i came upon it with a arthritic fist thrust into a bucket of fishing bait, chewing on a mouthful of nightcrawlers. a disgusting fucking thing, the grinding of its mouth really more like an undulating intestine that a clenching jaw, the sharkey rows of lamprey-like "teeth" mashing against each other, tusks jutting upwards & down, ripping through the lips of the thing. "teeth," because they seemed to be the same shape & materials of the "claws" of the thing, more barbed thorns than anything else. all draped in red, hallelujah.
we grew up in the spacehulk, but we just assumed everyone lived like that: with dark, airless hallways sealed off with iron, with windows out to nowhere the closest we got to sky. it still gives me the shivers: sky. the spacehulk was big, real big, & those gangs of us that lived in it had plenty of room to fight & fuck & make-up & do it all again. territory, sure, it was the most important thing, but only because what did the spacehulk need a crew for? i'm still not even sure if it had ever had a crew, or if we were just freight, or parasites, or what. somebody i met who'd never been on the spacehulk? he said that sometimes these big fish, only he said they weren't fish, but anyhow, these big fish would sometimes throw themselves onto the land to die. beached, he'd say they were called.
"the secret of the labyrinth was deceptively simple: there was a monster in it. but many have wandered in it for too long a time before understanding that the monster was them." these are the words spoken by the mahdi, the beast. his words to you now are "fiat nyx." spread out through-out the world until it all is your maze, until this world matches the oubliette in which he madly dreams. dreams of buildings, black on the outside & white on the inside. of magog & the memory of ife, which is caeli. of bodies hung from the steeple of the temple, of a language where the word for "minaret" & "gallows" is the same. the princes, & below them the royals, & below them the sovereigns. he has laid out the puzzle, & the crooked edges of it are your swords. rise up against the dweller on the threshold & cut the silver cord. the world is hollow & so too are the heavens.