The ascension of Avernus; ingress to the abyss, marked by the blare and bellow of the great unwashed, is plodding its pasture; unyielding and iron-heeled. "May the millions find no quarter outside of me!" it calls in chaos. And as the manifold few on high anoint this contagion ’Crown Prince’, furnished in the myriad transformations of capital, the maelstrom runs red. Crash goes the tide; a requiem for the dead. ’Toil makes man and man makes god’, the fire-eyed magus of the crestfallen has sewn his secrets into the fabrication. So behold the flight of the eidolons, they gouge your eyes and darken your will. Repel the cannonade traversal of the sentinel, and spare no grace upon its fall. The edifice is illusion, the framework is false. The ascendency engenders enemies in the varletry. Fusillade the iron enchantment! We are to be unhanded through consummate upheaval involving all. WE ARE THE SPECTRE HAUNTING THE HELM.

© shoshin.