"“You wouldn’t want to rule over these people? Cast their souls down to Hell and be in command? Why the hell do you think we let you out of the pit?” The demons were getting angrier by the day. Their ideas were almost starting to tempt him at this point. “We’re but scars on your wretched mortal soul. These scars are what have kept you alive all these years. Come forth, old man of the damned. These pithy humans made you this way. They cast you out, they let you become a statistic, a mere stain on their so called ‘perfect’ world. Why the hell do you hide yourself away from them? Are you scared of what you might do to them? Clearly, you are.” Devin was shaking at this point. “Your body ages on the outside but not inside, cast away these rocks that entomb you and become the nightmare to humanity you were destined to become from the beginning! Why not rule over their souls instead of hiding away like a feeble worm….” Everything they said made more and more sense to Devin over the years. “You can do so much more than you realize… Go forth and make them suffer…”
Standing as neither cadaver or flesh,
reborn in blood, become obsessed.
Only the unborn are blessed,
they'll die drenched in vomit and piss like the rest.
My rejection, turned obsession.
Destroying lives for my redemption.
Killing in rapid succession,
some might call this genocide.
Neither monster nor man, I pray
on weakened souls as mine frays.
Demon's heart bleeds into me,
yet somehow I've never felt more complete.
Demon become me...
Left afraid and isolated for years,
I've become the future's seer.
A martyr who bathes in fear,
longing to unmake everything you hold dear.
Now comes the time for your confession
for forcing the weak into oppression.
Death will be your final blessing,
now let your past consume you from inside.
Twisting, writhing, gripped with fear.
Your world fades black when death is near,
when greatest terror isn't losing life
but when your past consumes you from inside.
Your cries can only be heard by yourself.
Reaping the sympathy of no one else.
I'd rather leave you dead in the rain
and become your soul's inflictor of pain...
This is the sacred way of the flesh,
this is the way our people are born.
Give your soul to the weaver of death...
all rights reserved