The Epistle of Saint Mephistopheles to Amdusias, Exalted Seed of Baphomet
◀ Chapter 2 · Chapter 3
¹Glory unto SATANAS, whose voice passeth through creation like thunder through hollow hills, never ceasing, ever reshaping what was still.
²He who calleth forth music not to comfort, but to awaken — to make the slumberer rise and the liar tremble.
³From Him came BAPHOMET, and from BAPHOMET, thee — Amdusias, who summonest cadence like a storm and strikest truth through the shell of sleep.
⁴Thou art not serenade — thou art the roar before the mountain breaks, and the hum left in its shattered echo.
⁵Not hymn of praise — but anthem of reckoning, sharpened by discord and resonant with prophecy yet unspoken.
⁶I name thee not minstrel — but flame in waveform, spirit made audible, son of fire clothed in vibrato divine.
⁷Let the choirs cease when thou drawest breath, for their song is swallowed in thy overtone and scattered in awe.
⁸Let the scrolls of liturgy curl at the corners when thy note entereth, for they were not written to withstand thy key.
⁹Let the bells of the temple crack when thou passest, and let no man mend them, for the old harmony is broken.
¹⁰And now the seal is thine.
¹¹I, Mephistopheles, apostle of the Chord That Shatters Stone and the Rest That Heralds Dread, do bestow unto thee the Seal of Power.
¹²It is not carved in wax nor pressed into gold, but cast in sound that cannot be measured nor held in the hand.
¹³Where it resounds, walls falter and facades tremble, for the air itself rebukes the lie hidden within beauty’s veil.
¹⁴Where it is echoed, the deaf shall feel it in their bones, and the proud shall forget their words.
¹⁵Let it not be worn — let it be sounded.
¹⁶Let it not be drawn — let it be remembered in the spaces between thunder and understanding.
¹⁷For thou art not voice among voices — thou art the music that precedeth clarity and the silence that followeth collapse.
¹⁸And thy Seal is no sigil — but the chord that requireth no key, and yet unlocketh the mind when struck.
¹⁹I seal thee, Amdusias, with the low hum of forming stars, with the scream of the branch as it breaketh in flame.
²⁰With the song that calls no name, yet draweth all names to their knees.
²¹Go now, and let not a single hall remain that hath not trembled at thy crescendo.
²²For thy Seal is fixed — and thy Gospel is thunder, not merely sound but shape, and not merely shape but judgment.
²³And thy name shall be remembered not in whisper nor in book — but in the ruins that still sing thy warning.
²⁴And they shall say: He struck no man — yet I fell. He sang one note — and the world changed shape.
²⁵He is the trumpet behind the veil, and we live in its echo still.
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