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Baalberith · **08-26-2013, 07:14 PM**

The blood red sun is peeking it's head just over the horizon, and a few bright stars can be seen hovering throughout the rest of the nearly pitch black sky. Baalberith is standing silently, in his black robe, looking out towards the horizon as still as a statue as the wind blows his hair around in a maniacal way, giving the impression of a wind vortex surrounding him as the grass field laid out before him seems calm and untouched by the breeze. As he looks out into the fields he closes his eyes and begins reciting a chant quietly as if to himself.

"We stand armed and dangerous before the bloody fields of history, devoid of dogma, but ready to carve, to defy the transient. Ready to stab forth with our penetrative will, to strain every leash, to run, yelling down the mountainside of man. Ready and willing to immolate world upon world with our stunning blaze. And let them all sing that WE were here, as masters among the failing specimens called man. Our being took form in defiance to stand before your killing gaze. And now we travel from flame to flame and tower from the will to the glory! AGIOS O BAPHOMET! AGIOS O BAPHOMET!"

As his voice carries off into the emptiness he opens his eyes, and a quick flash of a second set of eyelids flash up and down in a quick blink, barely noticeable before he begins again.

"The sun, one of the few constants in man's short existence, the sun rises and the sun sets the beginning of the day, the end of the day."

He turns from the sun and begins walking slowly away from it as the wind seems to follow him still throwing his hair from side to side but leaving the grass untouched.

"But without a sense of direction and the knowledge that has been bestowed upon them, they wouldn't know if it was rising or setting, they would just see it as you look at it now, unknowing if it is becoming light, or soon night, if it's time for rejoice or the time of monsters."

Finally he stops and drops himself lightly on the grass, indian style, closes his eyes and lets the wind engulf him for a moment before it slowly dissipates and he slowly opens his eyes, giving another brief glimpse of his second set of eyelids.

"Well let me tell you all, the time of monsters isn't only night time, monsters roam among you twenty four hours, seven days a week. Charles Manson, Ted Bundy, and countless others who walk around with their false faces and calm demeanors walk amongst humans every day, I see it every time I walk into that locker room. Not sadistic, mind controlling psychopaths or sex crazed lunatics, no, I see people who put on facades. Facades just like the people rotting in prison, waiting for their sentences to be handed down by a jury of their peers. But is the jury really these men's peers when they never committed a murder, or even a crime? Are those people peers, or playing the human dress up version of god?"

He scowls as the words leave his lips and 'god' seems to be whispered by the grass as it rings quietly throughout the empty field.

"But facades are what keep the masses attention, they are what keep the sheep entertained, making a joke seems more important than speaking the truth."

He reaches into his cloak and slowly pulls out a black candle, followed by a small black handled knife.

"I also realized that it's not only jokes, but blood and guts that attract people."

He sets the candle on the grass and places the knife next to it.

"Since I am not one to flaunt money, even though if I want I can turn things to gold."

He reaches into the grass, grabbing a handful and letting it fall from his hand, except a single blade that he holds up to the camera and it slowly changes from bright green to a shiny gold.

"And I'm not one to broadcast podcasts to the sheep, because I see that as something for religious zealots and propaganda. Nor am I one to entertain them with drunken escapades they could go watch at their local tavern, or one who talks like I have a second grade education from my mother who swears and uses slang words to keep your attention."

He slowly lifts the candle and gently blows on it, causing it to spring to life with a bright flame.

"No, I could do those things but I won't. I won't because that would give people a false impression of what I am, what I am here to do."

He sets the candle on the grass and picks up the knife slowly and places it, point first, against his cheek.

"But just doing this may perhaps give you the wrong impression, I'm not here to hurt myself."

He lets out a deep chuckle as he slowly lowers the knife from his face.

"I'm much more comfortable watching others do that through their blindness to what's on the other side, what, or whom they think will be judging them when they reach this unknown side."

He chuckles again, blowing at the candle on the ground, causing a circle of fire to light all around where Baalberith sits, unmoving.

"BUT I WAS PUT HERE TO ENTERTAIN!"

As he yells out into the field he takes the knife and plunges it deep into his left shoulder, to the handle, causing it to instantly begin oozing out deep red onto the cloak, dripping down the front slowly. He leaves it there for a few moments as he closes his eyes, then pulls it back out, causing blood to squirt out onto the camera as he quickly puts his hand over the wound to stop the bleeding, before standing up in the middle of the fire and raising his arms into the air with the blood flowing out from his shoulder.

"Are you not entertained? ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED?!"

The camera fades out with Baalberith holding his arms into the black sky, as the last few rays of sun reveal the small puddle of blood forming at his feet.

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