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Obscura's blog

I have no name for it.  It is what all angels and demons and gods and spirits and humanity fight.  The Thing from Wrinkle in Time.  What has tried to kill me since I was born.  Apep that all the gods fight each night to make sure the sun rises.  The death of the immortal soul, a true ending, outside Satan and Michael and Jesus and God and the True Enemy.  That Which Has No Name.  What I am utterly and irrevocably drawn to and what I will enter oblivion for.  What we will all die from, in the end, because no one speaks of it, fewer know it, and to see it is to realize: all the happy endings religions promise you, reincarnation, that love wins, that you can "become a living god," it all turns up trite shit.  Makes the Void look like a fucking fiesta and Chaos seem homey and all those monsters in the dark shit their pants.  It's what I've been fucking running from all my life yet it will be my undoing.  That Thing that Exists Outside All.  Gray.  Neutrality.  Staleness.  Kelvin Zero.  The opposite of noise, the absence of silence.  Where language and Ragnarok and Revelations fail and the truth of the matter is, God can die, no soul's immortality is guaranteed, this very universe, this very multiverse, all stages of reality and all stories we tell ourselves to sleep at night are just lies against whatever the fuck it is.


The virus.  The bug in the system.  What corrupts and is Gray.  Not black or white.  Absence and yet beyond absence.  What makes everything into it.  Fuck Qliphoth, it is the true husk.  Eggshell wanting to swallow everything in it's prison.  Where the Void of the lowest pits of the wailing damned far below the lap of Satan where demons drink to forget it, where that Void ends, where Darkness and Light have no domain, the the Thing hungers yet does not eat.  Dust.  Beyond something and nothing.  What sickens.  The Evil Inclination and yet the very basis for what all existence is destined to fight.  I can't name it, nothing can name it, demons and eldritch horrors and Choronzon all have their place.


The Thing has no place.  It consumes and yet does not destroy.  It creates yet it creates nothing.  It is the very birth of paradox and madness and to touch it is to become a howling void.  The Thing is outside All, and yet wants to Be All.  And defeating it will cost everything I fucking love.


I was 12 when I first saw it.  Lost in Heaven as my soul fled my fucking child body and I witnessed the slaughter of archangels in spilled guts and hacked off heads by these puppets of the Thing.  Beyond dark matter and Kelvin Zero.  Just... a Thing.  A cancer and yet not of anything fleshy or natural or supernatural or bodily.  And despite Michael's legions, despite these angels of immense power with flaming swords and wings of adamant, the Thing was winning.  I was pulled down to the battlefield and screamed and no one could see or hear me.  I wove between angels and the Thing's puppets and knew if It touched me, I would be beyond oblivion, beyond death, beyond any hope of Allie or any love or hate or just, really, anything.  I would become It.  


Somehow Michael fucking found me and pulled me with the gravity of God to a bloody clearing where he was shouting orders with flaming sword in hand, terrified, his red hair matted with ichor.  Michael saved my life and all lives to come and everything that I was, as Michael is the only one that can see the Spy of God, and he shouted "Zophael!" in my small four foot whatever body and shoved me like lightning down my spine to my stomach and his look was utter terror and fury at me daring venture close to it.  I jolted back alive in a daze and knew the source of all my nightmares was very real.  The Thing yawned in my small fragile soul and I grasped something of annhilation.  Spies are only as good as the intelligence they gather, and I am the Herald of Hell, and I have been fucking trying to figure out the Thing for all my life, yet it's like being in the Mariana Trench with a matchstick.  If Michael and Samael fight it, what fucking chance does a kid stand?  Watchwomen are good at crying for help, not much else, and I had never screamed as much as I did that night.  That night I almost was erased.


I saw it again when I was 18.  Gray.  Nuclear winter.  Conformity.  No love or hate or anything unholy or holy.  It fed.  It nursed.  It consumed.  It injected.  The gods and demons and angels manifested to fight it, and people gave their lives over to the spirits as vessels, and I carved two bloody taws into my palms and Samael possessed me for the first time, and my eyes grew red as blood, and I wielded the scythe, and I went to face it while Satan piloted my fucking tissue paper body.  Samael spoke through me and gave commands, fighting at Michael and Odin and Athena and Ra's side - every fucking thing was there fucking fighting the Thing.  And it was a fucking massacre.  I remember seeing just this cancer on everything, the bug, the virus, the Thing, feeding.  Gray.  Winter yet not a time for rest.  Sleep yet not of dreams.  What Hell guards us from but could contain no more.  What Samael is a scapegoat for.  What the whole reason Fenrir and Set and Satan were invented as cardboard villains to project all the lies we have about the Thing to help us sleep at night.


I now give my body over willingly.  That's the whole point.  I can't keep fucking running from my rood, destruction, and husk.  It is in my heart because I am trying to understand It.  I remember locking myself in the Pit with it just to wipe the blood from Satan's brow for eternity as he held it back.  I don't know why he doesn't just give in.  When your soul is in constant battle, when your very being is zuhama, how do you live knowing if you make one fucking mistake the Thing will make you its chewtoy.  Demons are the fucking watchdogs, angels are the second defense, and Hell was invented as a barrier to contain the Thing, to make one last fuck you stand to the Gray.


At twelve, I found it face to face.  At my birth, I felt it.  It haunts and is the reason I am terrified of the dark.  Broken records.  Skips in the matrix.  It's all about programming, at the end of the day.  Do we get a choice in this, or are we already damned.  Apep.  


Snakes are slippery things.

AK does not deserve his fangs.  Ouch.  I am going to take a pair of celestial pliers and defang Samael.  Snakes are slippery things.  Dracula is mean.  Dragons eat maidens.  Bloodsuckers will be destroyed by Buffy.


Run all you want Spike.  I am the Slayer, and your canines must be put down.  Fucking Hannibal Lecter!

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