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Hundred Flower Opprobrium

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Karna Palaco By Nikolas Flamenco

Chapter One

"'If in spite of these things you do not accept my correction but continue to be hostile toward me, I myself will be hostile toward you and will afflict you for your sins seven times over. And I will bring the sword on you to avenge the breaking of the covenant. When you withdraw into your cities, I will send a plague among you, and you will be given into enemy hands.
"'If in spite of this you still do not listen to me but continue to be hostile toward me, then in my anger I will be hostile toward you, and I myself will punish you for your sins seven times over. You will eat the flesh of your sons and the flesh of your daughters. I will destroy your high places, cut down your incense altars and pile your dead bodies on the lifeless forms of your idols, and I will abhor you. I will turn your cities into ruins and lay waste your sanctuaries, and I will take no delight in the pleasing aroma of your offerings. I myself will lay waste the land, so that your enemies who live there will be appalled. I will scatter you among the nations and will draw out my sword and pursue you. Your land will be laid waste, and your cities will lie in ruins.
-Leviticus 26Do we not smell anything yet of God's decomposition? Gods too decompose. God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him. How shall we, murderers of all murderers, console ourselves?
-Frederich Nietzsche........................................................................................Two days ago I saw a flock of birds dive in front of what's left of traffic on the highway, leaving a large plume of feathers and crimson mist as the car just kept chugging along. A story on the tv caught my attention later about an increase in suicides around the globe, with psychoanalysts theorizing it as a case of "seasonal mass collective depression". The final story was on a beach in France that was swarmed by a cetacean stranding. Hundreds of marine mammals had lobbed themselves onto a small beach in the north west part of the country, leaving no trace of sand visible. Bloated and open carcasses seemed to be flooding the earth with no remorse. And with no clear motive. The TV anchors words began to swell inside my head as the final tick of the news station tune died down into a local commercial. It started to swell and hurt, all those dead things and questions forming one after the other couldn't be answered. All begging for a release. I turned the TV off, switched the light dimmer to low and laid back in the kitchen chair with then yesterday's newspaper covering my face. Small shallow breaths began and the inner screams raged as I reached for the handle of steel on the table. A slight incision on my right arm above the sigil lets the blood flow and pool into the jar below my wrist, allowing my brain to release the pressure and focus on one thing. There's silence. For hours I sit In silence. I finally awoke to the sound of a faint, almost impossibly far away, tapping noise coming from the collection jar. It had over filled and begun pouring over the top sides in exodus, pooling at the base. Life returned to the little room as I pushed the chair back and got up to patch the hole in my arm. I put the jar with my tithe in the pantry and wrapped my arm with newspaper making sure to press firmly as I raised it above my heart.
"Simbeigk."
A bright light thrashed out from the sound and molested my soul.
"Be not afraid. Im not one to linger on dead tongue,"
The antediluvian word spread the visceral light through the house making me cower like a primordial ape, as a beautiful young man put his coat up on a hanger by the front door,
"But by appearance alone id say; this house could pass judgment on any soul unlucky enough to be trapped inside." The light dissipated into the floor leaving sparks that singed the carpet and grass that sprouted between the fibers. I recoiled back to my upright position and tried to show no sign of fear to this intruder but my legs were not in compliance. The man, more so a boy, began to remove purple leather gloves from his porcelain looking hands and smiled in a sort of awe at my pitiful hovel. His smile made my bones ache. He meandered over to my bookcase and carefully studied the antiquated tomes, flicking pages at some while scoffing and almost cursing at the rest.
"I thought Magi were supposed to be perceptive on the inner workings of heaven. Why fill your limited time and space with contrived ideas?" The question he asked stirred a motion in my wrist as I instinctively raised my hand and like a flesh puppet, pointed to the pantry which held dozens of tithes I had yet to dispose of. His eyes followed but returned to the bookshelf, getting his answer. The smile he wore faded.
"A kiss from Doomotia?"
I got the sense the visitor was beginning to become afraid. In instinct, but not in truth, I shook my head no and his smile returned.
"Well then do I have some news for you.".....%%%.....The boy, more so a thing, sat down in the chair next to me at the table. His delicate looking hands glided over its surface and the debris and trash were removed. He continued to smile and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, offered me one, and lit them with the light from his finger tips. I had heard of this thing before. The old man, who gave his life in Abremlin, would mention an "interface manipulator" to me before prayer every evening, eons ago. A force that could act upon a whim, a man who would break every known boundary. Conceptual, spiritual, metaphysical, and so on. He shed his flesh for something more tangible and became akin to temperaments like an "Angel". I smiled. The thing took a drag from his cigarette and began speaking straight to the point, not a modicum of energy wasted,
"The Interloper's carcass has been found."
"Found?"
"Here, at home." The smoke cleared his teeth, "as above, so below and all that." A very heavy presence could be felt in the room with us at this point as The Thing stared into a quiet oblivion past me. I thought to break the tension by asking the only thing I could scrounge up from my shriveled brain,
"Has anyone tried talking to Him yet?"
The Thing's smile began to return.
"And what do you expect would happen if He starts talking back?" His tone was condescending and dry.
"God no," he continued, "Only the fools in Italy dared to make a a presence. Even my messenger is scared what might happen if He were to 'wake up'." My face must have soured or shown some sign of anguish when he said this because a twinkle in his eyes began dancing with my disdain.
"A Messenger?" I asked weakly. The Thing's smile was shining from ear to ear.
"My guardian angel." He croaked.
I sat stoically and tried to keep the bugs under my skin from burrowing out. These words were meant to wound me and cloud my judgement going forward. A messenger was an omen that every Magi prayed for day in and day out. Every aspect of devotion and every micro gesture of faith is in the vain push to make junction with your Prince, your Perceiver. I was in the presence of something that had been granted my every wish. I hated him.
I began to look up towards heaven and the moon, contemplating the gravity of what, more than who, was in my kitchen, when it corrected me.
"No, No, No," he reached out with a hand that could cool a supernova, firmly grasped my chin, and maneuvered my head and Perceiver toward the ground. I stared for a while at the wooden flooring, studying the intricate patterns of grain and debris that I thought made them all look unique. And in this way I was sure they were, because that one had the blood stains from yesterday. And that one was scarred from worship. Does he mean The Interloper, God, was in this?
"No, you fucking idiot. He's just not up there." The Things tone was becoming colder.
"As above, so below," I whispered to myself in beginning of a prayer. The Thing just smiled and stared through me as I finished my invocation. My nerves were begging to be released by this point. The temperature in the room had been dropping steadily since The Things entrance and I had been wearing nothing but a T-shirt and jeans. I shook. I tried to keep calm and not show the bugs crawling beneath my skin, but I shook. I needed to take the reins in this "negotiation" out of necessity alone.
"Well, if you have truly surpassed Jachin and communed with wisdom, I don't see why I'm graced with your love," I said, "I am just a failed magician." The Thing was like a statue in his chair. A marble envoy whose very essence could rupture the foundations of 1000 empires and sprout life from pestilence. He smiled.
"A job."
"Come again?"
"A job. A quest. A holy crusade. Whatever the fuck you want to call it." The Things persona was starting to wain. Its temperament was seeming more like the child it physically resembled by the moment. It cocked its head back in a quick jerk motion that seemed to break or dislodge certain discs in the spine. It reared back and a tea kettle like hiss could be heard as it returned to its normal sitting position. It continued to smile.
"Dekard, I'll be very clear and upfront with you. In a sense, I'm the owner of a certain piece of knowledge that kings greater than Solomon and Ozymandias couldn't reach. A key to a door that's been shackled and forgotten by the Gaichu Spheres themselves. I know where the body of God is. And I want you to go stake claim." With motivation starting to form, confidence came in waves. "But why me?"
"Because I know you posses a pure heart," His foxy smirk was trying to hide something. His mask was almost completely gone by now. "And, you were asked for specifically."

Chapter Two

I've been a shriveled host for many years now. A husk that carries no more than my pound of flesh. Tempted by something that was piercing through the veil, but seduced by the aromas of what comes next. My mother and father would have been proud of me in this place. To have something truly greater than myself be inside, to take up residence within my bones. They would chant about honor. But I feel no honor. I feel the intruder squirm around my veins and twist between my arteries. I feel it coagulate in my blood. It makes my tendons and nerves vibrate at a frequency that could make beautiful things cry.
In more formative years, I traversed the globe in a vain search for ancient truths and wisdom regarding anything I deemed truly "magical". In my youth I studied with my countries most advent philosophers and absorbed anything I could find on alchemy and astrology. When those began to bore me, occultism drew me in to its ever unraveling bosom. I spent a small fortune amassing a collection of manuscripts and grimoires that I thought would satiate my thirst for esoteric knowledge, but only opened the wound further for more prodding. In my 20's a death in the family allowed me to cut ties with those who I once thought of as apart of my, "flock", and left the compound in Marseilles with no destination or goals. I was content to just walk for days without food or shelter in the hunt for any who could teach me.
I soon became allured by promises of glimpses past the great beyond, so my criteria for teacher suddenly dwindled to nothing less than a great esoteric messiah. Most men I met were nothing more than huxsters who used superstitions and ignorance to bleed the peasants of their gold and bits. After harsh days of travel, some nights I would arrive in a village or city and get word of a spell speaker or shaman who might be able to impress me, but most nights I would just leave more bitter towards the world. On one or two occasions, I did encounter things no God or Prince would ever have an answer for. In a village with no more than 50 people, I saw a child filleted alive so a priest could wear his skin to communicate with something that didn't intend to ever be seen by our Prince. The boy sang such a beautiful melody.
I saw a man transform into dust and pass through a keyhole, turn flowing water into solid gold, commune with the recently deceased, and gladly tell everyone at a party the exact date and how they would die in detail. He was remarkable, one of the only sages I met who could hold a candle to Jachin. But alas, he was tainted by some kiss of insanity and committed to blasphemy and hedonism, raping and murdering with no repercussions. I despised these times.
After many years and days of turmoil I stumbled across a man wandering the desert by mule and who traveled only by night, because he feared what his shadow might do to him if they were to ever cross paths again. He was a uniquely queer old man who ate none but berries, grass, and flowers and when he spoke he would use such extravagant hand gestures to emphasize the sermons in which he became highly attuned to other spheres. When he wasn't speaking about the love of God or the divinity of consciousness, he was masturbating and yelling at the earth with ferocious intent. He was truly a gifted magician, always preaching and instilling wisdom that everything we do was in His name and only through Him will we be blessed. He gave me half of what he owned in life, and in material possessions that was nothing but in spiritual knowledge, he was a king. I met the old man at the moment in my life when I was truly a lost pilgrim and close to returning to flock of the cult. It was through this man, who was deathly afraid of his own shadow, that I was able to find my "sarkos", my flesh. I stayed with him in his hut in the desert for 4 years, absorbing all that i could learn. When he was no longer a teacher and more so an equal, he sent me back into the world. He pointed me East and told me of a new teacher who was even more pious than he, "Hermes".
On my way to the east I stumbled upon a mining operation in Fiodor. Its veins were completely dry of gold, but the workers who stayed continued pulling up this beautiful magenta ore by bucket full. No practical use could be found for it at all, but it glimmered in the sun and when light refracted through, it would dance furiously. The locals named it "Ruxt" and soon it was the defacto currency in Fiodor. Out of necessity, I stopped for a couple days in that town and worked for food and board, helping to displace the earth for more strip mines.
I worked in the "Spear Head" division, leading the men in crushing rock and swallowing dirt to make way for the excavators. From time to time we would come across pockets of empty dead space and every time we did, and it would happen frequently, we would have to stop and allow the safety boys to come through with their Canaries. Hundreds of those beautiful birds were kept in cages on the surface for these procedures, and I grew fond of quite a few in my short time there. I never saw the sense in sacrificing an innocent life just to look out for mine and In that microcosm I saw ten birds die, each giving their soul for my own. I'm not sure I'd ever be able to repay one debt in a lifetime, let alone ten. I was always a proponent of sending in the drunks, after all they contributed the least and didn't produce nearly as sweet a tune. But after sharing my inner thoughts, I decided it was time to continue on my journey, least I be forced as the first to volunteer.
I walked for eons with no stars to guide me and no winds to carry me, I just roamed. When I had begun knocking on Beloved Death's door, I saw through broken sight and sweaty palm the city of Abremlin. Shimmering in emerald as it swayed in the horizon, I knew I had found my promised land.
I approached, as a broken husk of a man, and on the steps to the grand entrance I was rescued from oblivion by a beautiful woman named, Anupulii. She nursed me and cared for me when I was nothing smaller than a stranger to her. When I could muster up speech, through gargled tongue I asked, "where can I find 'Hermes'?" She would get a look of severe depression on her face and refuse to indulge in my questions. She was my bedside caretaker for months, always there for me for every second of every day, until I could finally walk on my own two feet, albeit with assistance from a cane. Even then she welcomed me, practically begged me, to stay with her for as long as I would like as she didn't have anyone else she lived with and her family had died from plague long ago. I saw in her face a look of desperation, her eyes the color of embers slowly dying in a pitch black void. Her conscious expressions gave me a hesitation to pursue my dreams, she made me want to abandon everything right there and life a new life in the "City of Broken Words".
Though she gave me a warmth I never knew possible, a hole in my chest had also begun forming that consumed all notion of content and stability. I found myself again nagging and continuing to ask about where to find Hermes. Her face would always turn a deep blue, the color of crushed sapphires when I did. Through gritted teeth and leaking eyes she eventually warned me of who I seek, that he was a powerful Magi who could teach me everything there is to know, but his price would cost me, as it did everyone searching, dearly. Like a castrated rabid dog I began accosting her, yearning into her eyes, trying to push through them, pleading with her Prince. A connection from across a mass of liquidity formed a bridge, coercing her inner thoughts for his exact location. She finally relented and with a look no amount of esoteric knowledge could ever clean, gave me my information. Her final words would lead me to the mouth of a cave in the heart of Abramelin, so without even thinking about the repercussions, I packed up my things and set off. It was only upon my departure I realized her solemn expression wasn't from the turmoil destined in my future, but the rearing truth that she would be alone again soon enough.
I found the cave, situated directly in the center of the city. A few men sat idle in prayer around it but the cluster was mostly vacant. I took a final note of the stars that were out that night, shining images of their past selves from distant spaces. Finally, like a pious fool sent on an errand to stop a dying tomorrow, I lit my torch and wandered into the maw with sense and rationality waning but blind faith in abundance.
I know it even now to not be the truth, but I swear I was walking for weeks inside that cave, over crevices and between openings so small that when I managed to squeeze through it was like the inner earth was my mother, squeezing me out in derision. After pushing through until I couldn't possibly fit farther, I stopped for the first time and rested. The only grace I had was the dying light of the torch I carried and even that was no refuge in the catacombs.
Not far in on my expedition into this cave I'd started to notice the bones and remains that littered the walls and floor. Starting off with a somewhat "appropriate" amount for the area I traversed, with a large amount being found towards the front of the cave system but as the gaps I had to pass got smaller, the amount of remains became less proportional to the area in my observations. Small liminal spaces, that didn't have a single use besides getting me from one point in the cave to another, would be filled with so many bones I'd have to be vigilant where I tread in fear they would topple over and crush me under all their weight combined. But then huge cavernous domains that looked to be used for mass or worship from the amount of litter and holy iconography would be filled with only a few femurs or skulls and all of them staged like they had a purpose. And on this repeated, ad nauseum, until I found myself in a sprawling boneyard with no bones and no way out but the way I had come in. I sat for hours, until my torch's light began to be snuffed out by the encroaching void, and then I sat some more. My eyes soon began to adjust to the nothingness and out of it, I began to see shapes forming in the corners, staring. Everything continued to stay motionless in the dark for a while, seeming to wait for something to make the first move.
After what must of been hours, but could very well have been seconds, a shattered wave of melancholia washed over me as I started to feel my mind slip into a deep embryonic cocoon. Phantom fingers brushed against my flesh as I began to thrash at the caliginous shapes in the void. I felt the cave space withdraw as their presence drew in and their hands gripped down with finger nails that sank into my skin, tearing the chunks of flesh and nerves from the bone. I screamed for Anupulii. The forces in the darkness were all too "happy", chuckling as they desecrated my atoms. I could literally feel every single molecule being ripped apart and thrown into a disgusting oblivion. I soon lost my mouth so I could no longer scream. Through all the pain and consciousness raping, I began to sense a warmth in my chest and a beacon through the stress. "Surrender. Surrender. Surrender." Whether this word originated in me or from an echo reaching through the cave mattered little as it rapidly enveloped my entire being. I could feel the space in the cavern return to me as nerves and skin began to reform from the nothingness. My newly atomized eyes were deeply offended by the pitch black, so through sheer domination I forced a clear image out of the cacophony and demanded the phantasms with words I had never heard, to keep its configuration. Their voices in the dark begged me for reprieve, but I kept my oppression firm until the picture became something I would call, beautiful. The image slowly settled into a scene from nature in some far off land, away from the scorched deserts of Abremlin. I tightened my grip around the shades and made them focus the image until it was corporeal, so I might be able to step through and see it with my new eyes. They were only too happy to oblige, because it meant I would soon to be gone from their hellhole, and sustained the now portal long enough for me to cross the threshold.
Through the milky haze on the other side I could feel the vibrations from the shades screaming and hollering as the image collapsed, cursing and throwing stones but with no effect visible on my side. It finally disappeared with a whimper and I felt the change in air pressure with my new environment. It was Moist. Great redwoods blocked the abrasive suns heat from beating down on my head and made the ground cool enough to walk on without my sandals. Birds sang and life frolicked all around me. It appeared like one of the biblical paradises written in scripture. Through the cacophony of sensations, a smell of fresh baked bread drew me to a large "tree", distinctly clashing with the woods around it, firmly rooted in the middle of a clearing. A wooden door with a red handle and yellow stain glass adorned the "tree's"trunk about four and half feet tall from the base. The whole "tree" looked to be made out of a metal or material entirely foreign to these surroundings. I was hesitant, but my stomach and exhaustion said throw caution to the wind, so I wasn't thinking twice about walking right up and knocking on the door. As the smells enveloped me, my mind began to retreat into joyful memories. Hermes was no more than a gnat pestering around my existence at this point. Something a younger, more so older me, would have been worried about. I began to loose myself back on the streets of Marseilles, playing with the other birds of a feather and then slowly starting to indulge in the memories of what home smelled like when the latch that was holding back all the unknowns of the tree began to shake rapidly......%%%.....I was beyond all fear or rational comprehension at this point, but as the wooden door swung open I was actually surprised to see a manlet standing no taller than 4 feet with a beard that dragged and trailed behind him at all times. He wore tattered rags and had a tree branch for a walking stick. His wrinkles and scrunches hid away any features that might convey emotion or an idea on his little round face and the orange hairs that popped through his skull wilted in the sun, highlighting how greasy and wirey the tangled rats nest had become. He stood to me as a giant in the doorway, commanding respect and reverence from all of Gods creations, so I bowed, but even then I was still too tall to make direct eye contact with the hermit. The old man shifted the folds and maneuvered the flaps around his mouth to form a smile. He invited me in, and offered tea and bread immediately.
His hovel, though nestled in a great "tree" the width of 1000 men, was about the size of a prison cell. His bed took up the entirety of one wall and the kitchen area with fireplace and stove commanding just a tiny corner. In the middle of the room sat a lone wooden rocking chair that faced a giant bookcase that went up to the ceiling, filled with knowledge that I could only assume pertained to other worlds. The old hermit shuffled around the room, grabbing dishes and cups from a cupboard above the stove. His beard began at his chin and flowed down and around his legs, disappearing into the rest of the "tree" through branches and leaves. Not once did I see him get tripped up or inconvenienced by it.

His facial expression stayed completely the same as he poured out the tea, like he was excitedly expecting something from me. I very quickly scarfed down his tea and ate his bread, trying to avoid that sunken gaze of his. He watched me eat from the corner and I could feel it from across the room. When I had finished my cup of tea he wobbled over to his immense bookcase and began pulling manuscripts seemingly at random. He accumulated a stack and then like a toddler with shit clinging to his diaper, walked back to the table. With a thunderous boom, the stack of tomes crashed down and the old hermit lifted his now free hands and croaked out plainly,
"Lonesome, weary Pilgrim, Serf to all that is His to raze, deathless babe who's clung to cancerous tit, filth born from virgin tears, i have what you seek. As with all things in life, it comes with a price. What are you willing to pay for these 9 manuscripts?"
I froze. The air in the room became painful to breathe and the flame from the fireplace had begun to rise in ferocity. All I could do was chuckle.
"And what would these tomes have written for me?"
I inquired. The old hermit kept that same wanting smile on his face and removed three of the manuscripts from the pile. He meandered over to the fire place with them and turned back to look at me. I could see two beads glisten in the light from the fire where his eyes could have been. He turned back to the now roaring flame and threw the three manuscripts in. My chest became tighter and my mind started to feel like rats were nestling inside. He returned to the table I sat at.
"Lonesome, weary Pilgrim, Serf to all that is His to raze, deathless babe who's clung to cancerous tit, filth born from virgin tears, i have what you seek. As with all things in life, it comes with a price. Are you willing to pay for these 6 manuscripts at the price of 9?"
The fire raged but the rooms temperature dropped. My skin began to feel like it was peeling from the cold in the air.
"I have no money or possessions to pay, what would you ask of me?"
The old hermit then removed another three tomes and began making his way to the fire place.
"No, no, wait! My family can pay. Whatever it is you want, they'll pay."
He continued on his walk. He reached the fire, and again turned to look at me, and after casting that fiendish smile gave me his back and threw the manuscripts in. After, he returned to the table once again.
"Lonesome, weary Pilgrim, Serf to all that is His to raze, deathless babe who's clung to cancerous tit, filth born from virgin tears, i have what you seek. As with all things in the life it comes with a price. Are you willing to pay for these 3 manuscripts at the price of 9?"
Like a torn flesh puppet, I felt the sound just trumpet out of me. "Yes. Yes, I will."
His smile then faded. He produced a dagger from tattered rags and beckoned me to extend out my arm. I did as he commanded and he began carving into my forearm as he recited,
"The first sin was the eating of the apple.
The second was the lying with the snake.
Open your mouth and the cloth will disappear,
Speak again, and it will return whole.
Blood pumps through the gardens veins,
And gives seed to the fruit of thy lords labors.
The decision and the sacrifice shall be one and the same.
He shall command as above, so below.
No penitence shall clean you from your first sin,
And no land will bear witness to any kin of the second."
He finished with carving what looked to be a sigil, and bowed his head in another prayer. The symbol he left me burned with an intensity that pushed my consciousness into the recesses of my mind. As he finished his prayer, his smile began to return.
"You will read and then hand copy, verbatim, every word that is in these manuscripts. Then you will recite what you have learned back to me. If you make one grammar mistake or omit even a single punctuation, you will do it over again. Only after and then, will I let you leave and return back to your "old" life, if that is what you truly wish for."
The hermit flowed his beard with his hand, and turned to retire for bed, leaving me alone with what I had paid for dearly it seemed. He put his walking stick down next to his bed and maneuvered onto his back, seeming to shift his wrinkles and close his eyes. "I'm ready whenever you are. Begin.".....%%%.....The first of the tomes taught me there was truly no such thing as sacrifice. If i was ever forced to make a decision, then i should find solace in knowing it was never a choice to begin with and therefore the sacrifice I made was just the same, an illusion. The written texts would jump from Ancient Greek, cuneiform, Hebrew, Sanskrit, and runes I would need help with translating. The old hermit was very patient and never grew frustrated with my lack of comprehension, staying up with me long into the night. After a year, i was able to finally crack the first manuscript with the final translation and recitation being the tomes title, "Sarkos Domini".
When I began work on the second, my mentor suggested I start with the title, and within a few days I was able to make it out as the same as the first. I soon became complacent and prideful in my abilities to translate these words and I noticed the hermits demeanor towards me and my studies shift toward irreverence, like I was suddenly a gnat on his walls. He would no longer set place mats or dishes for me at supper, and would often lock the doors after I would go out to scavenge, leaving me to sleep outside for nights. His prayers became shorter and his patience grew thin with my learning, hitting me and threatening me with mutilation if I were to drag farther behind. As I plunged even deeper and deeper into those tomes, voices and shades began dominating every inch of my psyche, tormenting me with visions of my body mangled and decimated in the cave. I tired to harness that feeling I felt , of pure power and reverence, but could only find a hollow abandoned hole in its place.
As the pain and visions grew, my mistakes in study doubled. When I had mistranslated a prayer out of a poem, the hermit forbade me from eating anything for 7 days and nights, and demanded I give "Tithes" to God. He took my arm, and above the sigil made an incision that ran crimson and sweet. He put a jar below the cut and began speaking softly while looking away from me,
"I have not been entirely truthful with you."
His frail grip became ironclad over my wrist.
"What will you do when the afterlife refuses to greet you?"
I could only focus on the sweet release coming out of my arm, his words began floating around me like moths to a flame. His shriveled hand gripped tighter,
"What will you do when your flesh is torn to nothing but your mind can not find rest? How will you ever find peace?"
My words came before I could even think, from some place that was entirely foreign to me or my Prince.
"I will find the God that allowed this and make him bleed before his adherents. His eyes will be mine, and I will abhor them, but covet them for myself until the end when all things perish but me. Then I will know peace."
The blood had stopped flowing. We sat in silence. The hermit removed his grip and sat back down in his chair. His wrinkles made a desperate look.
"Do ever think about where we are?" He somberly asked.
I gave him a puzzled look. Was this another test? I wiped the sweat off my brow and leaned back in my chair, trying to wrap my head around his sudden change.
"No im not sure I've given it any thought at all, honestly."
"There exactly lies the problem, my son." He turned to the fire and began to poke at its dying embers with his stick.
"Your journey here was something akin to the epics of old, yes?"
I nodded my head.
"Seen many things wholly unexplainable, beyond the rational imagination or scripture?" Again I nodded. He turned to look me directly in the eyes,
"But what did you see in that cave?"
He returned facing the fire. For the first time in close to two years I began to recollect my travels through the cave at the heart of Abremlin to reach here. It became clearer with thought that I had never actually referenced my experiences or even mentioned my molestation in the dark once to my teacher in all this time. I had simply just arrived one day. My skin began to crawl.
"What is your name?" He croaked.
The question punched right through me, leaving no trace of semblance or even an echo inside. My inland empire began to crumble.
"Do you even have a name anymore?" He retorted. My skin must have been peeling off at this point. My face became a twisted cacophony of disgust as the revelation began to wash over me.
"I have a name. Given to me by a father who glutted on the stars. Hermes. I could give you one, but instead of a name I gave you a kiss from the ethereal smile, Doomotia."
His words became the beacon I had longed for in my travels. The keys to unlocking any true potential in the universe.
"You were utterly destroyed in that cave, with no semblance of you continuing to exist in the material world after you stepped foot inside. I felt your life essence dissipate with Her, into the ether, screaming for someone. I wanted to take pity, and reconstructed you using the only thing that would dare bargain for a tainted form. Doomotia. It is the one who binds and the one who feeds. Pure chaos." He continued to gaze into the dying fire, "I couldn't ever foresee you crossing my threshold for any reason though, I was just a passing observer, so witnessing you arrive on my doorstep all those years ago brought the first real surprise in this life time. Truly sending me aback. Can you explain how it is you arrived here?"
I didn't dare move. I could tell he got his answer as he continued stabbing the flames, until his walking stick caught a hit from an ember and roared into an abyssal hate that started dancing on the tip.
"I am your creator. And I am no god. Tell me, do you still wish to make me bleed and covet these eyes?" I began to weep. The old hermit rested his frail boney appendage on my shoulder,
"I can never undo what has been done, but I can give you the means to never be afraid again. These tomes."
"But Why? What have I done to cross you? Why should I deserve such a diabolical curse?"
His smile began to return.
"Because my son, I asked for you, specifically."

Chapter Three

"Now you and me gotta move quick on this Deckard. Some break necks at the Viridio Sacrista have already gone through two Cherubim in an attempt to make a communion through the veil. But like all great men, they do not penetrate. Just jerk off next to it."
The Thing in my home put his cigarette out on my table. The Sacrista laid claim to a select few who might be able to perform real miracles in the world, but like my guest mentioned, their Dominion's were nothing more than LSD riddled Schizophrenics who stole the literal flesh and skin off priests and hierophants and by wearing them, misinterpreted more words from the Spheres than truths. But they did have a way of tapping in to some form of the ether, no unity with their Prince, but something nonetheless so their order was supreme. If they were trying to convene and make first contact, then this was something big enough to make waves in our primordial pool. The intruder in my bones got frisky. This was truly something divine.
"I want to guarantee my end in all this," I finally said, "make sure I get what I'm owed."
The Thing at my table's face danced with charisma. I could sense his utter disdain for my being from where he was sitting. "I'm not usually the one to cut deals, but what the hell. Stakes as high as they are, and all."
His smile burned The Intruder squirming through my arteries.
"All the riches in the world? A kingdom to shame David? Eternal youth? Any of the usual gambits strike your fancy?"
He passively flicked at the dried blood stains accumulated on the table as he ran down the list, when his nail stopped and his eyes raised to meet mine, "or perhaps true love?"
He continued to pick and smile from under his golden locks. I didn't want anything from this thing that I knew it couldn't feasibly achieve. Hermes had told me stories of deals with the devil before, but never ones with an Interface Manipulator. His words echoed softly in the back of my head.
Surrender.
"I want an end. I will go wherever you need me to go. Speak with whatever you wish me to speak with, but I want to see past the veil and stay there."
"Stay there?" That look of almost being afraid returned to The Things devilishly handsome face.
"You heard me. Nothing more and certainly no less. I want death, as she has wanted me. Can you and your, 'messenger' accede to this?" I didn't think it pertinent that it know the ins and outs of my affliction, but I assumed if any being on Gods green earth could finally put and end to my potential torment, it would be a Manipulator and his Messenger.
Its neck broke again and snapped back into place. His face was now a grayish imitation of what it once was, sunken and hollow showing bone. It broke again, this time reverting to the face I was accustomed to.
"Oh we can guarantee that my friend, and so much more." His smile was so high it tore the skin around its cheeks.
"I don't want more, you abominable heathen! And I won't be tricked either. I want your word, now." It shifted closer to me in its chair.
"I hope you get used to this Dekard; I'll do you one better. Take this with you."
He reached for the knife I had used earlier to silence the intruder, and rolled up his left sleeve half way. He didn't even look up at me before swinging down with the force of 50 megatons, severing his left hand on the table. It squirmed helplessly detached from its host, writhing and crashing from one end to the other. After a serious of dramatic pratfalls, the hand succumbed in the middle of the table in a state of rigor mortis, its death grip was opened with all five fingers curled in towards the palm.
"So you can bleed?" I inquired hopefully.
The thing raised his stump and bore the black void that took its place. No sign of tissue or blood flowing. He smiled, but in its place was vacancy, "only when I want too."
He began wrapping his void stump in paper towel, "You should expect bodily destruction. Inner earth will do far worse to you." My heart seized. The old hermits voice began to echo in the back of my mind, "what will you do when the afterlife refuses to great you?" The palpitations in my chest continued. I could tell The Thing was beginning to grow weary of me, suspicious of all my actions. It could tell I was hiding someone.
He presented the clawed hand, "A gift from me and mine to you and yours. Think of it as like a dowsing rod. It'll guide you to the blood of the garden."
He peeked up at me, then back down at the disgusting table. "It will act as a transponder too. Kind of like an answering machine. You can talk to it and I'll get the message at my earliest convenience. But, it's one way. So don't expect me to ring you back."
Its humor was a vain attempt to hide the fear and paranoia brewing inside, but underneath the charisma and bravado I could feel it try and squirm away, seeking any way out. The intruder inside relished in watching The Thing writhe in discomfort in our presence.
I reached for the decrepit hand and as soon as my flesh touched its, the fingers collapsed in, leaving just the index pulled back, pointing to the east. My first command. The Thing began to stir, rising from the table with grace and brevity. It marched to the front door and started collecting its coat. It only felt right that I remind it, "I'm just a failed magician. I've seen things in life that would make lesser men gouge out their own eyes, and though you've shown me a few tricks tonight, I wholeheartedly believe you have the power to decimate every dream man has ever created. Why come to me and delegate this task to such a lesser being?"
It didn't pause for a second, reaching for the door handle, and without turning it said,
"The collective unconsciousness is starting to become aware of His presence back Home. And in turn it's lashing out. Suicides skyrocketing. Animals leaping in front of moving vehicles and marine life beaching themselves on land. There is an unbalance that must be set right. You must act what men will call a traitor, but the world will be the gainer. The body of God will be defiled and sacrilege will be made to appease Higher Powers. Man will succumb to disease and not live to see tomorrow but life will continue to thrive in the universe. Is any of this a detriment for you?"
I shook my head no. "Then that is exactly why you were asked for. You are more than the failed magician Dekard. You are the man who did it." With that it swung the front door open and disappeared into the night leaving me to pack my things......%%%.....In the beginning, I couldn't find a way to evade the suns grace in any way. It seemed to me like the ever lurking voyeuristic father, one with a lingering gaze that gave a promise of defilement. The Intruder In My Bones writhed and constricted around my heart whenever I was forced to walk the path in the light, causing atrophy in my legs and hammer strikes to my head in rebellion. It was a truly a being of suffering, and trying desperately to shed some of that weight on to me. Out of anger and a sign of control, it would begin to destroy my body. It took great pleasure in removing the vertebrae from my spine so I was forced to traverse on my belly, like a snake. As I crawled across the landscape, in stark defiance, it would flay the skin on my back open so it could be introduced to the elements. Birds and insects became infatuated with me. The birds would come down and pick at the muscles and tendon, ripping them clean from my skeleton to get to the larvae that nestled in my organs. When I would actually stop and beg for reprieve, it would begin showing me visions of Anupulii being ripped apart by horse carriages and the remains of her being used by Gary Folk for foul pleasure. It showed me my home village, razed to the ground by nomad bandits. In graphic detail, it forced me to walk the streets strewn with the body parts of the righteous and hollered in glee as it made me pray to the viscera of the innocent cascading down the walls of the temples. Desecrated graves lay bear with the coffins turned over and the bodies shoved down the village well.
"This is my reality." It would say, "Our reality."
I could feel absolutely everything it wanted me to feel, and nothing it didn't deem me worthy for. I yearned for the real thing though as every pain it caused me and every vision it showed was nothing more than a synapse firing in my head. I wanted to feel the release.
From time to time I could see The Intruders true form, when it writhed and flailed, and in turn it could see me. After so long staring into the abyss, I gradually became wise in realizing it was looking into a mirror. Sometimes it would catch its own reflection, but only in passing, and see us dancing and love making. Sometimes it would think, "How fun would it be to dance the same way?" But ultimately, this is when the real pain of The Intruder emerges. In anguish, it begins to realize it'll only ever be an observer, peering through to imagine it is dancing. But it's surprising how quickly it'll look away from one mirror to another and in those moments think it's someone different entirely. An imitation of an imitation forever building maze walls inside itself in an attempt to keep that little bit of light trapped. Was I becoming the canary or the cave?.....%%%.....The claw pointed east and my gut began to feel a cold sinking weight. The destitute home I had squatted in for 9 months was now like a hornets nest to me, the walls were natures mockery and hollow. I packed my valuables and the rest of the dry food cans I had stored and the one extra pair of pants on top of the Sarkos Domini in a sack. Their words gave me strength.
"You are the flesh that maggots adore."
I chanted as I removed my tithes from the cupboard. Their crimson tint was almost black in the dimly lit kitchen and the aroma excreted when I unscrewed the lids made the walls breathe out in disgust. I began my prayers. The liquid in the jars boiled and bubbled as the antediluvian speech roared out from within me, spitting up into the world and crashing back down with bitter disdain. Parts of the blood begin to evaporate leaving tiny pools simmering in the bottom of the mason jars. With what was left over I collected into one jar and sat it in front of me for the final step.
I made the sign of the Tau Cross over my body, making sure my hand never touches my head - as God had lost his - and sat in a moment of absolute serene silence. When The Intruder had cast all its bargaining chips and groveled at my feet for mercy, I took the jar and began drinking the crimson nectar. Its partially coagulated state made the run thick down the back of my throat, inching into my depths like a slow march of a defeated nation. The whispers begin to crescendo against the blank back drop in my mind, the peace and serenity being violated by a presence growing in stature by the second, the intruder writhing in pain.
I began to vomit up my insides on the kitchens cracked wooden floor, its spread covering the unique markings that made them all seem like God to me just hours ago. I picked up one of the jars and threw it across the house, hearing it crash and shatter across the floor into different rooms, my final thank you to this place for putting up with me for all this time. I left out the front door, leaving it wide open for the next unlucky soul who might find himself halfway between a dying tomorrow and scorched today......%%%.....The roads in this town had been neglected since the people abandoned it in the early 80s, with the underground pipes busting leaving the main road in and out of town divided like the Red Sea. I began walking east, past the broken Mom and Pop shops that I had used to scavenge and survive off of for months. I thought about burning the whole thing down behind me as I passed the towns only school, but i knew this thought was not of my own or my Princes, so I chucked it away with every other part of me I deemed selfish and continued out past the outskirts of that old mining town.
The country at large seemed to be in a state of regress more so than panic, with the roads appearing abandoned in no matter what city I was in. Hospitals overflowed and sang with the wails of apostles who failed to meet their maker, begging for any soul to finish the job. They screamed about the end, saying things like, "whatever comes next is better than what's coming."
Bodies lay where they fell in most cases, and with the volume of corpses on every street corner rising, i assumed the "clean-up" priority was falling to the wayside. On the streets, body masses were lined with no faces, as they were volunteered to be removed before death. Entire families were displayed on their front lawns, with their feet up towards the sky and murky rust tinged sacks over their heads. Trees in parks had their branches weighed down by flesh and ropes. Spent casings from bullets lined nurseries to help assist God's tiniest vessels.
But through all the exposed sinew and muscle that lined the insides of buildings and gutters, life seemed to move on as normal for the rest of humanity. People were dying faster than flies, but if you tried not to notice, it would almost seem like a nasty case of the flu was just going around.
The onset wave of deaths seemed to actually bring a sense of ease to the sundowning people around me. When there was a car actually traveling the ghostly highways, they would always stop and offer me a ride if I put my thumb out. The ones I met mostly just wanted to talk about something other than the end of the world. To form a dying connection.
Hitchhiking got me as far as West Texas before I decided the company I kept on this journey was better kept to a minimum, as to avoid any unseen complications that might arise from humanity's more inquisitive natures. As fine as the people of this country are, their ideas of morality and justice were always thinly veiled backhanded attempts at a power struggle over my praise or acceptance. On long trips with nothing but the sky and road to keep your eyes from glazing over, the driver would usually start spouting idioms and examples of how they could be trusted and are somehow better equipped to deal with the cruelty, compared to the rest of the shit slinging passengers riding this baby into the ground. They try so hard to get me to see their point of view but in the end they're justifications for self masturbation in my presence is paled compared to my wishes for them to be splattered on the pavement like the other passengers on the highway.
On a pit stop in Louisiana, in a parish I had heard about in hushed tones, I stumbled across a bar forgotten to time with a few broken souls wasting away inside. The bar seemed to be an antique, with two salary men drooling over its top in a drunken stupor. A game of pool was being played by two black kids in the back room and they stopped to check who had walked in when I made my appearance. A dirty old jukebox played some Frank Sinatra faintly and tinny, as an elderly couple slow danced to the song in the middle of an empty dance floor. The older gentleman was wearing his service uniform from WWII, with the medals hung proudly over his heart. His brittle looking wife wore a polka dotted dress with pearls and red lipstick, and seemed to be holding on to her husband for support on the dance floor. Chums lined the wall, filling the booths with vacuous forms and stale smells. The bartender was busy mixing drinks behind the bar, and greeted me to sit anywhere I like. I meandered to the bathrooms in the back first, itching like a fiend as the bugs crawled over each other under my skin. I locked the door behind me and pulled the knife out before the light was even on, jagging it into the top of my arm and plunging down in quick zig zag motions. The flesh parted and I knew I had gone too deep when the tip of the blade chipped my bone but the blood flowed like Niagara Falls, droplets racing each other to the sink, so I didn't care how deep it went.

I returned to the room that smelt like ash and cinnamon and found an empty chair matching the adjacent table in the center. There was an elderly looking vulture eyeing me from the bar, chucking the shells of his peanuts in my direction as he continued to hold gaze. His left eye was covered by a leather patch and the scraggly beard he wore looked to be singed from fire. I immediately met his attention and continued to stare back into him, his face a sour shrew. When the bartender came over and asked me for my drink, I inquired on what the piratey gentleman was drinking and he said, "A Roy Rodgers."
"The same, and give me two of them."
I began to settle my things and took my eyes off the man for a second, and in that time he had made his way over to my table from the bar, about ten feet in distance, with two drinks in hand. A thick Dutch accent proceeded him,
"Pardon Monsieur, but is this seat taken?"
The only people on the floor were us, as the elderly dancing couple couldn't be seen anymore, so this question was clearly an ice breaker. But nonetheless, i didn't answer and he proceeded to sit, setting one of the drinks in front of me. His facial features seemed to shift and warp in the dim light, but really it was the excess of wrinkles that made the shadows play long games across his face. He kept a sullen expression as he drank and stared with his one eye, barely blinking for extended periods. His sunken shoulders sat atop a lean physique, but by the looks of his forearms, one that was built by hard work and manual labor. His beard was indeed singed and burned in certain spots, leaving patches of bleached skin across his cheeks. After we had sat in silence for close to 30 minutes, and had gone through multiple refills, the bird across me extended his right arm and introduced himself,
"Greetings. Caspar Of Wurms. Friends call me Worm. Aspiring tour guide, Et tu?"
I left his hand dangling above the table.
"Deckard of Marseille. Just Deckard, Tourist."
His eye brightened,
"Ahhh you see I have a preternatural ability to sense these things in people. Read them like books, yes. And I've been reading you since you walked in. You seem like a man very well versed in travels, but like as the yankee say, 'fish out of water' here, no?" His hand finally dropped.
"La Lame has many attractions for your liking big boy! The drugs are pure and cheap. The woman are young and impressionable. Boys too, if that's your thing."
His smile beckoned me to inquire for more. I stayed silent.
"Perhaps it isn't the pleasure of flesh you're after but the pursuit of knowledge? Voodoo Boi's can read you your future and even prevent death, for the right price of course."
"I've paid my dues." I said shortly.
The old bird shifted in his chair, "well I'm here to help Mon Ami! This parish is my beautiful bride, I only let the good ones get dirty with her."
He chuckled and choked on a a ball of phlegm. I began to see the wings sprout on the yellow belly canary sitting in front of me, his purpose now painfully clear.
"Do you ever travel out of the country?" I inquired.
"Mon Ami, I'm citizen of the world! My passport has no bounds." He smirked.
"What if I wanted to hire you to guide me abroad?" I asked.
"Come again?"
"If I wanted to acquire your services, but for in another part of the world, how much would you charge me?"
The old man looked lost in his thoughts, trying to penetrate through me with that blank eye. He scratched his patchy chin and finally spouted out, "my home is here, in the parish, but for a soul like yours I could part from her for $30,000 a week plus room and food taken care of. I've been to every continent and laid my head in every port. But don't play silly games with me Mon Ami, you don't look to be able to afford these drinks!" He rolled back in laughter. I reached for the satchel at my feet and perused through it until I found one of the countless loose objects that littered the bottom. The old man's expression was pure ecstasy and shock as I produced the gold chip, about three inches in length, and tossed it towards him with an air of disgust. He immediately scrounged for it, diving into its trajectory with ferocious intent. He ogled it with his one blank eye for minutes.
"I can guarantee a steady payment, as long as you stay by my side and ensure my safe travels. Care to accept?" His eye darted from the gold to me in a quick shot.
"Aye, I can achieve what you want. But where is it we are heading? If I have a lay of the land, I could be of more use to you!"
"A schooner is docked in the port of Roux that'll take me to Morocco. From there I will travel East, until I find my destination. I can't give you any details beyond that I'm afraid. But if it helps, I can pay you more to buy your faith."
"No, no, no master that will certainly not be necessary! I have the upmost faith in you! You could take me to the Sahara and leave me for all I care. Your word, and money, is good with me. My cousin actually lives in Roux, let me give him a call to get some supplies-"
The little birds lips kept flapping. He was way more animated than he was when he first sat down to greet me, moving his arms and raising his eyebrows when he spoke. I detested every fiber of his being but The Intruder inside squirmed effortlessly through my arteries as if its prayers had been answered. I stared for a time, getting the shape and form of the man in front of me memorized. After a while all I could see was the canary flapping its wings.

Chapter Four

The canary was beginning to hinder my journey by the time we arrived in Cairo. Certain "vices" kept him at the mercy of controlled substances, and his stash had been dry since we crossed the border out of Libya. His struggle to find a dealer was exasperated when he realized the whole of the world was looking for the easy way out.
No country we visited appeared to have a reprieve from the Interloper's visit, with piles of men and woman stacked towards the heavens. Dead animals lay strewn out in the streets with even the light foot traffic carrying their entrails all across the city. Fires raged constantly in the middle of towns as they desperately tried to fight the spread of diseases among the growing corpses.
Caspar, the Worm, had remained relatively reserved through out our travels, but I could tell the insurmountable evidence of world corruption was starting to leave a mark across his leather face. He carried with him a M9 pistol, and as we got closer and closer to the city of Fiodor, I noticed he was traveling with it unholstered at almost all times. Certain quirks about the man soon reared their heads as time went on as well, like the overshadowing attribute that I could only respectfully describe as, "yellow belliness". No more than 10 times a day did he throw his hands in the air, jump and holler towards the sky because some critter or animal scurried past him. Every wandering traveler or merchant we saw was immediately pulled into his iron sights and seen as a potential threat to our safety, unless I specifically designated otherwise. Multiple times I had to use powers of suggestion to get him to travel down winding ravines into sprawling valleys because he was too anxious about the accent he would have to make on the return trip back.
When we would rest and make up camp, he would set up his tent and things in such a pattern that everything he owned could be seen and accounted for at all times. One night I told him, "if I wanted to steal anything of value from you, it would have had to of been mine to begin with, or at least assumed to have been. Everything you own is thanks to me, and everything I've given with no quarrels. Why do you cast such little faith in me?"
In an attempt to try and pry into that deteriorating mindset of his. He just laughed and continued setting the gold bars in neat organized piles, "I put no stock into you betraying me for my possessions my friend, but the other souls at our encampment I can't quite be sure of."
His eye dashed from shadow to shadow in an attempt to pin whatever it was that plagued him down. It seemed my little canary had his own intruders to worry about.
When time would permit, I would try and touch base with the severed hand, but with not enough consistency to form any pattern. I would send reports and give updates on my odyssey, starting with the voyage from America. I began to use it as a makeshift diary, venting about my frustrations with Caspar or the turmoils of seeing lifelessness everywhere. I started to designate the visitor in my hovel as, Kincaid, when I referenced to him in my messages. An ode to the explorer who bridged the gap between continents and peoples but was granted the glory of never existing by contemporaries and academia. The hand continued to point where ever the East winds blew, sending me across barren deserts and inhospitable landscapes that only wished to see my body decimated.
Certain landmarks began to become recognizable to me as we walked, watering the seeds of ideas planted hundreds of years ago when I first made the trek for Abremlin. Ancient statue heads peaked atop the sand dunes and peered into my soul from afar, beckoning me down the same trail I took leading into the heart of the desert before Abremlin. The sand parted and oscillated around my feet as I settled atop a massive dune, staring into the endless oblivion of sand and heat waves before me. For an insurmountable amount of distance, the dunes spiraled over each other off the edge of the earth past the horizon. A faint glimmer reflected off some obelisk in the far distance, just visible enough to pulsate every few seconds. This was the city of Abremlin, tempting all who travel to the world's end to take a few steps farther. I consulted with the decrepit claw, its flesh had begun to dry and pull back towards the bone in the hand, making it seem smaller than before. The index aimed directly towards the pulsating beacon......%%%.....Word of me and my pets arrival in Abremlin must have been foreseen or foretold, because an envoy of colorful tunic wearing messengers met us about halfway between the desert and the city. They carried staffs of wood that didn't cast shadows or leave imprints on the sand when used for walking. A child with them carried a trunk that held water sacks and food just for us, and the men beckoned us to lighten his load. They spoke Abremlin and after going through unnecessary lengths to show they were unarmed and meant no harm, shepherded us through the remainder of the barren desert, corralling us towards the city gates but stopped themselves at the great steps to bow and praise us before returning out into the inhospitable oasis.
Me and my bird began to conquer every step, and when I set my foot on the very last one I began to collapse and weep with such dreadful tears. This was my first time actually walking through the city entrance by my own strength, and the emotions that overwhelmed me began constricting around my vision showing how much of a parody my journey had been all that time ago. I began to reach and beg for Annupulli, striking at Worm when he tried to calm my frenzy. The guilt of leaving that woman behind began to corrupt my inner peace, unleashing a torrent of thoughts and feelings I thought had died in the cave. A guilt washed over me as I began to recollect my self on the great marble entrance. The people of the town just continued to walk past us, paying no mind to the episode I just had in front of them.
Worm bounced like a top about to lose its momentum, grabbing my belongings and trying to get me to my feet before someone did make a notice of us. He lifted me up and put my weight over his shoulders, dragging my feet the rest of the way through the entrance. I became furious, and struck him for his insolence, turning back around so I could finish walking through myself.
The city was bustling with vendors and life, beggars lay in gutters where bone and tissue had been in other parts of the world. Children ran across the Bazaar, playing tag and picking fruits from the stands as they ran. Men traded and sold healthy appearing cattle and livestock with no talks of disease or illness. The city was close to exactly the same as I remembered it all those eons ago. The shriveled claw began to vibrate softly in my bag as we made our way to the heart of the city, the cave of Ersatz Sun......%%%.....The entrance to the cave was blocked off by giant boulders and rubble that filled its entire gaping mouth. Shrines and candles were adorned all around the exterior, with a few apostles praying to the rubble. I approached one who seemed to be just admiring the stones and asked, "Excuse me pilgrim, but how did these stones get to be placed here at the cave?"
He didn't turn to me or even seem to acknowledge my existence for a bit, but soon he let out a deep breath and said without even moving his lips, "The Corps didn't want just anyone approaching and convening with God, so they sealed the entrance off until his Holiness returns with a worthy vessel, or one appears."
His statement was matter of fact and blunt, like I was somehow slow minded to not be privy to this already. To poke deeper, I didn't feign ignorance, and asked, "The Corps?"
The man finally turned to me and gave me a look of arrogance and disdain, and with a cold glare indeed did speak without parting his lips, "I'm afraid you'll have to get inoculated somewhere else heathen. Begone from my sight."
And returned to face the mouth of madness.
I assessed my surrounding and noticed one of the stalls in the bazaar was swarming with an unusual amount of activity. Hands were desperately reaching towards the center, each holding a piece of paper. The people at the elbowed and shoved to try and break their way to the front, but would get hit in return or pulled back to the edge of the swarm. No banners hung in or around the stand, so discerning what its purpose was, from my perspective, was a futile gesture. I approached the ornery swarm of bees and gave my things to Worm before approaching a man sitting to the side of the commotion with blood gushing down his face.
"My friend," I said giving him a piece of cloth from my shirt to help dry the nonstop flowing stream of blood, "what is the hysteria with this vendor?" He looked up at me with piercing blue eyes, "A vendor? This isn't no vendor! This is the Heaven Smiles Corps recruitment station! Are you daft, where have you been that you don't know?"
I sat down next to him on the side of the street, "I am just a visitor to these bountiful lands, but I was a citizen long ago. This Corps must be a new entity, because I can't remember the people acting like this for just some recruitment."
The man looked at me quizzically through his fingers as he held his nose, "New? Are you alright in the head, young man? The Corps has been the divinity for Abremlin for over 100 years now, since Agrothepa III died and Hermeticism became categorized as, 'parlor tricks'. Has your head been hit too hard trying to get your ticket signed?"
"I believe so, my friend. Excuse me, I must try and get to the front again."
I collected myself and observed the crowd of ragging men move like the waves of an open sea in storm. The area of flesh was close to 30 yards around, with bulging hunks of meat making dense pockets of sweat and blood impenetrable by any conventional means besides hacking away at it. I felt a swell in my left arm move from the tips of my fingers to the base of my neck, and the hair on my arm began to stand up as if flirting with grips of electricity. The blood in my veins felt like sludge, as I hadn't had the privacy to release the pressure since the envoys had arrived, making it so I could feel the Doomotia crash against the walls of my mind.
The Intruder writhed and squirmed between bone and artery in sheer glee as the voices inside began to envelop me in a symphony of absolute terror. My heartbeat was all I could hear. I could feel the words rising from the pit of my throat and make their way to the forefront of my tongue, cursing each part of me as they passed. Color left the world, making it feel like the world had fallen into a deep slumber, where no part of the whole could feel what I was about to do to it. A molestation of sense and reality spurned from my words as the blood began to start moving again, racing to body parts that didn't feel anything. The world was stirred back before me, all eyes on me as the bazaar had gone completely silent.
I stood there, with my hand in a contorted vice grip raised to the sky. The entire bazaar was transfixed on my presence, with not a single breath being let out from me or anyone around me.
"What did you say?"
A disheveled husk of a man finally sprouted from the silence. Some rustling could be heard emanating towards the center of the mass of meat and another voice perked from the crowd, "You heard him Philistine! Don't make him repeat it, please!"
The others murmured in quiet agreement. The rustling from the crowd seemed to draw closer and a group of woman, dressed in all white linen robes, emerged from the wall of flesh and muscle. Their beauty was actually painful to me at first, with a visceral real light seeming to emanate from the leader. The look on their faces was one of sadness and deep despair.
"Is it true? Can he be dead?"
The glowing one asked me. My instinct told me to run, abandon this holy crusade I found myself a pawn in and accept the death of humanity like everyone else seemed to have done. My insides turned ablaze as the glowing one seemed to touch my Prince, her gaze melting me from the inside out. I let all inhibitions fall, "Yes. I'm sorry, but He is."
A single tear started to drop from her eye. "Then by the power invested in me by the Almighty King of Fools, I place you under detainment until the details of this murder can be understood."
My legs began to buckle.
"Murder?" I inquired, but I was short on my feet because they soon gave out and I lost sight of every little thing in this world......%%%.....My eyes gave a wide berth to the new surroundings I awoke in. My face was plastered on the cells stone flooring, that smelled atrociously of piss and fear. The walls were stained with excrement and dried human tissue that dangled from chains and iron stakes. The air was sulfuric to breathe, causing a burning feeling to rupture my throat and lungs each time i inhaled. Worm was a husk, shriveling in one of the corners so wound up tight, it seemed he wished to become one with it. His hands were clutching his arms wrapped around legs tucked to his chest, and his clothes had been removed allowing me to see old scars strewn among a cacophony of fresh red openings. Crimson crevices stretched from his neck to his back, with deep pits and craters forming where the instrument used was finessed more brutishly.
I felt around my body with swollen hands, but didn't need to search far, feeling stale air infest each incision and slice up and down my carcass. A thin puddle of blood had accumulated around my person with trails escaping down the slope of the flooring, out through the rusted iron bars that confined our space. The old Hermits voice rang out again, "What will you do when the afterlife refuses to great you?" My body was nothing but mutilated muscle and flesh hung on shattered bones, if not for the grace of the kiss of Doomotia I would have surly perished from my trauma, but alas I knew I could never be that fortunate again. My worst fears were starting to become my reality. I brought my head up, supported by arms with muscle that flayed open when flexed. My hair had been stained orange and dark brown from the puddle, matting the blonde strands to my face. I crawled over to Worm, feeling the gravel and stone of the cell floor beneath my body kick up into my wounds and open them farther or lodge themselves deeper in the folds. I reached for him, and before my fingers could grace his flesh he swung out with his hands and hollered like a dog in a snare trap. He hit me across the face, sending me to the piss soaked floor once again. His expression was pure vacancy, the muscles moved and the single eye darted all around, but I could sense my canary was no longer fully with me. I saw for the first time his exposed socket and noticed a certain rawness around it, like it had been filled or rubbed viciously recently. He wept when he realized it was me who he had struck and reached out tenderly, "Mon Ami! Mon Ami! What have they done to us? Why must you insult and throw salt into the wound?"
I was beginning to become fed up with the questions that only threw me farther out of the loop. It didn't matter right now what I did or why, but how I was going to possibly get myself, and hopefully my bird, out of it. The Intruder squirmed like an eel giving me the notion that because it had gotten me into this mess, it wouldn't be planning on getting me out. Plus the strenuous blood loos kept it at bay, so even if it wanted to dig my grave deeper I got the sense it would only be hurting itself at that point.
I sat upright, leaning my mass against the cell bars. I needed to get a handle on my situation,

"Enough with that weeping, my God man. How long have I been unconscious?"
"Three days." He said through snivels and shallow breaths. The pounding in my skull confirmed this. I inquired further, "Listen to me, every detail will help guarantee your life. What exactly did I say get this level of defilement?"
His face contorted into fear and anguish as he began to recall, "Mon Ami, Mon Ami, please! Don't make me repeat it! They did all of this to me because I dared to utter it again. I beg you, the walls have ears! I will not attend another 'skull party'!"
He buried his head back into his chest and legs. I caught a grip of him by the back of his hair and yanked up so I could gaze into his eye, his face shown nothing but defeat. "Worm, I pity you, I do. But right now i need power. And the only power I have, is knowledge. So I will only say this once; please."
A tear began to fall down his beaten red cheek.
"You gave them cause for great concern. You said- you said," he wiped his face with his hand,
"you said that Geist was dead, in a pit in some infidel land, and that YOU were the one who put him there. You laughed as you described cleaving his head from the body and spilling his blood on foreign soil. You were sacrilegious with their holiest of holies, their King. The level of detail with which you used to describe the hacking of limb from bone shocked the entire crowd, even me, and I didn't even know of him! I don't know about any of this shit!" His fists started to clench and the veins on his face became more pronounced as a deep redness washed completely over him, "What the fuck have you drawn me into here, friend? What the fuck is this Stone Age city where people don't seem to realize the world is fucking ending?! Do you know what they do to the people here? Do you have any idea what they do for fun, for ritual? You're completely out of your depth here, Mon Ami. You will never gain power over any of this."
He turned his back to me. "Can I ask you another thing before you abandon all hope in me and life?"
I inquired as a desperate lifeline attempt. I continued to see nothing but his bloody pulpy back, but I heard a whisper speak, "I couldn't stop it if I tried."
"Who is Geist? I thought they were inquiring about the body of God beneath their feet."
His lower back began to convulse, with the echo of laughter bouncing off the wall in front him, "if only it could have been that simple. He is their God-King. Their Shepard. Their leader doused in gold. Sure, he is their God, cursed with our form."
I found myself under the thumb of another religious fanatic who used the superstitions of weak minded people to hoard power and breed wealth from derivative prayer. I had seen a few of these "Kings" before, even lived under the same roof as one. This King could be dealt with, just like any other monarch. I just needed to play the fool and arrange court with all his loyal subjects.
I began shouting at the top of my lungs, shredding my vocal cords to a pulp so the guards behind the thick stone walls could hear my wails. I went on for minutes, until a metal door to the west of the cell flung open with the power from a kick and two hulking slabs of augmented flesh and bone strolled in with bats and crow bars reared. "Seems we got us anotha play mate here, Bilo. Reckon e' just played dead to avoid his punishment?"
The one on the left spoke with an indistinguishable accent, and I felt his unwavering stare penetrate me with no way of respite because his eyelids were cleanly shaved off, the same with his lips. His swollen body appeared to be riddled with puss and his arms and chest were traced by bits of stitches that conjoined at least two sets of different people into one monster. His entire existence seemed to be routed in suffering. I began conversations with a domineering tone, "I must speak with whomever is in charge, I'm owed a chance to face my captor."
The creature to the right, Bilo, who was shorter than the one on the left and had fewer scars or foreign appendages from my observation, brought his bat down in between the bars causing the base of the handle to crack into my face. "You know, I hate it when they start talking about what they aren't and are owed. It's like no one in their position can read the room." Bilo said, as he squatted down to my level, inspecting my bird and me in our cage. He was younger than the other brute by many years, but the look he gave us while we sat humiliated and ashamed, was something a kin to a general at the end of long losing war, unhinged. Worm cowered in the corner, attempting to melt in with the shadows, a trail of yellow liquid came running down from his hiding place.
"I feel cheated - actually - knowing you weren't really there when I had my way with you. I tried to restrain myself because after all, what's the point in any of this without the begging and screaming? I don't do this for the fun of it," Bilo's speech was smooth and calculated, each syllable was perfectly placed with no breath wasted between words, "but there are a few things I get enjoyment out of in my work. One of those things is assisting wretches, like your companion there, in realizing that they truly have no limits. When I've crossed every inch and they think their body can't take any more, I introduce them to new receptors that they couldn't even imagine possible to explore. It can be a beautiful sight, a real connection. In ways, I think I know you better than you know yourself."
"Is all of this showmanship supposed to break me down farther? Your words might scare lesser vermin, but I'm afraid you're just another torturer to me." My words matched his coldness.
He lowered his head in a smile, "I want to help bring you closer to your true potential. Because In actuality, I care a whole lot about you. I'm the only one who took the time to look. But I always forget, actions speak louder than words."
His smile reminded me of that Thing Kincaid's, back in my kitchen. That entire interaction seemed to me now like a dream that I had just woken up from, but could scarcely recall the details. Bilo's sight's locked me in, "but I am a man of faith, and my faith tells me that you will be saved. I know it. And salvation starts with giving in to a higher power. So here I am. I will grant you this one thing. His Grace has just returned and has asked to see you post haste. But know that after you face your accuser, the rest of your time will be spent with me. And I can't wait to show you how much I care."

Chapter Five

Bilo's monster lead me and my bird through the halls of what could only be described as a temple, by rusted chains that dug Into our writs and ankles. It lead us past robbed clergymen and normal looking citizens who cursed and spat on us, throwing debris and whatever object could fit in their hands towards our bodies and heads. We walked up a spiral staircase, then through giant oak doors that needed 6 guardsmen just to open and into a chamber that smelled of incense and absolution. The monster yanked down on the chains, careening me and my fellow prisoner violently into the floor. It tightened the slack it held in its patchwork hands, keeping my head up so I had a clear view of steps leading to a throne and altar. The room had a dark omnipresence that invaded every crevice and corner within it, with whisps dancing from one shadow to another. A large golden gong was struck seven times, and braziers were lit on either side of the throne sending the shadows and dancing shades back into oblivion.
Maidens began to come out from behind the throne, lining the steps on either side. The gong was struck three more times and the room became eerily still despite the growing bodies within. From the center of the throne, a dim orb of light began to erupt from the nothingness and grew into a burning sphere that reminded me of the antediluvian light Kincaid used to introduce itself. In the burning spheres center of mass I could see what looked to be drops of something like dirt, matter, blood, or some other primordial substance, form into the guise of a recklessly beautiful man right before my eyes. He then appeared directly in front of me, seeming corporeal from the absence of anything, and I could feel the tension from the chains around my body ease up into the ether. I heard what sounded like music, but soon turned into words,
"Piotr, why are my guests mere shells of who they were before stepping foot in my city?"
Piotr, the monster who still held the end of my burdens in its hands became dismissive and shy in the presence of the corporeal one, refusing to raise its head and look at him at all.
"Well, dey said some tings that made Mama Eti cry. So me n' Bilo tried to make 'er feel good again. It worked." The corporeal one tsked his tongue repeatedly, and the monster that towered above me recoiled closer and closer to my level with each one.
"I understand and cherish your love for Mother Eti," his tone was like the choirs of heaven had opened up, "but I left here with very specific instructions."
He began to look down on the creature that tortured us, "I will require penance, for each of the afflictions you cast upon my guests you will receive ten fold. I will take my pound of flesh now."
The monster above me began to shake uncontrollably as the corporeal one reached out his left hand and without hesitation or strain, gestured at the stitches and they began to remove themselves from the top of the monsters torso, letting out a smell of death and putrefaction. The stitches absolved into the air, releasing the arm that once held my chains from the body of the beast that cherished them. The shoulder space was nothing more than a void, like the space Kincaid had adopted in his hand after donating it for my journey. No screams or terror could be felt, but a very visceral feeling could be touched when the arm hit the ground as the sensation could be shared among all of us. "Now, run along to collect Bilo and tell him I require his 'supreme devotion' for one more thing. Please."
The monster began to shuffle back down the grand staircase, away from the grace of what now occupied this space. The corporeal one turned to my bird and me with a face that expressed nothing but a love or affection and spoke softly but clearly, "My friends, my words will never amount to the sorrow I harbor for not arriving sooner to clear up any confusion that clearly occurred. But know from this moment on, I will do whatever is necessary to show you I mean no harm at all. It is not much, but it is a start."
The corporeal one raised his right hand and with ring, index, and thumb held down, waved his hand over our heads and spirits. I felt a cool tingling rush build from my toes and shoot up into my eyes. The tendons of my body began to reattach with the cuts and crevices closing up, leaving fresh scar tissue in their place. My bird looked like a scrotum with all his new markings adorning his body. I felt the muscle return to my legs and allow me to hold myself up for the first time without the assistance of chain or beast. The corporeal one looked defeated still as he gazed upon our fresh forms, "What's done can never be undone, even by me. But, some things can be borrowed to make them like new." A soft smile began to form across his face as he bowed in front of us. "Deckard, Caspar, I welcome you to my home. This land has known me by many names, but you may have the honor of calling me, Geist.".....%%%.....The dining room table was as long as a Yildvinian neck when hung, occupying the entire space of the room. Our words echoed off the walls as we drank and ate a lavish meal prepared by cult servant girls, expressly to our liking. Geist was a gracious host, never allowing my glass to become half empty and keeping my spirits high with the stories of missionary trips to forbidden lands, sharing such details that kept me from begging for more. Worm was swarmed up by a harem of the servant woman, they poked and evaluated every inch of skin, oohing and ahhing at every break in fresh flesh. I indulged myself on the skin of pig and endless goblets of Persian wine. I let myself get lulled into his symphony.
"Another creation myth? Pray and tell, I beg you!" I implored.
"Well, it's more a moral story than an origin story. But the people it originated from were the first to read the stars, so maybe it has some truth buried in it." He seemed to begin to drift off.
"Come now, you seem more than capable to sus out truth from fiction, I'm sure you of all beings could find the right side to stand on. What is this tale all about?"
He began to stare into my eyes, I could feel him make contact with The Intruder as it nestled in my intestines. He looked past me,
"Well, it starts with an idea.
'When Nous created life, It did it by complete accident. Before creation there was nothing, a void, and without awareness He drifted endlessly. Until one moment something new emerged. An 'Idea' formed - the first - and from this new consciousness came The Nameless One. And without trying, one had become two. With this new 'born' form came also something new. Light reached out for the first time and formed the boundaries of time and space, casting its glow on everything. And with what it couldn't reach, it grew covetous and ignited the first war thus making way for something else that was new, darkness. And with this perspective between light and dark, Nous now had an awareness of the things around it.
With His next thought, Noid was formed and with this new creation Atoms were arranged to form dust and particles wherever She went, and these particles were so enamored by her beauty, they formed into celestial bodies and heavens just for her to live in splendor in.'"
I took bigger sips from my wine and tried to indulge him so he could continue to flow, "so which one is the Demiurge then, exactly?"
"My friend, they all are. But let me continue, as I can easily lose the plot in this.
'With the sudden shock of existence, Nous found itself struggling to come to terms with understanding and consciousness, leading Nous to spread his newly formed Atoms across the freshly formed cosmos to try in an attempt to create what was soon to come, 'death.'"
"Couldn't they leave that part out?" I tried to joke, play along with my hosts game but my host didn't entertain me. He continued on as if I never interrupted,
"'In the Father's absence Noid and The Nameless One wandered the cosmos for eons, creating stars and planets with no reason. On one celestial body, an idea formed in Noid and before the universe could comprehend it, She devoured The Nameless One whole, leaving just Noid to wander this new existence. And with this action, because of a whim or just a thought, Death was born and thrown into the cosmos. With more and more creation, She followed suit and with all this new death something else formed inside of Noid. Not an idea, but a feeling. Something primal. Guilt and fear.'"
"I'm beginning to understand some of the morals you were talking about, but how does this influence all the other creation myths man has shared around the fire?"
His smile began to return, "I'm glad you asked, because this is my favorite part.
'So with this new way to understand and express consciousness, Nous reformed and made notice to all that his children had done. In awe of his child's wonders, Nous decided to try his hand at creation but with intent, something new. With this intent he created Burnister, and with Burnister came Entropy and Chaos. The stars began to drift with time and wither back into dust as well as crash into each other violently and constantly. Before all of this new existence and creation could be utterly destroyed, a single star that was created towards the beginning of time, careened into Burnister and from that collision of his corporal form into a celestial body, came Martyr. And with her, she brought Order and Justice, Aligning the swirling constellations, thus creating gravity and arresting their cycles.' Then there's a lot of work that's gets done after that of course, but most elders would end the story with something like, 'and with this final creation, Nous rested.'"
Geist sat in his chair posed like a great thinker lost in his memories. The story resonated with me for a time after it had been spelled, sending pulses through my mind as I tried to clear the fog of wine and woman from my forefront. Towards the end of the evening, Bilo showed his face in the dining room and it frightened the servants so much so that it caused Geist to take a stand and use harsh words to calm them. Bilo tried speaking with my host, but Geist just brushed him away with a flick of a hand, returning to the feast as if he had never left. After the feasting and whoring had died down, Geist personally escorted me through the Grand Temple to a room furnished with my belongings and some new gifts from my prestigious host. Kincaid's decrepit claw sat on the dresser with all the fingers closed, except for one, pointing straight down. Geist beckoned me to try out the bed, and I almost collapsed into sweet oblivion the minute my head touched the pillow. Geist just smiled and wished me a good night, mentioning something of divine inspiration and duty. I felt his presence slip out of the room as I drifted off for the first time of my own volition, melting away in the satin sheets and feathered pillows. Tomorrow, the fool will show his head......%%%.....The morning light came quick and even my Intruder felt robbed when an acolyte came and lightly rapped on my chamber door, allowing himself in after I gave no response. He presented me with a change of clothes and continued to stay to watch me undress but left without saying anything after my new pants had been pulled up. As a different acolyte led me back down drab hallways and up spiral staircases, the atmosphere in the Temple appeared to be very different from the night before with an influx of military aged men holding spears and whips, loitering in the halls and standing in front of doorways guarding Corps secrets or prayer groups, I assumed.
My guide led me to Geist who was in his grand chambers standing parallel with the altar next to Worm. They were in the middle of a prayer, Geist holding worms hand in the air as he chanted some words but paused as he saw me ascending the stairs, "Ah, my son! Please join me and your companion for a morning prayer."
I approached and the smell of incense assaulted my senses. Fresh blood stains adorned the altar with the ritualistic dagger that drew it resting close to worms other hand. It was hard to perceive between all the other markings on his flesh, but I could make out a few new red cuts that hid behind his sleeves.
"Mon Ami, good morning! I hope you slept well! Monsieur Geist has shown me all of the temple and I have to say, I'm very much sold on what they're selling."
Worms face had become a twisted facade, smiling with bare teeth that made the bags under his eyes disappear. He had a redness to his cheeks, not from drinking or beating, but from laughing. He looked at peace to me.
"And what is it they're peddling to us?" I asked as internal defenses raised in anticipation for a showdown. I parked myself on the other side of the altar, away from Geist and Worm.
"Why, salvation. What else?" Worm said hopefully.
Out of pure instinct I laughed, I had not known Worm for very long, but I had known him to not be a man of God or a man who forgave easily. "I mean no disrespect to our host, but no less than 24 hours ago, you and me were naked, bloody and beaten in a cage at the bottom of the world. How is it you've been able to turn the other cheek so quickly?" I asked.
Worm seemed to take offense from my sudden line of questioning or maybe I touched some raw nerve, with the smile on his face retruding into a slight frown and him lowering his gaze from mine. He whispered, "that wasn't Geist. And I know how things work now. He showed me It's best to be on the winning side, I've seen the writing on the walls." My birds speech began to remind me of the cultists at my home compound, self flagellating in the dark corners of faith, speaking about sticking it though and seeing things from the other side of oblivion. I began to feel the intruder squirm as an anger began to build in me from Worm's self blinded delusions.
I turned to Geist, his smile unending on a face that only God could smite. His white robes glowed in the chambers dim light as he reached a hand out across the altar towards mine.
"I would love to explain my friend. Please, take my hand and I will show you how I showed Caspar."
I instinctively recoiled and in doing so, I could tell I was starting to offend the room as the temperature began to drop subtly. To try and swell some tension I claimed, "I don't mean to be rude. I'm just yet to forgive all things, like my companion here. Trust is a bridge that is built with time, not gifts."
Geist pulled back his hand sharply and seemed to drop the edges of his smile slightly. He turned to Worm, "Caspar, would you do me an honor and check with Bilo to make sure he is prepared for the journey? I suspect he might need some assistance."
Worm bowed his head, "Of course Quasar." He began descending the grand staircase, but looked back longingly before disappearing into the temple.
"Can I start with a word?" Geist asked me, his tone calm and soothing.
"Sure."
"Faith. To me it's the glue that holds our reality together. Without it, I'm as intelligent as an insect. With it, I can communicate outside our Spheres. What does it mean to you?"
"It means an end. For something to begin, must mean it can end. My faith gives me strength."
"You don't have faith," he smirked, "you have knowledge. You know the secrets to this world."
"As it would seem you do, as well. And the rest of your followers. So let me ask, where is your faith stored when God has returned to his flock and hates what he sees?"
Geist began walking around the altar towards me, "In the same place it has always been kept. My heart. Everyone's prayers and fears begin and end with me."
I started to feel the intruder rise with my confidence as I backpedaled around the table,
"You know, I've meet something just like you before, in a kitchen in America. Only it was far more settling to be around, because I could sense its true intentions. Tell me now, you knew we were arriving in Abremlin, even sent an envoy to greet us. What is it you tortured me for?" The Intruder spoke commandingly, "and why are you switching up methods all of a sudden?"
His smile persisted though I could feel a sudden break in the atmosphere of the room.

"This isn't a switching of methods, this is a continuation. I broke you down so that way I could reform you, in my image. I needed you to be malleable, fresh clay in my hands so you could enter the Kingdom of Heaven, and return to tell the glory of it!"
His hand had risen, same with his ferocity as he spoke. It soon dropped, and he rested himself on the altar, "This is what I've done for everyone here, including Caspar. And if my faith persists, you as well. Come, let me show you how I convene with Gods."
He pivoted away from the altar, seeming to float down the grand staircase without making a sound, beckoning me to follow as he disappeared down the spiral staircase. My instinct told me to run and abandon this derivative temple, leave Worm to pray and spread his flesh among the other acolytes that choose to be blinded when faced with the reality of a cruel God. But the Intruder propelled me down the steps and through the spiral staircase into a hallway with one open door at the end. I made my way down, with the only sound being the click from my heels as they hit carpeted stone floor.
Through the threshold I found myself in a laboratory close to the size of the grand chamber room, with cadaver tables lined with twitching bodies in rows stacked to the ceiling. Electricity spouted and flew through the air as the bodies were hit sporadically from wires that protruded subdermally from their heads and feet. The room smelled of burnt flesh and excrement, with the wires all meeting in a singular point and leading to a tiny desk situated in the middle of the laboratory. Attached to the desk was another body, wearing a skullcap that had all the combined wires feeding into it. The body at the desk was constantly convulsing, releasing its insides all over the floor as it squirmed in agony. The desk jockey was somehow writing things down, sending the papers flying off the desk onto the piss and shit covered floor as another acolyte would slowly collect them all.
"This is where His will is received." Geist said as he closed his eyes and raised his hands. This temple appeared to me now as a home to a cult that was much more powerful than any Sacrista I had ever witnessed, with Thrones that dwarfed Virdio and all those fools in Italy. I puked. Geist laughed, "it can be overwhelming to the uninitiated, but I implore you to feast upon its glory in whole. My Cherubim deserves your gaze, at least." I looked up through fallen blonde strands at the desk jockey, convulsing and writhing from the perpetual electrocution.
Cherubim had always been around for communication outside one's own Sphere. Since time immemorial, there have been certain thinkers who can tap into some consciousness that others can't perceive, and bring some of it back with them. Over time, a new breed of gateway was discovered, a vessel Cherubim's could tap into to get a clearer picture of the Gaichu Spehere's, The Thrones. Truly untapped potential, vegetables in human form. Through them, Cherubim's were able to get cleaner messages from the Gods, but they still usually came out as garbled nonsense or decrepit symbols. It wasn't until a sect of Brothers, The Dominions, began experimenting with LSD and wearing the flesh of higher priests that the translations could be interpreted as something other than utter chaos. Thus a harmonious symphony of pain and torture transpired to communicate with Gods and Higher Consciousness, forever bridging a gap that was better off a void.
I had seen catacombs filled with Thrones, but never on this scale has a forced communion with the Spheres been done. Communion usually transpired between a Throne, A Cherubim, and multiple Dominions, as the translation would break their minds beyond any comprehension or repair, but in this hole in the bottom of a temple lied an affront to everything Magi had strived for. I repulsed from the smell and the sights. "How can you accept this fate? Why would you let your followers suffer and go through torment on earth, just to be lead to dead ends?" I began to cry.
Geist began to kneel down to my level, "This is what they want. The world's greatest thinkers flock to me, so they can be used for something greater than themselves. Without any one of them, I would be like a monkey with no hands. I make it up to them by making sure, His will is done."
The sound of flesh being burned pierced through the silence after he spoke. He stood back up and began walking out to the hallway, "Come, let me show you the fruit of their labors."
He gracefully floated up the hall and through another threshold, this time into a tiny room with a single desk in the corner. Tacked to the one of the walls was hundreds of pieces of parchment, each scribbled on psychotically by multiple sets of hands, each correcting and seeming to contradict the last. "His Truth," Geist said as he brushed his fingers against the pages on the wall. I was taken aback by the sheer amount of it all, the wall seeming to extend inches beyond its normal designation. Cursed prayers littered the pages, with a common phrase being written, "The Flesh returns to shed once again." Towards the center of the wall was a layer of pages all stacked on top of each other, but with the same red marking lining them all, "Ersatz Cave."
"I traveled many moons to get here. When I arrived in this city, it was a Mecca for whores and murderers, cheats and liars, beggars and thieves. I was accosted by the poor on every corner and looked down upon by the priests who ruled in this temple before me. But I came with the word of God, His promise to give me shelter. The Heathens didn't even realize the Glory beneath their feet, thinking it nothing more than a cave. But i knew. I always knew. And once i showed them, they practically begged me to lead them down into Salvation."
Geist was no longer a presence in the room but a spirit that inhabited every nook and cranny. The door leading back to the hallway had closed and I could hear him continue, "But even I was unable to break the barrier and step foot beyond the precipice. I tried in vain, sending acolyte after acolyte, only for them to be utterly destroyed in body and spirit. That was when He made His will known, He didn't just want anybody. He wanted you, Deckard."
I swirled in the darkness of the tiny room, trying to find Geist but he was no where to be seen. His voice called out from the void of a corner, "He wants someone Tainted, someone fresh. He used your name, Deckard. Think of the honor that comes with that."
I thrashed at the paper wall, tearing down a patch of papers and throwing them towards the shadows. The room was completely silent. I sat there for what felt like hours, refusing to take another step towards what was amounting to be, my destiny. The door slowly began to open, and I could feel the fresh air fight back the stale odor I found myself in. "Meet me and your travel companions in the Grand Chambers when you've mustered up the strength, please. I think you've waited long enough."
The voice called out from every shadow. I remained seated in the dark room, refusing to even acknowledge the presence. In my left arm and then soon the rest of my body, I began to feel the muscles inside flex and spread open, working their way to the surface sending crevices and crimson flow down my body. The pain returned as all those opened scars felt fresh air for the first time again, and I crashed onto the floor from the sudden shock of trauma, almost drowning in the puddle of blood that accumulated around me. The voice called out from the shadows again, "I put you back together, don't think I can't take the stitches that bind you away. I requested your presence in the Grand Chambers, please don't keep me and your companions waiting any longer." Geist let the cuts and incisions bleed for a few seconds longer as a show he could, before he closed everything back up like he had done before. My reality had become worse than my nightmares. I would never truly find peace. I slowly gathered myself off the blood filled stone floor, and peered out into the hallway to see if Geist or anyone was close by, watching me. It was completely empty. I began to pray, remembering what Hermes had taught me about self control. When the fear had subsided and the tears ceased to flow, I gathered myself and began the arduous trek back up to destiny.

Chapter Six

Abremlin has always been a place of people left to fend for themselves. Their oral history dictates that the original man who walked this desert was so knowledgeable on the workings of the world that it absolutely terrified the Archetypes, leaving them to shun the whole of the dunes away from Their grace and Their ever watchful thousands of eyes. Because of this, for time immemorial the city has stayed on the outskirts of the Boundaries, invisible to all who seek but showing up for any who desperately need her. Because of the founders innate cognizance towards untapped mana, the city used to be home to countless Magi, each belonging to a different sect that followed rules that contradicted the others, but was all fed from the same tablecloth. According to my host, they have been eradicated, along with their visages that prove they once graced the land that their murderers stand on.
Ersatz Cave, at the heart, had been the founding monument on which the city rested on, for it was the only thing that stayed true throughout the eras.
Though the sand and brick would shift and crumble in the desert, the cave remained a beacon for those who turned their hearts to something less tangible and more fortuitous, if at least prayed for hard enough. In the City of Broken Words, a phosphorus dynasty once laid claim to leadership over all its denizens, with the founding family ruling this domain for the last 15,000 years. Up until this Interloper arrived. I later learned that Geist seemed to appear out of nowhere one day on Abremlin's timeline, just to shift the paradigm completely. He appeared to me now as just another one of Hermes' Interface Manipulators, an Angel, but one who seemed better adapted to handle the human condition, after shedding his.
The Old Man used to love to go on long winded tangents about the process after sparking his pipe. A Magi, usually an old one, through undaunted devotion and prayer, would touch the Barrier of Boundary between their Prince and themselves, allowing a decomposition to take its place. After the Barrier has fully dissolved, the Prince is forced to gaze through the eyes of the Magi, allowing for the first time, a sustained picture of the self, a self image. With this negative image - that when exposed to light shows just a fraction of the whole - the Magi sheds its flesh and bone and ascends to something closer to God but still lesser than the Greater Source. Once the Barrier is completely dissolved the Prince is forever cut off from the Greater Source, but still holds on to the residuals it absorbed from its time there. Truly untapped potential shoved into the body of a man, with all the trappings of an angelic beast that can now do no wrong because, it does not know what wrong is. The ritual was extremely rare, according to my master, and the odds of ever crossing one who had attempted, let alone succeeded at, was so astronomically small that it was better just left unsaid. But here I was, in the chambers of one, and holding the hand of another. Oh, how my mentors head would reattach itself, if only he could see this......%%%.....All bodies present in the Grand Chambers seemed excited to see me, with Worm coming right up to apologize about the way he left after our discussion this morning. I honestly had given it no second thought and just patted him on the shoulder as a sign of good faith. He showed me to my bag packed up and ready for the trip, with some extra provisions and protection given to me by the Corps. I made sure to keep those things segregated from the rest of my belongings, as I crouched to consult with Kincaid's Claw. It had been vibrating steadily since we crossed the threshold of the town, gaining heat as time went on which made the withered leathery flesh scold my fingertips as it rested atop them. The index finger continued to point down towards the hollow earth beneath my feet, casting a shimmering glow onto my destiny with a cackle, like an old hag who caught the children. I tucked the claw into my bag, and beneath a change of clothes I felt a cold hard shape take form. Worm's gun was nestled at the bottom, seemingly stowed away beneath clothes and provisions. I looked to him, and he meet my gaze but just gave a look of relief. I decided to keep it hidden.
"Did the Quasar give you the run down, Mon Ami?"
"Quasar?" I inquired
"Merde, what the fuck did you two talk about if he didn't give you the run down?" Worm seemed genuinely more concerned than curious.
I continued to shuffle around my bag,
"Abominations and Absolutions, I'm afraid."
Worm began eyeing the throne and altar where Geist stood with a progression of followers, "well then he must have mentioned our guide."
Worm spat after he finished uttering the last syllable in 'guide'. I followed his gaze and met where his eyes had settled on Geist, standing over the altar in prayer. Laid across the top of the thick stone slab appeared to be a body, dressed finely in a yellow pinstripe suit. Geist's hands spasticity waved over the body, making gestures of symbols with his fingers and contorting his wrists back and forth violently. I couldn't hear the words he spoke, but I saw his mouth cease movement and the body on the slab rise up and face the congregation.
The face, even in the dim light of torches, reflected everything. A wet sheen gleamed from chin to scalp, with features damned to wallow in shame for eternity. The mouth was vacant, with wetness and glare replacing it. The eyes were fleshed over, and the ears ripped off with stitches enveloping the crevices. The nose was completely absent from the face, shaven off like everything else and just exposing the fleshy, wet, surface that now took its place. Worm cowered away when it began to turn its head in our direction, but I found its lack of gaze, beautiful. Whatever bastard had done this dastardly deed to another human being, I admired, especially at the thought it had done it to itself. I refused to look away.
"Gentlemen," Geist boomed from atop his bone and ruby throne, "you've had the misfortune of meeting my Protégé before his reformation, I'm afraid. But I would like to extend an olive branch, if you will, and make good on more of my promises from earlier. The helpless Husk you see before you is my dearly beloved, Bilo. In his ever expanding heart, he found it easy to shed the burdens of faith and gladly gave me his face as a sign of true devotion. Bilo has promised me, he will guide you two down into the deepest pits of Ersatz Cave with no discomposure or misgivings. With Bilo having slighted you and yours, I only thought it appropriate to allow him to repay the mistake by showing you the true kindness of his heart. Isn't that right, my Bilo?"
Geist turned his head to the husk on the alter, it remained motionless. I latched the top of my bag and stood up gracefully tucking it behind my shoulders, "Your assistance is welcomed, thank you Bilo for volunteering. I look forward to getting to know the real you." He remained motionless on top of the altar. Geist removed himself from the cursed throne, "Come now, we mustn't waste more time. For God helps those, who help themselves.".....%%%.....The cold fresh air of the night brought a new life back into my chest. I hadn't seen the stars or moon for close to a week, and the sound of insects buzzing gave me a jovial pep to my step as I followed the procession of spear clad followers through the sleeping corridors of Abremlin. The city seemed oblivious to the small militia that infested its arteries, not even stirring when the men threw down their spears and began to heave the rubble and boulders away from the mouth of the cave. Geist didn't see fit to join us on the trek down to the mouth of God but I could feel his cold stare from atop that loathsome throne, peaked above the temple that lurked around Abremlin's skull, through the wet slick featurelessness of Bilo.
The cultish men made short work of the rubble, going back to their spears as soon as the mouth was agape. The ominous void of the darkness that escaped called out my Intruder, and beckoned it to come swim within its murky depths. It had been drained, once again, from Geist's display of divinity earlier in the temple, forever regretting each moment since it made me open my mouth, now that the threat of thousands of reopenable cuts hung over its head, but the call of nothingness made it squirm and writhe with anticipation of its home. It made my stomach bleed.
Bilo began, without notice, walking into the oppressive mist of nothingness with no light or care for us. I looked to Worm and his face had become sunken and white, devoid of that peacefulness I saw earlier with Geist. He began to follow behind Bilo, torch in hand. I gave one last look behind me at the City of Broken Words, trying to take in as much final breath as I could. The men seemed anxious, their grips tightened around the handles of their spears. My time had come, and I was foolish to try and delay the inevitable.
I took my first few steps into the unknown before lighting my torch and witnessing the faint shine of Worm's begin trailing off behind vast rock walls. I had made this trek twice before so I felt an ease knowing the Bird and the Guide were ahead of me, but still a deep fear began to reside within my chest from the idea of being left behind. The light from worms torch completely evacuated my space, leaving me at the mouth of the cave alone with my intruder. I heard the rubble behind me settle as the spearmen had put it back into place behind us. My knees began to tremble as the darkness around me was fought back only by the tiny light of my torch, with the shapes of unending torture dancing around in instigation. I was frozen in the mouth, too afraid to take another step. The thought of my body being decimated in this cave and being left to never rot possessed my every being. I began my prayers out of desperation but they could do nothing to quell the coldness that gripped my spine and soul. After those gave no respite, the mantras from the Sarkos Domini began oozing like the flood.
"You are the flesh that maggots adore."
A new, but calming word came to me as a whisperer in my throat but soon shifted and wormed its way into my skull and then brain, "Surrender." The word sent my intruder into a fit. "Surrender." It nestled itself right inside my amygdala and I gave my surroundings another look, the torches light seemed to cast farther than before, sending every shadow into obscurity. I tried to collect myself and brush off the notion of bodily destruction by literally brushing the dust off my arms and legs. The cave was a lot more inviting now, but Worm's torch light had long been extinguished from my view leaving me with one nagging dilemma. That feeling of fear, that feeling that I was going to get left behind in the mouth of God.

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