NIGHTFALL GIFTED

NIGHTFALL GIFTED

Step one. Retrieve a dead leviathans soul. Step two. Ritually convert a primordial intellect. Step three. Forge a frame from the cold fires of the Void. Step four. Break the will of a singularity. Step five. Claim the Rite. Step six. Kill a God. Step seven. Accept your Gift of the Night.

V A U L T

You think of the labyrinthine Earth, an unending cascade of layers that ascends upwards and downwards eternally, forever, fucking forever. The night and space and the dead worlds in the blackness are below their own Vault, their own cellar of existence that is moldy with vacuum and infested with the scuttling hives of silent, gnawing leviathans eating away at the foundations of reality while below claw and crawl stages that wind down, down, down, down to sludge, to a oil, to compressed exoskeletons the size of slouching infinity abysmally underfoot. It stares at you unblinking and unfeeling as it's cathedral thorns unfurl and unleash and blossom in horrendous reverse as it enclasps constellation jaws around you and you scream and scream and your wife sees you staring into the dying, degenerating universe that inhabits failed marriages and listless drives and static infested televisions even though the guy at the looming church of BestBuy told you this fucking Goliath of glass and plastic would never have static but there is static of course, staring into your soul as monstrous possibilities across undead cosmoses howl at you in your cubical nightmares

B E Y O N D

Let's batter away the churning ocean that will sweep you from birth to death, from linear existence to omniscience. Let's cleave the darkness of being away, to show you the godly flesh that is Everything. Let the vast skeleton of time, eternal and going in a septillion septillion infinite directions like ribbon banners of connection reveal itself to you. Let the tremendous unseen cosmoses unveil themselves to you. The vast haloes of dark matter and the impenetrable thunderstorm ink abysses of the Higgs bosons. The undying, glassy lightning neutrinos and tachyons breaking the boundaries of light like uncatchable ghosts. Let the future and past and present split and split and split, bloom forever and then another forever, another and another and another, a cascade of infinities that will never end, that cannot end, that are Unified as one but still a vast collection of differences. Think of your mind shattering and breaking and flooding, blossoming like a flower to swallow up the level of knowing and being even the gods and the Titans and cold, calculating Minds could only dream about in their primordium slumbers. Think of the oceans, the graves, the empyrean perfection that exists only in the Void and Afterlives that spread their breadth after the death of a universe, think of the uncontrolled chaotic beauty that is a cosmos just before birth. Eternity and death and time and the undying, unending ascent that is existence before you, within you.

Inktober 2016 on Behance

Sapo Lendário

D E V O U R E D F O R G E D

Each round is a black tooth, an obsidian fang filled with an unmatched desire to kill. Each round a beautifully crafted masterpiece of annihilation, forged in the honor of a dynasty of death. Each round carved with a dead canticle older than most stars and worlds, golden symbol an intricately emblazoned halo upon each fang-bullet. A soul within this cold fire, Void forged weapon. It's weirder can still feel the deep, abyssal pits burning this horrendous instrument into being. Hardening it. The sharp, chitinous thorns that ensnare metal and glass all that remains of a slain Titan. Holographic scopes a bloody red constellation illuminated down the barrel, a thousand all watching predatory eyes. The weapon feels this very eye upon a new target, new prey, a new soul to devour.

T I T A N : I

A leviathan, dreaming and slipping across the inky black cosmoses of death, slumbering after the long ago war of Titanomachy. I think of a vast Titan, it's tremendous armored face burning with a ferocious, beautiful, inconceivable halo, burning black and pale white and gold. I think of that slumbering Titan. And I think of it waking. Waking from below, even though the inky black cosmos it inhabits is not truly below or above, but somewhere else, a direction for only the primordial chaos before Gods and Men. The slumbering Titan wakes. It's halo burns now like septillion suns, like a trillion black hole maws worshipping. It opens its eyes, its eyes that ignited the empyrean before being. It stares up at me from the blackest eternity. The Titan is woken.