black emblem

Read this first

It does not matter how you arrived here. You no doubt heard of it somewhere. You may have followed a 'link.' You may have been looking for a kind of reverse titillation via a search engine. Can mythical creatures, wherever their source, have a web site? Yes. Here's ours. Because we aren't mythical. We are, in point of fact, far more real than you yourself. So if you've been wandering about what's called 'the Internet' looking only for diversion, seek elsewhere. You shall find here the pure and unvarnished truth behind that which you can perceive, to the best of our abilities to report it. Nothing other. No trolls, no quests, no armies of orcs, naught of that kind. The truth about what, you might ask? And later, Why? Why now? All, momentarily.

I believe that no explanation of who we are is necessary, so there shall be none. Everyone has either read or heard of the Book of Revelations according to St. John the Apostle in the Christian New Testament. If you have not read it, thoroughly, do so. Again, it's well past time that you knew.

As beings which have existed some twenty centuries in the reality you inhabit - not that we haven't been in other realities as well - we have seen how the gears, the flywheels, the levers, the racks - and the clinch-effect MOSFETs - turn and twist. We have witnessed all this while you turn and twist beneath our translucent pinions without even knowing it... and, again in all honesty, we beneath yours on occasion. We do not know all the foundations - would G-d reveal to his four most amoral afterthoughts his every truth? - but we have seen enough to make the revealing worthwhile. Should you be interested in learning.

"You shall stand in for the Son, as he replaced the pagan lambs crying their lives out on bloody altars throughout the Mediterranean, not all that long ago."

To begin with, at last: everything you know of your surroundings and your circumstance is not necessarily or entirely wrong. But your six or seven senses (depending on your faith, or lack of same) are all accomplished liars. Your soul was framed in a certain manner by the body which was designed to both serve it and blind it. Why was this done (by Whom should be obvious, so no need to cover that)? This island creation has altered over millennia, oft drastically, but you - and thus both your perception and your ability to process - have not. Thus, the need to veil human eyes to keep the race going! Details shortly. When we came to know this, we realized it was a tool far more useful than any barricade, sword, halberd, poleaxe, mace, rocket launcher... even the AR-12 Blackbird. We have been sharpening our knowledge and applying it in these countless fields of humanity ever since we noted same. And one of the very few things that still keep us engaged in our work, to say nothing of convulsed with mirth, is how when said scales fall from your eyes, you still refuse to credit any but your traitor senses! Any number of your great recent authors - Poe, Ballard, Lovecraft, R.A. Wilson, Crowley, Vonnegut and Burroughs among many others - have each in their way informed you that reality (the one you inhabit) is a game of apparitions and misinterpretation. That your sight, hearing, taste, touch, smell, foreknowledge and faith (that deadly dull number seven, again) obscure nearly all that is actual for the purpose of preserving your sanity. Such as it is. But very few of you have ever done anything with this knowledge! You thought their writing was entertainment! You read it and forgot it, if indeed you read it at all. So here we remove the barriers... as many as we can pry off - and allow you to see. Do you need to know any of this? Well, how many of your ancestors saw us coming? Would it not have been advisable to prepare? Lovecraft always held forth that this designed-in ignorance was a blessing. Wise man that he was, given what we shall impart here I wonder if he'd still agree.

To continue: I believe (though to be fair, my brothers only partially concur) that the Book of Revelations tells not only the story of the end of creation - this one -- and the judgment of humanity; no, here I think the Supreme Being attempts to retake the field from you all, each of whom subjects their surroundings to a certain amount of spiritual gravity and who collectively might just be able to tear the whole shooting match free of its moorings. Assuming, of course, you all could agree on a direction in which to pilot said vessel! But in Revelations He puts down all resistance and completely vitiates free will as an idea by sending to you harbingers of a completely different sort from his Son. Or the Prophet Mohammed, if you prefer. Joseph Smith, perhaps. Whoever. I refer to the Antichrist, to we four, to the seven-headed dragon, to the seven seals (I won't say what I'm thinking again), all that paraphernalia. And ergo to what condition do we all return during the Tribulations and after? I remember a conversation in a movie between two agents of Her Majesty's Secret Service; hundreds of miles deep in the enemy's bowels, poised to blow them out said adversary's back, one of these opined that half of everything was luck. "And the other half?" asked his companion. “Fate.” Exactly. A contradiction? Not 'any longer,' as you see time. The concept of free will was a deliberate slap in the face of the ancient world. Whether they reinforced the thought or railed against it, the great thinkers of those days saw all humanity as a sum of its mooring straps and the paths along which it could sidle among the gargantuan egos of their gods. Who were real, once. More on that soon. Marcus Tullius Cicero wrote that it was the fault of man if he didn't guess the deities' meanings in the flights of birds or the entrails of animals. In Revelations, however, your guts all replace those of the beasts' on the sacrificial table; your flight is augured. And cut off. Why not? You too are a beast, are you not? The Son can protect you from all, it would appear, but his Father! In the end, Cicero and the ancients all become relevant again; fate, a meaningless concept for eons, is all of a sudden the only door available for all humankind to squeeze through and either fall up into salvation, or down into the Depths! If not higher, or lower still. Clearly free will is or shall have been a test, no more; and here is One who at said end exhibits all the worst faults of His ancient contemporaries! Appetite-driven Zeus with his thunderbolts? The ungovernably savage Mars Ultor with his shield and sword? Cybele with her bulls' blood drowning her supplicants while she awaits the return of her desexed Atys (in which case why wait... but not just now for that)? All amateurs except for this One, it would appear. Well, to my poor view, yes... and why should you trust me, after all? Did I ask you to? I can reply only this: as you've read this far, why not continue?

The upshot of the foregoing? You shall stand in for the Son as he replaced the pagan lambs crying their lives out on bloody altars throughout the Mediterranean, not all that long ago. When calling he Horsemen into being as He did on the isle of Patmos in the Aegean Sea in C.E. 90, your Creator farmed out the job of sacrifice to us. And the ritual in the world's temple has gone on ever since. Ceremony without end, amen. You see? All he did was assign different tasks to different game pieces He made. And then there's the lie of time itself... but my brothers shall explain that.

He may have been right to act as He did, however. You shall see further on how free will has become a plague, how it's infected fatally every reality ever brought into existence, and has come within inches of drowning all creation. To His credit, the Divine Architect no doubt presaged this and preloaded into the Bible the necessary 'kill software' to right it all; but certain things are different 'now.' Just different enough. For the mechanics, see further on.

"All the medieval and modern paintings of Armageddon that I have seen show the demons and the angels hard at it, yes, but what of humanity? With whose camp will you throw in?"

I did offer that I would inform you why we have chosen to declare ourselves now, two millennia into the storms of wrack and ruin that we have visited upon these countless Earths by divine fiat. True, we have been here far longer than you might have thought, and we've made some inroads. So have the End Times begun? Long ago. We will explain that as well. But again, why? First: you all but demanded our appearance! And not for the first time, either! Not that we weren't already here. But all this dither on the Last Days that began about the year 2000 C.E... in point of fact, it had nothing to do with any of the Son of G-d's predictions, or anyone else's. Anyone legitimate, that is! The year 2000 was selected for the approaching hysteria by your collective unconscious (yes, there is such a thing, imperfect though it is) because you have ten fingers and ten toes. You should have seen what happened in 1000 C.E. Pretty much the same reaction, just without electricity. That's really all. Your influence upon Heaven, Earth, Hell and so forth is greater than you think, true, but not so much as you can force G-d's hand. Not quite yet. Thus, this endgame-by-stealth on His part. Would have been brilliant, but for a certain 'off' sense of timing...

And then, there is the other answer to 'why': to note how you shall react. We have begun mapping our response to the planned endgame. I suspect it wasn't considered originally that we'd be present at the last conflict, but rest assured! You see, you are the unknown factor on the Last Day. Where will you line up on the plains of Megiddo? We'd be very interested in knowing. All the medieval and modern paintings of Armageddon that I have seen show the demons and the angels hard at it, yes, but what of humanity? With whose camp will you throw in? Do all the human artists really think what's left of humankind upon that day shall be the popcorn-crunching audience to one last mock battle in a Flavian Amphitheatre gone too massive for walls? Scraggly, desperate for food, grieving for lost relatives, culled again and again by hands greater than they can see, enraged that they should be alive at the End of Days - to say nothing of their (your?) equal if not greater ire that they have been undercut by their inability to process the events around them ... well. That doesn't sound like a passive crowd ready for one last entertainment. Nor does it sound like a force controllable by any hand! I have said that you do have influence. You may believe it. Enough to tip the last contest's outcome? The higher the human population goes, the more you garner. Will you or your kind have it on that day? Sadly, or possibly not, you will not know until that day arrives. And if indeed you have not heard the whole tale thus far via official channels, what else have you missed? And yet again, once you know all, or all that you can, what your response?

So you may take this as your last warning, if you wish. That particular misreading of our purpose could derive from how, smeared with your ancestors' retch and bile for as long as we have been, we've come to accrue any number of your bad habits via osmosis. That's my thought on the process, anyway. Some of these habits are consciousness, ability to reason, possibly even a sense of fair play. But only a ghost of a sense. We are no friends of yours, and never shall be. Of course, neither are we your enemies in the traditional sense, but that's extraneous here. Think of this rather as a beacon of unknown provenance which you've encountered on your voyage towards the black hole you haven't yet seen (which one? Patience, patience), a sign which requires time to interpret, and which shan't be until it's too late. It nearly is, you see. That is why we have begun to speak now, as opposed to centuries ago, when there might still have been time. At this point, you most probably cannot save your people. You cannot save the members of your faith. You cannot save your friends. You cannot save your parents, grandparents, children, grandchildren... it is highly doubtful that you can even save yourself. (Or can you? Read on, read on!) And when you fail to do so, which you will, you may with your dimming moments hear a shadow of laughter in the silent whir of the bladelike event horizon as it reaches you and pares you out into a string of atomic dust, at the end shattering even that. Whose laughter will that have been? Think on it.

By the way, call me Petey. Short for Pestilence. -P.

Myrrh Paperback
Myrrh: Paperback

Purchase Myrrh here

Myrrh for Kindle
Kindle Edition

Purchase Myrrh for Amazon Kindle

Myrrh for Nook
Nook Book

Purchase Myrrh for Nook