Icarium

Story of the Brain Succubus

It is told about the succubus that when it comes you will notice

By the empty emotionless pits of eyes, its skin as pale white hue

Its breath is in the hint of rotten flesh and seaweed

When it speaks, ominous sounds of the most vicious evil of 1 million voices of empty dead corpses

Will fill you inner conscious mind, your inner feelings of desperate terror will only be replaced

By dreadful, dreadful, numbing coldness of arctic freezing frostbiting fright.

Grappling your legs, Succubus will eat your minuscule existence,

Your mind is numb, your body limp, and your hope is frozen to hypothermic helplessness

Forests spirits of swamp and ice will pierce your remaining hopes; your final time is now.

Taken by the Succubus, helpless is a fact, nature and dream are gone, only dread is unbound.

The Telling of Ound

He comes from ancient times, this entity of darkness

His being is of infinite and his essence is oblivious,

What he wills, becomes what he dooms, perish.

From his hands shadow falls, from his calculating mind light becomes illusion.

Darkness becomes is hope, the beginning, the clean source of the one.

From Ound comes pain, from pain, comes the being of the Sublime, from it, experience is birthed. From hem what is known as beauty is revealed from the chariot of vices, which is the leading torch of learning and lecture on survival

From the Will to survive comes from fear of Ound, and from fear of pain, and the presence and thought of death.

From Ound comes salvation; from Ound is the answer to Lucifer’s final lament, of the final horn of Apocalypse to be sound on the field of Carnage.

I am the shining horse who rides with the hero on hes back, im not looking back.

Thunder strikes in the horizen, im vitnesing the blessing of the new spring.

Hope is short, passing in a heart beat, the warmth of a vulcano is warming the place.

A dorment vulcano of violence, it will effect it all.

Krakatoa is its name, violence is its heart, and destruction is its path.

Monsters of dark, marches, death in their wake, Dorment and dark it will cause no salvation for no one.

Morgoth, Dormammu, Anubis, death is short.

Fire is errupting and everyone is frightned, the dark hours of humanity is here.

Lighting, blasts of dark light is making everyone frightning cause deamons is hungry for more...........................................Fire hell deamon is my name, face of a horse, my hunger is not that of grass, but of flesh im Typhon, im puking fire, im violence and death, my face is a horse, my legs is of snakes, im a dragon, im a Titan, son of Tartarus, and Gaia, i am the end, i am no solitude, im everything you will and shall ever fear. Im your Doom.