Revelation From the Ancestral Whisper

A gesture and slaves manipulate the strange mechanism The basin quivers then bubbles The intricate bodies twist and moan The flesh liquefies slowly at the rate of howling Exuding the basin to fix itself on the silvered surface The eye of Nio'ogh Oron cries when he contemplates the process, When he sees to conclude the quest started on the second eon Step by step, he started learning the deleterious knowledge Year after year, he imagined this sepulchral mirror Corpse after corpse, he collected its raw material In the wild hope to reach the wisdom A whisper, a breath The black tower screams It's the scarlet dance The Nio'ogh Oron's body comes to life with an erratic move The herald of madness spreads out in a sky torn by sinister fissures The mirror finally straightens up The blood and the flesh crystallized on its surface It rises over the ground to face its creator The look of the man wallows in innards of the mirror without restraint To collect an astounding picture there A picture that the mind cannot embrace An unbearable vestige of truth The man's screams agrees to those of the tower when the chaos gets roughly in his brain

Submitted by Finntroll — Apr 26, 2025

n 1440, in the shadow of the castle of Tiffauges, The heady fragrance of blood perfumed air. The demon slowly awakened. A blind obedience in return for science, wealth and power. The universal elixir for my deeds. The philosopher’s stone for my soul. The Whit Sunday, Geoffrois le Ferron felt safe in his sanctuary The mass had been said When about sixty armed men invaded the place of his devotion To drag him off, hand and foot bound, to jails of Tiffauges A blind obedience in return for science, wealth and power. The universal elixir for my deeds. The philosopher’s stone for my soul. In July, in the castle of Josselin, children disappeared They nourished with their blood several pacts For the biggest happiness of the demon Barron In the heart of the night, Jean de Malestroit strides along in corridors of the castle Because the sleep refuses to him A moan escapes of an enclosed door He half open the door to discover with frights A kind of laboratory strewn of child cadavers In the middle of the pentagram a purulent demon discusses Quietly with his host : Gilles de Rais A blind obedience in return for science, wealth and power. The universal elixir for my deeds. The philosopher’s stone for my soul.

Submitted by The Void — Apr 26, 2025

Since the beginning, I have discover this sepulchral call in the depths of my flesh Guided by a desire, full of promises, galvanized by a blind wisdom I have crossed the vortex of the seventh worm I have tore the apocryphal veil to sink in this hieratic ocean In its abyssal depths In this place without dimension, in the heart of the dreadful infinity I discovered the bloody pillar Hidden by some forbidden secrets I'm standing in front of the pillar of souls Its firmness is beyond all understanding : A bunch of corpses in constant mutation A legion of inaccessible and frightening recollections Mixed with several veins exuding a liquid That remember now blood, now excrements The pillar of skulls stops suddenly It seems to grow when I approach I stare at the palpitating flesh Mesmerized by the strange mixture I discover with an hysterical terror My corpse bathed in this filthy plasma Gazing myself with a sinister grimace The circle of disincarnate faces strikes up, around me, its song of death The maelstrom of lacerated flesh aspirates me in its entrails for crystallized myself in its deleterious tissue My merging with this piece of Chaos Mark the rebirth of the ancient age When witches arise from the oblivion The present is dead, past is alive

Submitted by Corpse Defiler — Apr 26, 2025

This track is instrumental.

Is this song not instrumental?

There was a sacred wood which since an old age Has never been profaned And surrounded with its intertwined branches A tenebrous air and a cold shadows Impenetrable for the sun. This wood wasn’t inhabited by pans, sylvans or nymphs But by sanctuaries of pagan gods with barbaric cults : Altars stand on sinister barrows All trees are purified by human blood. A tenebrous air and a cold shadows Impenetrable for the sun. If we believe the ancient times, celestial being admirer Birds fear to perch on branches of this wood And the wild beast to lie down in its dens. Wind doesn’t fall on its trees Nor the thunderbolts that shoot out from dark clouds These trees, that don’t offer their foliage to any breeze, inspire a particular horror. An abundant water falls from black sources And sad formless god statues stand, without art, on cut trunks. Even the mould and the paleness that appear on these rotten trees strike the observer with amazement. Birds fear to perch on branches of this wood And the wild beast to lie down in its dens. Wind doesn’t fall on its trees Nor the thunderbolts that shoot out from dark clouds This wood wasn’t inhabited by pans, sylvans or nymphs But by sanctuaries of pagan gods with barbaric cults : Altars stand on sinister barrows All trees are purified by human blood. Peoples don’t approach this place to practice their cult : they has given up it to gods. When Phebus is in the middle of the sky, Or during a dark night, The priest himself dreads its access and fears to surprise the Lord of this realm. This forest stayed, very deep, in the middle of bare mounts.

Submitted by BloodShrine — Apr 26, 2025

In the shadow of the Labarum They were stand in the glade The face caressed by the heat of the dawn Gathered around Licinius The heart consumed with grief The deleterious hour has come, in the shadow of the labarum The legion of Constantin has moved The fate has collapsed “It’s not only for your life that you will fight today But for all is precious for you For all is noble, sacred and beautiful” “With our defeat, the supremacy of the only one will come And with it, a rupture of harmony The forest will burn and torrents will dry up Nothing will live in the land strewed of churches” In the shadow of the Labarum On the hill, surrounded by the mist The proud army waited anxiously Last rampart against the Christian filth Last hope for the free will The deleterious hour has come, in the shadow of the labarum “They want to build their kingdom on our ashes But we’ll fertilize the earth with the impure Christian blood” The pierce Licinius’s heart bleed on the so loved hearth The labarum erected on the land sealed, with it’s shadow, the fate of the ancestral gods Last incarnation of the link between mankind and the Earth “It’s not only for your life that you will fight today But for all is precious for you For all is noble, sacred and beautiful...”

Submitted by MetalElf — Apr 26, 2025

The city of bronze lies in the ether Forgotten such a rotten widow Floating on an eternity of black foam That inspires the horror and despair Here, the sense of time is strange Cycles escape the human reason The people, tired, doesn’t count hour anymore They languish, all wills annihilated, all desires mutilated The twilight synod reigns over the city With the practice of his unknown art Three times by cycle, he chooses seven thousand of his subjects To take them in the basilica of sobs. In the entropy, they are tortured with an unsuspecting sophistication, And they nourish, with their tears, the black foam Where the Duke of Change crouched. And they return to their dreamless life Emptier than before And they return to their febrile inactivity such a dislocated carcass. Floating on an eternity of black foam That inspires the horror and despair Here, the sense of time is strange Cycles escape the human reason In depths of this ocean of tears, the Duke of Change delighted In his bubble of blood he laughs when he thinks about the pitiful life, Worse than the death and the oblivion, that leads the people of the city of bronze. For these men and these women the suffering is the only leisure that comes to break their boredom.

Submitted by Lake of Tears — Apr 26, 2025

In remembrance of flouted promises, my heart bleeds on this spectral shroud In remembrance of this broken dreams, my stronghold collapses under the yoke of madness I suffocate in my sleep I wake up with a shiver The vision stabilizes, The veil of tears vanishes On my chest dances an indefinable being in constant change I can't take it at one glance Then, it's darkness I see sporadically the figure of a woman with a body of a snake surmounting a pile of child's cadavers bled white A deafening whisper is born progressively from this multitude of lifeless mouth “To have bruised the Earth herself, to have immodestly soiled her in the name of the only one, in the name of the usurper, I sentence you, Jacques Sprenger, to be immolated on the stake of the knowledge” Suddenly, all my being is invaded by an impenetrable distress Then, the whisper reveals me its secrets Each of its sentences being a dagger in my head Blood flows out of my eyes and my mouth to spill on pages of the Malleus Maleficarum

Submitted by Warbringer — Apr 26, 2025