Rise of the Beast
From the blackened craters where cities once stood proud, a tremor rises,
Uncoiling through fissures etched by centuries of betrayal
and broken vows.Not a whisper remains of angelic mercy,
no halos circling smoke-stained skies,
Only the echo of prayers dissolved in soot,
the taste of hope discarded and despised.Ash settles thick as
regret on the bones of saints and liars, all abandoned alike,
And in the void where gods fell silent, a grin splits the dusk—wolfish, hungry,
slick with spite.No horned parody of evil,
no bedtime devil in polished myth or gold-leafed rage,
But something realer—history’s bastard,
crawling from our own abandoned cage.Here the beast gathers teeth from wars,
wears necklaces of loss and shame,
Fashions its claws from treaties broken,
its tongue sharp with every nameOf innocents sold for comfort,
of monsters worshipped, of secrets kept for pay.When heaven collapsed,
hell did not wait. It built a throne from the ruins of yesterday.This is no battle,
no romance between good and evil,
no scales to weigh the least—It is simply time. It is
hunger. It is ritual. It is the rise of the beast.
Unbound by any law that men have written in blood or books or rings,
The beast drags itself upright,
shadow blooming with the flutter of torn wings.Markings burned in midnight,
its eyes coal-bright and merciless,
It walks with the certainty of extinction—each step a verdict,
each breath a curse.Those who begged for a savior find only teeth
and the rattle of old bones,
Those who hid behind doctrine discover their hearts gnawed hollow,
overthrown.No sacrament shields the guilty, no legacy shields the weak,
This chaos is the new scripture, its gospel sung by the jaws of the beast.
The earth splits, vomits red rivers—a fever dream of apocalypseWhere the sun is devoured and the sky pulses
with wounds that will not stitch.Sulfur thickens the wind,
smoke crowds every throat with memories of sin,
Breath itself is a wager; to inhale is to surrender,
to exhale is to invite the end in.Every building
that once touched heaven now bleeds down its walls,
Each foundation uprooted by the shuddering rise as the beast stalks through it
all.In every ruin, shadows breed—crawling up spines, slithering into prayer,
Devouring the last outlines of innocence in cities stripped bare.The
empire of ash is assembled from the fearful, the greedy, the complicit,
All feeding the beast’s body, swollen with promises no god could revisit.
It laughs, a wet and twisted sound, a glee only hunger can provide,
For the beast is not new. It waited—smiling in shadows
while the world deniedThe monster beneath every bed,
inside every lover’s tongue,
Under every law rewritten, in every lullaby sung.Humanity
feeds the creature with sacrifice and games,
Every crumbling deal and every war merely fanning its flames.There
are no more witnesses, only accomplices who traded eyes for sleep,
No more comfort to barter, only the certainty
that every secret will creepInto the daylight, into the smoke,
into the cold hands of the beast,
Who walks with a dominion complete, hope trampled under claw, mercy deceased.
No hero remains—no shining blade, no clever word, no birthright found,
Only the damned and the desperate crawling through streets the beast
now crowns.Shadows dance where light once dared, innocence eaten raw,
All debts collected, all bargains called,
no virtue left to draw.Empires fall in silent heaps, nations crumble,
history flays itself for show,
And the beast stands taller—wreathed in thunder,
burning where angels cannot go.This is not an ending scripted by holy men
or ancient kings—But a culmination, the price of wounds left open,
of joy that never sings.
The silence that follows is not peace, but the roar after a god is slain,
The hush that settles when the hunted learn only pain remains.Where sunlight dared,
now only shadow claims,
Every inch of ground burned, every face left nameless in the flames.The
beast laughs—deep, triumphant, echoing in thunder without rain,
For this kingdom is not stolen,
but inherited through every human stain.No one left to beg, no one left to plead,
just the record of a world devoured—By the thing we whispered to as children,
and built with every hour.The world is torn asunder,
the past is written in cinders and bone,
And the beast, unchallenged, stands alone.
1,2.. 3,4…5.. 6 sixty 6
Where angels once sang, there is only the hush of a sky turned black,And beneath it all, the beast licks its lips, knowing it will never lackFor prayers to chew, for hearts to break, for faith
to peel away.This is not the end,
only a new ritual—night devouring day.In the absence of saviors, in the cold,
unholy feast,What remains is memory, terror, and the immortal rise of the beast.