Ĕrǫ Űgṭhĩƚxiƨƚeƨ Ḳmƀaṗḳǫsħi

(<em>Instrumental</em>)

Submitted by Pestilence — Aug 21, 2026

I. Bear Witness to the Fevers of Desiccating Death "Have you beheld that which leaves you bereft of those you love? A merciless fever which leaves naught besides bones and dust. In spite of this, there remains one small glimpse of hope: a small root entrenched in that deepest Wood of Death." II. Here They Nest Among the Blistering Pustules Upon entry, light fades fast, a strange fog obscuring most sights. Densely packed trees, wide and withered, lie before me, with no clear path between. The lantern I carry only shows a small space before me. Many strange visages appear out of the haze: a weeping figure who will not respond, an elder begging for a finger, a clearing of blistering pustules, a nest of large wasps with human faces. A large equestrian figure, taller than three men, with 12 mouths and 16 eyes covering its body, speaks a language unrecognizable to my ears. And yet, I hear a message: “A futile effort…” A gap between trees with several large bones growing holds reeds which whisper bizarre oddities. And still, I hear the message: “A futile effort…” I come across a large hole, too dark to shine light into, which I am told to jump into by a man with a beetle’s face. The dark fills me with fear, but the man gives me a strange sense of calmness. I brace myself and dive in, abandoning all sense. III. Behold the Shroud of a Suffocating Abyss A darker wood, vision is further obscured. Breathing has now become labored, and my panic increases. Now a lake of blood, at the shore of which stands a figure with an unrecognizable shape. They turn to me, uttering only one chant: “The Roots. The Roots. The Roots.” I suddenly understand the meaning, and find myself scraping bark. Scrape, scrape, scrape. Blood leaks, a path clears. That Great Tree, which stands like a god over the others. “A futile effort…” A familiar voice. “Useless, fruitless.” My love, my darling, dried and withered. A wide, wide maw. “I am already dead.” In disbelief, I throw my lantern, lighting the Tree ablaze. IV. Tap the Root, Drink the Sacred Blood Home at last, home at last. Lying in bed, as before. Snap the root and peel its skin, boil the spilling blood. Add a finger, pray to Death. The eternal formula, innate knowledge. I apply it to the skin, before collapsing into deep slumber. A familiar voice in my head, “A futile effort… Useless, fruitless. God is coming.”

Submitted by Pestilence — Aug 21, 2026

I. The Pounding Drums in a Flurry of Madness “Ĕlĩ, Ĕlĩ, consume us, O Fire.” I hear these words chanted like a relentless arrangement of pounding drums, intently tickling my ears and mind. A bizarre state, my disquiet increases. I remember not how I arrived in the presence of these hooded figures. The flickering flames trace out shapes and signs beyond my recognition, flitting and contorting in peculiar ways. “Welcome, Initiate, to our house of god.” A speaker cloaked in such odd sigils - his face obscured, though I know not how - hands me a cup filled with a tar-like fluid. “Drink, and be one with us.” The man carried an odd height. With pause, I do as he says. Sweetness coats my tongue, with a hint of the unrecognizable. II. Candles Flicker Like Eyes in Delirium “Ĕlĩ, Ĕlĩ, consume us, O Fire.” Flames leap and dance like an uncoordinated performer, untrained yet enrapt. Shadows trace more strange shapes, like arms, longer and longer, reaching skyward as if to clutch for Heaven itself. “We present our sacrificial lamb.” Head in sack, as was promised, Beckoned by the speaker, though eyesight be obscured. The flickering dance drives me mad. My mind is altered, and I cannot turn away. I feel a flitting sensation behind my eyes, a rapid oscillation of shifting perspectives like delirious rambling. III. Devour Our Names, O Sightless One “Ĕlĩ, Ĕlĩ, consume us, O Fire, nameless being lurking behind all Time, Shape, and Space.” The flames peak, forming a shadow ever so dark, darker than yet any I had seen. This umbral form looks to flit like the surrounding fire, consuming this obscured one before me “The flames dance higher and higher; the shadows burn deeper and deeper; it grows closer and closer. O, Shapeless One, devour our sight.” The uttering chants grow louder, like a feverish gnashing of teeth, a chewing of words and syntax, ever-maddening in their recitative. A cacophony of voices in crescendo, in agony? In ecstasy? For what this insanity pervades, I am ignorant, yet I remain transfixed, a captive audience. “Our forms yearn harder and harder; the Fire climbs higher and higher; the skin, it burns hotter and hotter. O, Nameless One, devour our flesh.” The words seem to reach in my mind like spindling bone-white fingers plucking at neurons. I can almost see them as if eyes line my very skull, flitting in delirium. “Your reach grows longer and longer; you burrow deeper and deeper; the Dynasty grows closer and closer. O, Sightless One, devour our names.” IV. The Brittle Limbs Crumble Like Sulfur “Ĕlĩ, Ĕlĩ, the Fire consumed, as it was, as it is, as it will be.” The shadow retreats, the lamb collapses. Legs fail their master, retreat cannot come. The faces all turn at once, “You are us. We are you.” I peel back the sack to see no face. “You are us. We are you.” Cracks form as brittle limbs crumble like sulfur. “You are us. We are you.” The form fades, and it no longer exists. You are us. We are you. Shapeless, Nameless, Sightless. It is coming. The Dawn of the All-Consuming Fire is nigh.

Submitted by Pestilence — Aug 21, 2026

I. A Queen of Mud and Slime Grief and guilt - weights on the ankles. Bodies upon bodies, food for the marsh below. A spirit of guilt and despair, a goddess of final rest and respite. I came to know this apparition: a Lady of insatiable hunger, a queen of mud and slime. We struck our deal, and Hope came. By my guiding hand would we weather this storm. II. Their Bodies Pile in a Mass Grave of Regret For four hundred years I remained. For what, I do not understand. Only seeing this night spirit at the promised hour. The hunger grew. Oh, how hunger grew. Our kingdom was steadfast, standing strong on a foundation of Hope, initially culling the outsiders and guilty, but hunger grew. Oh, how hunger grew. And so I began planting the seeds of guilt, doubt, and sorrow. Prime seasonings for Our Lady. Delectable meals, all, but hunger grew. Oh, how hunger grew. Children and elderly - blaming themselves for their families’ demise - gone wandering into that dense marsh, but hunger grew. Oh, how hunger grew. Family, friends, lovers - prime crops - fed upon through the decades. Ever high did the pile grow, but hunger grew. Oh, how hunger grew. III. Their Bones Will Remember What I Have Done “Murderer! Traiter! Debaser! Defiler!” The wisps call for me. “Patricide! Matricide! Fratricide! Infanticide!” A curse of my own writing. A permanent etching in the bones of the piled bodies. I planted these seeds of guilt, doubt, and sorrow. Family, friends, lovers - prime crops - fed upon in mass. With the deal struck in Hope, there was only despair. By my guiding hand did we enter this storm. Four centuries of death, four centuries of betrayal, four centuries of unfulfilled promises. Hope built upon a pile higher than mountains. “Murderer! Traiter! Debaser! Defiler!” The wisps call my names. “Patricide! Matricide! Fratricide! Infanticide!” A litany of indisputable truths. A vile curse their bones will remember. There remains one final solution. One final attempt to appease. My grief, guilt, pain - prime crops - She’d surely desired for these long years. IV. Lay My Body Beneath the Marsh, Make Me One with the Earth Grief and guilt - weights on the ankles. Bodies upon bodies, food for the marsh below. A spirit of guilt and despair, a goddess of final rest and respite. I come to face this apparition: a Lady of insatiable hunger, a queen of mud and slime. We strike our deal, and Hope will live. By my own hand, they will weather this storm. Her supply run short, she accepts my offer. A feast to end all feasts. A firm step forward, guided to a preordained place. Lay me down, lay me down. I will not fight back, lay me down. Give me my rest, lay me down. With one final whimper, I cry out: abandon Hope.

Submitted by Pestilence — Aug 21, 2026

(<em>Instrumental</em>)

Submitted by Pestilence — Aug 21, 2026