The Protocols of the Elder of Zion
Nov 19th, 1903...4:12 a.m.- the regal Alchemist stops, calming harrowing vertigo; descending spiraled steps greedily to the scrolls in his catacomb
his emotions are animal, face crazed as wicked flames spit and shadow his battered home
The Elder finds a papyrus sheet inscribed EMETH (truth) over the picture of a looming and shattered stone
jumping madly to his feet, his wild ***kle crescendos to thunderous cries...
The goldmine of Cabalistic Alchemy; Bastion of the Homunculi
the great truth cloud, dharma-mega sits in his Prague basement,
he scribbles infiltration plans to the monastery in God's Station
packing pewter cauldrons, carbon powder, blood in tonics for bottling...
heading for horse and staff - and some cabalistic, masonic theosophy
November 26th, 1903. Zwakh looks at the floorside corpse covered with magic flowers
this Golem's made in his image - so close to animation in proximity with the Bastion's power.
silhouettes of a ghost - these walls hold the weight of a menacing vow...
he scribbles METH (death)... stirring the Golem, painting henna on its brow
a bald monk enters like a priest with the calming compunction of Zen
smiling at volatile letters, he asks: "what's the nature of this homonculus, friend?"
-"my good monk...give my doppleganger three days of silent, sumptuous rest...
November 30th, 1903: 7:11 p.m. - a fruitful day for the Elder of Zion under these glacial facades
having decided in the grasslands - his Golem's purpose when they're stationed in Prague
- entering his room under eerie twilight, the Alchemist sees his patient is gone
a wry smile accompanies the race of his thought; something he couldn't shirk or fathom
...the Elder of Zion had underestimated the power of this Homunculis' circle bastion
stepping out to the hall, he sees dead monks sprawled over the lacquered floor
walking with an indifferent gaze, he's scanning the splattered gore
in minutes - the Golem's fully matured. holding an alabastor hilt attached to several battling swords
skin wax yellow. Its eyes spaced slightly wider than normal, stare a fiery portal,
with deceptive agility, it breaks the silence with a drawling chortle -
playing with time's fluidity, forcing events to crawl to a standstill...
it has to break its masters' magical hold - gain freedom in this brawl with a grand kill
- the man easily parries, extending his orb tipped, furious alchemist staff
causing its tip to glow gold as it springs an unrelenting, savage attack
a youthful twirl to his robes, the Alchemist shoots psychic beams to quell shit
the homonculus staggers forward - only to topple instantly to the spell's kick
the monk returns, serene in the wake of these astounding events
"you must use an EMETH seal. Control this beast before it lays waste to thousands of men"
The Elder thinks in harmony with the bastion's dual capacity and well-rounded intent
"...my good monk. All decent art is simply an imitation of life -
from warm-hearted deliverance to vagrance and strife
this is who I've become. All is one and one is all in the force
morality aside - you and I both found the other drawn to the source
with respect, monk, I'm already moving strong on my course."
the monk bows with weakened conviction, sensing truth in the Alchemist's words
he strikes with a whirlwind of kicks centered in a surprisingly animal surge
but the Alchemist dodges, anticipating the monk's boulderous arms
releasing the spell, he massacres him with a smouldering charge...
December 1st, 1903. 2:17 p.m. - His soul transferred to its new vessel; less yellow by the day, moving slow and assured
he takes horse and cart, buggying out of town in adamant rage -
Zion the Elder's soul swapped with his Golem's at the valor less gate.
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