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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic

Short fantasy novel examines abortion from Biblical clues to it's spiritual implications

Chapter 1 (v.1) - Protophorous

Submitted: February 16, 2012

Reads: 128

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Submitted: February 16, 2012



Aborted King: Protophorous Copyright  Norman DeArmond final edit 10/18/2011Warm beautiful feelings flowed over me, but I sensed the being surrounding and carrying my little bubble, my residential chamber, was uneasy.  She was getting up.  We were about to be moving.  A surge of activity caused her musculature to clamp down and pressurize me in my cozy little home.  A loud female voice sounded, saying, as I later would learn, “No, no, no. I don’t want this. I can get welfare for this baby to pay my way through college. I change my mind.”   Then another voice sounded, “Big needle, stick!”  The pressure around me abated.The high spiritual majesties Lucifer (also called the devil, satan, prince of darkness) and Abadon (beastmaster) themselves were hovering near as high forehead telepathic spiritual beings with photographic memories hovered by each surgical exam table. “Remember,” said Lucifer, “ we need to keep track of each sound and action.  That is the only way we can keep these memories alive in the “Neverborn Nursery.”  There is no torment like the vengeful heart.  We want to cultivate that with the true memory of the murderous act kept alive in the growing child’s psyche.  This will also help the child to devise and carry out effective torment on their murdering parents in their dark future.  Never let it be said I don’t help people”  said Lucifer with black humored sarcasm.   The doctor moved from table to table working between each pair of elevated thighs with a simple vacuum and hose attached to a bottle that filled as he worked.  Then he picked up a peculiarly angled set of pliers and announced he was “Feeling for the head, the cranium,  Eureka!” The Archemedian Doctor cried and he tightened the pliers to a muffled “Snap!” sound.  A moment or two more with the vacuum lancet and they were emptying out the bottle and examining the results, Back into the bottle the dismembered perfectly formed miniature human’s remains went.   “Be sure to keep it refrigerated two weeks in case there are complications.  It will come in handy against a malpractice shyster.” said the now Perry Mason like doctor.  As the doctor moved from woman to woman a number of tiny baby souls hovered there in the room watching the inspection of their remains.  Demonic spirits appeared and enfolded them.  They disappeared through the floor and next appeared at “Neverborn Nursery” in torments of the underworld.   I was one of those charges. I would have spent more time with them, growing there, studying my demise again and again, readying myself for a future in which I would be tormented forever.  Then Lucifer appeared with my remains. Lucifer used the dragon’s magic and the lost dead doctors and scientists  who stitched and  grafted and cloned a life and appearance back into me. Now, after twenty three years of development, now I'm ready to serve Lucifer, the great king who molded and shaped me into the most beautiful, and feared, of the adversary's castoff creation. From castoff he made me into a creative masterpiece. Many in the world of men despise my master. Yet he alone has been our savior. Carefully he and his agents collected and categorized our broken bodies and fragments. From scouring medical dumpsters and incinerator intake bins, to eventually owning and controlling the medical hazardous waste industry worldwide, he gathered me and my brothers. He restored us to life.  He gave us, if not hope, meaning, purpose, and great drive to live and have exploits.  What kind of daring adventures? Well, the bidding of my savior, molder and my chosen lord, is primary. Secondarily, but closer to my heart, is vengeance, right and just repayment, on the world of M.D.s and judges and justices and lawyers by whose fiat M.D.s tore through my home and cut me bit by bit from the sustenance and warmth and security of that mother of all harlots in whose womb I woefully was nearly but not begotten. Saved by the interference of my lord Lucifer, or else I never again would have known bodily existence. Not only nursed into life in the heart of the earth, but improved upon genetically by the wits of the dead scientific community, harvested by my savior and working feverishly under pain of earlier return to eternal and flaming torment. And I am the first brought among many brethren to follow, says my lord the king. Daily more shipments come. These human seed fragments are my future cohorts to be turned loose with me as heroes at the battle of the great day.  The master bid me to torment the dead humans. I hear them.  They keep begging and haranguing me about their families and their friends. They say the light of life is in my eyes. They don't want them to come here, something about Jesus. “Tell my people to listen to God, listen to Jesus, trust in Jesus’ death on the cross and in his resurrection.”  The master is wroth that I asked about this. He is tormenting them personally. I will be in charge of more important matters.  Here comes my new brother Heliarchus. "Heliarchus, hail lucifer's child!" I called out."Hail M’Lord, King Protophorous!"  Heliarchus replied.I am the first brought among many brethren the master is counting on to overcome the enemy who cast us into these wretched dark yet burning regions under the enemies’ overland where the Master contends ably with the adversary for the souls of men. "I have been tormenting with Lucifer, our master.  Oh, M’ Lord Protophorous, you should have heard them wail."  "Did they mention their families and friends above or any name to give them?" I asked."Your Majesty, King Protophorous, they don't see light"(Our Lord Lucifer wished to spare my brothers indignities as I received: so his genetic engineers put a one way veil over their eyes) "in my eyes like they do in yours.  I do hear a name.  Under torment the lost say this. 'Jesus is right in punishing us.  He shall have this glory in punishing us for rejecting Jesus and suppressing His Spirit's voice in while we had a choice, living under the sun in realms above this dark blazing hot underworld, while we were over land.'  What resignation. I can scarcely fathom it. So plaintiff were the voices, full of soul strain and something else. Something, I want to call it love, love not given overland, love here where there is no effect of it, born of respect."  Said Heliarchus, wistfully. "Jesus! that is the name Lucifer didn't want me to ask him about, not in connection with the petitions of these pathetic tormented souls. He was quite upset about it."  I confided."Well, Protophorous, my liege, I will be sure not to mention it to the master, our lord, King Lucifer."  I noticed Heliarchus’ gaze fall upon me. No other eyes shone bright like mine for others to see. Most like him had been cast with stern countenances that were hard to look upon;  eyes hidden under a veil of skin that allowed them to see without appearing to see; long flowing beautiful hair the envy of any overland woman, yet terrible in shape as any lion's mane; pointy teeth for tearing when tormenting; hands formed into u-shapes from which long sharp claws curled from every finger. Heliarchus forehead glowed and I looked for his steed, Misanthrope.  Misanthrope landed with a pouncing crash that made us struggle to keep our feet. Heliarchus' training master, Beastmaster Abadon, demanded "Why bother the prince?"  I spoke truthfully, "I was lonesome." The beastmaster disdained the light of my eye and bid them join to fulfill their purpose in this nonlife, to torment.  As Heliarchus mounted, his visage took on the beast master’s likeness as had Heliarchus’ mighty hellion, Misanthrope. The beastmaster, a companion of my master, a demonic majesty called Abadon, was gone. Away he went with Heliarchus and Misanthrope, away to the flames of howling torment to practice for the Great Day battle. Wherever Misanthrope noticed a dead person there she would blast smoke that sent lungs and flesh into agony. Then fire scorched into charcoal the hapless lost soul. Finally she dropped on them white phosphoric acid which burned them until they glowed like a lantern wick. During the whole process Heliarchus watched for new victims. He hurled memorized lines of excoriation at the dead woman or man and, at times, special lines given him by the beastmaster now indwelling both Heliarchus and Misanthrope. Finally, he put in a word for himself, such as, "In your clinics by your M.D.s, your doctors, you cut me off from your overland race heyday and now I rise over you on Misanthrope for King Protophorous and all my brothers here saved by Lucifer for the battle of the great day and the age to come.” The three worked together seamlessly, an unholy triad, unholy, yet righteous in vengeful cause. Lucifer appeared, as if from nowhere,  I told him, “Master, I missed you.  When will we get our revenge on our murderers, our mothers?” “Not for you.” said Lucifer. “Why not my Lord? Are her deeds not fitting? Am I not your anointed King over the new Earth? When we win, shall I not rule? I must avenge myself on her, and, if not her, then certainly the doctor and nurses who mauled and cut and scraped at me, who pervade my sleeping memories. Let me at least know when I get them?”   Lucifer responded, "Protophorous, You will rule, but, first, you must know the sorrow of your cause." His majesty paused a moment, then continued."The murderous mother you speak of has been exonerated, pardoned, forgiven and cleansed, then sequestered and enfolded by our enemy, the adversary we fight." "But not by me, master."  I replied. "Protophorous, Our adversary has placed her beyond your reach, unless we could speed the battle of the great day, but, alas, it is not in our hands, our adversary controls the time. You can't even hope for a quick return by our adversary, because he will first lift off the earth those who are his, whom He has unfairly, nay unjustly, pardoned.” Lucifer concluded. Then he left. After a day of grieving with my brothers Lucifer brought me an M.D., now a hapless victim in the tormenting contests. A hack and scrape doctor from the abortion mills of planned parenthood, he claimed to also be a physiologist. To spare him the tormenting contest he would show us how to have our revenge. Something about the cells of the murderous mother’s mammary glands. When we were hacked and scraped out from our home these mammary cells there were in an mutative growth stage, like a stem cell, and if they don't completely change to milk oozing cells, they promote breast cancer.  The master had us bend our knee and nurse as if at our murdering mothers' breast. Howls burst forth through the pit of our dark flaming domain as dread messengers brought us reports of the overland plunged into an outbreak of breast cancer, of illness and mayhem of mastectomy, and pervasive insidious metastasizing misery, wailing laments and death. I am not satisfied because I did not get my hoped for revenge.  Even though many brothers are receiving their murderous mothers to torment, mine is not among them. Plus, why am I stricken with, with I know not what, but it feels like what our victims describe in torment as guilt, yes, guilt, and also, resignation-resignation that the adversary will be just should he triumph over me.  Could it be that this Jesus has a heart for me, delivered unborn into the underworld, dark flaming underworld of torments. I was Delivered from operating table to torments and nursed to life by the very dead doctors, now under torment, who murdered my brothers and me.  Feverishly they worked under my savior Lucifer's compulsion. But this guilt, how can one escape it?  Is Jesus victory over guilt available to me?  Though a prince, I cannot live in this guilt longer. To murder a murdering mother: is that not righteous? What crime is it to nurse at a mother afar off, much less a murdering one?  Crime or not, the guilt persists. II.  The master was wroth again. These Jesus conversations make him angry.  I’ll just have to explore the topic on my own.  There is no one to talk to.  My fellow riders, as  subjects, can’t witness any ambivalence on my part.  Additionally, they are all indwelt at times by demons, sharing their very brain.  All those conversations would be available to Lucifer.  I  might even be speaking to him directly.  Only to respect me as a sovereign over my rider nation does Lucifer not indwell me himself.   Sometimes I wish I was never aborted and reconstituted. Well, no, then(if aborted and not reconstituted) I'd be receiving torments instead of being prince of the live dead tormentors. Never to have been aborted, now there is a thought worth contemplating. Princes and kings get to have a lot of time for contemplating. Not the navel though, that part did me precious little good. Leaping and hopping about the overland. Dancing and singing and, whoa, all that stuff the dead confess to under torment.  I'd be doing that but for the murdering mother, father and the doctors and nurses and the congress people who helped fund my planned parenthood abortion (does that give us claim to the whole electorate?)   I must remind Heliarchus to tell me how the congress is doing in the tormenting contests. Now the coven of nine justices with the billion and four hundred million of us on their hands, they are a treat! Heliarchus and Beastmaster claimed them for their own. They use them as training demonstrators for the new Hellion riders. There is no hell, but there is a Hellion. Hell+lion, go figure. Don't get all worked up, pastor, It's called torments,  and sheoul means the underworld with it's paradise, too.  Read the Bible and maybe you'll keep your sheep out of here. No, don’t, we've got Hellion riders enough for all of them. That's all the time I have for escapist chat with imaginary overlanders. Here comes his lying self, Lucifer, who had no answer to why I felt guilt and resignation to damnation. First off says Luce, My murdering mother was prayed for by some Bible believing pastor and was healed of her breast cancer. Which means, says Ducey Lucey, I've nothing to feel guilty or resigned about. How little he, Lew, knows about subjective ethical feelings. I tried to off my murdering mother for the adversaries sake. And now, says Ducey, I just might succeed. Then I can worry about guilt and resignation to deserved damnation.  From the pit Hellions’ tormenting contests Heliarchus drug out a Psychiatrist. He's an m.d. who usually only recommends abortions. No hack and scrape tormenting for him. Then he deals with The Aftermath. Isn't that funny. The great harlot who hired a hacknscrape job on me had no afterbirth (in which afterbirth the healing waters full of healing stem cells are found). Ironically, she gets an aftermath instead in which bitter waters flow from her eyes, and, like Esau, no healing or renewal of lost potential comes of the flow of (crocodile? She probably would do it again, or did.) tears.  Lucifer says we will whisper in her ear and madness will follow for she can't deny the guilt of me. The old dragon has indeed whispered in some ears:  Eve;  her son Cain; Noah, when he besotted himself in alcoholism and homosexual incest; Noah’s wife, when she conspired with Ham and Canaan to wrest for Canaan world rule from brothers Shem and Japheth; Judas, whom my brothers and I torment daily; these and  many more ears. In this I have confidence he will succeed. And I who am near escaped from matricide must now acquiesce in this new conspiracy. Deviltry, it gave a sort of birth to me. Yet I somehow don't want to my charge lain this heinous hit job on her, she who murdered me. I cannot say I love her.  Yet by her murder will I not be undone, well deserving of my fate already mine: but; by my accounting, not a just reward.  The overlanders are resilient and she probably won't expire just from accusations, just or not.  I don't know why I want to know of her, she's like my roots, an origin, like the newly dead say of the adversary.  Ha Ha! an adversary who saves murderers and fills torments with their victims.  Granted, we don't torment the little darlings from the abortion clinics like we do the coven of nine supreme court justices, M.D.s or the congress.  The little darlings who can't be revived into hellion riders have to be raised up to adult status before the tormenting can begin. They are made to torment the others while morally excoriating them.  Most of these are girls and come from Red China, most of the three hundred thirteen million murdered by M.D.s there are girls.  The coven of nine thought their decision would only influence M.D.s in the murder of some one hundred million or so U.S.A. babies.  So many nations leapt to the coven of nine U.S. justices' siren call that a billion and a half in utero m.d. murders of the smallest and most defenseless have been committed since 1972. It strains our ability to raise them up and torment them.  But we are up to the chore.  Now comes the master overseeing a new delivery of V. C. collection bottles from America in the overland.  "They are getting to be so expensive, says the master, But the gift of life is worth it, right Protophorous?" (What!? You never heard of V.C. Bottles?  I’ll quote for you from Right to Life: Silent Scream,  “*Suction aspiration, or "vacuum curettage," is the abortion technique used in most first trimester abortions.  A powerful suction tube with a sharp cutting edge is inserted into the womb through the dilated cervix. The suction dismembers the body of the developing baby and tears the placenta from the wall of the uterus, sucking blood, amniotic fluid, placental tissue, and fetal parts  into a collection bottle. Great care must be taken to prevent the uterus from being punctured during this procedure, which may cause hemorrhage and necessitate further surgery . Also, infection can easily develop if any fetal or placental tissue is left behind in the uterus. This is the most frequent post-abortion complication.”  Now you know a V.C. far more deadly than a fully armed Viet Cong trooper.) III.  The sweep of the underworld, vast overhead, chasms of dark deep infinite depth below, pocked with alcoves. A far larger surface area than the overland. The adversary made it to torment those he persecutes, even those who failed to ally with his Jesus. We are resuscitated in part by those demonic spirits and their creatures who are given the tormenting labors, whose very nature thrives, as if feasting with tearing and clawing, on the torment of the lost. This is the true Neverland for lost boys (and lost girls, and lost mums and lost dads too). My hellion is magnificent. He had never been exposed to the living. The glow of his eyes reveals the flame and the lightning and thunder stored up inside him. He's incomparably beautiful in dark shadowy silhouette which bursts suddenly into radiance fire kindling within glows with incandescent radiance through the jewel-like white ice crystalline effulgence of multifaceted scales.  I was allowed to give him a name but I cannot shake the first name I knew him by. So my hellion has two names just like the multinoma of the dead lost he torments. He has a fierce countenance as I also have. Teeth as Roman Swords give him his first name, Machairos. Osculum his second name.  The lord, my master, my saviour, chose him for me because he has a counterfeit in the adversaries herd, the steed of Jesus the forgone lost hope of the dead we torment. When we emerge at the battle of the great day, the overlanders will think I am the risen Jesus Christ coming to turn the tide of battle from my master to the adversary's advantage. This irony my master loves.  Machairos, his first name is Latin for the Roman sword used for close combat hacking and slicing, 18 to 24 inches long double edged for back and forth hacking and plunging left or right past armor panels, my steed has teeth that call that source to mind. He rarely bares those teeth. They flash just before he dismembers a lost dead soul with them, then he incinerates them still writhing and gnashing their teeth and weeping with a blast of flaming phosphorous acid from his mouth.  Osculum is Latin for kiss, or for mouth, like the kiss of death.   The only kiss my murdering mother ever gave me, the kiss of death, when she sent the murdering m.d. into my womb chamber. Yes, mine, you moron, you must be dumber than a coven of nine American supreme court injustices if you think my womb chamber belonged to her! Overlanders just never consider all the aspects of anything. Perhaps sunlight makes them stupid. No one ever foisted such murderous malificence on any society, in fact, many societies, as this coven did (without even the attorneys for either side beginning to touch all the issues, they could not, for Lucifer’s coven of nine sprung this on the overland world without even a national debate, let alone an overland worldwide discussion, leading the issue by decisis, and so, here I am, by the grace of Lucifer). Machairosculum has a kiss for you, oh coven of nine, a flurry of kisses over and over again. The battle of the great day will begin it. But some of the justices are getting their kisses here already.  I still remember the day of infamy, yes, my unbirthday.  Then did the m.d. she sent, filled as she was with his murderous propaganda such as:  I’m not human yet.  I don’t feel anything.  I’m like a cabbage or a fish. Oh! I felt it alright, and I've no compunction about returning the favor on their m.d.s and R.N.s and all things medical.  You see, the term medical means only to me: murderous and full of mayhem. For the medical community of today no calumny is to great.  The adversaries punishment will likely be socialization of medical care.  That will end the opulence the murdering medical industry currently enjoys. One day, the battle of the great day, on that great day I will lead my riders first through the hospitals then through their medical school teacher’s lounges and classrooms and lavish offices. The kiss of Machairosculum shall be on their lips that day, and a flurry of kisses throughout eternity. Lucifer promises to be one with me that day to enjoy with me something new to him, the satisfaction of vengeance born of righteous indignation.Yet I am troubled that the adversary may feel justified in condemning me when I torment the whole medical community. For there may be some who did not acquiesce in our wholesale murder.  I asked the master, “Lucifer, I had counted on challenging the adversary’s condemnation of me as unjust. Carrying out our plan strikes the medical profession and nursing professionals and all the medical community.  Does not one oppose our gruesome murder?  Can’t I keep my integrity intact somehow? Is there no way to distinguish?”  Lucifer replied: “Truly you are a prince. And had you been born you may have led nations against me. As it is, you owe me fealty for your life, and your very princeliness is my guarantee of that. It is also why your riders will always follow you into my bidding.As to distinguishment, my unfair Protophorous (unfair only in the medical professions treatment of you), the medical profession has distinguished itself ignobly enough to be compared with me and my own dark cohorts. Has not every medical worker hired or schooled since 1973 known full well this murderer’s and murderess’ melee of mayhem that awaited his and her willing arms. And were they so unfortunate to miss this holocaust as direct perpetrator, they would find their way in as one who freed another so to do, even as an aviation mechanic frees a pilot for the dogfight, surveillance or bombing run. Just about any position in the medical industry can be pulling direct murder duty on in uteros such as you were just before I came upon your fresh vacuum curettage bottle.  So the whole industry has become infected not just with the practice of annihilation of the in utero people, but more horrific even! They have been given a tormentors spirit and heart. They as a whole are caught up now in infliction and propagation of pain, suffering and death. The murder of the smallest and quietest, the most utterly defenseless, the most dependent and most extending of the hopeful hand for help with their new life. You see, Protophorous, it has given to them a worse fate than the kuru disease of the cannibals of Borneo and New Guinea, it has in fact given them a hellish soul, that is, to those in the know, the soul of the tormentor in torments, not just inured to it but caught up in the blood lust spirit of the carnage. That is why when once one starts in the medical mill, for some supposedly needed procedure or another, he seldom emerges from it for long until he finally expires.  The insurance companies are fighting cameras in medical situations for they know the sickening truth.  Don’t you see the justice, even mercy, of your cause, Protophorous?" Just then his un-majesty’s steed appeared.  She is Leviathon, a great dragon beyond measure lighting up the darkness of torments with a deep ruby red luminescence. The species group of dragons and serpents simply could not survive the calamity of terrestrial judgment by the adversary.  They already housed within themselves the biochemical equivalent of a nuclear reactor. The heavy metals and rare gemstones needed for biochemical nuclear fission explain their storied penchant for the stealing, hording and guarding of men’s treasure.  When the transparent reflective ice crystalline eggshell surrounding the earth poured forth on Noah, it swept the embodied fallen angels and their prodigy down here near us in Tartarus where all the demonic bodies are kept in a watery dungeon. Since that time the sun’s stark radiation has prohibited dragons, serpents, that is, from long existence in the overland‘s thin unshielded atmosphere. Their great mass cannot let go of the radiation absorbed, and the reactor inside begins a chain reaction as in Ezekiel 28:13 wherein the devil dragon was cast down to earth and a fire from within his beautiful precious stone scales consumed him. So dragons are an underworld phenomenon today. Still having all their glory and species differentiation. And Lucifer’s was the grandest dragon of them all and the most ancient. She made as if she would speak not to Lucifer, but to me. She who had spoken to Eve. IV.  Lucifer so commonly inhabits his ancient dragon now standing here before us that they are tightly associated together. They are together again now, seamlessly joining, though I did not even notice the change.   “It’s going to be Mother’s Day again, Protophorous.”  Levi reminded me.“My brothers and I shall prepare a telepathic card you can deliver and embellish for us, Excellence of creation, bearer of my master.”  I replied Haunting is our master’s peculiar skill, he has taught it to all his cohorts. I will assemble the riders in a grand fashion. We’ll ride to the nursery of the lost condemned souls, the Neverborn Nursery, where the unreconstitutables murdered in their womb chambers and all the females murdered in their womb chambers are being raised to the point where they can be tormented.  Not possible, you say. You readeth not your Bible. 1 Corinthians 7:13&14 states:  Let the woman whose husband is an unbeliever not leave him if he wishes to stay with her.  For the unbeliever husband is made Holy by his wife, just as an unbeliever wife is made holy by a believer husband, if the believer left the children would be like the demons, unclean, but with the believer present, they are holy. Now you know why Lucifer’s servants read the Bible and know it. It pins the adversary down. We know he abides by His Word.  Because He is holy, His Word traps him. There is a lot to like about the adversary. His own people skip the Bible and come up with their own schemes (I.e. all children are saved; all unaccountable are saved; 1Cor 7:14&15 doesn’t apply: to the contrary; we know the adversary does apply his word; and, we bank on it.), because they really don’t like the adversary even though they are saved and sing the worship songs. They don’t take the time to get to know him as we have done. For instance, applying the adversary’s Bible  to my own murdering mother tells me I can’t strike her in the underworld for she has passed from death to life by allying herself with Jesus, the adversary’s son and heroic scapegoat substitute for man’s sins.  Jesus  rose, from death for overlanders’s sins, into life resurrected, into which resurrected life those who ally with him in life share, except for those who the adversary is forsworn to oppose by an upper millstone oath, which somehow my murdering mother escaped from. Most of the murdering mothers in line for a diabolical telepathic birthday wish from their child will receive it almost as uttered by their little victims. But not mine. She is allied tightly to the adversary. And, our telepathic spirit may have to wait hours and hours for her to sin in some way so he can get his message into her. Then the shock of it causes her to repent and confess her sin to the adversary and unite even tighter with Jesus. But at least I get through to her. And, she prays for me! It makes me think Lucifer is wrong and that I am in play. It is too much to hope for that a denizen of the underworld can be plucked away by the adversary. Perhaps, even, plucked away to meet her in the overland. But, alas, the adversary has me pinned down by His Word.  She was not believing in Jesus at my murder, as in 1 Cor 7:13 & 14. She even had me murdered by an m.d., torn and sucked away by the sharp vacuum blade, my head crushed with an especially diabolical forceps like tool, designed for the purpose.  After all, it’s her constitutional right, according to the master’s coven of nine injustices. So by application of scripture, her prayers (for me) avail not. How shall I make that alliance, that allegiance of faith?  I shall not see her, but as soon as Jesus is seen in me I shall be murdered again a second time right here in torments. And then they will begin to torment me.  Plus, faith may not avail. I died unclean and may be sentenced forever unclean, reconstituted to life or not. And regardless of faith, just as faith is professed to no avail by all the lost dead condemned forever, even those we leap to persecute with rapacious malevolent hearts, so our profession of faith may be cancelled in its effect by our condemnation and our location! No one has faith in the adversary like the lost! V.  Machairosculum and I receive salutes and cheers wherever we fly. The lost dead scour the heavens with melting eyes for the coming of a demon dragon or a hellion to torment them. Believe me they show respect when they see one. I am also marked as a dark prince with a principality in Lucifer's dark domain. A salute is required of all.  Over the plains and down and up chasms, we swoop and glide and power upward towardsthe incandescence of a tormented soul at no mercy from a hellion and rider. My brothers saluting me, I fly distinctively about them and move on, a signal that they should try and follow me. Yes, brothers, no sisters, bible scholars all know angelic creation, even fallen, is male. Though the adversary has great use for females, my master has none, because he is still bitterly wroth at the loss of his legions’ physical bodies long locked away in chains of darkness in tartarus, bound for their indiscretions with the daughters of Adam. Said indiscretions cost also the overland bodily appearance for the whole fallen angelic race and domain save of me and my brothers. Yes, that makes us reconstituted live dead lost Hellion Riders special.  Our live bodies are a unique strategic asset to Lucifer. I am sort of glad, proud you might say, that my murdering mother is allied with the adversary who has use for her, and, even, that she is distinguished within his thralldom. That is why her Mother’s Day card requires careful composition if I am to pull the strings of her murderous heart. I am anxious to get started, that is why my brothers can not keep up!  My Hellion is allergic to the dichotomy in my soul, the range of feeling I have for my murdering mother. He goes the faster as a result, as if driven by both fear and the rush to battle at the same time. They rush out of the way below for, in the heat of battlerage and fear, poor Machairosculum glows and the phosphorescence flies from his mouth (osculum) and the underworld bursts into luminescence revealing mind bending scenes of torment. For a moment the multitudinous nature of the majority (Broad is the path here and many there be that find it) of humankind in torment is too much even for some of my brothers, and, heinous howls fill the underworld and stimulate the fear inducing high then low roaring hellhowls of the hellions and war whoops of the riders astride them. All the while electric-like lightening stings from Machairosculum’s scorpionlike tail fly through the nightlike sky with flashing illumination until they find a target to torment below who flares in incandescent flashing radiance until consumed in howling horror, then stands again ready anew for the next torment in store for him or her, the lost dead son or daughter of Adam. All hellion assault systems are morally guided.  Hellion assault systems include fiery blasts from behind the mighty teeth which are their own shredding and dismembering system; nerve agent gaseus smoke also from the hellions’ mouths; electric lightning darts from the mighty highly aim-able tail.  They are morally guided from tormenter hellion and rider to damnable tormented.  We riders give our hellions extra rewards and approbation for tormenting lost dead abortionists and abortive parents. Now we are at about full current strength, all that howling, like a clarion call, it raised my followers from the twenty-seven  corners of the underworld, sheol, hell-if you must.  We are two thirds of our battleday strength, over one hundred twenty five million of us murdered in clinics, exam rooms and hospitals in China, in America, in Europe-a host of countries and languages. Lucifer gave us English in honor of his American coven of nine injustices who made us possible and who keep us possible and for the small minority in his American democratic party led now by his primadonnas, senators from California, to whose will the party of death must assent to hold its hodgepodge of special interest groups together and receive from them presidential candidate approval. Here is Neverborn Nursery where there is not room for us as we behold the faces of the lost dead children, females who Lucifer won’t reconstitute, and males whose v.c. bottleswere lost or who were too jagged and disintegrated to reconstitute. Like a million million, a billion and a quarter billion plus all my riders, and over two score million added annually, 159,000 each day. (The numbers don’t jive. The murderous m.d. and r. n./l.v.n. fiends don’t work in their regular offices Friday afternoon, Saturday and Sunday.  They aren't golfing, neither do they knit. They are at the murdering mayhem of the abortion tables lined up in rows and rows. Queen Shabat has a new meaning to our third millennium medical professional.) Yet has Lucifer reserved for these lost dead aborted children  5,000 square miles of horizontal caverns:  Neverborn Nursery.  Bats take care of them until about the sixth month of life (3 months before overlanders would give full term birth). Sometimes the frustrated bats that fill the underworld are so frustrated by the lost murdered dead who they are raising that they bite their faces off.  In a moment the murdered lost dead returns to his or her prior cherubic form with a peaceful look that haunts the bat to further insanity.  Such torments as these are nothing in comparison to the murderous mayhem given them by M.D.s who trespassed in their womb and birth chambers, giving them neither anesthesia nor dignity. Then the lost dead females are made to help raise them. These female lost dead, the ones who care for the murdered-in-the-womb lost dead, are the ones who murdered their own baby in the womb at a hospital or abortion clinic(reproductive health center). Many were told by their pastor that they were going to heaven and are as shocked as the rest when they wound up here. You see, Matthew 18:6-14 trumps John 3:16, but their pastor didn't know that.Matthew 18:5  Whoever welcomes one of my micro children into their family and society, welcomes Me.  (I ask you, isn’t the opposite of welcome our final murderous rejection.)  Matthew 18:6  On the contrary whoever murders even one of My micro children …, they shall wish they merely were noosed to an anvil (what is noosed but a sign to us down here: Damned!  Torment me!) hanged around their throat  and they were plunged beneath the Mariana’s trench.  (A

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