‘You cannot kill that which has no life.’ Samael spoke to me in his signature calm voice, with amused compassion for the human condition.
‘It’s vain, huh?’ I muse loud to myself thinking about what to do about this small but dedicated group of haters that I have amassed in recent months on social media. Their collective hate lined up well with the capricious archontic nature of the molochs. I lost my YouTube channel overnight.
The Angel of Death replies, ‘The Devil’s Disciples were not your true audience. Too many superficial people there.’
‘I know.’ I figured that out already before the Spirit told me. People were watching intently but for all the wrong reasons. Waiting for me to drop their name, simping for attention, wanting to be famous, loneliness, boredom. You name it. It is free entertainment, and that is how they took it. Less than a month later, my Facebook accounts just got buried under constant bans. Choked out of existence.
I know that Samael is here to end the witch wars, and when He ends it, he ends it the Samael way – I come as a Reaper, and thus I sow…
I let the paper kingdom catch on fire, as it was always meant to.
All of this was inevitable. Now I wash my hands as Pontius Pilate, and I let the crowd execute the mob justice.
The moonlight, no torches On foot, no horses If you make the pact before dawn He will cure uncertainty So glorious, so serpentine Sign in blood or go insane So in the book I wrote my name - The Pact, from Death Miracles by Cage
