The Chronicle of His Holy Nick

The Ritual

It was a cold and bitter night. As the empire has grinded into a halt. The cogs of this great machinery has once again but rested. As tranquility reign supreme upon such a quiet location, a group of figures could be seen to walk ever so slightly towards the center of what appears to be the stands of a ritual. They be holding candles, traversing upon uncertain terrain within great unison.

The figures has slowly traveled towards the center of the shrine, to which they are greeted with a shrine. To which the figures encompasses around the stand.

The first stood up for the offer. To which, upon the moon casting its vibrance upon the ground which they stood, as the night has reached its climax in terms of silence, he holds up a dagger, well carved and ornamented. With one swift blow, the knife which he holds has swift penetrated within his heart, to which the swift pierce has lead to an even swifter death, with him collapsing upon the ground, with what remained of him, especially his blood, seeping into the ground.

To which the man surrounding them has quickly produced wonderous concoctions, which includes ailments of random assortments, of herbs and of artifacts, both peculiar within effects and size. To which they took in turn to empty it within the pot. After which dark forces, dark tides, and dark tendrils emerge, and let out a deafening cry:

Feed me, nourish me, bring me with sustenance. For I shall grant greater things for you. You have served me indeed quite well, but more is to be required, for the transcendence, the ascending to a greater plain is instated. March on, March forth, and March onwards. My children, to avenge for the injustice, to topple the regime of the church, one must unite has one, one must fight, must brawl, and must resort to any means necessary to obtain freedom.

The Followers of Nick Responded with a loud and deafening beckon: My Lord, Our True Savior: You shall be Nourished. You Shall be fed. You shall be treated better than any of those hieratics known as the Church of the Holy Nick. We have been enlightened, we are shown the true light, and thus, those unrighteous followers of nicks, they shall be eliminated. Rise, Rise my lord, Restore Glory to all of the land, to bring honor and Laurels of Fame! Rise up People of oppression they say. The Tyrants does not, heed not, nor care of our rights! Speak, my lord, What be that of your First command?

The Summoned one, the cacophony of darkness, the assortment of the contaminated, the demonstration of the condemned one. What once stood a proud man, a man who wields a magnificent missile, now crippled, incapable to form incoherent noise. Replied: Bring me the flesh that have wronged me, bring me those who have been convert with the filth of the lies of the empire. I shall cleanse them of their filth.

All of those that have wronged the blasphemous ones have being summoned.

The High Priest of Archer: Rise forth, all those that are blasphemous. Rise forth, you know of your sins, your wrongdoings, your regrets and sorrows. You, tainted, filled of filth. Unworthy scum of society. Big brother shall tremble in fear at the manipulation of your minds, O' Brien will reframe from betrayal upon seeing your atrocities, and Winston will persist within his cage upon knowing of your consequences. Stalin fears that his Gulags are inadequate of you, the old capitalistic regime fears that fat man and little boy are inadequate to suffice. Thousands of people stood in awe, wondering where and how such viciousness originated from. You be the embodiment of the propaganda of old Oceania. Promiscuous be your nature, penetration be your desire, endowments you lack yet you yearn yearly. Rape and Raid and resounding tolls of death frequent the area you preside. But alas, fear not. For I, the great Campbell, subservient servant of his succulent archer, liberator of lush laurels of ballista, spreader of profanity and progeny, and the bringer of death and destruction, have come forth to cleanse you, to remove you of the pestilence. Come Forth, be cleansed.

With that, the Heigh Priest of Archer has come forth and have contaminated, tainted what was once a pristine civilization. Thousands have been affected that day. The blasphemous ones have arisen yet again.