great Bloodied Whore, bath me in thy wine of divinity. Pestilence, slaughter, famine, and woe! Embrace me with the burning brilliance of the end as we welcome the ineffable Lord of Derision.
Submitted by Corpse Defiler — Apr 26, 2025
“I am the shadow that covets the flesh of bishop and imperator, the key to the kingdom of Desolation and that nameless god that dwells therein.” Thus intoned the mouth of the Belchera, the left hand of the prophet in which dwelled the Dark Hearted and Poisoned Tongued. “I am the Beliar!” Divine corruptor, liar of old, possessor of flesh, reside once more within the prophets, come and loosen the seals of perdition’s gate. “I am Malchera!” Place your secrets upon the tongues of the lord and king that they may give fight to words of pestilence, strife, and hunger. Blacken all will and intent and turn the hearts of man. Do this in preparation for the banquet of the waking Beast.
Submitted by NecroGod — Apr 26, 2025
I see pale Achlus within thy eyes, oh Scion of Adam, begotten of mud and mire. The clay from which ye were spawned shall swallow and keep thee, drowned in filth, a feast of sand and worms. Thou doth lie at the threshold to the gates of oblivion, in a shackled procession before the Devil’s maw. “Like lambs in his mouth shall ye be carried away as children in the breach of his windpipe,” plummeted into stygian dark. Who amongst the perfidious shall find salvation in pernicious descent? The death-fog is within thy eyes, oh sons of Adam.
Submitted by Grave666 — Apr 26, 2025
I am the southron gale. The samoon of the burning sands. I am the locust wind. The storm of the waste and the barren field. I am the mother of pandemic, and from my maw issues the breath of pestilence, my womb, famine and blight. Know my touch and know the withering of the field and the flesh. The drying of the river, the stalk and the bone. The sinking of the earth, the cheek and the eye. I am the southron gale and I blow once again.
Submitted by Immortal — Apr 26, 2025
“What terror is this that now walks upon the face of the earth?” It is he who wears a diadem of seven sabled horns and is swathed in vestments of famine and war. It is he, whose prayer is at the baying of dogs and the wailing of whores, whose hymns are as the lamentations of lepers and the pox-plagued outcast. It is he, whose name is as the nine-tailed scourge across the spine of the world. Lord of emaciation and fever. Angel of anxieties. Archon of onslaught. We harken unto thee and walk within they shadow. Lead us now into desolation. Lead us now unto ruin. Lead us now into the glorious radiance of perditions light.
Submitted by Iron_Wraith — Apr 26, 2025