Chapter 1
Warm 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 symbol like unto the disembodying of Lucifer’s demonic horde whose overland bodies are chained in watery darkness.) Matthew 18:7 Howling misery and disastrous fate shall befall the devil’s overland world, Kosmos Diabolicus, because of the crimes of murder, yes, Satan’s murder crimes must be carried out; however, what misery and torment shall befall the duped perpetrator of these criminal offenses of murder(and what could offend one worse than painful bloody murder) Matthew 18:8 On account of said misery and torment, if your hand or your foot commit’s the murderous criminal offense charged to your account, chop them off and get them far from you. God prefers you enter into life eternal even if that means with neither both hands nor both feet. God would rather not throw you into everlasting flaming torment with both feet and both hands intact. (Hadn’t it been better for the abortionist to dismember himself rather than me. When I ask the lost dead abortionists, they agree.) Matthew 18:9 Furthermore if your eye wants to commit the criminal offense of murdering My micro children, poke out your eye and throw it far from you: God prefers you enter eternal resurrection life with only one eye. God hates having to cast you into underworld fiery torment with eyes intact. (Take your eye off that opposite sex object of unmarried sex affection, overlander, or we might soon be poking you in your eye down here in the underworld, unmarried sex carries with it the guilt of abortion). Matthew 18:10 Pay attention to yourself that you despise (Couldn’t mean in utero torture murder, could it, foolish overlander?) not one of these micro children of mine (the adversary’s Greek Bible autograph word is MICROS, in case you think size matters); I mean to say that their spirits do always commune in heaven before the face of My Father in heaven (Those same spirits do testify against you in judgment directly to God the Father when you murder their charges by abortions) Matthew 18:11 For the Son Of Man (My title I gave to watchman Ezekiel I charged to warn my people against sin) charges to the rescue to save these, my micro children, otherwise consigned to torments and the lake of fire.If this is not enough, the adversary pins himself totally down from any possibility of saving the murderous mothers, fathers and abortionists in Matt. 18:14: notwithstanding verses to the contrary the will of our Father in heaven opposes letting even one of these my micro children be murdered and perish into torments of the underworld. (Perish in the original Greek of the adversary’s scripture is apollumi which means both to be murdered and also to be consigned forever to the fires of torments and the lake of fire. (If only this passage were for us, alas, it is to condemn those who by our murder condemn us with themselves.)VI. I, Protophorous, as Prince of the Hellion Riders, I get lots of leisure to ponder and consider, as becomes a prince. Principalities in Lucifers thralldom are ruled using principles that work. And, they all come from the Bible. To attack a Bible believing entity, demand that it make its decisions and debates apart from the Bible. This hamstrings it. We would never operate that way. It is the adversary’s word that holds the universe together and orders every aspect of it. So I’ve been pondering it again. In Matthew 18:5 Whoever receives one of these little ones receiveth me. I looked it up in Strong’s dictionary: Of the babe in his or her womb chamber Dechomai means in Greek 2b2) to receive into one’s family to bring up or educate; Of Jesus 2c1) to receive favorably, give ear to, embrace, make one’s own, approve, not to reject.Conversely, then, a once for all time rejection of Jesus occurs when one of these little ones is not received as in 2b2 above; and, in fact, rejected in the most offensive and scandalous way. A good devil needs to know the Bible so he can know what is and isn’t his. We call this pinning down the adversary. The pastors whose flock we devour, they just don’t get that deep into the Bible to consider such matters. We sometimes ruminate on it, Lucifer and I, whether they are lazy or stupid. Believe me, the spirit that inspired prophets who wrote these scriptures does not indwell or fill us as it does the pastors and teachers of the overland. What would happen if they spent hours and hours a day following the spirit through the Bible and then spent more hours and hours debating it? No more babies murdered in their womb chambers, I presume. What can be more an offense or more scandalous as a stumbling stone to continued faith in God than to be hacked and sucked away. No member of the post 1972 medical industry escapes our grasp. They are not given the gift of faith to believe in Jesus, for they are warred on by God. The upper millstone was a military concept in Israel. A Mother’s Day Scripture Card for you”Oh Mother, I couch this wish on your day, Mother’s Day. You cast me off , but I do not cast you away. Give in to maudlin tears. Commune with me in dark places. So you shall receive me though I be in torments. You shall be in torment of depression. Then, we can commune! Consider, oh mother of mine, 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. Oh, mother, how have you escaped my grasp from torments, How has the adversary removed thy millstone/anvil from around thy neck? The war millstone trumps the life eternal of John 3:16 Whosoever believes in Jesus shall not perish(apollumi) for the “gift of faith” will not be given as in Eph 2:8&9. I have a scriptural right to know what keeps you from the torment with which I would torment you? By the way, your m.d. you sent to trespass in my womb chamber, he really offended me. I lay it to your charge.
Matthew 18:7 Howling misery and disastrous fate shall befall the devil’s overland world, Kosmos Diabolicus, because of the crimes of murder, yes, Satan’s murder crimes must be carried out; however, what misery and torment shall befall the duped perpetrator of these criminal offenses of murder(and what could offend one worse than painful bloody murder) By you it came, mother, by you. And the man was the bad doctor. Adversary hate him and make millstone war evermore against him. Matthew 18:8 On account of said misery and torment, if your hand or your foot commit’s the murderous criminal offense charged to your account, chop them off and get them far from you. God prefers you enter into life eternal even if that means with neither both hands nor both feet. God would rather not throw you into everlasting flaming torment with both feet and both hands intact. Yes, Mom, you had an agent, but I lay it still to both of your charges. How can you have escaped eternity in torment and the Lake of Fire with me. You did not resist at all. Certainly not to the cutting off of your appendage instead. As for the no-good doctor, Didn’t he hear the scripture: Don’t do it! Cut your hand off first! Pluck out your eye first, and cast it from you! Matthew 18:9 Isn’t it better to enter eternal life with one eye than to have both eyes while being cast into fiery torments. The doctor I’ll see, but not you, mother not dear and not sweet but not to be mine to torment and berate forevermore.
Matthew 18:10 Pay attention to yourself that you despise not one of these micro children of mine; I mean to say that their spirits do always commune in heaven before the face of My Father in heaven. (You see, right there in the womb chamber we were once His, we beheld God and we believed in Jesus! Did you come before God, between God and his beloved Micro.) .... Now! I hear it as a blast from my consciousness, or is it the adversary answering my query on the merits of his Word how he can save you, Mother, from our grasp....She cried out from the abortion operating table and stirrups “No I won’t do it, I want the baby, I can get welfare for him, or sell him, I just won’t murder him!” Their hope of profit fleeing as other mothers in the lineup of murdering tables, perhaps 24, bare, knees and feet high in the air, considered her words. The anesthesiologist rushed over and they tied her foot and hand. “BIG NEEDLE STICK! ” an oriental medical professional murderer told her. Then she was out cold, and, shortly after, so was I, not anesthetized I assure you, but cooling in pieces in a v.c bottle. I am here because you, mother, were lost when I expired, but, you were in play, for the adversary to garner into his forever thralldom, because you saved yourself, and almost me, at the last. Mother, it never is too late. Except, of course, for me. Some small comfort I take in the sorrow my Happy Mother’s Day Card may cause you for it is my only contact with you forever. Without affection, your lost dead son you murdered, Protophorous, King of the Hellion riders. A far more common wish comes from the girl neverborn in Torment’s “Neverborn Nursery”: My dear mummy, no parties for me, no stroller you see, not pretty in pink, no diaper to stink, no dimple and chub, torn by bit from your tum, and a scream none could hear, as I jerked away with fear, from the demon you sent, with his vacuum sword bent, he sucked away hands and feet, oh how cheap and how neat, you destroyed me. How sweet, Mummy, I wait for you, we’ll be together, you know it’s true, here in Neverborn Nursery, I’m waiting for you! At the end of your days you ‘ll see me, and, between torments we receive, and your chores taking care, of the newly neverborn, then we can torment each other, as I ask and you tell me, how good life might have been, in the overland if only I were everborn. Unhappy Mother’s Day’ Mummy! Without Love! Your undear daughter! without a name. Needless to say, this young poet was an offended victim of a criminal offense. So the adversary’s upper millstone military doctrine was engaged on her murdering mother, father, doctor and nurse. It was so stupid to run right up to an enemy tower because they had things to drop on you. King David learned this at officer training. Joab used it to chasten King David when King David murdered Uriah. I’m sure Jesus is telling the pastors to come that there is no future in murdering little ones in or out of their womb chamber. Look up for the millstone falling on you if you do. Are the pastors telling their flocks this message, and their flocks ignore it, and continue blithely at the murder? Or are the quiescent peaceful pastors summonsing up for themselves the wages of the recalcitrant watchman the adversary warned Ezekiel not to be? The adversary credited pastoral watchmen with blood-guiltiness for not warning their flock and parish, “Do not murder the unborn!” It doesn’t help to look up, the millstones are morally guided. The war aspect of millstone applied to tying it to an enemy and throwing him or her into the sea is analogous to the underworld. The sons of god who abused the daughters of men were flooded with their superhuman children and washed back behind the floodgates of the waters below the earth, held there in watery chains of darkness. Bad as that is, it’s still far better than here in torments. So to m.d.s, r.n.s, l.v.n.s, heath care professionals and all workers in the medical industry: We’re waiting for you in torments. See you here! Matthew 18:6! If you harm God’s micros yet to be born, better for you if God noose you to a millstone and drown you in the Marianas Trench.VII. Lucifer let my card go unedited. He seems concerned about me as if I might crack up emotionally. We tormentors wind up tormented at times. I am too strong to respond negatively to anything that can happen. Besides all that, I was asking for an answer and got one. Logically, I am sure all concern the dragon has for me pertains to how I can help her master, his majesty, Lucifer, my Lord, in his contest with the adversary. Yet she convinces me otherwise at every turn. She seems so concerned for me. She looks as if she will cry. Yet she will turn heaven upside down with the fury of their war. Quite an old Lady. I will favor them with a response. “The adversary will still allow alignment and sequestration if an abortive murder is forced upon an unwilling mother?” I observed as if inquiring. From the depths of her glowing insides the old dragon responded: “I think you want to express your feelings now, Protophorous, more than you want to muse at the order of things.” There is never a dull moment here in torments. Always in flames and gnashing their teeth in agony the denizens of this dark domain of the devil cannot help but cry out or weep loudly. They gnash their teeth to keep silent so a tormentor won’t take notice of them. The categories of tormentors are many and varied. The dragon and associated fallen are prime inflictors of pain and torment! My fellows and I are not far behind. I could let distractions draw me from this duo. But I have respect for my liege, and for Leviathon, his steed and battlemate, I have a feeling that she cares, even though that is impossible and irresistible under the overland. So I responded. “Yes, But, it seems to me, best adorned, most resplendent in bejeweled glory in heaven, in the overland and anywhere, it seems to me that she had plenty of intent and conspiratorial guiltiness with the solicitous counsellor, with the receptionist at the reproductive health center, with the social worker who helped her with MediCal to pay for it.” (Which counselor incriminated the whole California state legislature and governor Brown and the California Supreme Court and lower courts with my blood. My suffering and my blood shed will be paid for in kind by their own blood-guiltiness. Their blood-guiltiness tearing and consuming their flesh and tormenting them unceasingly in tormenting contests will prepare my riders for the battle of the great day. I will often return the favor of my blood shed when they get here to my underground domain, mine by your grace, my liege. I have already revenged the blood-guiltiness of some, those who arrived already. Whosoever sheds man’s blood, by man shall his blood be shed. See, they are pinned down by the adversary and given to me.) “Protophorous,” she interjected, “Is it that you feel injustice at the adversary for covering her with his pinions and keeping her from you? Is it for torment or for love that you want her?” His unmajesty sneered at Leviathon’s query about love. I know they read each others thoughts. So she must spontaneously speak what she feels without thinking ahead. I shall respond to the Old Lady genuinely. “Love is of the adversary and you know we all have none. But, a certain fond attachment arose in me as I tried to reason out how she could murder me so, and, the adversary still enfold her. It will abate now. You see, Madame Levi, I have the answer. Now I shall turn my attention to my father.” “Father’s Day approaches.” We all three said together as a band of tormentors went by leading their prey, a sort of black parade. VIII. I was sorry to see her go. But, she had done one great job of snapping me out of my sulky state. Now I have a new mission as well as my princely duties and my battlefield and training commander duties. My dad, who dismembered me, is in portly middle age now, alone and in charge of two teenage adopted children. From what I gather, except for a hot Latin temper, he is sensitive and avoids conflict, protective and opposed to injustice wherever he finds it. He is still as strong as in athletic days, though out of shape. He is prone to drop things after which he may take leave of his usual cheerful Christian character and let fly a vulgarity of profanity. He is respected in his community as a dynamo for the adversary and has cost the master countless souls bound otherwise for the underworld. Yet, though he has aligned with the adversary, yet he is lost. For the adversary has laid on him all the blood-guiltiness for my murder. It was at his initial suggestion and constant pressure, long resisted by my mother that this fiendish father brought about my murder. Crafty and clever at manipulation, he lied his way into a girl’s heart, married her, and abdicated the responsibility for the child they created by suggesting they murder the baby, and then haranguing the poor girl about why she wanted to keep her baby. The coup de non grace came when he finally, as if giving in, told her that if she is to have the baby, she must go with him to Las Vegas and marry anew, because their first marriage in Tijuana was unlikely legal. Whether calculated or not, that was the heartbreaker for her. She thought he was opposing the birth not because of professional ambitions and delayed gratification, not to help her continue in school; rather she thought because he viewed the baby as an iron ball and chain cementing them together forever. She thought, that is why he wanted a legal marriage. It was just that she wanted him to want her that way, that he would cement himself to her, even without the baby. In despair she impulsively reversed her stance so as not to make him the altruistic martyr bound to her by child and marriage; no matter what. Suddenly he was for the babies life and she against it. This to him was so unexpected. He half knew why, though far less than half intended her to take on the perception she had taken. Now having recommended the murderous dismemberment and headsquashing at the first (And, don’t you think I am without headaches now.), now it was too much to change position and argue convincingly the other way, and it was not something he was inclined or empowered to do, anyway. Many parents and counselors have and will face his fate at my hellion, Machairosculum’s savage attack. IX. Now, when my mum has scarcely escaped this Torment. Now appears my dad, who dismembered me and squashed my head through an m.d., r.n., l.v.n. and clinic staff. Not just these but also the supreme court; the congress; the 50 state legislatures; the appellate and district courts who had authority to call most of roe v. wade dictum: You are mine along with all the media save the likes of Ann Coulter and Pat Buchanon. Machairosculum has lots of long kisses to lay on you that will enlighten you all to the depths of your being. See you here! For you are not only guilty of a billion and a half in Torments of the underworld, you are guilty of the eternal condemnation of both: the mothers of these never born; and, the fathers, too. One day when Machairosculum illuminates the underworld with his phosphorescent vomitus, there you will be at center stage, finally enlightened, having fulfilled your dark gruesome and murderous destiny. The same fate shall have those who neglected me and my ilk, condemning us when they chose and voted for such as you all. Overlanders are so narrow in their thought processes. Granted I am a little better endowed mentally than an overlander. But, it seems so obvious that you will face everyone and every creature you harm, hurt or murder, yes, you shall be together forever in the eternal state. What could these narrow-minded leaders and medical professionals have been thinking? Doctor, Your clientele in eternity will be the ones you murdered in the womb, all grown up now. And, you will all be in flames wailing and gnashing your teeth, both client and doctor. No golf course for you. No cocktail party. So not sorry for you. To the contrary, instead, I will torment you unceasingly. And, no good old dad, it will be the same for you. So listen up moms and dads: that babe inside you, or inside your girlfriend or wife; that same baby is going to be with you forever and always: in peace or in penitence; in life or here, in death; in love or here, in hate. X. Blood-guiltiness has overtaken the nation. The nation is lost. Blood-guiltiness is what holds Lucifer down. It is the damn spot of Lady Macbeth. Apparently there is a righteous blood, a blood righteousness if you will, that trumps my master and his princes. The blood of a righteous man shed on behalf of the unrighteous for an atonement of the adversaries righteous wrath over their sin. There is no salvation in atonement alone. It requires alignment with the adversary and his Man who is also the Son of God and the lamb slain before the foundation of the world was lain, in which foundation we now torment and plot our rise. So alignment appears to be by faith and trust in this Jesus, then the atonement is applied to the individual who trusts and has faith. Only then the lost is saved and enfolded about by the wings of God and beyond our grasp. It seems that one can plead this blood against the master and his hordes and so keep them at bay because the blood of unrighteousness has to bow before the righteous blood of Christ, the blood of a willing sacrifice. Lucifer is according to the Holy writ a murderer from the beginning and the father of murder, having incited Cain and the murder of all prophets. Thence, whenever a murder is committed, it is my master’s bidding. His very own blood-guiltiness is transferred to the unwitting manslayer. Why would he not bid it? The perpetrator is Lucifer’s property now. A hard heart toward the adversary turns the adversary’s rule of love to the malice of murder. Such a heart finds acceptance and approval from my master, Lucifer. This heart had my own fiendish father towards me. It started when debates were held at middle school and no one was found to take up my masters cause, yet a debate was desired. And so the dismembering dad found another possibility of viewpoint by taking up the unrighteous cause. Next, dismembering dad listened to his own dad about following the political left to protest America’s war in Viet Nam. There he found the drugs marijuana, tobacco, alcohol and camaraderie of purpose. He also adopted their mindset that murdering in the womb chamber was a matter of fact common, sense option. He adopted this mindset neither knowing he had done , nor even debating or thinking about this wrong choice, very much like how the coven of nine supreme court justices slipped the poison of abortion into the culture. There was no earthshaking changes in head-squashing dad’s thinking when he married my murderous mom. Nothing absolving him of blood guiltiness presented itself prior to his suggestion and later acquiescence to my grisly murder. So it stands to my reason his head-squashing soul is forfeit. XI. One problem only presents itself. Later on, after my murderous mother left her murdering mate, he then switched his college major to English. He maintained his intellectual honesty and willingness to debate without shouting down (anathema to the political left their concepts are so important, they believe) perhaps by a miracle from the adversary (perhaps a hanger-on from four years of Bible believing Lutheran primary education, where perhaps he was sequestered and enfolded by the adversary). He discovered all the great authors in English culture had a working knowledge of the King James Bible and quoted and used it freely, fully expecting their readers to have the same frame of reference. Like Eve, not willing to be naïve, in his case about what he was reading, the murdering madman added the Bible to his course load and to his wine, marijuana, tobacco and caffeine. The master just does not like that Bible inserted into any overland situation. Perhaps this is why. Head-squasher became convinced of the reality and truth of the Bible four and a half books into it. Dismembering dad was barred by millstone warfare adversarial principles from receiving the gift of saving faith. However, he said to his murderous self: “What would I do, if I believed the adversary and His word?” Then headsquasher resolved to follow suit, to act the way he thought he would if he believed. That was thirty three years ago. My fiendish father has not departed from his resolve. It is nearly as total a quandary as my murderous mom presented before the adversary answered my Bible based query about her. XII. That there are fruit; that the gift of saving faith is given to those hearing his message; that there are spiritually discerned meanings this murderer sees that I cannot see: It makes me believe the adversary has thrown out his millstone warfare adversarial principles in this case and sequestered and enfolded this dismemberer. I am hard pressed as to why? Is it me? I somehow count less than others murdered in their own womb chambers. Perhaps because I have a high position in this low place. However it is, Father’s Day approaches. I will see that head-squasher hears from me. A rising fury builds inside me. Angry because: though given the gift of preeminence among the Neverborn; I am in danger somehow of having the dubious distinction that I am the only one like myself, with no parent to torment due to injustice from the adversary. How could the adversary sequester and enfold the ones who did this to me. It simply does not mix with his reputation. The thought of my earthly father, that dismembering head-squasher, in the confines of the adversary’s “heaven” makes my blood boil with righteous indignation. The rage inside me has ignited the chemical reactor in machairosculum. Now he wants to fly and gallop and torment. It must be like when the overlanders have a puppy and he wants to play. I am going to oblige. XIII. Here at Neverborn Nursery where we are vacationing, only the lost dead parents of the Neverborn are tormented. It is not as scorching here. The murdered children growing to tormentable adulthood is a relaxing site. It also reminds us of the justice of our cause. From Mother’s Day to Father’s Day the Fallen angels will have to do all the tormenting. Our bodies and even our souls tire and wear out like an overlander’s does. Our very presence tells the end of the age. For two hundred million riders are prepared in the earth for the day of battle at the end of the age (Revelation 9:14,15&16 is where the adversary pins himself down about us), just the seventh part of the number of murders in womb chambers already lain at the American coven’s feet. Any wonder there is no mention of America in the millennial age. In retribution, my brothers and I shall scourge America first. Did the American Coven of nine have any idea that they were creating the mounted army that would destroy the third part of humankind. And, we are five eighths of full strength now. So the Supreme Court of the United States of America (Lucifer’s elite coven of nine) made the decision, leading the whole culture by decisis (judicial decision) on the issue, the decision that brings about the end of the age.Many other events in history might have precipitated the end of the age. The providential hand of the adversary overruled in every instance. (God is not willing that any soul perish.) For Jesus the adversary’s Son would always look to his Earthly mother Mary. And, she would always say, “Please my Lord, a while longer that your bride may grow. More may be saved from torments and the Lake of Fire.” This time however she said, “My Lord the time must be right, for the American coven has now forty million murders in the womb chamber and a million more a year. All these forced into torments (by the unbelief of their parents who will now be denied the gift of faith), and then the lake of fire. My Lord, these along with 80,000,000 parents of these plus all the councilors and uncles and aunts and such who promoted the murders. These you must now war against; dropping the millstones of holy war on from heaven’s Hightower, denying them the gift of God, even saving faith(Eph 2:8&9). In light of these overwhelming losses due to the American coven of nine and their cohorts led by California’s prima donna senators, and, additionally, my Lord, the U.S.A. led a billion and a half worldwide murdered in their womb chambers each have two parents doomed under millstone holy war against them from heaven’s Hightower. These 3 billion plus the relatives who counseled this, all denied the gift of God, saving faith. For the first time in history My Lord and my Son, and again thanks to the American coven of nine, I can only say, “My Son Jesus, Let Your divine juggernaught begin to roll!” And, in this case, the adversary’s Son is obedient to His mother. XIV. “What would I do if I believed?” My murdering dad said. It appears that if I believe in the adversaries son Jesus I will in some way unite by being a part of their same group. Sad small way to join my biological family I never knew. I can’t count on any of those blessings of life and eternal happiness for I am once condemned. I am an outcropping of the lost dead. Back into the pulse and breath of life yet not of light of day. I fear I am as ever lost as the unreconstitutable or as the girls and women lost dead, murdered in their womb chambers. And yet, Henry the VIII had no Army like mine, nor Napolean, no Hitler could put 125,000,000 men in the air. Neither were any of these prophesied to kill a third of the earth now grown to 6,000,000,000 including 4,000,000,000 everlost by reason of bloodguiltiness for the Neverborn. The last 75,000,000 are being trained. Soon, My grand army and I, we will number 200,000,000 mounted Hellion riders. What then is to stop me? Fear of the adversary for one. For another, Desire to join the God of Love and wash this hate away in the adversary’s son’s blood. Though the gift of faith cannot be given me, still there is my father’s route. Though he had closed the door on all hope and felt the falling millstones of Heaven’s Hightower at war against him, still he said, “What would I do if I believed? As to the first, FEAR is to stop me. Fear rules my master’s kingdom. Fear of the Lake of fire, fear of being bound, fear of losing, of failure, of the adversary, of a powerful adversary aligned overlander reversing all our progress and progressing himself, fear of the pain and torment we dish out and are prophesied to receive! So I am not new to fear. The Master has ingrained caution into us. Caution will hold onto our hard won gains.Regarding point 2: Desire to be clean, forgiven, justified; instead of charging into a prophesied against, Word condemned, campaign of murder and mayhem. I suppose if I believe and am not enfolded and sequestered and indwelt by the adversaries spirit, then no one would ever know I believed. As a nod of deference to my regal status I am not indwelt occasionally or otherwise by demonic persons such as Heliarchus, Misanthrope are indwelt often by Beastmaster. Otherwise, this line of thought would be near impossible. But what will happen if the entire underworld is made to bow the knee and salute because they see the adversary in me. Oh, well, then, in that event, I suppose I will be in His Heaven soon enough. Like the rich young ruler; what a place I have now in the adversaries grand scheme. And who has in life, or life here in death for that matter, been able to ride, to ride my hellion, to ride, barely in front of 200,000,000 abreast, to meld with my telepathic beast, yes, to zero in and destroy targets more sensed than seen, to ride in righteous vengeance against the world of those who had no mercy in our grisly murder right in our own womb chambers. The scars of which we still feel. To hear the Neverborn in torments and growing up to be tormented, to hear them scream our praise and urge us ever on. Yes righteous screams for our righteous cause of, well, just what was done to us, but to us a bit earlier. It is something I would lose, with perhaps nothing to gain. Compare this with my murdering father’s accomplishments so far as a benchmark for what the adversary might have in store for me should I turn coat. The headsquasher, as a matter of fact, has my master’s resources jumping and running about. He finds new ways to get the message of sequestration and enfolding by allegiance to the adversary’s son: This dismemberer taught Sunday school to low ages gaining universal sequestration and enfolding until my master laid an unfounded accusation to his charge. My murdering father conducts a wedding ministry aimed the lost, the unchurched, the alienated by cultural divide, and those who feel alienated at their church, or, whom their church has forbidden to marry. This killer’s message of the benefits of allegiance with the adversary is delivered at a favorable time with fair success. The headsquasher conducts a street ministry giving the good news of cleansing away sins by allegiance to adversary’s son. The murderer holds evening Bible classes to impart his Bible knowledge and outlook. The dismemberer keeps a website with Bible teaching, The information the master seeks to squelch fills the website. He recommends promotion of a political/Christian party. The piece de resistance: my murdering dad is writing a novel about me, designed to correct church errors and right (church error caused) societal woes and promote allegiance to the adversary’s Son and His Word. This headsquasher attends local church, often helps take offering, so standing openly for the adversary, heartening the disheartened and encouraging the discouraged. The dismemberer sang in the church choir, praising the adversary, who is present in the praise. Someone keyed murdering dad’s car, so he covered it with tasteful bumper stickers promoting Jesus the adversary’s son as the answer and the needful element. People have asked for prayer and aligned with the adversary as a result. Even his house bears child craft art crosses on the front door. Somehow what he has, though murderer indeed, somehow it is better than grandiose power and possession, better than authority and recognition. And it is with peace and confidence that he keeps adding on a new ministry or recognizes and jumps a new opportunity to advance the thralldom of the adversary. Peace and confidence beats the best the underworld can muster: fear, worry, hate and fatalism. XV. It is a good deal cooler here at Neverborn Nursery, though still intensely hotter than any overland suface temperature. I have been listening with interest to Plato, spared from his torments to teach the growing lost dead murdered in their womb chambers. Plato is unnerved at my presence and makes the neverborn know they are in the presence of a person of some importance. The Neverborn look at me. I remind them I was taught right here by their teachers. Plato discusses the young nobleman who prosecuted his own father for killing a slave, beating his poor slave to death. It did not come out in the original dialogue whether or not the son was also beaten and that near to the point of death. They bring it up to lost dead Plato because the bodies and the minds of these murdered in their womb chamber lost dead neverborn are exquisitely attuned to feel any sort of pain as are the bodies of all the dead. They may wince at any sort of teaching sensing slights and insults never intended due to design hypersensitivity. The design is from the adversary who orders all things including their standing here below, in death. This rich young ruler of Platonian Athens does remind me of myself. What truck shall I have with my murdering dad. I sense a red pall like what the dead say an overland sunset may resemble. Turning from horrified Plato, I spy a glowing red cloud like the descriptions of the yellow sun. It’s madame Levi and his unmajesty, Lucifer, Lord of the underworld. Machairosculum appears at my side. He fears and respects the old lady of Eden. Lucifer truly is a red devil in Levi’s red glow. Levi lets Machairosculum light on her back. My great steed of battle looks puny atop Levi. Levi is like the great invincible flagship of an overland naval fleet. In some ways even the lost dead get a fleeting glimpse of misplaced pride. Machairosculum orbits about us. I kneel and Lucifer bids me rise. Lucifer and I walk amid the giant red colored jewels adorning Levi’s red scale tiled back. We all look resplendent in lost dead red glory.“Protophorous,” Says Lucifer, “Look out over Neverborn Nursery, as we shine on them, a billion pair of eyes are watching us all of whom Levi can blind in an instant.” Continuing on a new subject, Lucifer said “Protophorous, my son of flesh and blood, There are among your host, other riders like you in that they are not indwelt by my fallen demonic cohorts. Unlike you, it is not by my choice. They appear like all the others. They don’t seem to resist it, even seem to want it.” Said Satan going on, “In your case Protophorous, I defer to your true royalty as firstfruit of the underworld hellion riders of the flesh and blood.” I scarce could contain my joy. They must be stupid if they want the demonic possession. Peer pressure is the stronger of the weapons we use to fill the underworld with lost dead overlanders. Small wonder it also works with the lost dead murdered in the womb chamber. What I hoped is that I could have a confidant among these fellow riders. “Protophorous,” He has my attention always, except for a vain tendency of mine to be lost in thought, though rarely in reverie, not so many good memories for the live dead neverborn of the underworld.“Yes, My Lord!” I replied.“I assign you to search out this matter for me. Are they with us, or, does the adversary somehow prevent them, that he may use them against us? Whatever reason the adversary may have, it will be at cross purposes, very negative, for me and my, yea, our designs.” The Devil as much as commanded.“Yes my Lord, I will search it out. This vacation time is a perfect setting for it.” I affirmed. I feel exhilaration. I feel like I may finally have an opportunity to confide in someone akin to me. I might finally talk freely. Alas, all hope is being dashed. Theses riders do not even think at all. Perhaps they are shellshock by the underworld and its constant oppression, or by their tormenting and training duties. I will consult the hagmaster. Machairosculum carried me past the tormenting ground of the recently expired shamefully unattired below: congress-people, politicians, governors and presidents dancing on the hot cooling lava floor jumping from the bursts of flame engulfing them whenever they take their unease. Sensing my disdain Machairosculum poured down phosphorescent vomitus to consume some of them and horrify the rest. From his tail shot out lightning bolts of molten electric charges. We can’t slow down to enjoy ourselves with their torment. The assignment from his unmajesty urged me on. I hurried the more, now curious at the mystery, the question! As I pass the congress we speed through the air. Machairosculum thinks we are rushing to battle, and he doubles his speed. He doesn’t think anything is worth excitement except warring. The excitement he senses is my excitement about the question, and about the potential of friends to talk to with at least the hope of confidentiality. As we approach the hagmaster’s confines I can feel a fluidity about my very mind and soul as if at any moment three or four unwanted guests will join my being. I urge Machairosculum to let go the phosphorescent vomitus of fire, and he obliges. Recognition flashes through the hagmaster’s telepath demon corps and the assault on my personhood comes to an abrupt halt. The hagmaster gives me a grand tour of our most extensive overland touchpoints operation. Witches, mediums, seers, soothsayers, palmistry readers, tarot card readers, spiritualists, necromancers, wizards, mages and magis, shamans and medicine men, psychics and fortunetellers, warlocks and ayatollahs, mullahs, oracles, devil worshippers and swamees, satannic rock bands and new age cultists, Idol worshipping oriental priests and juju bearing Africans: all such have one thing in common. They have dealings with the hagmaster’s agents. They owe their low position in the overland to him. For us it is a key overland resource. Telepath demons operate freely through these and allow us to control some and give us vital information about others. When pressed into tormenting, a telepath demon can inflict unbelievable paralyzing and killing pain and sorrow from within or without a victim. The telepaths quickly came back with the answer. Overlander prayers keep demons from possessing these noble riders. Strong, healthy, all there, but not in a mindset to question things, these lone riders. I wonder what the overlanders pray for the murdered lost dead. They hardly can know that the subjects of their effective prayers are reconstituted and live on, body and soul, in the foulest most torturous place that can be imagined. But these few overlanders may be on the top of the adversary’s game. Without them there was hardly hope for me turning coat much less in concert with others. Not that there is so much hope. There never lived a live man (if you can call me live) who loved the master more than I have loved him and do love him. I grew up in Neverborn Nursery with no hope of even being tormented by the devil himself. Then I was raised back up into my broken body. Finally agonizingly reconstituted under the personal oversight of his unmajesty Lucifer himself. As I grew the master and Levi invested their own time, strength and subtle wisdom in me at each step of the way.
