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(“It is not because of anything that can
be seen or heard or handled, but because of something that is imagined.”
– H. P. Lovecraft – The Colour Out Of Space)
There was a certain fatigue in Dylan’s mind which
abruptly had began to plague him just as he was trying to focus even
harder on the screen in front of him and all the sudden everything turned
into a blurry mess like some impressionist painting gone horribly wrong.
Carefully he closed his eyes, wiped them out and then opened them again
but everything remained looking like some nausea inducing mosaic and as he
turned around to scout the room, he came to that inevitable conclusion
that all of reality shared that hazy perspective. It was of course obvious
what had happened, he had just been sitting in front of that computer
monitor for much too long and now his sight had become estranged, no big
deal: all he needed was some good rest and tomorrow all would be well
again and the world looking bright and beautiful once more. Altogether
Dylan had been quite busy as of late and especially today … it had started
a few weeks ago when a question had been posted on one of the online
Lovecraft forums he belonged to: What if the Necronomicon is real afterall?
Of course it had always just been assumed that Lovecraft had made it all
up and eventhough supposed editions of that dreaded book had been
published it was quite well known that these were just fraudulent; just
some stupid texts made to cash in on Lovecraft’s brilliance. The question
as to whether or not there might afterall be such a real tome, it was so
simple, perhaps even naïve. Usually he would not have bothered with such
questions; afterall the cyberworld was full of those supposed magicians
and occultists with their made up systems which often made him question
their sanity; this time however the question struck him as odd. The
question was absurd, but maybe it was in that absurdity there was to be
found something hidden … what if all this ridiculity was deliberately?
What if Lovecraft had not made it all up? What if the absurdness was a
mysterious wall of protection around the actual book known as the
Necronomicon? What if the supposed fictiousness was just a way of keeping
those descriptions of perfect horror safely locked away from the public
eye?
He once had heard that Lovecraft had access to a rather good collection of
weird and interesting books, perhaps there even was a Masonic connection,
yes: those lodges they sure were full of secrecy. Who is to know what
really goes on beyond those locked doors? And all those very high degrees,
those degrees only available to a select few: what might they be hiding?
Which old and secret books might they be in possession of? There was
something else he had been discussing with a friend earlier today, that in
Masonry there is some talk of a Grand Architect. Immediately something had
resonated within Dylan’s mind, this had a particular meaning, ach yes:
weird geometry … yes, Lovecraft had something for bizarre angles, patterns
and colors: this had to be a clue!
“Pssst …”
He turned around but there was no one there. He really must have worked
too hard since now he imagined hearing voices aswell. Why had he started
this quest? Was he really hoping to find anything? Afterall, he had spend
a few sleepless nights doing nothing but running around in circles and
stumbling upon those same tiresome fakes. What was the point of it all
anyway? All of this nonsense was starting to drive him stircazy, his
social life was going to hell and he was about to aswell! And what was the
meaning of this? What was this sudden obsession? Who cares! Who cares!
Just forget about it all! To hell with it all! It is all just lunacy, the
dreams and ramblings of a madman. Just switch of that damned machine!
Computers are evil dictators: turn of that blasted technocrat! NOW!
Weird images were starting to spiral out of the monitor, trying to touch
him, to grab him and pull him inside of their obscure little world of bits
and pulses. He fought that unseen force which dragged on him, that
abstract and indefinable horror … it was as if the screen had turned into
a gigantic whirlpool and he was caught in it, being dragged into
suffocating submission until he found himself in that utterly desolated
landscape of peculiarity, in which you could not tell up from down, not
even tell if you were under water or out of it floating in a bizarre
space. Where was he? What had happened? And who was he, who was this
person thinking these thoughts and experiencing? Who was he? Who am I?
And out of nowhere there was a beckoning voice (angelic), she whispered in
a sweet sounding melody of mercy: “Turn it off! Come on sweetie: turn it
off!”
Valerie was screaming loudly from the top of her lungs as Dylan opened his
eyes with a dumfounded look: “Turned what off?” he asked unable to
comprehend anything of her angry outburst.
“Turn what off? Turn what off?” the raging female mimicked his misery with
a mocking voice, “What is wrong with you anyway?”
“Wrong? What do you mean?”
“Don’t act all innocent with me now!”
“I don’t know what the hell you are talking about honey!” Dylan yelled in
tearful desperation.
“You never know anything; all you ever do is sitting behind that computer
staring at a screen. You are pathetic you know!” Valerie shouted as she
turned her back and started to walk away.
“Wait don’t leave …” he empathized as she was about to disappear through
the door.
“Forget about it … I can do better than you; you are just a creep!”
As Dylan turned his back towards the computer, he noticed a pop up had
appeared, it read: ‘Want to read the true Necronomicon? Then click here!’
and then there was that evil so corny ‘Evil Inside’ logo.
“Right, I am sure that this is the real thing!” he spoke to himself with
no clear feeling as he switched off the computer and then made way for the
bedroom. He did not even bother to undress, his body just fell down upon
the bed and he was asleep even before hitting the mattress. There was just
one oddity, where had that pop up come from? Shhhhh … shhhhhhhh … sleep
now, hush little baby my child, go to sleep little lamb …. May faeries
sprinkle dust in your eyes … Strange shapes started to appear in front of
his mind’s eye, even for a dream this was weird, those geometrical
formations, he had seen them before. Where was that again? Yes, some
science book: ‘Calabi-Yau shapes’, some multidimensional kind of solids.
Why was he seeing stuff like that now? The constant glare of the computer
screen must somehow have affected his eyes, just like when you have been
to a concert and there is that ringing sound in the ears long afterwards.
It was such a weird spectacle: there were two shapes which he could not
possibly describe (if he was a mathematician then perhaps he could have),
they swirled around each other with different motions and velocities, then
along came a sudden third one and everything started to slowly spiral out
of control and everything started to flash as if being backlit by a strobe
light. What was this madness? There was not much he could make out in this
primordial chaos constantly flashing in and out of existence, the three
shapes suddenly became one in some weird configurational interplay and
then they opened up towards him, staring him straight in they eye; and not
just did he see that shape, but heard it aswell, felt it, smelt it and
tasted it. Had someone slipped acid in his drink? No, that was ridiculous
…
Abruptly he woke up as he was lying there with his head buried in his arms
resting upon the computer desk and as he looked up he noticed that
screensaver of weird geometrical shapes. Of course: this explained it all!
There was no mystery … he had just fallen asleep in front of the computer
… WAIT … with sudden terrifying haste he jumped up and ran towards the
bedroom. His hand was shivering as he pushed open that door … and then his
entire being began to shiver as he witnessed that blood splattered all
over the room and there on the bed was Valerie’s body drenched in blood as
if she had been the victim of some disastrous medical experiment. That
smell … it was so dreadfully god-awful, he started to feel nauseous and as
his hands automatically went for his mouth, a small stream of vomit
erupted upon them, the sensation of which burned his skin and as Dylan
looked down, there was that image of his skin being burned away, being
liquefied …
“Sweetie are you ok?” Valerie asked gently as she turned around and saw
his shadowy figure standing in the doorway.
“I …” but he did not know what to say, nor what to make of this stupendous
situation.
“I am so tired,” softly she spoke and turned around again oblivious to any
blood that had dwelled in his nightmarish visions, “why don’t you come lie
down with me and hold me?”
Perhaps some human tenderness is just what he needed to reset his mind and
thus he lied himself down and pushed his body against hers. Funny thought,
he had gone to bed before … but that had just been a dream … at least …
“Goodnight sweetie” he could hear Valerie whisper half asleep.
“I love you!” he responded and as his eyelids closed he fell asleep
himself.
When he woke up the next morning he had forgotten almost everything and
felt his old self again, well rested and with a clear mind. Where was
Valerie gone? Had she gotten up before him? Wait … there was a memory …
had they not suffered a fight? But that had merely been a dream, not?
Quickly Dylan got up and dragged himself to the dinning room, where he
found his usual bowl of cereal on the table with a little note that read:
‘You were tossing and turning all night sweetie, so when I woke up and
finally found you fast asleep, I did not have the heart to wake you up.
Love you and enjoy your breakfast. – PS: Don’t forget to meet me at the
movie theatre tonight!’
Having finished his breakfast he started up the computer ready to continue
his research into the Necronomicon. Immediately upon loading his web
browser a shiver ran across his spine as once again that pop up appeared
from out of nowhere: ‘EVIL INSIDE!’
That corny logo, obviously some discordian jokester: so why the
hesitation? Why this fear, this blind panic? His breath had started to go
faster and his body suddenly felt all sweaty.
“Turn it off! Turn it off!”
He could swear he heard a voice but as he turned around and scouted the
room, there was nothing there except a darkness stretched like some
enigmatic veil of hidden purpose.
The logo seemed to pulsate as his gaze got once again glued to the
monitor, as if the very fabric of the screen had come to life and was
trying to imitate the rapidity of his own breath. No longer could he pull
his eyes away from that image, even blinking was no longer a possibility.
“There are worse things than death!” a barely audible voice spoke from
nowhere in particular, sounding like one of those electronic voice
phenomena, just some garbled bunch of nonsense. Yet it sounded so clear!
What did it mean for something to be clear? Is clarity not a product of
our imagination?
“Don’t think …
Don’t think …
Don’t think …”
The command looped in his head like an endless echo without a present
speaker or thinker, as more and more Dylan found himself in a state of
transfixation. His body was feeling both light and heavy … he did not know
what to make of it as he became a prey to all sorts of mysterious forces
which caused gravity to become a giant obscurism.
A weird moaning sound filled the entire audible space:
“Mooooooooooooooooovvvvvvvvvvveeeeeeeeee”
The bassy vibration engulfed his hand as he looked at it and began to
cloak around him like a weird transmutation between flesh and the
unforeseen unknown … the boundaries between fabrics of different realities
became blurry and translucent as a weird muscular tension was cramping up
his arm. It felt as if some strange animal had dug its claw deep inside
his skin, penetrating his nervous tissue and taking control over his free
will. His hand clasped the computer mouse and moved the pointer icon
across the screen that was stretched widely in front of his bloodshot
eyes. His index finger moved, stopped midair and then came crashing down
with hardened rage: CLICK!
With a suffocating twitch he blinked his eyes as a seemingly eternity of
time went by and a sense of urgent dread started to scratch his skin unto
a bloodied spectacle. There was a surreal locomotion that dwelled to his
left and right as clamorous landscapes traveled across with an
intoxicating speed well outside the boundaries of time. Everything just
went beyond as his mind got coaxed through that network of fiber optic
cables. Where was he? More importantly who was he? Did he still possess a
sense of identity here in this digital wasteland? Another blink of the
eyes … a single moment of infinity and as he opened them again there was
that single word which floated in front of him like an omnipresent
panavision: NECRONOMICON!
All of the sudden the whole of his world turned into a slow moving funeral
procession; you know, that really old fashioned medieval Dies Irae with
monks in dirt-brown robes passing by, their heads are bowed towards the
soil upon which they walk and their faces are fully covered by their
enormous hoods.
But who knows what their faces really are!
Let us enter now that book of death and dread!
Bits of data flashed by, ones and zeros … he was inside … this was what he
had been wishing to see! The grand secret and it was he who had penetrated
it. He was floating in unknown emptiness as he read that accursed book, or
rather it was as if it was being read to him because that voice, it did
not sound and feel like his, rather it was alien. Was this place then the
universe of the Old Ones? Was this that place beyond the boundaries of
man’s perception, had he then truly crossed that void and threshold?
[A DEVASTATING SCREAM ECHOED IN MELANCHOLIC MISERY …]
Caught between terror and languor he turned around and saw that gaping
black hole suspended in some uncomfortable non-being. There was that
terrifying gap in his memory as he found his being here had no beginning.
How long had he been here? How did he get here? What was that blackness
looking at him? It was staring him straight in the soul, penetrating the
very core of his existence. For how long had he been standing here? Was
this eternity? What was it again that had happened? That quest … yes the
Necronomicon! And next … Why was there that blur all of the sudden, that
terrible temporal gap? Meanwhile that blackness was starting to mutate, it
was as if it was starting to breathe, coming to life. Dylan took a few
frightened steps towards that void; it was against his will, as if
something had entered his mind and was now controlling him as if he was a
mechanoid.
“Hello …” he called out and his voice reverberated as if he was in some
massive gothic cathedral.
“Connection established” a genderless voice announced with twitching
electricity followed by a sudden scream of monstrous authority: “MORE!”
Against his conscious will he started walking towards that gaping
nothingness, that strange attractor and as he crossed the threshold, his
head became filled with a wide variety of glitches and pulses, alien
audibilities never heard before nor ever imagined. The sound filled up
that entire space of nothingness, swirled around and manifested itself
like some obscure synesthesia of tangible particles of sound. The noise
began to resonate between himself and oblivion until eventually the three
elements became indistinguishable and his mind became a blank.
“In this what you wanted? Was this what you desired? Now look what you
have done! Look what has happened! There! There! Look … the dreamer has
awakened! What do you suppose will happen now? Do you have any idea …”
(There was a ringing sound which rang like the suffocating of innocent
babies … a landscape of pure butchery …)
A funeral procession …the monks have their faces covered by their hoods.
Huh? Yes: déjà vu! But who is dead? There is that coffin, it is black as
sin! To which order belong these chanting monks? Who are they? No … there
is a sudden more important question: what are they? That language in which
they chant, it was not human and more and more he became aware of that
awful peculiarity of their tongue. He turned his head around and moved his
eyeballs with a sense of disbelief as he scouted that dessert landscape
which was stretched out with him in the very middle of it. Were those
monks a bunch of nomads then? From a comfortable distance Dylan began to
follow them, though by all reason it seemed that they had no intention of
taking any notice of him to begin with. (He could have sworn though that
one of them had turned around, looked him straight in the eyes and smiled
wryly.)
A dusty wind began to blow harshly just as that terrifying troupe came to
a halt in front of a valley of somekind. Was this their destination? The
ones who had been carrying that disgustingly black coffin placed it upon
the sand and with a solemn pace the others formed a half a circle around
of it. A wild and devastatingly loud chant began for which even the term
diabolical would be a mere euphemism, for the unthinkable reality of it
was even beyond that of imaginary comprehension. The chanting spread those
weird shockwaves through the sky like atmospheric earthquakes, bizarre
geometrical patterns began to form in the dust blowing above, the likes of
which he had never seen before.
Then everything became stagnant! The wind stopped to blow and the chanting
disappeared with one last echo, as those freaky geometries faded from
among those evaporating clouds of filth and dust. Those two who had
carried the coffin during the procession marched towards it again and
removed the lid. What was the meaning of this crazy ritual? The body was
lifted out of the coffin and carried towards the edge of the cliff beneath
which there lurked that nebulous valley of forsaken monstrosity. What was
hiding in that mist? Which creatures were waiting in there? Can anyone
imagine … but then his thoughts suddenly fell short and stopped altogether
when there came that loathsome and desperate cry. Wait … wait … wait just
a moment: that body was not a corpse: that man was alive!
“Dylan!” that person yelled out as he was about to be thrown into abyssal
infinity.
That voice, it sounded so familiar … and then he saw the face, it was he …
it was his very own face … his very own self they were about to throw in
there. But how could this be? He was here, not?
“Noooooooooooooooo!”
[A DEVASTATING SCREAM ECHOED IN MELANCHOLIC MISERY …]
“Noooooooooooooooo!”
“Ach, the new patient,” the doctor stopped in front of Dylan’s cell and
looked inside upon that broken figure shaking with schizoid spasms, “I
heard that it is quite some story you have to tell! Won’t you care to tell
me?”
It is not a story!” Dylan snarled as he ran towards that barred door with
a look of utmost aggression.
“Ok,” the doctor smiled with innocent sarcasm, “then why don’t you tell me
what happened to you?”
“What happened to me? The Necronomicon that is what happened!”
“Necronomicon? I thought that it was just something fictional …”
“It use to be …” Dylan sighed as he went to sit down in a darkened corner
of the room, “but then I started to look for it, I went online … you know
… the cyberworld … and then I connected …”
“Connected?” (rhetorically)
“It took me a long time but then finally I found it. Truly it seemed
ridiculous at first; I thought it was some juvenile prank at first, yet
somehow …”
(A quiet breeze of silence blew between them in what seemed a space of
infinite eternity.)
”Yes … somehow …” the doctor looked at that shadow lurking within the
shadow of that darkened corner.
“That which cannot happen happened, it instructed itself and as it opened
up, the screen dragged me inside a particular wasteland and I was
transported through a world between worlds, a void which is not quite
empty. I don’t expect you to understand! I remember … standing there …”
“Where? Standing where?”
“I am not quite sure what that place was or is now … but real or not, I
stood there and that was real; even more real than my sitting here … I
stood there, a blackness was stretched in front of my weary eyes. To be
honest I wanted to close them but that was impossible, almost as if
intangible matchsticks held them wide open. There was a surge; I got
pulled into that opening, into that black hole. The event horizon was me
and it felt like eternity … almost visible, magnetic, I could not help but
move closer and then … light years went by … aeons, eternities … and then
I found that which I should never have found, that which no man ever was
suppose to find: I found the Necronomicon! Its pages were not meant to be
read by human eyes for its very content is pure horror to our vision. It
will burn your retinas! That dread book of nameless torture: it burned my
eyes and it burned my fingers! Do you have any idea what that means? Could
your puny little mind possibly comprehend the meaning of something like
that? You cannot help me doctor because I am beyond help, for I have gone
beyond it all: beyond space and time, beyond life and existence, beyond
dream and death … I WAS THE SACRIFICE! But you could not understand
something this for it is beyond of you! I am the sacrifice and I am the
servant! The dreamer has awakened and now the dream is awake and alive …
PREPARE FOR HORROR!
B L A C K O U T!
(Falling into endlessness we awake as our eyelids unveil that dream which
has now become that one and only reality: INEVITABILITY!)
“Sweetie are you ok?” Valerie asked gently as she turned around and saw
his shadowy figure standing in the doorway.
There was no response, but that was not what worried her, there was
something else, some added shadow to his hand … the shadow of a knife! But
can shadows commit murder?
“EVIL INSIDE!” Dylan yelled out with a sudden appetite for violent
anathema as that knife manifested itself underneath a glimmer of
delusionary moonshine and its blade of metallic mirage found its way into
a heartfelt penetration.
Valerie’s scream devastated the spatial acoustics as echoes raced to
ravage each other in reverberation while her blood got splattered upon his
face like a painter’s brushstroke of intentional expressionism. (Art for
the sake of barbarism!)
“Goodbye my darling!” Dylan removed the knife with a swift motion of
nightmarish tranquility, more blood jumped like some fountain of sick
fantasy: Sayonara!” and then he buried that blade deep inside her flesh
once again.
As he was about to walk out of the room he turned around once again to
look at that bloodied spectacle. It reminded him of something, something
he had seen before … a landscape of souls, a still-life of skulls and
crusades and crossbones!
There was dust and sand everywhere, stretched for miles on end, an endless
horizon. This wasteland … what was it? A dessert of that repellent
imagination of ghastly forsakenness. It is here that all of man’s dreams
have been born, all gods and demons and angels alike, all man’s
mythologies are just imaginations meant to forget that dreadful reality
which lingers in that world between worlds! The truth is more terrifying
than anyone could have ever realized for it is beyond mere horror!
There was a pair of penetrating eyes in that dusty atmosphere and as the
wind waved through that complex scenario, a musical pattern was formed,
but its bizarrity would even make the greatest of modern day atonal
composers shriek away and smash their heads into a wall until they die a
bloody suicide, for that tuneless tune was the song of chaos at the heart
of chaos.
“Hahaha!” Dylan laughed as he looked upon Valerie’s mangled body laying
there like some obscene work of decompositional art.
“You’re dead now … even death may die! Hahaha! And I am awake! You got
that? I AM AWAKE! This dream is now reality!”
With sarcastic shimmer he looked upon that knife which was still thrust in
Valerie’s decaying body. With a bestial attitude he jumped up on the bed
and kneeled on top of her body and unveiled that blade once again as if it
was the sword Excalibur being pulled from that rock.
“My precious honey …” he spoke with a metamorphosistic voice as he brought
that sharpened edge of stainless steel upon her neck, “there is no return
for those who have returned!” And with a swooshing motion he cut her dead
throat and as yet more blood got splattered across the room he brought his
face closer to the open wound and drank that precious liquid which once
brought life: drink my blood for it is delicious!
Once again Dylan got up and walked out of the bedroom towards that
computer which stood there fatefully waiting with an aura of infernal
grace. There was a weird atmosphere which drenched the molecules out of
the which the air was composed, this place had become somewhere in that
network of space and time, there was this draught which hollowed through
the room, it came from out of nowhere, from in between the cracks of
space-time itself. Dylan sat down behind the computer and with the sudden
knowledge of a programming professional he began to do what needed to be
done.
Connecting … connecting … CONNECTED, upload, yes, change parameters and
settings, hidden folder, yes … let us have it all hidden so that it may
spread without anyone knowing and let this be the temporary server for I
am the servant! May evil surround us all! May I be undead and undreaming!
Here comes the evolution of the forgotten past … of that which is before
all and everything.
“Long life the old ones! It is time for the tentacles of terror!” Dylan
spoke as he finished his work and that entity had finished consuming the
core of his being.
SERVER ESTABLISHED
NAME: CHTULLU
CONTENT: NECRONOMICON
His mind disconnected as it had become saturated; everything was set, so
now it was time for some fun! The person formerly known Dylan got out and
roamed the streets in endless wanderings, he was not sure what it was he
was looking for … probably it was nothing. What was this darkness that was
circling around him like a halo of desecration, as he imagined himself
part of that never ending stream of data flowing through some network of
fiber optics, a continued pulsation of existence … Everything is just
data! Everything just exists inside this looped circuit! I AM THE CIRCUIT!
I shall consume it all … all shall obey!
With a sickening soliloquy he kept on marching through the dark roads
until eventually he stumbled upon one of those little back alleys known
for their illicit activities of sexual solicitation, darkened desire and
forbidden temptation.
“Hey sugar … care for a nice suck job …” an erotically enticing girl
called out to him wearing a tight vinyl mini-skirt and a black vinyl bra.
“Suck on this!” Dylan screamed and twisted that necrotic blade through the
girl’s mouth until it came out the other side of her neck. Grasping for
air the young woman fell down until eventually like a fish stuck upon dry
land her system just collapsed and there was nothing left to gasp for …
JUST ONLY DEATH
Dylan dropped the knife on the asphalt as he unzipped his pants and
unveiled his growing manhood, then crouched down and with a penetrating
intensity ripped her skirt to pieces …
NECROPHILIA
“Freeze!” the cop yelled out and immediately the beast got up and turned
around to face his bedazzled adversary. He did not make a single
understandable sound, just some grunting modulation waving about the night
sky like the howling of some infernal dog from the bottomest and most
hidden circle of hell. What was that man?
“Freeze!” the rookie cop responded annoyed by the fact that his studies at
the academy had not mentioned anything even remotely like this.
[There was the sound of a discharging gun ...]
“Where am I?” Dylan asked as he looked upon the doctor’s face through the
bars of his cozy little Arkham cell!
“Dylan, Dylan … must we go through this every time?”
“Every time? I don’t know what you are talking about!”
“So what is it this time young man? You want to pretend you just got here
yet again?”
“This is just insane!”
“And I am here to help you Dylan, I have been all the time … but it seems
that all you want to do, is to ignore the facts.”
“Facts?”
“Why do you keep on pretending? Can’t you see that I am trying to help
you?
“Help? Why would I need help? I am the one who is trying to help all of
you … you see there is an evil … it got inside of me, it made me send
something across the whole of the cyberworld … I mean it is terrible …
can’t you see what I mean, you are a smart man doctor, are you not?”
“So what you mean is that you have come back to warn us all?”
“Yes! I must warn you! It is my duty because I have been there and I saw
it all with my very own eyes, I saw what there was before there was such a
thing as truth.”
“Dylan!” the doctor’s voice suddenly sounded stern and ultra serious: “Get
a grip on yourself! How many times do I have to tell you? You have been
here for several months already, you did not just get here. So why don’t
you try and make an effort? Help me, so that I can help you! Do you
understand?”
“Understand?” Dylan said as suddenly he jumped up from out of that
darkened corner and suddenly stood there face to face with the good
doctor, put his hand through the bars and gently caressed the doctor’s
face, “My sweet, sweet man, I promise I will make you understand, but
first …” and that gentle affection became an iron strong grip as he
smashed the doctor’s face unto those metal bars: “but first you must die!”
Dylan cried out as the doctor’s blood was being smeared everywhere. “Are
you ready my good man? Now you will understand beyond all of that which is
to be understood! Sayonara!”
It was with a great smile that Dylan walked through Arkham’s corridors as
he witnessed that Bedlamic landscape of torn bodies and expressionistic
masterpieces of fresh blood: and there shall be a new age which follows
the race of man and all shall know that the old ones have returned!
The End
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