In a routine search through some lore, scrolls and books, I happened
upon an even which I found rather intriguing. The Coming of the Morning
Star occured in 208AF as some of you may remember. For me and those
young like me, it's a distant, yet horrifying feature of history. I
thought I'd look further into it and then ended up writing about it:

"Horror From A Hunger"

The celestial maw
gaping in the vacuum.
the Destroyer of Worlds;
nom de plume.
Frothing in the Frigidity
a mouth which is black;
unseen hunger,
teeth and tongue abstract.
A pit so deep it is shallow
not really a space,
not really a pit.
An unquenchable inferno of thirst
burning with no air, no fuel;
combusting coldly in the void.
Prowling through the firmament's firmament
with intention baser than impulse.
It is intention without instinct,
instinct without intention.
Rather, it has neither;
more Purpose than either.

But that ravenous Purpose was undone
when Abbadon and Ethian met.
This far off star, all too near
writhed for a thousand suns.
Amongst the largest of baubles,
it bent its branch in space;
Shedding light
faster and brighter
than angels shine.
A beacon gilt
in flame beyond flame,
it proved too much
for the gaping anomaly
with pendulous jaw in lack
unhinged.

First and then second
bite bit bite
as mandible clinched the star.
But stuck, the hellish humgii
was rent of its makeshift soul.
Matter's energy
of a thousand feastings
spew from Abbadon
seen bright in the day;
an orb, holocaust,
spun up into the sky.

Aeon Himself stopped,
stopped himself
and reversed time.
Abbadon brought apocalypse
seen on the fields of the past
clearly by the Elder God,
looming presently
for all except His Divinity.
To halt and to flip,
to retrace and to redress
Creation whole;
His means enigmatic
as time's enigma itself.
History balances upon His methods
be they what they were;
unknown,
failed.

That engulfing gullet
struck from afar
with its own destruction,
but the dead remain uneaten.
Had Thoth thought to radiate
as Abbadon shone ruin
even His Darkness
would find horror;
born of wanton obliteration.
A multitude of souls
ripped from their bodies
in an instant.
Sarapis' halls resound
with confusion;
the crowd pressing,
shouting
as all Sapience's sentience
crams from the ocean
to a single bucket.
A Congregation of Creation
pushing back the tapestried walls;
all but Clark and the Mhunna present.

Mortality spewed from the Cave;
birthed from the rocky canal
wide eyed into the ithmia
treeless.
Like blood in flesh,
they spread out,
milling, congealing.
With the impetus of the crowd
they come to the river,
falling in;
The Cave spawning row
into the dead Zaphar.

But coughing wakes our Lord,
His air realm sickly
and Divine lungs tainted.
Vastar makes repair
of the irradiated sky;
wiping Abbadon's splattered viscera
from the winds of the world.
Hope amongst hewn oak and elm
panged anew
as blue bejeweled falcon
flew above;
returned to mortal ken.

And Oneiros too
is roused;
salvation come.
Jerked not out of sleep
but into action.
The God of peace
calms our calamity
reviving all
that lies outside Mortality.
Trees grew high
and fish again swam;
the Spawn nibbled in the river
and awed by the forest restored.

From mortal destruction
however,
Divine are born anew.
Apollyon and Aurora,
sprang forth from
Abaddon's energetic demise.
A miniature in hand
of the stellar feasting;
Apollyon soon consumed by Shaitan.
Aurora then the church rewrought
against Evil two, Sartan.

P.S. Heheh, I just realised how long it is. My apologies if I bored you.

Penned by my hand on the 15th of Chronos, in the year 501 AF.