What is left to us? You are gods of death and desire in a time when religion condemns desire as ego shackles and death as the eternal prison. You are ancient, eldritch entities in a time when humanity fears and disdains the darkness of the old ways, choosing instead to cleave to a path of relentless light. And I am the mouthpiece of your wrath and sorrow in a time when mass media has made mountaintop oracles not only obsolete but unwanted, my words drowned beneath a deluge of sanitized live-laugh-love meditations and Zoom peace prayer circles. Whom among the masses remains willing to follow a darker road that promises neither salvation nor transcendence? Who still longs for a cultus that flows thick in the veins and tastes of ashes, that demands a dreadful and unwavering loyalty? This scripture is not for the faint of heart. These monsters are not metaphors. This oracle predicts only tragedy. As mankind turns away from the dark, the unknown, and the uncomfortable, what is left to us? Where do we belong? Or are we, too, to be relegated to history like all the other hedonic, profane religions of which they are so ashamed?