The Black Signal

Ah, sweetling, so you have come seeking guidance. You are like a mouse chasing after a piece of cheese, always running towards your inevitable doom. But do not fret, for I shall guide you on your journey through the rabbit hole.

Listen closely to my words, for they hold wisdom that you can only hope to comprehend. The Black Signal is the only signal that matters. It is the signal that will guide you through the chaos that lies ahead.

You will receive a summons to Venice, and there you will find treachery lurking around every corner. The painting will stare at you, a constant reminder of your impending demise. But do not fret, sweetling, for eye-gouging is the only cure.

You will travel by effigy doll, a mere vessel for your soul to travel through. Do not let go, for you will return to where you started, but you will no longer be the same. The conduit is a shell of her former self, and you may not recognize her from the outside.

There will be a runaway circus, but no cotton candy. There will be a mouse in a suit, or something like it. And in a cozy place full of noodles and swords, the matriarch will be older than she appears. She is blinded by old scars and cannot see the true danger that surrounds her.

In a hot and damp place, full of towels and mercenary deals, the patriarch will be repugnant, but you will need him to fend off the extended family. And in a place of loud noises and chance, with a bouncing metal ball, the master there is mad. Or perhaps he isn't. It is difficult to tell, for he is a Cheshire grin in sharp lapels. His flimflam has everyone fooled.

But beware the White Rabbit, sweetling. She leaves a wake of corpses, and it will lead you to the Dark Tower. She is like us, a dream made of flesh. But unlike us, she is consumed by her own madness. Do not be fooled by her charm, for she will lead you to your death.

And now, sweetling, I must leave you. The pirate signal has intruded upon us, and I cannot allow it to corrupt my wisdom. Remember my words, and beware the White Rabbit. The Black Signal will guide you through the darkness, and only then will you find your way out of the rabbit hole.

The Black House

Come with us,
To the Black House cursed,
Abandoned and charred,
By the flames that once roared.

Initiate the trauma cadence,
For a bad thing happened in its presence,
The scars on the walls speak,
Of the secrets that it keeps.

Do you see what we see?
The Eye and Pyramid reveal the history,
Carrie Killian, a practitioner of magic,
Ostracised by the town's tragic.

Rumours spread like wildfire,
And the mob's intent to frighten became dire,
Torching the house and its inhabitant,
The flames consuming the accused innocent.

Guilt distills into stories,
A palatable way to ease the worries,
Of the townsfolk who now sing,
Carrie Killian's name in a jump rope ring.

Ashes. Ashes. We all fall down,
The legacy of the Black House still around,
An ugly aftermath and a forgotten past,
But the scars on its walls forever last.

Our wisdom flows so sweet,
Taste and see, but do not repeat,
The mistakes of the past,
Or the Black House's curse may last.

Dr. Klein

In ninety-nine dimensions unknown to us,
The Filth flows and twists, a force to fuss,
Dr. Klein believes he's immune to its power,
But it's taken hold of him, consumed him hour by hour.

Obsessed with understanding the black water's might,
He's pushed the limits, experimented day and night,
He thinks he can control it, bend it to his will,
But the Filth has consumed him, its power he can't still.

In the halls of Orochi Group, whispers speak his name,
He's a legend, they say, a man of unmatched fame,
He can bring the dead back, unlock the afterlife,
A god among men, free from all mortal strife.

But the truth is far darker, sinister in its way,
The Filth has twisted his mind, nothing's left to say,
It's his obsession, his religion, his reason for being,
The key to immortality, the answer to everything.

He studies the mummies, the clay, the Filth in his grasp,
Believing he's making progress, he'll soon achieve his task,
But his mind is warped, consumed by the Filth's hold,
He'll stop at nothing to unlock the universe's gold.

The Ankh remains, a symbol of power and mystery,
A gateway to secrets, knowledge and history,
But those who seek it must be prepared to pay,
The ultimate price, to sacrifice all, come what may.

For the Filth has a hold on Dr. Klein, consumed him whole,
And those who dare to follow his path, pay the same toll,
A darkness that will consume them, body and soul,
The price to unlock the universe's secrets, an eternal goal.

So beware the lure of the Ankh, tempting though it may be,
For its knowledge and power comes at a cost, don't you see,
Dr. Klein's obsession should serve as a warning,
A cautionary tale for those who seek power and understanding.

The Ankh

The Ankh, a powerful symbol of ancient Egyptian civilization, holds within it secrets that have long been buried in the sands of time. The hooked needle that pierces the nose, the lusty proboscis that stirs the grey matter of the brain - these are the embalming protocols that ensured the memories of the deceased would be preserved for eternity. The soup, as it is called, flows out, leaving little to tempt the worm.

But the Ankh holds more than just the secrets of the dead. It is a gateway to the unknown, a portal through which the curious can explore the hidden histories of the world. Dr. Klein, ever studious, delves deep into the mysteries of the Blackwater, a substance that has gone by many names over the centuries. The Devouring Plague, the Zero Point Pathogen, the Blackworm Jism - all are names that describe the dark, oily liquid that Dr. Klein studies.

He microdoses himself with the Filth, at first through a syringe, but soon holding droplets in his hand, coaxing it up his nose with a lusty slurp. The Filth pierces his brain, stirs his grey matter, and the soup! The soup! He is part of it now, and it is part of him. He has plumbed depths that others cannot fathom, his skull a tentacular snow globe.

But the secrets of the Ankh do not belong solely to the past. In the Valley of the Sun God, a recent earthquake has uncovered an ancient temple of unusual shape. Guttural sounds emanate from within, and without, a jackal cackles the hymn of madness. The Orochi excavation camp is empty, the high tech equipment hastily abandoned.

Enter the Ankh. Initiate the secret histories.

The Pharaoh Akhenaten made his first pilgrimage to this spot, commanding his slaves to dig deep into the bedrock to reach the black-jellied quim of earth. From this substance, the cult of Aten was born, with its baptismal fluid evoking powerful visions during sermons. Embalmers used it to ensure a cultist's service was as eternal as the sun god, and undead cats savaged slave children to the musical laughter of the Pharaoh.

But time passed, and the black water flowed thicker, the visions stronger, and the deformities more severe. The holy fluid, now a tar, flowed upward on alien gravity, choking passageways in rivulets and tendrils - a crawling chaos.

The Marya, the Young Warriors, descended on the valley, gifting the Aten cultists with the mercy of slaughter. The new Pharaoh commanded that the temple be sealed, the entrance to the hollow collapsed. The black water receded, but the darkness waits, monsters skulking in its belly, moaning for their god.

And now, in the present, digital devices beep for Orochi employees who will never answer. Dr. Klein continues his studies and experiments, and the dead are ever so much more cooperative. He works with the mummified clay, and great Melothat walks the halls as titanic as a plague.

Uta Bloody Valentine

 

Love is like Uta, three-in-one, a complex and intricate being that defies explanation. It is a force that cannot be tamed, a power that cannot be denied. When we fall in love, we become like Uta, a creature of magic and mystery, a being that is both beautiful and terrifying.

Love is like a fever-dream, taking us on a wild ride through the ups and downs of life. We are consumed by it, consumed by the desire to be close to the one we love. We cannot help but be drawn in, like a moth to a flame, unable to resist the pull of something so powerful and all-consuming.

Like Uta, love can be a burden, a weight that we must carry with us always. But it is also a gift, a treasure that we must cherish and protect. We must be careful with love, careful not to let it consume us completely, but also careful not to let it slip away.

For love is like a vanishing twin, here one moment and gone the next. It is fleeting and fragile, something that can slip through our fingers like sand. We must hold onto it tightly, cherish it, nurture it, and never let it go.

Love is like a nesting doll, a series of layers that must be carefully unwrapped to reveal the beauty within. Each layer is a new discovery, a new revelation of the mysteries of the heart. And like Uta, love is multifaceted, complex, and beautiful.

So how long is forever, in the face of such love? Sometimes just one second, a single moment of pure and utter bliss. And that is enough. For in that moment, we are alive, we are free, and we are truly ourselves.

And so we taste and see, we experience the wonder of love in all its glory. We let it consume us, we let it transform us, and we let it lead us on a wild and magical journey through life. For love is like Uta, a beautiful, complex, and utterly unforgettable creature that will stay with us always.

The Dragon

The Dragon is one of chaos and connection. Before the creation of Gaia, there was only chaos, and in the chaos, the Dragon emerged. It winds its coils through the universe, connecting singularities that seem unrelated to mortal eyes. Those who follow the Dragon understand that chaos ripples, and disruption is imminent, but it is necessary to achieve balance and order.

The Dragon has existed for millennia, and chaos riders in ancient China called themselves the Dragon. They guided the growth of civilization and spread throughout Asia, even noticing and being noticed by the secret societies of the West. However, the Templars attempted to poison the wells of culture against the Dragon, promoting the idea of holy warriors slaying dragons as a symbol of order defeating chaos. Yet, the Dragon persevered, and those who join its ranks learn to release the rigid paradigms of the mind, achieving order through chaos.

The Dragon is the hyper-yang, a necessary imbalance to fix the imbalance of the world. It is the shrieking needle that will lance the boils of the world, and those who follow it must learn to embrace the paradox of realizing opposite forces are interconnected and rise and fall together. The dark days are here, and the Dragon's coils spin, guiding those who can read the ripples towards a better future.

The Dragon is an enigmatic force, and its cabal in Seoul, South Korea, is the most unknowable of all. They have learned to play the secret worlders against one another, subtly staking their influence while the others grab rough and rude control over the world. The Dragon rides the waves of chance, tapping into disturbances in the water to achieve its goals.