Selected Texts Of The Society Of Dark Lily

It is with a great appreciation for the Dark Tradition’s past that we can move into Wyrd.

Here is a little offering for the readers of 9AO: selected texts of The Society of Dark Lily (1987- 1993).

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Salt and Crossing the Abyss

As many have remarked, it seems odd that Salt is placed second in the Septenary System’s nine-fold sequence of initiation referred to by Anton Long as the “principle of metamorphosis”. After all, Salt is attributed to the unconscious, which many associate with the state prior to the first initiatory stage of awakening, so it would make sense for Mercury, a representation of the masculine and introverted to come second in the sequence, as that logically proceeds awakening.

However, confronting the unconscious is a core component of any magick system, which occurs around the midway point of initiation in most systems. In terms of alchemy, the second stage is the muliebral, regarded as the creative and expansive stage (Gettings, 1981).

As is the case with the Septenary System, the journey begins with the [masculine] Ego: introverted feeling, intuition and thinking. It then moves onto the second stage of the [muliebral] Unconscious: extroverted feeling, thinking and intuition. Finally, it arrives at a consonance of both masculine and muliebral in the third stage known as the Self: Master of Temple/Mistress of Earth, Grand Master/Grand Mistress and Immortal/Homo Galactica (Long, 1976).

Ad libitum: while the Ego could be considered to be extraverted in so far as its physical expression is commonly understood, it is actually introverted because it is only concerned with the microcosm of the causal, not the macrocosm of the acausal. The term ‘introverted’ therefore – contextually – means myopic and ‘extraverted’ means open-mindedness, as it relates to considerations of the acausal and the numinous.

The unification of the masculine and muliebral, or Sol and Luna, is the stage known in hermetic alchemy as the Double Pelican, which Carl Jung referred to as Enantiodromia, but the Sinister Tradition refers to as “Crossing the Abyss.”

The term itself perfectly encapsulates the alchemical process, for the abyss is a representation of the second stage — Unconscious, which is dark, unfamiliar and opposing; the polar opposite of the first stage — Ego, which is light, known and resonating.

The action of “crossing” is an allegory for how the initiate confronts the muliebral Unconscious, that which is hidden deep and repressed. The initiate walks the tightrope suspended above the unknown of their psyche in order to reach the other side, at which time they have made the unknown known made the unconscious conscious, and apprehend the whole of their being before it was — to quote David Myatt — “cleaved into parts”. This is likely what Anton Long refers to as being one’s opposite yet beyond both.

Hopefully, this has cleared up the previous misconception and explained why the alchemical symbol for Salt is placed second in the sequence of the principle of metamorphosis; and in addition, provided new insight into the alchemical process known as “crossing the abyss.”

References:

Gettings, Fred. Dictionary of Occult, Hermetic and Alchemical Sigils. 1981


Long, Anton. Emanations of Urania: Notes Toward a Heuristic Representation of Cliology. 1976.

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Touching The Dying Sun

Waning. SA: 0.53 / MA: 0.51

A decaying Aeonic city, dripping with homogenous metallic water, breaks through the forbidden angles of the House. The smell of iron fills the air and dread cascades down into the collective subconscious of the causal.


Before us, sits invisibly, a haggard old king, adorned with robes the colour of dying Sol — The Hermit? Nay, it is not human! This “thing” perceived as a king is a god outside of time. Its nihilistic kingdom of death and life bears the infernal name Karkosa, for it can only be seen in hindsight conjunction with Mars, after one has existed there.


The Rubedo eyes of the rusted king forces the unification of the contradictory and opposing aspects of the self upon meeting its gaze. The double pelican flies above. Its will imparts an understanding that insanity is but sanity coming to terms with the boundlessness of the cosmos, yet the king decrees that sanity and insanity may find horrific confluence, birthing a dancing star from LASHTAL.


Lapsit ex coelis, Lucifer freshly fallen, brings the Spear of Wyrd to His caller(s) for which there are Nine. The Nine become Dragons of three forms: Serpent, Fire and Man. Ascalon pierces the heart of the first, releasing the second to be absorbed by the third; but Man is not yet able to hold Fire and thus it becomes an ember hidden, keeping warm the dormant Serpent until the Becoming.


The Serpent bestows lightning to the mage, and the tongue to speak beyond this world yet for it. For that is the divine Will of Khem; and all whom have the Serpent occluded shall be as His prophets once awakened.


The Serpent bears seven eyes. One for each sphere, which are constellations in space and beating hearts of great inexplicable horrors that walked Terra long ago. The number is 93, greater than 13, but 13 is that which must be avoided to reach 20.


Thus, the Key is Red and that which is Yellow keeps it beyond grasp, for it is the beginning known as the Fool…

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The Druwyd’s Odyssey: An Alchemical Journey of 9 Worlds Outlined

The Nine Worlds

The Preface

The following outline is provided as a barebones framework for understanding Druwydry. It takes the form of a Great Oak, and as such is seeded in the fertile soil of the Prima Materia. In keeping true to the nature of the Great Oaks, it will continue to grow with each cycle. As the seasons change, thus the character of the Great Oak will reflect the season. Sometimes barren, other times bearing fruit. The occasional new growth should be anticipated.

The Grand Tapestry of Existence



Eternity (Æthyr): The primordial source and the undifferentiated Absolute (Great Void).

Great Cosmos: Encompasses all the worlds within the Emanation.

The Druwyd: An individual seeking self-knowledge and integration, navigating the vastness of the Great Cosmos and yearning for the unity of Eternity.

The Forge: Represents the various challenges and experiences encountered on the path of transformation. These challenges correspond to different worlds within the Emanation:

  • WORLD 1 (The 9 Dimensional Existence): The first level of differentiation from Eternity.
  • WORLD 3 (The 8 Dimensional Existence): All dimensions within the Great Cosmos (All that is beyond the Great Canopy.
  • WORLD 6 (The Great Understory): The Macrocosm or “Milky Way”, our starry galaxy.
  • WORLD 12 (The Solar System): The Seeds of the Tree of Wyrd.
  • WORLD 24 (Earth): The Natural Worldly Order.
  • WORLD 48 (Man): The human experience.
  • WORLD 96 (The Root): The Microcosm, The internal world of Luna and the Dark Pool.



The Prima Materia (First Matter)



WORLD 48: Represents the starting point, the untransformed human condition. It embodies the three core forces:

Insidious (Mercury): The mercurial principle.

Heretical (Sulphur): The divine spark within.

Terrestrial (Salt): The grounding force.


The Druwydry (The Great Work):

The stages of the Druwydry remain the same, representing the Druwyd’s inner journey. However, the Druwyd strives for a state of being that resonates with the interconnectedness of the Cosmos, the divine spark within, and the ultimate unity.

The Druwyd’s Dwelling Places:

  • WORLD 48 (Man): The Druwyd grapples with emotions, social interactions, and their shadow aspects.
  • WORLD 96 (Microcosm): The Druwyd explores the fundamental building blocks of existence and the Bio-survival Circuit.


The Cosmic Landscape

  • WORLD 6 (The Great Understory): Governed by the Laws of the Solar System and Great Cosmos. The Druwyd encounters the Cosmic Element (represented by Venus) and the influence of Xeno (Life in the Galaxy). The vastness ignites a sense of wonder and confronts the Druwyd with the Six Forces governing the Macrocosm. They might embody the Necromancer (Undertaking), undertaking the great work of transformation within the galactic arena.
  • WORLD 12 (The Solar System): Governed by the Laws of Earth and Macrocosm. The Druwyd encounters the Air Element and the influence of Sol (Life in the Solar System). This world represents the Celestial Existence, aligning with the Symbolic Circuit (The Rational Mind). The Druwyd might explore the Lux (Eagle), Dance Oracle, Antares (Orange-Gold), representing a deeper level of transformation within this world. These are the Seeds of Wyrd.



The Earthly Realm



WORLD 24 (Earth): Governed by the Laws of Man and the Solar System. The Druwyd encounters the Water Element and the influence of Eden (Life on Earth). This world represents Organic Life, with the Twenty-Four Forces shaping existence. The Druwyd might embody the Anarchist (Mayhem), highlighting the potential for destructive impulses. The Elixir of Ecological Balance helps navigate these challenges.



The Human Experience



WORLD 48 (Man): Governed by the Laws of Microcosm and Earth. The Druwyd encounters the Fire Element and the influence of Adam (One Base, Three Values + 1). This world represents the human experience, a 4-dimensional reality. It aligns with the Emotional-Territorial Circuit (Freud’s Ego), the foundation of emotions, social interactions, and self-preservation. The Assassin (Havok) archetype embodies a distorted expression of this circuit. The Elixir of Emotional Harmony helps cultivate a balanced expression.



The Microcosmic Roots



WORLD 96 (The Roots): Governed by the Laws of Man. It is here that we can have the most (influence) effect. The Druwyd encounters the Earth Element and the influence of Polar + 1 (Cause, Action, Effect). This world represents the fundamental building blocks of existence, a 3-dimensional reality. It aligns with the Bio-survival Circuit. Represented by Luna and the Dark Pool from which the roots drink.

The Orientation of the Map

There are two paths to achieving what has been deemed the “philosopher’s stone”, what are they? Where does this Odyssey lead? What can we learn from Arcturus?

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The Dark Crier

For too long now, the narrative has been controlled by bad actors or outside sources. It’s hard to get honest updates in the folds of the Internet, so we’ve decided to do something about that. We’ve created a Telegram Channel.

https://t.me/the_dark_crier

The Dark Crier aims to provide a news source for the Satanic, Sinister, Insidious, and Dark Occult Tradition. If you wish to submit an editorial for review email it to:
houseoficonoclasts@protonmail.com

We plan to bring you the following:

1. News
2. Interviews
3. Videos
4. Reviews
5. Recommendations
6. Culture
7. Publications
8. Editorials
9. Merchandise

Tune in. Turn out. Stay informed.

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Rouns of Draiocht – Announcement

It is with great pleasure that, I am announcing a new phase in Druwydry, gifted to our Tradition from a long-surviving, aural magick tradition which is still being practised by a few extended pagan families within certain rural locals of the British Isles, areas where the original inhabitants —now termed Celts but originally termed Britons by the Romans — were forced into hiding or exile during the Roman invasion of Britain circa 43 AD.

We now give you a black book comprised of old ways and nouveau practices. Not constructed from the late 20th century “re-constructionist witchcraft and druidry”, but instead a genuine pagan grimoire.

You can get a sneak peak of it here (Download), but the full copy can only be found in the physical book. Which you can purchase from the link below.

Purchase the full version HERE!!

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The Reflected Revealed – One Ritual of Shamanic and Necromantic Channeling

Find a location where the bones of an animal have been buried and arrange several medium-sized stones in a henge to resemble the symbol of the A:O. Once night has fallen, place two candles on the left and right side of the A:O symbol, using lanterns to protect the candles from the wind if necessary.


Beginning at the top of the symbol, walk widdershins around the stones while using the shaker, ensuring the rhythm of the shaking is akin to a heartbeat. One rotation translates to one reverse revolution of the Earth around the Sun, so walk around the stones until the number of revolutions reaches the year in which the animal perished. If you do not possess that knowledge, cease when it feels right, ending where you began.


Walk through the centre of the stones, turn around and kneel in front of the bottom of the A:O symbol. Focus on the area where the bones are situated and visualise the essence outline of the animal rising from its resting place, its luminescent colour corresponding to the emotion it felt at the moment of its passing. Allow yourself to become a nexion for the spirit of the animal: roar, scream, yelp, whimper. Be honest about what you feel from the animal and channel it into wondrous expression, permitting it to change you, shift you, into the animal.


Before long, exhaustion will take root. You will collapse to the floor and be presented with the option to close your eyes and engage the visions that come, or enjoy the chthonic emptiness of the night sky above.

Addendum: Crafting the Shaker


For the construction of the shaker the following ingredients and equipment are required: 1 fabric pouch, 2 small glass vials (with corks), 3 small pieces of quartz, seeds, blood-infused salt or soil and several tiny stones.


Begin by filling the pouch with some salt. Add the tiny stones to the glass vials, fill them a quarter of the way, seal them, and then add them – plus the rest of the ingredients – to the pouch. Make sure the contents of the pouch have enough room to clash, lest an underwhelming sound be generated upon shaking.


Penultimately, fasten several bone fragments to a length of string and tie it around the pouch about an inch below the top, proceeding to seal the top of the pouch with hot wax. Lastly, attach the sigil or symbol relevant to the working(s) that the shaker will be used for by drawing the sigil/symbol on a small piece of parchment and sealing it against the pouch with hot wax.

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Redemption by Moonlight – Guest Article by Theodore R.



A sweltering summer evening was taking its toll on a middle-aged writer as he conducted his craft. Having been a member of various occult organisations, he had obtained connections and paranatural abilities that allowed him to lead a relatively comfortable life; that was until the local liberal council realised that his area was a little too affluent and decided to relocate voluntarily unemployed benefit dependents of a foul nature in an attempt to commit reverse gentrification.


The well-mannered and hardworking residents on Christopher’s street were suddenly surrounded by families of a significantly lower breed of person. What was once a quiet, friendly street had turned into a volatile and vulgar space within days: beer cans littered on the floor; the smell of marijuana from open windows at lunch time; and excessive shouting, indicative of inherited poor parenting, echoed through the street at all hours.


Christopher stood up from his chair to open a window. Within seconds, the vulgar tone and culturally-appropriated ebonic vocabulary of one of the families next door could be heard.


“Goodness me. What a vile lot”, he thought to himself. “They should have never made thrashing illegal in schools… and…”


The landline rang, interrupting his escalation. He picked up the phone to be greeted by the gentle tones of Mrs Henderson.


“Hello? Hello, dear? Have you heard the noise again?”


Mrs Henderson was a 70 year-old grandmother who had sadly been widowed, and then forgotten by her daughter. The sweet old lady would often call Christopher when she had a problem that she couldn’t resolve.


“Yes, I have. It’s very hard not to. Is it upsetting you?”, he replied.


“It’s not pleasant but I grew up with several brothers. What is frightening me though is those boys from number 41—always throwing things in my garden and ruining my flowers they are. Do you think I should say something next time?”


Without thinking Christopher responded.


“Definitely. They’re just kids at the end of the day. I’m sure if you put your foot down they’ll stop.”


“But what if they get violent with me? I’ve seen those stories on the news about that sort of thing, you know. I couldn’t possibly defend myself if it came to that.


Christopher’s inflated bravado made itself known as he confidently and unrealistically stated that he would always be around if she needed help. This reassured Mrs Henderson because Christopher was a fairly well built and tall man in his 50s.


The two talked about the socio-political climate in England before bidding each other good-day and returning to their respective lives.


For the remainder of the night, Christopher worked his Remington typewriter to its full mechanical potential in an effort to complete his latest manuscript on the importance of synergy in magickal praxis.


The next morning, as Christopher was leaving his area to attend a lecture at the university in the city, several police cars were parked at the side of the road. This was normal, an everyday occurrence on Conrad Drive since the riffraff moved in. The house that was always having guests coming and going at all hours of the night had once again been raided and its occupants arrested.


“Morning, constable”, Christopher said to one of the florescent praetorians as he passed by.


The constable nodded and responded in kind.


After a day of lecturing young and rightfully exhausted minds on Scythian culture, Christopher met up with an old friend for a pint at a nearby public house.


“Afternoon. A pint of Guinness and a…John Smiths, please”, Christopher requested after squinting at the fading chalk on the blackboard above the bar.


“Coming right up, mate”, the young barman responded.


Christopher watched as the stout began to fill the embossed glass, and then again as the bitter reached the rim of the second glass.


“There you are. Four-seventy, please.”


Christopher handed over the change and made his way back to the oak-wood table where his friend Rupert was sitting.


“Here we are, Rupert.”


“Ah, cracking! I’ve been waiting all day for one of these”, Rupert revealed, wasting no time in taking a sip from the cold beverage.


Christopher took a sip also.


“What’s new with you then?”


“Nothing much, old boy; keeping the wife and little terrors happy, honing my serve—you know how it is.”


“Is retirement really that boring?”
Rupert slapped his head. “Good god, yes. There’s nothing to do except lounge about, and you know that’s never been my idea of fun.”


“I’m glad I’m still employed in that case. Although I imagine it’s nice having time to think about that which would otherwise pass by our thoughts.”


“Are you being philosophical again, Chris?”


“Possibly. Don’t you ever think about how and why things are the way they are?”


“Of course I do, but I don’t give too much thought to the things I can’t change, even if I loathe them.”


“But you can change them, Rupert. You can change them through intention and frenzy.”


Rupert sighed and shook his head. “You know I’ve never believed in that magical nonsense of yours, but for some reason you always find a way to work it into almost every conversation we have and try to convert my thinking.”


“Well, because it works”, Christopher whispered in a sinister yet whimsical tone.


After wiping a tear of hilarity from his eye. Rupert spoke once more.


“Anyway. Regardless of if it works or not, there is no substitute for rolling your sleeves up and wrapping your hands around the neck of the problem.”


“I think we may have found common ground after all these years, my friend”, Christopher uttered before finishing the foamy dregs of his pint.


Christopher said farewell after two more pints and started to walk home. He looked at his watch.


“Damn. 9pm already? Where did the time go?”


As he walked onto his street he could see the teenagers from number 41 being belligerent outside Mrs Henderson’s house and decided to walk over. The hoodies stopped what they were doing and fronted Christopher.


“Fack off, grandad, yeah!”, one of the boys shouted.


“Go home and leave Mrs Henderson alone. You’re frightening her”, Christopher said calmly.


“It’s a free country, bruv. Why should we?”, one of the other boys retorted.


Christopher could sense the growing volatility and decided to try and intimidate them in customary passive adult fashion.


“I won’t tell you again. Go home or you’ll be in big trouble.”


The spawns of “Thatcher’s Britain” laughed, cursing him but nevertheless moving away from Mrs Henderson’s house. Christopher turned around and continued to walk towards his house.


“See? All it takes is a little confidence and–”


Before he could finish the sentence in his head a sudden pain occurred at the back of his head. Christopher clutched the affected area as blood poured through his fingers. He had been “glassed”. A second bottle smashed on his head, cutting the fingers he was using to protect his head wound. He fell to the floor, making out blurry shapes and fading voices as they surrounded him and closed in.


“Whatcha’ gunna’ do now, dickhead?!”


“You just got fucked up; ya’ get me blud!”


Suddenly, an old and familiar voiced emerged amidst the obscenities.


“Pack that in, you horrible lot! Go home to your parents and leave that poor man alone! I’ve called the police so you better listen to me.”


It was Mrs Henderson. She had called the police after seeing the boys follow Christopher and left her house to confront them. Flashing blue lights illuminated houses around the corner and sirens filled the air.


“Shit. Fuckin’ do one”, one of the boys shouted. “We’ll hide out at mine. My dad’ll vouch for us, trust.”


“Ya’ better watch out, granny. Just watch!”


The police arrived on the scene and began questioning Mrs Henderson while an ambulance was called for Christopher and he was taken to the emergency room.


“Would you mind coming with me to the house where you said the suspects lived?”, the eldest constable requested of Mrs Henderson.


Mrs Henderson nodded. They marched over to number 41 and the constable pounded on the door. A short and skinny man with bloodshot eyes answered.


“Yeah, what can I do for ya’?”


“Sorry to bother you, sir but we have a witness that puts your boys at the scene of a crime.”


The boys started to peak through the curtains.


“That’s them! That’s them right there!”, Mrs Henderson erupted, pointing at them.


“W—what? That’s bullshit. My boys wunt do nuffin’ like that!”


The constable frowned. “Well I still have to question them. May I come in?”


The man shrugged. “Yeah…course, course, yeah.”


Mrs Henderson returned to her residence and waited for an update. Twenty minutes had passed before the police knocked on her door.


“We’ve spoken to the boys and unfortunately we have no further evidence to act on until Mr Hawcroft tells his side of the story.”


The colour drained from Mrs Henderson’s cheeks while constable continued.


“At this stage it’s your word against theirs, and of course we have the original witness phone report which will help if the case goes to court. We will be continuing our investigation after we speak with Mr Hawcroft, and should his story match yours we will be pressing charges.”


“What if they come back when you’ve gone?”, she uttered quietly.


“We’ll park across the street and watch your house for a while. They won’t try anything while we’re here.”


The constables left the home of Mrs Henderson and returned to their car where they observed the street for the next hour. Mrs Henderson retired to bed and quickly fell asleep due to exhaustion. The night – at least for now – was quiet.


A month after the incident, a letter arrived in Mrs Henderson’s post. It was from the local constabulary. She sat down and prepared herself before opening it. Reading each line with confidence that justice would be delivered. But when she reached the penultimate line she started to cry.


“Unfortunately, it is not in the community’s best interest to prosecute. We are sorry for any inconvenience this may have caused and would like to refer you to our victim helpline which can be reached on…”


Mrs Henderson screwed up the letter and tossed it in the bin, cursing the justice system in the process. She then peaked out of the window and saw the boys from number 41 outside her house again. They boys noticed and began taunting her.


“See? The feds don’t give a shit ‘bout you or your boyfriend!”


They continued on in a similar manner until the emotional abuse came to an end with the sending of a brick through Mrs Henderson’s window. She was petrified and alone, not knowing the limitations of her oppressors. The only thing she could bring her shaking body to do at that moment was huddle in a corner.


Christopher was released from the hospital the next morning. The police never did show to interview him. The case was passed from constable to constable and inevitably communication broke down.


The hospital was quite a distance from Christopher’s home but he decided to walk the distance regardless, picking up some Turkish Delight for Mrs Henderson along the way. He made his way cheerfully through the streets and reached Conrad Drive, where he spotted an ambulance and a police car parked outside Mrs Henderson’s residence. Fearing the worst, he broke into a jog which quickly upgraded to a sprint, only to be held back by two constables upon reaching the front gate of the house.


“What’s happened?! W—w—what’s going on?! Someone tell me right now!”, he screamed at the top of his loud but trembling voice.


Before long, his questions were answered via the cruelty of observation. Christopher trembled as two medical technicians carried out a figure cloaked in a white sheet. The Detective Inspector investigating the scene followed them out and approached Christopher, noticing his anguish.


“D.I. Harper. I’m sorry. I know its clear as day on your face but I have to ask: did you know the deceased?”


Christopher answered the Detective Inspector’s question and told her everything that had happened between them and the teenagers from number 41. D.I. Harper grew increasingly frustrated upon hearing about the events that led up to the tragic death of Mrs Henderson. He assured Christopher that he would personally pursue the case and find a way to prove that the boys were responsible. However, Christopher had lost faith in the system after hearing Mrs Henderson continuously assure him that the police would interview him about what happened, but of course, they never did a follow up. D.I. Harper’s words were nothing more than procedure in Christopher’s eyes, despite them being genuine and “from the heart”, as they say. He had already decided that he would place a death hex on the boys when he returned home, and he did just that.


Days and nights passed without the hex showing any proof that it was working. But during this period, an Acausal Object (AO) was attracted to the hate and violent thoughts Christopher was having at the time. The AO began haunting him as a test, but he didn’t care. He displayed no fear and didn’t attempt to rationalise the irrational. This showed the AO that he had already begun his “crossing of the abyss”; and so it provided him with the ancient linguistic tools to understand it, revealing its name forthwith: Noctulius.


Many suns set and rose as Noctulian gnosis was channeled into Christopher; and then, one fateful night saw him become. Christopher was so consumed by hate that he had forgotten the reason behind it; that is until – by the opening of a window – he was reminded.


The disembodied voice of Noctulius growled in his ear.


“Remember what your bitter friend said—remember well, Acolyte.”


Christopher hurried to his bathroom and approached the mirror, leaning into it, as if he was pre-cognitively analysing something. He stared into his new eyes and strode to his kitchen. Reaching up, he retrieved a claw hammer from the top of one of the cupboards. He marched towards his front door and grabbed his black pea coat. The front door of his house flung open, setting off the alarm. Christopher stormed over to number 41 and banged on the door, concealing the hammer in his sleeve.


The father of the boys could be heard shouting from within.


“Ere’, lads. That toff is outside. Come watch me knock ‘im out!”


Inside, his boys rushed halfway down the stairs and took a seat as their father opened the door.


“Let’s fuckin’ ave–”


Christopher charged into the door before the father could finish his threat, knocking him to the floor with a thud. Christopher dropped his knee into the father’s sternum as he brought the flat end of the hammer down on the bridge of the father’s nose with resounding crack. The father shrieked and clutched his nose but Christopher kept wailing on the same spot, breaking the father’s fingers in the process. One of the boys decided to try and save his father by grabbing Christopher, but he just shook the boy off and reaped him into a wall, splitting the back of his head open. The rest of the teenagers ran upstairs while he returned the father to continue his relentless onslaught. It was clear that Christopher held the father responsible for the behaviour of his children, while at the same time acknowledging that they were still culpable and thus deserving of punishment.


Soon after, he stopped his onslaught and climbed up from the ground to be greeted by words of Noctulius.


“You see now, don’t you? True magick is transmutation of the physical. You’ve been heated to your melting point, undergone calcination, separation, and now…coagulation.”


Christopher rushed up the stairs to the room where the boys were hiding with a lycan-like agility, but as he pounced into the room, an unexpected sight stopped him short. Within the room, in the corner, was a woman cowering—the mother. She was covered in bruises, cuts and burns. Christopher realised that she was a victim of abuse but did not know who was responsible, so he ordered the boys to sit next to her and observed her reaction to them. It did not take him long to conclude that they were all responsible for their mother’s suffering and set about lining them up against the back wall. The mother pleaded with Christopher, explaining that they were only doing it because they were scared of their father. Christopher refused to listen.


“They chose to torture you. They could have stood up to their father, to his authority, just like they did with me, yet they did not. They chose to torment and abuse Mrs Henderson, to scare her to such an extent that she felt like the only way to escape their cruelty was to take her own life. They chose…all of it, and now—now they have to face the consequences of their actions.”


The eldest boy leaped forward. “We’re sorry, okay? We’re fuckin’ sorry, man! We won’t do nuffin’ like this again, swear down!”


“Get back in line!”, Christopher barked.


He approached the first boy, steadied his aim, and hit him as hard as he could in the face with the bottom of his palm. The boy’s body crumpled to the floor. Then Christopher approached the second and did the same again; followed by the third; and finally, the fourth. He approached the mother next and crouched beside her, looking deeply into her eyes and employing a type of neurolinguistic programming.


“You gave them life, nurtured them. You are partly responsible for their actions. It is your turn to accept responsibility for your part in this tragedy.”


He handed her the blood-soaked hammer adorned with pieces of her husband’s skin and hair, slowly withdrew into one of the dark corners of the room, and observed as she harrowingly took her children back out of the world.


Reemerging shortly after the ordeal, Christopher walked over to the mother one final time.


“Now you have a choice to make. You can endure your burden, your…renewed sense of personal responsibility; allowing yourself to be strengthened by it….in time, or you can walk over to that window, and throw yourself out of it. Which is it to be?”


And with that, Christopher plodded down the stairs and towards the front door, passing the absolved mass of meat, formally known as the father, on the way. He closed the door of the residence, crossed the street, and disappeared into the early morning mist to the sound of encroaching sirens, and the tenacious alarm of his now vacant residence…

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