Black Usurper - Fecund Corruptor (Ich Werde Nicht)

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Belie these miracles, cast aside this trickery. A year’s passage over a frozen sea by a nomad clad in white upon a steed. A rage crafted in treachery as unsuspecting creatures will pay for their decadency.

I am retribution.
I am the sword of the gods.
I am vengeance.
I am thy bringer of plagues.

I will become the oppressor you so desperately need me to be.
High above the brumal peaks, I witness a borealis; a celestial message from my ancestors. With the trees and wind they sing: a chant of pride for these costly deeds.

A torch of spectral light guides the way through winding roads of snow robed ice.
A gust of wind from above the threshold sways brittle oak, as a breve of triumph beyond the tundra swells.

Birth the oppressor. Like hounds tread the tree line, they howl like jackals. They beg for cold release; a blade upon the bloated flesh, which cuts hot like hateful fire.

Whispering fallacies to a shifting sea, a fleet of flying machines built from cosmos rain raging hell upon the missionaries.
Witness centuries of icons erased by sickness, a horrific lamentation of loss. The firm grip of the eagle’s claw crashing down.
Praise his name across the stars, the gods will sing of you tonight. Three flames alight in the sky, soaring above the nebulae.

I must purge myself of want.

Praise his soul across the stars, the gods will sing for you tonight. Three valkyries in the sky guide my brother on pale wings to the gates of eternity, stardust glistening.

Fallen brothers, give me strength! Fallen brothers, release me! Открыть страницу с текстом

Ich werde nicht sterben.
The eagle must be scorched and lay with the black beast if humanity is to progress. You will not take me alive! I will scream and pound the earth with a strength ten times your prophet’s might, I will hold your women to the earth and pierce their skulls with my pike. The Kingdom fell victim to the plague of rats. A fallen tapestry into a well where the light cannot escape the dark.
Ich werde nicht sterben. Открыть страницу с текстом

A sundry of brilliancies, white brume obscure the observer: the lictor! One too pure a fool, could not be brought to hew the lochaber. Wending through the tenebrous, to ponder the senseless ambsace. When unearthed the twilit scree, heard across Borea the lictor’s haunting scream. Ride! Torch-borne simulacra, the serpent of flame descends the mountain—a fire of vengeance. Ride! The hammer of vengeance wielded by rage, viscerate the vermin. Nigh drag their throats behind his steed. A thunderstorm of thrashing maniacs burn the rats where they sleep; a triumph, a fete of joy. Now ne wille they raise their hands, they have been crushed. Parting trunks with radiant power, strands of darting vermillion that ink waves of violet across the sky. As the morning star paints the valley, below the sanguine shining, on the dead: like statues, their hands frozen. Once-live caryatid holding up the sky. Открыть страницу с текстом

Pale horses galloping from the woods over the hill, into the morning light. White and cold-blue flags hang above howled tunes of death and destruction, the will of god. Morning star came forth to shatter skulls and tear apart the sinew. Holy demons divide the trees, ripping flesh from bone; sliced innards spill. Heretics died slowly, as hooves crush the heads of men into the mire. Honor lies in a grave, bled in the woods where our ancestors rot. Terror! Bloodletting frenzy! Kneel before the usurper! Beg on your knees for our loving cull! Rejoice! It is the time of celebration, for these armies only wish to spread the will of god. Looking up through heavy eyes, the blood seeps into the mud. Loved ones sent back into the earth. Horrific defilement corrupting the pure. Sent to Valhalla by the grace of god. Hallo Morgensonne. Rays of sunlight cast shadows on the earth. Where once I walked, is this all there is? Is it meant to be, we lose it all? Открыть страницу с текстом

I spy a flicker in the hinterland as I approach, trampling drifts, toward the dying ember. Discovering a fireside absence, but where hast thou gone? My dearest brother. Now I walk, I trod these roads through unknown territory; I walk this road alone. Once more illuminate the crags that I’ve heaved aside. T’was buried but not lost, i find myself yearning for the glory of what once was. Dear brother, I beg the gods you hear me. I plead a blessing that all is well and that this treacherous plight would not be for nothing. I stand among the ruins of this snow capped wilderness with this Palladian regret. The trees whisper as I retrieve my sabretache from atop the bones of the fallen. For the years lost, my brother, I swear to all I will not let this be for nothing. Открыть страницу с текстом