I alone have known all shades of the horror. I am the pit without sun, where blind beasts dwell. I am the revenant at the very bottom of the source. Never to grow weary. Running on doubt. Dead thoughts, dead movements, dead ideals, dead desires. Beneath this world there is another, built of bone and decay. Grey hell. Dry. Motionless. Upon even rows of downfall. Methodized loss. Inherent ruin. Residual blight. For these gates need to be opened. For this shell needs to be broken. Ether guerilla. All hail the alpha fallen. Dead words, dead drives, dead passions, dead urges, dead dreams. As the world above is shrinking, the one below thrives. Cinder springs. Ashen horizon. The sarcastic grinning of gargoyles. The refuge among scattered remains. The temples of iron and concrete. The great death. The silence. The roaring depths of insight. The maze of severance. The golden throne, abandoned. The agony. The strife. The penance. I alone have known all shades of the horror. I alone have seen the rays of lost grace. Residual blight. A sunless pit to crawl in. Ether guerilla. All hail the alpha fallen.
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