Last Breath of A Dying Man pt 2 of 7
By Michael Wicks
Date: May 12th, 1939
From the journal of Azamir Othello, deciphered from Sumerian Cuneiform by Yale University linguistics expert, John Montgomery.
Date: September 21st, 1937
Oh injudicious missionaries, following my guise blindly as they praise at the most graven of altars. The monolith stands firm in the middle of La Salette, thinking it made of obsidian, and forged through sacred geometry, not knowing it is a splinter of the Nuclear Chaos itself. The gestures they perform before it go blind to their god, merely a deified serpent, a lesser creator spirit. How ignorant can these creatures be? Is it because I’ve spent my years toiling over the grimoires of true understanding, or is it because I was spat from the dark womb itself, knowing what I am, what we all are, from the moment of nativity. My son has learnt much from me, but yearns to blend in better with the normal folk of this backwards town. Smith, the name of many, and now another Smith makes his way into “normal life”. I know he will never forget what I’ve imparted on him. Yet, I did not utter unto him the secrets of true darkness, no, that is for his spawn to explore. A year from today, The Sultan shall make his presence known to this part of the world. Solace fills my being, for how little will destroy so much. None can escape the Blind One, not even I. A loyal servant, is still only that, a servant, worthy of nothing more than scraps. Even so, I push forward, pleading for the sacrifice to come at last.
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