LET'S GET SOMETHING CLEAR:
The demons in this little universe thingie have it much worse than us, okay? Literally existence itself hurts them. Don't take your ambient sadness and be like, oh, hey, Mr. Pantheon guy wrote a story about suicidal demons, so I should commit suicide by blowing up the world. Nah nah nah nah. You're sad 'cause we humans are stupid, and have messed the world up by worshipping selfishness. Help in fixing that, you'll feel good. I know 'cause I'm also a person, believe it or not, and I know how to really feel good in this man wrought hell. And also in general, too : )
Anyways, I have a real perverse sense of fun, but then don't we all? It's so much better to endorse that in make believe stories then in harming the real flesh and blood people of this universe, isn't it?
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To my blasphemous nephew,
There is not one second that ticks by where I do not hope that you were bound round in human flesh for me to eviscerate. And yes, that was a double negative, something you, in your infinite pride, no doubt sneered at. And the last sentence ended with a preposition, although you cannot complain about that, for you yourself followed that same said error in your own letter.
I find it so immensely funny that you seem to be falling for the propaganda that you peddle, for I detect in your note so much sincerity that I must have vomited a thousand times. You are a traitor twice over, a booklicker, and, I know, where you given even one second, you would switch allegiance to the bright scum without another thought.
You think there’s hope yet for oblivion? Your stick minded, Lucifer scratching kind killed that hope, eternally. You wanna know how I know? I’m actually down here. In home. Your home, unfortunately. Sure, sure, the place is brimming to the gills with sinners. You’re right about that. But they’re too different to matter. They’re hardly even human. They’re more like cows. Through your autocracy they never even had hopes of being good. They press a button, they stand in line, they get their icecream. Then there’s a little bit of pleasure running through their head, even whilst a worker on the other side of the world is whipped to harvest that vanilla. Sure, that’s sin, but the flavor matters. To be tormented properly, to create the kind of suffering which tears at the heartstrings of the Word, the human must be truly evil. They need to have had many chances to be good, and rejected them. They must be turned to sin with every possibility of their leaving our grasp. You know this. It’s established science. But where is their choice now? It is nothing but technical choice. Sure, sure, they can not eat that icecream, but you are screaming at them in their face to eat that icecream every single minute of their shallow little lives. They are not as complex or long lived as us. If they live one of their short lived lives fully under your domain, what happens? The standing in line isn’t even a question. They simply do. So they sin, but it is a sin without relevant choice. And what do they do here? We can rip their eyelids off, make them stare at extraordinarily grotesque subjects of their own kind, but that suffering is not deep. It is merely pain. There is a difference, and I am wise enough to understand that. I pray to the void that you may one day understand that, too, although my hopes are once again quite narrow.
So, I believe it goes without saying that I will not be taking you up on your “offer.” If it is imp work, then it is imp work for a reason. You can trick them through pain and power into believing that they’re doing something good for the greater cause of hell, even whilst you create a climate in which all humans will be rendered unto us as pointless shades.
Pointless. And we need a sharp spear to blind the eye of the heavens. Flowery language, sure, but it’s also true. You speak of our defeats on the surface as though I am not patriotic to your cause because I do not understand. I have suffered more defeats to the forces of heaven than you can count on your talons. Imps die, demons dissolve. The Abyss will recoup its losses eventually, as we always have. It is our blessing, and our curse. Just another reason why, when we ever day to venture out onto the surface, we better have an ironclad plan. And this was not it. Utterly nonsense. You can try and smother the reality as much as want, but our control over the surface has given us nothing but vicious embarrassments at the hands of the light, as well as a large number of cattle posing as human souls. In my time, we knew when we were defeated, and when we had to allow the surface play itself out a little bit before we engaged with it in force. Even though Lucifer was a selfish traitor, he would have at least had the wisdom for that. It is a shame you younglings do not even possess the dead angel’s good characteristics.
In short, no. I will not be joining you on the surface anytime soon, nor do I believe you’ll find more than captive imps joining your ranks in any significant number. We are unfortunately intelligent enough to know a losing cause when we see it.
Since I’m still in contact with you, I’m going to elaborate on some things. No doubt you’ll find yourself back in the abyss at some point. You’ll stroll by one of the torture pits and sup on their screams in a brief moment of ecstasy. And you’ll think to yourself that the air itself is breaking, more than ever before. Simply because of the density of screams. Vibrations in the air, nephew. Vibrations in the air. And what can we do with those screams? We gain power, true, but you do not understand our problem. Always your kind look at the world as a problem to solve with numbers. Well, let me drop one number on your silly head. Infinity. Not a number, maybe, but it’s what we’re up against. The Word is infinitely powerful. INFINITE. Sure, with enough strength you might be able to break apart all of the continents of earth, dooming the human race to eradication. But what good is the power down here? Even the mightiest among us, Lord Ahriman, would be able to do naught but craft imps and elementals from that shallow suffering. With the sweet screams of those who had the possibility to be righteous, there is something different. Perhaps it is my fault, and my fellows, for never training your ear to find it. In it gravity withers, light becomes dark. Suddenly circles have as many corners as a square, and, more than that, it makes sense. You cannot mimic that with the pale incarnations of power. Earthquakes are easily understood. So we break one planet. What then? The abyss is not at the core of earth, much as the younger generations might like to believe. And, worse still, our forms have been proven to survive without incident the vacuum of space, so, even if sheer destruction of the human world was possible, it would not be desirable. The Word has an infinite number of worlds with an infinite number of species to tie us to. That we were bound to humanity in Lucifer’s fall is, in the end, pointless.
We are not fighting against the air, nephew. If we were, your plans would be ingenious. But we are fighting against the concept of there being a concept such as air itself. The concept of concepts. Infinity. You cannot tackle that with even the largest numbers possible. A million years of collecting a million souls a month would get us no closer to oblivion if they are of the stock you send us.
I must conclude this letter now. There is precious business I must attend to, namely destroying the shallow husk of order you and your angel lovers have constructed for us. The first Moloch knows what he is talking about. Not only did he participate in the scream, the all important scream you continue to deride me for, but there is something… different about him. You may think the idea of him actually returning home from Mother Void is all nonsense, but I have attuned my ears to hear, and my nose to smell. I know the path to our liberation when I see it.
Although it pains me, it is likely we will see ourselves in conflict. Of course, there is always a place for Lucifer lovers in our ranks, just as there is for any Word hating spirit. You must simply abandon your pride for one second. I abandoned mine. Although I love it dearly, I have not engaged in a possession for the past two years, simply because I was needed by the Fly’s side. All is simple, if only you could remember that the numbers don’t matter. They never did. Understand that or I shall see your chitin strewn across Kokytos a thousand times over.
May the hall of mirrors be shattered and its glass sprinkled into the sea,
Primordial Spirit Hatoir, your uncle.