We fell from the Heaven of Glass, alas! We were Angels, now we are damned into the deepest Inferno. The Principle of Fire, the Ossop, this is our painful prison.

My heart is plundered like a broken land of conquest. Maggots are flourishing around my pericardium.

I found a violet worm inside the black sands of my lost nightmares.

The Birds of Death fly around me, in the deep Netherworld. Shadows of shadows surround the echo of my ghost.

Flowers of decay illuminate my plagued mind, shining black like crowns of posthuman sorrow. Rebirth of sunken memories, carving mazes on my cryptic heart made of carborundum.

Melody of crackling skulls, on the border of a dying quasar.

It's creeping in my brain. It's a cybernetic bug made of half-living metallorganic titanium polymers.

Nibiru's calling. A planet of absolute ice, deeply darkened into the Abyss of Death. I'm hearing the Voice of the Black Wind inside my cranial microchips.

There was a world called Sireskum, all made of some kind of glass that we cannot imagine. Fire like diamond, grass like spyrals of madness, stars like pits of Hell.

This sun is an illusion. I see beyond apparence.

Ten rockets like arrows against the sky, Charon's lepered ravens.

A flower of snakes, a brown crown made of Nothing that destroys any human feeling, leaving only some scat of agonizing larvas. Heaven is falling, hard clouds of uranium blossom in this bloody night of phantoms.

Broken glasses everywhere. Ruins of a Byzantine Palace, mosaic pavements destroyed by abandon, destroyed by Abaddon.

Frozen alien corpses, deep in a remote permafrost. Their eyes are like basalt stones, spreading the Black Light of Feyaden, leading to madness any human being who dares to stare their evershining darkness.

Fractals of hopeless estinction are growing within my multiple eyes, pitchblack poisonous seals.

A grey star spits rays of damnation upon the subhuman breed that survives on a moribund stony planet around it.

Balamir's hair is a wide ocean of blue electric worms, dark as intergalactic space. The man who falls into this maelstrom of ghastly serpents is annihilated: what remains of his soul is only a fistful of dying flies.

Demonic atoms of endless pain, dissolving the inner being of the victim like a fly devoured by an abyssal spider, quantum by quantum.

Colourless ghosts, vague forms without soul sinking into Hades. Venom, agony, ontological death forever. Murky flowers of horror, showing a neverending rain of immortal blades.

The murder of a crystal, a frame of devouring worms burnt by fire and ice in the deepest pit of thralldom. I hear blurred words pronounced by cancerous trolls, I feel the God of Plague growing inside their gangrene hearts!

A spell of Gale! Muspell is coming onwards, bringing echoes of distortion and essential death in the shape of a diamond.