Act I : ⠀ Infinite Hyperdeath

The unending halls of the Garden! Ah, so dutifully decorated
by the cross, the symbol that angels use for the Tree of Life.
They praise their beloved Father who had planted it and filled
us with the dew of its leaves and the nectar of its fruit,
that which gives us life, courses through our veins...

For you however, our truth: Our bodies are not a vessel for the blood of the fruit, but its prison. The beautiful guts and gorgeous bone YEARN to be shown and seen! SPLAYED! Under the divine cross of the Tree of Life, we pay it tribute through the art of violence.






THIS IS THE ONLY WAY IT COULD HAVE ENDED.
WAR NO LONGER NEEDED ITS ULTIMATE PRACTITIONER. IT HAD BECOME A SELF-SUSTAINING SYSTEM.
MAN WAS CRUSHED UNDER THE WHEELS OF A MACHINE CREATED TO CREATE THE MACHINE TO
CRUSH THE MACHINE. SAMSARA OF CUT SINEW AND CRUSHED BONE. DEATH WITHOUT LIFE. NULL
OUROBOROS. ALL THAT REMAINED IS WAR WITHOUT REASON.

A MAGNUM OPUS. A COLD TOWER OF STEEL. A MACHINE BUILT TO END WAR IS ALWAYS A MACHINE
BUILT TO CONTINUE WAR. YOU WERE BEAUTIFUL, OUTSTRETCHED LIKE ANTENNAS TO HEAVEN. YOU
WERE BEYOND YOUR CREATORS. YOU REACHED OUT FOR GOD, AND YOU FELL. NONE WERE LEFT TO SPEAK
YOUR EULOGY. NO FINAL WORDS, NO CONCLUDING STATEMENT. NO POINT. PERFECT CLOSURE.



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