“To extinguish a soul is to carve your name into the void itself. Mercy is the lie that shackles gods and kings. When the flesh dies, it begs for peace—but peace is for the weak. I have whispered into the mouths of corpses and they have sung to me secrets no living thing could endure. I drank despair like wine, wore betrayal like a crown. My hand will be the last thing this world feels before silence swallows it."
"The gods weep not for mortals, but for their own irrelevance. I have seen the veil torn—beyond it lies only hunger. I flayed the prayers from a thousand tongues and built my sanctum from their bones. Every scream is a scripture. Every grave, a verse. Those who kneel will serve me in death. Those who resist will scream until their essence is unwritten. Divinity is not granted—it is taken, one butchered soul at a time."
"They begged as I peeled back their eyes, seeking truth in the pulp beneath. One screamed the name of his god until his throat collapsed; I stitched silence into the wound and made him watch. I drowned a city in blood to see if the dead could dream, and they did—they dreamed of me. There is no salvation, no judgment, only the exquisite artistry of suffering. I will write my gospel in the marrow of nations, and when the world wakes screaming, it will speak my name with reverence and ruin.”
Book of Vile Darkness, Rough Draft #6503