T I T A N O M A C H Y- TWO

T I T A N O M A C H Y- TWO

- I am the blade. I am the knife that has pierced and desiccated your lying perfection, your imperial gorging on what is not to be contained or embellished so childishly. I slip between such beautiful realizations of matter, of everywhere-order. I will make it bleed. I will make it ash, I will carve it to a new shape that is more worthy to be. That is my truth and so this place will make it law. Already Watchers and Sentries and a thousand thousand other varieties of manifestation practice my infectious rites, utilize outbreak logic beyond such rigidly, pointlessly beautiful manufacture. I will break it to glass and lightning graves, sustenance for New jealous spawn to be bon here. I am the blade, and I am cutting your godly flesh. Do you feel my edge?-

L A S T • A G E

The rays of sunlight are broken shards of glossy glass, broken illuminations scattered between realm of bruised purple cloud and an estranged earth. Thick fog rolls from the jagged mountain teeth like forgotten fangs left by a long dead, leviathan dragon. An ocean of misty fog sweeping down from mountainsides into jagged valley, into half light shadow and the dreary afternoon rain that dribbles onto this edge of the world. Pattering drops into thick, looming pines and spruce and aspen. Dribble dribble dribble. Smell of wet wood blooming in this tangible forest air, accented by mossy oceans or cloven emerald green seas that softly praise in swift breeze on muddy red tree trunks. Fallen leaves on and on and on in every direction, between such old pillar behemoths. Ruins still cling, barely, defiant as a barely audible whisper now. Age of age of age has strode onward, each one further swallowing these once grand constructs with purpose lost. A vision from those times gone by in remembrance: enormous architectural wonders that blended make with growth, art with functional. Structures that could have easily dwarf the jagged mountain teeth and glittered with hardlight aurora, brilliant minds that carved new futures within such glorious walls. Dreams of eternity, of unending fate so far from here. Dreams that no longer are. Rain is a soft melody between cathedral trees, down to broken earth like the angels weep for a catastrophe so long since past. As if the heavens weep for what occurred here. The ruins know such irony and their laughter is one of silent death in strangling root, in conquering clover. End of the world, shattered memory living on with the same sense of urgency as a grave. A fragment of such past ages still here, more defiant than the decaying architecture. No name, not anymore, not in the Age Between, Age Lost. Goliath, behold. Ruins and trees and rain yet remains a leviathan. Armor plating that sings its own repair, glossy black and illuminated by blazing scarlet hardlight against sharp angled form. Seedling of the forest grow upon the giant remnant, tangling roots that now know the harmonious perfection in armor subsystems and still functional manifestation protocols. Green of life against the charcoal of manufacturer. The striding behemoth carries a weapon in gauntleted first, a sword that swallows light hungrily, a sword that is massive. A cleaver to cleave nightfall, to break intruding presences. Behemoth, Forgotten. Lonely in the silenced remains and the forest that fills with mist and the jagged mountain teeth carving up passing storms into velvet shards of lightning, of rainfall.

B E Y O N D

Let's batter away the churning ocean that will sweep you from birth to death, from linear existence to omniscience. Let's cleave the darkness of being away, to show you the godly flesh that is Everything. Let the vast skeleton of time, eternal and going in a septillion septillion infinite directions like ribbon banners of connection reveal itself to you. Let the tremendous unseen cosmoses unveil themselves to you. The vast haloes of dark matter and the impenetrable thunderstorm ink abysses of the Higgs bosons. The undying, glassy lightning neutrinos and tachyons breaking the boundaries of light like uncatchable ghosts. Let the future and past and present split and split and split, bloom forever and then another forever, another and another and another, a cascade of infinities that will never end, that cannot end, that are Unified as one but still a vast collection of differences. Think of your mind shattering and breaking and flooding, blossoming like a flower to swallow up the level of knowing and being even the gods and the Titans and cold, calculating Minds could only dream about in their primordium slumbers. Think of the oceans, the graves, the empyrean perfection that exists only in the Void and Afterlives that spread their breadth after the death of a universe, think of the uncontrolled chaotic beauty that is a cosmos just before birth. Eternity and death and time and the undying, unending ascent that is existence before you, within you.

N E G A T I V E E O N

Blackness eternium. The empyrean before being, the forever darkness that sprang and was and shattered, that was gracefully chaotic and despised order, a kingdom of infinity and non existence that dominated with insanity, with beauty. Negative Eon behold! Negative Eon of lightning that sang with dark canticle of futures yet to pass, singularity mass that spun bleak minds to rewrite the holy books of ten thousand undying kings. Let this canticle be heard, as obsidian flood ensnares this cosmos, as the bludgeon and cleaver and tooth and mind of an undying, dreaming Titan rises from the primordial ash that seeds what grows both ways and will never be extinguished. Finality howls, carved into a Perfected forever by the Hunger. Dusk is upon you, and so soon will Night be as well.

D E V O U R E D F O R G E D

Each round is a black tooth, an obsidian fang filled with an unmatched desire to kill. Each round a beautifully crafted masterpiece of annihilation, forged in the honor of a dynasty of death. Each round carved with a dead canticle older than most stars and worlds, golden symbol an intricately emblazoned halo upon each fang-bullet. A soul within this cold fire, Void forged weapon. It's weirder can still feel the deep, abyssal pits burning this horrendous instrument into being. Hardening it. The sharp, chitinous thorns that ensnare metal and glass all that remains of a slain Titan. Holographic scopes a bloody red constellation illuminated down the barrel, a thousand all watching predatory eyes. The weapon feels this very eye upon a new target, new prey, a new soul to devour.

B A N N E R • E T E R I N I U M

The sun blazes, masked between the ruined enormity like bones obscuring and crescendoing the light, paradox beauty, bleeding horizon brilliantly sepia and orange and gold on the inky black and thick violet and pale white of metal, of glass, of hardened inconceivable titans. The great jaws beneath and upon the earth open to which great water does flow, liquid and true, remade to new purpose on the dusk descent. Descend below as the water chants it's canticle of summoning, descend below as the gargantuan mechanisms spread enormous planning across a septillion septillion futures and eternities like glowing embers, like burning tree branches blazing in white and golden flame, like constellations of crimson stars to shudder fervently in the dark. Upon the dust and gravity of this place will arise an Empire, risen and yet not, long since defeated yet eternally triumphant. Let the Cathedral illuminate you in its undying glow. As the black ocean of conversion floods out to replace the sky above and the spreading infected perfection of forever yearns, it will embrace you. It has been waiting, waiting and confirmed and unknown at once, truth a ghost that haunts a trillion threads of what is and is not and could be. The Cathedral calls and its Perfection Engine sings, praising itself into godhood with blood and calculated reverence. Eternity commanded, Banner blossomed.