Occultivation - Arkaik

He who sought to hold the sword of clarity before he was cleansed Trapt in the center of the morphing labyrinth A heart impure lusting for power now Entombed and buried In a sarcophagus of hate, rage, and confusion Eater of fear, the progenitor of demon hoards Deceiver of himself Cyrix еnters knowing the blade hе carries For his form was merely a cage Cast in the fire of hate and fear Beyond the gates of amnesia In a maze of infinite corridors Shifting their shape Carving the flesh of the dead The walls seem to move on their own Out they crawl, the hoards of living dissolution Cryix sees the pain in their eyes so he slays them and leaves them to rest Enter the dark realms That which is in the heavens also lies within the earth Let the light of courage be your lantern A gleaming paradox seated on the throne of worth Phobius lurches forth to assail the light and it's open form In the center of the maze there was the king of fear and pain His only language is to maim Raising the blade of light and truth Freeing the one enslaved from his aeonic curse

Shedding skin As blood turns to gold Writing on the walls Etched in obsidian stone Writhing within the shadows In this abyss crawl the bleakest of creatures Wearing mirrors as masks Wild-eyed and slithering backward In the light of truth they recede and recoil Casting tainted howls at the luminosity within the maze Their breath is of poison Their touch are strokes from rusted blades Their gaze encapsulates Vivid reflections of what lies within your primal deep Feeding upon their feeble hosts This realm of hungry ghosts Spreading from thе hive The opposite of alivе Chained to an altar of mazes Eating the fear of the hosts The lowest realm where the empty go All whispering the culling song A flock of desperate souls looking to feed Towards Cyrix they lurch in a fevered pitch Filled with brazen chasms of hurt and greed As the choir of loss and grief begin to sing The hordes attack as he swings with might Cyrix holds fast to the saber as they clash And the blows cut through them They shatter and coalesce into streams of vivid light With the embers casting shadows on the walls Fangs drew like needles torn And swaying serpentine tongues At the center of the ascendant mind Cutting through the illusion Reaching into psychic flowing currents of Morphogenetic pulse, the careening expanse At the gates of the megalith Beyond the threshold of the collective sub-psyche Lost in the shadow cube All whispering the culling songs A flock of desperate souls looking to feed Towards Cyrix they lurch in a fevered pitch Filled with brazen chasms of hurt and need As the choir of loss and grief begin to sing In this labyrinth The scent of death and rot Rising up From the grave Treading the depths Of the hungry ghosts Shedding skin As blood turns to gold Writing on the wall Etched in obsidian stone Writhing within the shadows