Atop a tower, the heights bearing an altar built of the charred bones of molested children – expertly removed from their bodies after years of service to the black master, within that horrid and blasphemous arrangement is housed a beacon – a point of call – a drawing point for the horrific spirits which lay beyond the backwards darkness whose only purpose is torment.

As swirling clouds amass across an iron sky of incomprehensible wilderness – so bleak, so barren, a rent tears forth from betwixt formations in the black firmament and the evil spirits who have been trapped within since time immemorial usher forth.

Only by the machinations of the black wizards of the citadel have they been granted entrance – only through the unbridled terror unleashed by shock troops bearing the ensign of the commandant, a promise of absolute fealty by dint of their atrocities.

Espionage, fear, conspiracy and repression have gathered themselves together and it is through that bleak fasces that the Undead Gods have been allowed their return – through those auspices the Final Harvest – sickles crackling with bluish electrical light, black almond-shaped eyes emitting radiation under whose glow life suffers inserting themselves for the reaping.

SOURCE: Lyrical excerpt from an untitled piece by clandestine organization center. Graphic depicts ZE77 effecting her application to the TOB, courtesy SUBAGENT SPECIALIST ZE77.