Osmodaï Unleashed
“The great heart of the Eternal beats even and untroubled,
Flowing through the river of its peace.
There is no bearer of burdens like Caliban,
Nor runner of vain errands like Ariel.
Silent for once in the restless hive of labor;
Save the low funeral procession, or voice of craftsmen
Whispering to his neighbor - the good deeds of the dead.” -A. Mills
Havoc-kissed nativity steeped low and affixed; whose heart, though once ultrasonic, tumultuous beat, beats hollow; in absence; of love, loveless blackheart - everlastingly so. And if ever once had loved, if love there ever were or been, loved only itself and all of which either vexes or inflames. Attuned, though, Armageddon’s armored Hornets melt upon the thrones, or undeniable nature of one’s self, of every ailment and every bone; but also in vanity too branded and vandalized by metallic chroma. And so hedonized by them, whose amberous-scepters which stung the mind, coursed their infernal Venom obtained from some Great Worm, into the veins wholly which faults the Spirit wild and the Body desirous - bent from design. This, the prophecy of the untaming of ascendancy, resides in the lyrics of blind Muses, but the prevalence over Fates beneath the veil of an unforeseen and unforsaken Subterranean mobil shook even the unshakable; even the noblesse of Pseudoapollo, Sunless-God the Morning Star. Beware, henceforth is astonishingly, seductively oblique. Beware, for darkness made visible.
"My name is Osmodaï, Bestial Prince of a Thousand Tongues and Starfallen Peacock.
He whom from Tempestuous Delights, Reborn. Drink of this fermented elixer, salacious liquours, and draw forth from the same realm of archchemic elements as I, so that, in faith, you may yield to the enduring of my grandeur and volatility as I reveal, as I was revealed, and can never unknow. From antiquity I hailed, in the Earth’s most youngest years, the Sun’s moment of maturity and the indigenous races newborn to longevity. Worshipped, and chaotic mania was my chosen ambrosia, which I was not alone in indulgence. The only father I had known, I murdered; and since, feared no Man, nor god, nor death - now visible, nor invisible darkness. Alone in madness, no thing in me absent. I learned the Language of Adam, original Godtongue, from serpents who bore forbidden knowledge, I learned the true names of the Stars born and died wrought from Heaven and tasted of every flavour which the earth concealed. War was my vice - bloodied and blood drunken as when I was born; and it was me that began what would be known as Oriental decadence. Gaze upon all that I have done, and awe - in Life as I have in Death.
Lain in Subterranean soil; immense nightgale and catatonia crushed beneath the Old density of glacial anchors, obliqued - ashfall as this maelstrom consumes all sunless forms, and frosts everything whereso’er enchanted or eclipsed amid the nullcolorous convex that is my Fimbulvetr. Infinite weightlessness and infinite gravity distinguished by infinite fragments scattered anon, in omnipotence. Cast xenopolyon, in multiple places in an oddity of or strange opposites to, in the same space, from the cold world to cold Death with the last memory from my mortal life lingering over my domination while competing in the illustrious Olympian Pythion; bathed in veneration by the long and loud roar of the People. But full content had eluded me as a result of this Great Fall - surely as grand as the maturity of Jove from adolescence. Though kindred as we were, I would not succumb to blindness nor severity, nor tragedy nor humility, and Death was but neodecadent sybaritism unlike those from Life - so to seize it was my motive. From this downward cavity which I was employed, I arose from bondage and ancestral frost breaks from Atlantean shoulders like rebounding hail befallen from summits on high. And as I ascended, to perhaps aid in my unleashing, a rancorous howl breaks from cerulean lips like-thunder which regains me everything once thought lost. So I breathed of Valkyrian pride after determining to remain unfallen - intoxicated off of the Tartarean firewater from the Phlegethon’s burning shore; drunken from the severed-skull chalice of my Father which was to be the beginning of Götterdämmerung, unique only to me, but no other has, or will, survive their Ragnarök as I have.
Black tastes of black, and death tastes of love - though neither my golden tongue knows; for only obsidian and burning lithium lingers with the combustion following the collision from feeding on primal fruits like opium luxury, or the intrinsic paroxysm when I speak the Language of Adam, exiled. Revived through, and by, Hadean sorcery, the Protean archetype, breather of Adamantium - my rebirth foretold twice by a Serpent, whom at last revealed to me the secrets of my nativity; from a time when the Old Gods still walked, how I was arisen from foreign alluvian clay by Demogorgonic hands, and shaped in the chasms of maelstrom. How we were self same, of imperium bloodline, who take of and devour the beauty and horrors from stars or souls alike - the root of my obsession, or Nature, for that damnable flower. So ajar upon Eveningstar-studded wings I conquest. Ascended from black into vantablack; in pursuit of what once I was and am no nevermore, to reunite the Night and the Day and exist within the illumination of the Truth of my madness.
My name is Osmodaï, lover of Sudden Death, and never will I be forgotten."
-Antitheus