From M. J. Hewitt, a horror author who spreads the demise of his spirit in every bone-sucking chapter. His intense ruminations on dark spiritual forces contain the potion to convert us into the archons of hell. More
"Once again, I lift my head high, but this time as an offering to the great gods far above, who in return, chant my name; and with this, my spirit leaps for joy within my animated corpse. With this sight, I collapsed to my knees in praise of the Dark One, and I wept joyous, bloody tears, the blood of the ongoing carnage, which, by the second, was unveiled from within my new, dark, gorgeous face. Thank you, for this is the most wonderful gift I could ever have received. Within darkness, under the cover of night, my tears gently dripped onto her worn grave. Praise Him, I chanted within my mind as I ripped away the remaining boards and then peered into an even deeper darkness, a darkness that could only be the darkness of the grave. I screamed at the darkness, but no sound came from my mouth, which had now transformed into a slit within my flat, white head. My body with great speed and agility, darted, without my control, into the darkness of the bowels of my new home, deep within the legendary mountains of madness, where I would lie in wait, for the coming of the wizards, of whom I would consume most heartily. My only child, I watched your spirit being released by the darkness of death from your glorious tomb of flesh and bone, and grief bit deep. And suddenly, like beautiful music, your voice I could hear within my head. And with this, more pain tore through me, and I wished for death. But I know more. The one who is as dark as the deepest night. He screams, "I am god!" For I am god. The twisted, dark tower is so tall it gouges the belly of the beautiful crimson sky. I screamed into the darkness. A spike from one of the ants was painfully thrust into my side, and then I was just left there in the silence and the darkness, alone and afraid, waiting for death to arrive. Skins from the bodies of the dead, now left red, raw, blistering and bubbling beneath the solar sun are draped around my shoulders, and untouched dead bodies are laid before me for my pleasure, for I am king, the king of this world that lies within the dark recesses of my mind. The only thing noted as slightly strange by the police was can ugly-looking, silent clock, which lay in pristine condition on the pillow next to the mortally-wounded head of one Adrian Tempcroft. For what seems like all eternity, I have been imprisoned within this bloated, translucent body of Spider God Atlach-Nacha. I have screamed for help from within this stinking chamber of darkness, but to no avail. I will blubber into your decaying face, but then I must split your skull for the hidden treasure of knowledge kept within the depths of your damp grave and hidden within the darkness of your death's head. And I, only I, will then conquer all."
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