Nachtwächters Penance!
Calvermick dressed in all black ritual garb inhales the bone scented incense of a hazel wood colored candle. Sat before him is a picture..entitled in bold platinum lettering “Bride of Anamos”. Lifting his hands toward the obsidian-black celling merging with it its essence as he moves about rhythmically in ritual dance. The smoke crawls along the celling, a chilling reptilian crawl, with inchoate appendages that impregnate the fuligin liturgy with its misty light. Doubling, tripling growing a tetralogy of eyes, as sonsie as the mistress of an emperor. In Calvermick lies the quixotic fantasy of fugacious Armageddon followed by the construction of prelapsarian man. “ GLORY BE TO THEE ANAMOS. MAKE YOUR PRESENCE KNOWN THROUGH MY OWN BLOOD.” Lowering his tone to a blood curding whisper he continues. “May your love be revealed in the new century I your herald wish to bring…”
His garb met the frigid stone floor with seraphic grace…with the air of Calvin’s Elect.
His pale face, a cold grin shining beneath his sky-blue eyes as he waltzes in praise of Anamos,the king of nephilim & bridegroom of the world eater. As suddenly as a child ceases activity upon the hearing of their guardians footsteps,Calvermick ceases his waltz. Like a cardinal of darkness he summoned a cup from the breast pocket to of his garments,in it lay blood from his chest. Bringing the cup to celling he murmured a song lost to time, kneeling before that metallic demiurge once more. “We await your return, darling.” He said as tears flooded his sky-blue eyes. “We await your return…” he said as he lifted to silver cup to his mouth,incense swirling around the picture of his “mother”, “darling”, “God”.
Make ready your womb
to give life to beasts
who’ll devour the lands which men inhabit
make way for voided chasms of which flame will
Be born
As his wings father a race of soulless immortals.
Meanwhile the battle has already begun in the languid streets of Lorgamo. Victories scream aloud in the eastern skies as dark mist invades the eyes of the hoard below. Buried in the concrete jungle that is Lorgamo,where battle,early death awaits. As the agnostic Nachtwächters receive penance,before the blooming staff of golden-eyed Maja.
Trapped in stone pavement, buried in fleshly mass..reconciled to the all seeing eyes of seekers and the Nachtwächters dressed in ivory, spotted military uniform.
With sins un-forgiven Maja lifts his spiral eyes toward a blooming staff,flowering with purple-white begonias and reddish-brown elephant ears which waltz along its hazel wood sides.
One by one the Nachtwächters draw their sabers leaping toward Maja,and like foul-recalcitrant beasts,falling to the error of their forefathers,the Templar-the Crusaders,one by one each are wrapped in purple veins,their heads engulfed by a herbivoric fury.
As trepidation befalls them, as their ivory uniforms fade to sot, black as the soil of Corkadoragha. Their sins un-forgiven still,he holds his staff in all its botanical purity, his spiral eyes sparkling invoking envy amongst the stars.
A ivory spheroid of white formed dazzling the ardent eyes of the leaves,breeding a beam of blood. In the heart of their sphere .. their captain sings a hymn lost to time.
White as the moon’s light, forever dreaming will doom stand before me?
Will the stars call me when my life draws to a close,when the light dims by the second?
Will we remain watchers of the night-fall forev-
Sitting here in the bosom of the world eater…I ask of you dear reader whoever you may be..have you ever considered why we advance ourselves at the cost of others?
Me and Theil here have been pondering this forever now. In this cycle of death and rebirth we’ve discovered a great cataclysm,which is contingent on your ability to listen. Can you do that?
Hush,you bewildering rambler I wish to transfigure mankind,to ascend past flesh. All the flesh is….a boundary, a limiter. Veins nothing but unending noose round the soul of mankind.
Ugh, you make me sick, you and all your gnostic nonsense! MAN IS ART! FLESH IS ART!
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Trembling,tumbling into the concrete, Nachtwächters smashing into car windows like ivory birds. Blood spatters by gallon as the Begonias and Elephant ears begin their languid descent,feasting on the dead Nachtwächters,slicing through their ivory armor. Their veins transubstantiate to wool-like cloth as they rise again to meet the gaze of the eastern stars. All this time Maja stood still,frozen beneath the moons placid gaze, no thought in his head but the mission of reveling man’s final destiny.
Those golden-spiral eyes,that warped grey clothing,disheveled spike-like hair endlessly spiraling toward infinity. With his eyes meeting the sky he shouted with a wry smile “Hier, um Buße und Gericht zu bringen.”
A solitary rain fell atop the blood stained sidewalks of downtown Lorgamo…dark wings twinkle in the western skies,a crown of darkness wet with the lust of analysis,begging in its sorrow to be beheld for but an instant.
“I will not budge,bastard.” Maja muttered as his fall from the building is cushioned by the veins of his blooming staff. Soon his eyes wandering is meet by a cloud of white mist..teeming with multihued apertures! Sabers lay unsheathed neath the mist cloud, the Nachtwächters have returned,stone faced in their attempt to rear the destiny of mankind toward extinction.
Rushing in groups of six at a time, war cries rang out in the far night! Wormholes coiled around the throats of the Nachtwächters, in a fight of desperation, swinging their sabers wildly, rambling of Anamos.
SOLDERS OF THE NIGHT
WINGED IN DARKNESS
BRED IN LIGHT
WHO STANDS BEFORE US BUT YOU?
KING OF NEPHELIM!
Once the noise of their rambling dissipated, Maja swiftly swung his staff, burying their skulls in the fractured concrete which they rose from. Leafy green wings sprouted from the heart of wormholes which then mothered arms wrestling another school of watchers to the ground. Maja standing atop his staff, extending his forefinger, glowing with a golden-white flame.
Maja collapsing to his knees,clasping to the center of his staff’s body lets loose a solemn,solitary tear as his eyes meet the night sky. Rising back to his feet, head aimed sky-ward, breathes deeply as he murmurs to himself. “The air it’s self is a relic to be cherished, in it man found the food for thoughts. In it man found refreshment, and through it crafted the industries to poison it.” Maja bent down touching the lifeless body of a youth among theNachtwächters with a saintly artificiality, his palm emboldened with clemency…pressed the forefinger of his right hand into his frigid pale forehead, marking him with an x shaped spiral. In a sudden turn of his head he struck the dead body of nearby Nachtwächter causing a flood scarlet to be expelled from his decrypted bowls. “Your mark is that of the dead! Remain as such!” Maja shouted in rebuke. Snapping his head in all four cardinal directions, his head flashing gold and grey, stiffing himself as he stares into the body of the marked corpse. Breathing heavily staggers to an upright position wild eyed. “He’s perished Leo….there is no order for the dead. Punishing a post mortem reflex…why did I allow us to merge? One mind-one mission remember that, fool!” After another deep breath Maja continued his march into North Lorgamo. Each step precise as the ticking of a clock, fluid as the waves of the bottomless deep. Over-reaching the body pile lying on either side of the sidewalk. A minuscule camera hinds in the azure fading, flickering light of a streetlight, quarter of mile down the road.
Behind it lays the polarcap-white molars of Calvermick’s stretched like whale bulbar on board a ship, standing laughing…kicking and screaming, spinning round and round in a grey office chair. A silver pentagram dances in the screen light of the trifold monitor before him, “WHYYYYY,must we wait? Theil…why?” Slamming his fist against the wood work beneath the keyboard, licking his lips, reaching for a small picture framed with him lying naked in the womb of the World Eater. Running his pale index finger along the frame, “Soon you will be united with us, and bring about the kingdom of antiquity.’ He spoke melodiously. With the light fading from his corneas as he fled from the center of the room with a tiny knife with a black hilt with Theils named inscribed upon its silver-red blade.