ENTRY 020//DEATH//ITSELF

> “Did I request thee, Maker, from my clay

>

> To mould me Man, did I solicit thee

>

> From darkness to promote me?”

—Pre-Pandaemonium Tetragrammaton excerpt, [Collective-Consciousness-Memory-Engram]: John Milton Paradise Lost.

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Existence was gravely wounded further and further still as Erastes struck out with the erelim-blade, sending coruscating and annihilatory ripples along Malkuth and the ether. Rends in the fabric of reality parted to reveal nothing-things of Misophaes, maggot-headed fiends and insensate beasts. Swathes of the angel’s burial shroud body were cut away to bare locusts not unlike that of the seventh archon Sabazios’.

But where Her all-consuming inferno of white was held back by unburning asbestos, the angel of the abyss was sealed with nought but cotton cloth and a single sigil of shin; you could not hold back Death Itself with the Dead G-d.

[Saklas] executed a cadence of martial forms, attack and defense woven as one. On the last strike, an upward slash, the angel of the abyss caught the erelim-blade and held it in Its enshrouded hands. All of [Saklas]’s strength was found wanting, not budging the armament even a nanometer.

It spoke twelve baleful words from the davening scrolls that lined High Priest Erastes’ own sacred vestments.

“[And ẗ̷̨̪̤̻̱͇̟̬̮̳̰̩͔̘̦̯́͆̒̀͊̓́̅̅̋͝ẖ̸̭͙̟̜̠͓͉͙̪́̍̓͌̉̃̂̇̀͘̕͝e̶̳̹̟͈̺͓͍̻͍̭̮͘ ̶͎̣̙̓̅͗̌͛̑̌͒̈͌̄L̵̡̞̟̝̿̿͊̌̑͆͆̈o̴̢̢̥̘͖̩͚̯͎̤͖̭͒̒̔̓̏̔̆̏̚̚̚ŗ̶̡̰̬͔̗̯͙̮̽̌͛̿̕ͅd̵̠̞̯̦̫̝̖̣̖͕̲̃̋͑͜͜ rained down on S̵̙̬̱̖̲̬̙͈̿̽o̵̡̭̪̫̘̤͈̖͓͇͉̠̎̿̒̿͋̂͗͐̽̎͘̚͝ḑ̷̠̮͍͙̙̲͖͎̯̰͐͜ǒ̴̢̤̙͕͚̯m̶̘̞̫̥̐́̉̇̌̕̚͝͠͝͝ͅͅ and G̴̯̹͍͆̅̇̓̔̾̑̇̿ͅó̵̢̡̧͕͕̦̩̭̣̆͆̕m̶̠̐̿̾̉̊̃̆̿ỏ̵͖͉͇̯̙̋̄́́͂r̵̭̞̺̰̣̱͎͛̏ř̶̘̝̠̝̀͝ą̵̞͈̘̮̳͂h̶̞͋̔̽̉̎̐͑͘ brimstone and fire—]”

The erelim-blade melted like slag, the daemon’s physical form exorcized from existence and banished back within [Saklas]’s soul. In response, He retreated on Exocoetidae wings, spawning fish covering his presence with a storm cloud of carnality.

Tetragramic seals were banned as heresy in the New World for they granted power unbeholden to the archons, a reverse goetia known as enochia; davening scrolls were derived from tetragrams. Erastes would not leave low hanging fruit lying there when it was ripe for the picking. This, He now knew, would seal his fate. All His hunger for power proved to starve Him of His own ego.

[Samigina] evoked the sound of a thousand-thousand spectral hooves treading through high water to confound the angel; Erastes used the compounded misdirection to conjure an armament, manifesting its true-form from whole-cloth.

He plunged an arm down his throat until the elbow and brought out a daemonic idol covered in phlegm and bile.

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Engram: [Daemon//Armament]

Pseudonym: [Gamigin]

True-name: [G-M-I-G-M]

Sefirot-class: [Gevurah]

Legion-origin: [Aeria]

Designation: [Prostration] - [Grave 0//1]

Principle-substrate: [Salt]

True-form: [An idolatrous pillar of salt formed in the shape of an ungulate fetus held within a hermetic glass of aqua vitae. Undissolving in the solution of ether, bubbles froth from the graven image’s nostrils.]

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A lesser cultivar from the same true-name strain as [Samigina], [Gamigin] was fine-tuned for exorcisms and the like down to its archonic datum. [Graves], A.K.A. semantics, changed the lexical code of other engrams and dead-code constructs. Semantics were negentropic in nature, self-perpetuating over time; great for sealing particularly slippery and wily daemons. The Profligate and the idol armament possessed synergy given their shared cipher, compounding effects when used together.

Erastes held the true-form manifestation of [Gamigin] in his bestial claws, swiming through evoked storm water to waylay the angel. He conjured an illusion of [Samigina] to occupy the three heads of Death Itself and then unsealed the hermetic glass.

An enochian spell spilt from His lips like sacrament from a chalice.

“[Harken, {Mal’akh} and all the fiends of the Fester//Do you not know that Lord {Abraxas} gave dominion over Babylon to {Astaphaios} and Her sons by a covenant of salt?]”

The brine evoked by the Profligate was siphoned into the extra-dimensional space of the armament, carrying the angel along with. Some of the world-wounds stitched back together, cauterized by the enochia.

‘Two can play at that game,’ was all but written on Erastes’ smug face.

It did not last long; wiped off as fast as it came.

Cracks leaking salt water spider-webbed around the true-form manifestation. Within the physicalized construct, a battle purely lexical occurred, its effects conducted sympathetically through to the hermetic glass in real time.

[Saklas] had hoped to use the armament as a last resort, knowing that a tifereth-class anomaly would break out from a seal only a half-rung above it. Sefirot-classes could still compete between close-enough rungs such as the divide between tifereth and gevurah; antithetical daemonic aspects did not help either as famine and copulation were at odds, metaphysically, philosophically, and perhaps even politically.

From within the idol, the angel spoke out.

[His strength is famished//And c̸͓̺͍͇̽̍͌̍ą̵̬̔ḷ̶̢̰̾̀́̓̕͠a̵̡̡͔̰̣̒̽̑̊m̷̹͙̦͌̌̔̎̌i̴̹̦̍̎͂͝t̴̹͚̖́̇̆̍̄͝y̵̫̪͊͊̓̽̿͠ is ready at his side. His skin is devoured by disease//The firstborn of Ḑ̶̝͈͈͙̳̠̑é̶̛͕̮͖͚̜̥͚̋̓́̾̎̈́͒͑̊a̴̳̼͙͎̦̬̝̭̯͉̖͚̙͗͂̏̽̅̈̄̂́̋͗̋̏̀ͅṱ̸̖͎͇͕̱̻͔͈̮̬́̑̅̄͑̏͂̊̄͐͗̇͗̓̋̉h̶̡̛̬̯̹̣̘̓̆͛̾͌͌͑́̀̅͋͆̚͠ devours his limbs.]

And from within the idol, the angel broke out.

You could not hold Death Itself within a bottle no more than you could lightning.

Not even five full seconds had passed since the anomaly’s ex nihilo. The caesium standard simply couldn’t keep up with the New World; milliseconds were still too disorienting to make anything out but astigmatic blurs. They fought in the time it took for molecules to fluoresce, each nanosecond their equivalent of a blink.

Not that either blinked. For Erastes that meant death. And for Death, that meant having eyelids.

The priest danced with Death Itself, taunting the specter that watched over every sleeping man and then vanishing into the Profiligate’s evoked waters. There was no true offense on His part as the erelim-blade had been exorcized from Malkuth and would not return for another two seconds; an eternity, really.

From between the seams of the burial shroud, the wraps of a mummified pharaoh lashed out to catch Erastes again and again; they caught only fish. Each lashing took the time that a photon required to travel a nucleon in an absolute vacuum, the force disintegrating reality as it reached the speed of light.

The luxurious church was nothing but a ruin now, barely holding back the cascading entropy wrought by combat between two near g-ds.

Lacking one zeptosecond from ten seconds proper, [Saklas] made His first mistake. An old-world strontium atomic clock would have been hard-pressed to measure that infinitesimal moment.

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