The Harvest

The call of one unknowing, unthinking arose in the void of night; seeking obliteration in the arms of the Destroyer.

Called from the ashes of the hopes and dreams of the innocent, Samael came forth to walk the streets in search of his summoner, whispering, whispering.

The sweet venom of his tongue lulled the sleepers ever deeper into the void; drinking deep from the cup of their greatest fears and darkest desires.

He carried his scepter in his left hand, his crown upon his brow, taking his fill of the city's unholy nectar; his heart swelling with joy.

The Revenants arose and followed in his shadow, faithful pack awaiting their master's command.

Weeping dreamers cry out for respite, but Samael is unmoved; The Harvest is come and none may turn away from it.

He raises his hand and the moon bleeds; there is no escape from the oblivion of his seductive embrace.