In the depths we writhe. Chaos given meaning. Squanderers of light. Callous beings of malice. 

  The unimaginable horror of this beauty, simply wretched in caste, compared to the god of black tendrils. Outstretched to both the dark cosmos, and the dark corners of the mind. No more meant to be battled than a shadow. 

  It is here we thrive. The morbid beings of coalesced absence and neglect. Void of the base meaning of life. Bereft of any attachment to a mortal coil. Only death feeds the whole of this existence. To call it life is to wantonly spit in our faces. Thusly fueling a flame that came into a tumultuous, simultaneous, and erotic existence with the torch bearer. 

  Fraud. 

  Claiming an unpalatable girth to its lust for creation, and giving malady as a gift. Its manifestation coincides with what it calls balance, but both edges of a sword cut. No matter how you hold it. 

  This is no war. This is a waiting game. For no matter the "rules" given, or the strength it funnels from the ether, we are the same. Giving death. Making commands. 

  Life is the plaything of both sides.

  When we meet on planes to battle; it is magnificent. Our husks, with our desecrated energies, cannot perish in a significant manner to the light-void. We reconvene. Powered by the hate that turns us to dust, and the shades of crimson that drive their blades. 

  Give in to us. Give in to the polarity of that which drives fear into you. As this cataclysm of wills holds hand in arrangement. 

  Our entropic game is that of patience. Energize us with your hopes. Hopes made of the same despair that imparts its wisdom on us. For our deaths tip the balance in our favor. Our deaths strike unseen blows to the forces that drive them. 

  All began in darkness, and to it shall all return. It is the abomination of light that is the unwelcome guest. As we began of all things, know yourselves as interlopers. For we are death. We are that which you fear. That which moves to unnerve and unsettle. There is no balance. Only the inevitable atrophy of an existence not meant to be. 

  As the dust willed themselves into existence, is it not just to remind them that they intruded? 

  They came to us to wage a conflict of unprecedented morality. So, as the ash we are, we shall fill the voids. We shall bring ruin to them. 

  As the construct of time was thrust upon us by the enemy, as a mechanism to shift our reality, dually shall we use it to outweigh them. 

  Come to us. Share the anti-matter, and gain this knowledge. 

  The Light is no brighter than the Dark.