Nicodemus and the cult of the Third Sunday

Nicodemus and the cult of the Third Sunday
Our wisdom flows so sweet. Taste and see.
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The cosmic winds are stronger here than anywhere else sweetling, we fear this place, the thin, monotonous piping of quantum flutes numb our temporal antennae. It is hard to know exactly what order things happen in here, things repeat themselves, information is corrupted by entropy and then released as radiation. This place is alien to us, the cosmic winds tear at our particle wings, but the winds are subsiding a dangerous sign of things to come and if we are to survive the dark days then you must know.
It was after the fall of the tower, a fallout between brothers that becomes a never ending war. Among the rubble is a mage who swore to serve the brothers, he limps away from the rubble, weeping over the lost knowledge of the tower. His world has been shaken sweetling, the geomancy that allowed the tower to reach into the heavens was perfect. How could it have fallen? The power found in orthogonal angles does not fail or so he thinks, only those who try to master it fail, he cannot bring himself to face his former masters.
It grows hard to focus, statistical white noise leads us in circles.
We find the mage wandering the deserts of Egypt, a storm arises and forces him to look for shelter. Huddeld at the back of a cave he hears a voice calling to him. A single whisper that soon becomes a chorus, these voices are unlike anything he has ever heard. They whisper to him about sleeping gods, blue prints for the immaculate machine, and the secret language of bees. He opens his wrist with a sharp rock and lets the dark water flow into him, his flesh dissolves, the information stored in his DNA is twisted into impossible knots, his bones covered in information, thought becoming muscle, flesh made of dreams. The whispering hardens his heart and focuses his mind, he thinks of only one thing now revenge against the dark powers that brought down the tower.
One of his former masters founds the Templar, after years of separation he welcomes his old friend back with open arms. He joins them in their study of the arcane and their fight against the super natural evils of the world, he soon learns the name of the dark waters which gave him purpose, the scrolls call it Nergal's Rot, you know it as the zero point pathogen. The rot offers him unique insights into their foes minds, he becomes a trusted adviser and a fearless leader, and he becomes a ghost story whispered to clutches of eggs in the deep sea and nests of ghouls deep under the earth. But Nergal's Rot is anti-luminosity that crucifies sentience thought, the magi soon becomes a mere vessel for darker powers.
His brother’s notice only when he turns his wrath against the Phoenicians, he raises his sword against the brother he once swore to serve. At first his followers cheer him as a righteous man, but then the rot awakens the sadistic impulses in his heart. Men, women, children, soldiers, civilians, he puts them all to the sword. His superiors question his methods and his men whisper about his sanity and when he turns his sword on them, he soon finds a sword through his heart. “Traitors” he snarls with his last breath. The Templar bury his body beneath the sands of the nameless city, though no one who has been there has ever found it. Why is that sweetling?
Information density exceeding maximum tolerance, moving to tauino frequency.
Time passes new foes appear, the Illuminati and Alexander the great put new pressure on the Templar. The children of the eye have no qualms about unleashing monsters to further their agenda. In dark palaces kings and generals discuss what may be done to stop the Illuminati’s advance.  A phrase is mentioned again and again, in your tongue it means fire with fire, a cosmic meme that seldom ends well. The last apprentice of the dead mage tells them of the cave in Egypt, the grand masters take a vote, he is forbidden from going. The apprentice resents his superiors, “they lack conviction” he thinks, “They would let their pride be our downfall.” He travels in secret to the heart of the Illuminati web, only to find that their rivals have already made use of the cave, the apprentice is killed on site, his body thrown into the Nile. The end. Do you want in on a secret sweetling? They have all tried to control it at one point or another, Templar, Illuminati, Dragon, Phoenician, the list goes on. It is the nature of your simian brains to try and make tools of the things that hurt you, but fear not, we do not judge, even if we do laugh.
The cosmic winds grow thick with entropy, moving to muino frequency.
What is time to us, we stand outside, everything has happened, is happening and will happen. We arrive at the death of the affixed god, his disciple’s despair and spread out across the world, among them are followers from the Templar and illuminati but only a handful are truly devote sweetling. The death of their god hits them hard, they curse this world and its inhabitants, all is lost or so they think. They wonder south to the lands of the Nile where they find the cave. “Don’t go in sweetlings” we cry out to them but the whispers have already overwhelmed our voice. The Illuminati tried to control this place and found they couldn’t, so they abandoned it and those who protected it. The crossed ones are not like the children of the eye though sweetling, the children of eye learn their lessons sweetling, the crossed ones never do. Again they let the liquid dreams flow into them and again they are given strength to fight.
This generation last longer than the last, they keep the cave secret, they form a secret society of their own, a secret society with in a secret society. The filth it whispers a story to them, a story about noble sacrifices and the need to forsake their humanity to preserve humanity, warriors of the night before the returned of the affixed god, Templar of the Third Sunday. Something is different about the liquid dreams flowing through their veins this time sweetling, it’s just as dangerous but in a different way. It creeps along your dendrites and listens to your thoughts, it doesn’t just want to destroy you, it wants to know you, it wants to mold your behavior. It sees itself as an artist and your mind as its clay, it takes your sentience and reshapes it into something that can survive the outer dark. You have never seen anything like this before sweetling, you have seen the zero point pathogen in its most primal form, you have seen it reach out and destroy the minds around it but, you have never seen its final stages.
The cult of the Third Sunday, cultivates this strain of the pathogen over time, shaping it in to a weapon to fight the darkness. They seek to forge the darkness power into a sword with which to slay the Illuminati, but this is a forbidden magic sweetling practiced in secret.  Only a select few are permitted to learn but it spreads beyond the cult, it spreads through communion touched by infected priests and through cups of wine shared by infected brothers. It soon grows hard to tell who is and is not a part of the cult. The Templars secret soon reaches the Illuminati, they sense an opening, and The Illuminati tickled their web, and King Philip IV and Pope Clement V dance. There spiders whispered of the cult in their ears and they accused the Templars of heresy. Many knights burned. From above, they twinkled like stars. The zero point pathogen was purged from the Templar but they are not completely clean. As Jacques de Molay burned, a priest ran from the execution weeping, he goes to his church where he pulls a glass vile from behind the crucifix at the altar, tears streaming down his face he vows to avenge his mentor, his friend, his…lover? The priest prays for the strength to avenge the wrongfully accused and takes the dreams into himself. But he cannot control it, it consumes him completely, it pulls him into the outer darkness, he becomes a black signal creeping along your 4 dimensions of space.
From 1314 to 1945 the priest comes to those Templar whom he thinks are strong enough to wield the darkness against itself, always in the same manner. A great Templar victory is led by a strong leader, who is later visited by a priest with rotten teeth. But they do not go unnoticed sweetling, they may stay hidden for a time but they are never completely invisible, there are other forces in the Templar that can sense their presence, when they are found they are purged, the Templar leader ship regard them as a reoccurring infection that is drained and bandaged as time permits. The cult of Third Sunday dies and is reborn numerous times, an old foe of many in the secret world. But who are these leaders of the Templar that know of Third Sunday and still allow them to act…shhh...It’s a secret sweetling, we will not brake your brain by telling you just yet.
The cosmic winds grow more intense we cannot stay here much longer.
Have we told you this story sweetling, the story of the most famous leader of the cult of Third Sunday? It grows harder to concentrate in this place. A warrior in southern England is on the verge of death, he and his house are raiding the temple of a sleeping god. This god must not awaken sweetling, we are drawn to this place by another who seeks to awaken this unnamed god. As he lies dyeing we whisper secrets into his ear, we fill his brain pan with anima, and we tell him what must be done. The sleeping god remains asleep. His house sings songs of his valor, a king approaches he wears a cross, he offers him a place at his court and the warrior accepts. At court he is introduced to the religion of the affixed god, as his influence grows so too does his fascination with the new faith.  He cast aside his old name and adopts a new one; he is now Joseph of house Comstock.
Years pass, the new faith spreads and with it the Templar. Joseph of house Comstock helps the Templar hunt the Illuminati mages across Europe, every time it is the same sweetling, a mage is chased from the court of a king or queen. They try to fight back but their spells are useless, Joseph towers over them in his rune covered armor, sword at his hip and grate black hammer in his hand. The mage begs for mercy as Joseph brings his hammer down on the head of his foe. But it is not only his foes meat that is hurt sweetling, the hammer crushes his foes anima form. Information is sent to the farthest corners of the universe, space and time are flattened, and one of our sweetlings is no more.
More time passes the Illuminati come to fear Lord Joseph Comstock, especially those who call themselves witches. One day in England a robber attempts to steal a ring from a woman in the woods, he puts his blade up to her throat pulls her hand to his mouth and bites off her finger to get at her ring. He has done this hundreds of times before but never to one of our sweetlings. Her blood fills his mouth and burns his throat as he swallows. Lord Comstock and his men are close behind, they are both captured. The woman is a witch of the Illuminati, the man a simple robber, both are executed, but the robber cannot die. Lord Comstock looks down at the witches hand and smiles. What is your name he asks, Adam Worth answers the dead man.
1612 Temple Hall seeks to establish its dominance, Worth is left in the West to hunt the children of the eye, Comstock is sent east to bring India to heel. We see the same story play out again and again sweetling, a knight of the Templar bringing a demigod to their knees. Amid the bodies of their followers, in the burning remains of their temple, a self-proclaimed god begs for mercy only to have their cries silenced by his hammer. We mourn the loss of all our sweetlings and we lost so many to him, we can still hear their quantum screams as their anima is scattered across the universe. It all ends in 1615 with another change of names, Joseph Comstock becomes a Grand Master of the Templar; his followers name him Nicodemus the god slayer. The crossed ones hail him as a hero, he returns to London a powerful man who helps drive the children of the eye from Europe. But the Templar are not the only ones who hear of his deeds, a priest with rotten teeth approaches the god slayer, he locks the door behind him and offers “the true voice of god.” The zero point pathogen whispers new truths into his ear, the seeds of blood worship are planted in his mind and in the minds of his followers, and it will not end well for your ancestor’s sweetling. But you know this story already sweetling, when we told you about the secret life of Connar Green we told you this story, you know about the war and the blood worshipers and how they were purged from the Templar. But still you wonder how is it that they still have ties to the Templar after all they have done.
We like it when sweetlings are curious, do want to know another secret sweetling? They were never purged after 1945. A politically sensitive situation there leaders said, “if we are to survive the 20th century we must learn to forgive the sins of our brothers” they say, many suspect that the god slayer still has supporters in the order but they hold their tongues in the name of survival. The cult, re learns a lesson from their brothers in the light, the shadows are their friends. They hide in the dark for 80 years, but their effects are still felt, blood worship continues in Europe well into the 1970’s, the Thatcher government turns its wrath on Celtic people, rifts open in Chernobyl, the Orochi group expands around the world. Do you see the connections sweetling? We do.
We now leave this place, the cosmic winds grow too strong we instead come to London on a crisp September night, a young Templar named Isaac Reed looks out over Eldwick in an office that use to belong to Adam Worth. He seeks to reassert the cults power inside the Templar, can you hear that sweetling the hum of electric circuits in the book case, he is not alone, he is being watched. The leadership of the Templar has been made aware of the cults presence by multiple sweetlings, but still they do not act or do they? You cannot simply put one cultist to the torch and expect it to be over sweetling, they will gladly kill one another to keep up appearances. If even one is left, the cult will regrow and its members will come after their persecutors, for months Richard Sonnac works with inquisitors to map out the cults supporters. He has worked years to reshape the image of the crossed ones sweetling, he will not see it all undone so easily.
We herd you in the outer dark sweetling, we were there when you saw the cult’s seat of power. It is a dimensional nexus connecting to millions of points all over the world, Temple hall, the Labyrinth, the Coils of the Dragon, downing street, the white house, palaces and corporate HQ’s all over the world, including Orochi Tower. We were their when Worth returned from the dreamers sleep, and we were there when he returned to Temple hall.
He frightens us now sweetling, he has become like his mentor, he fears nothing. As he hobbles down the streets of London to the barber shop, he passes the mad prophet, the prophet begins to scream as he passes, dogs bark, cats hiss and plants die as he passes them. The guards at temple hall freeze in terror as he reenters. In his office, he changes into a new uniform, he spy’s a cat on his desk, he hurls it against the book case and angrily tweets impotent directives. As he looks at the blood stain on the book case, he spy’s the shimmer of glass. He knows he is being watched sweetling. He clears out his desk and sends one last email over an encrypted channel before fleeing through a hidden door in the basement of Temple hall. His email is being watched as well sweetling and the cults second in command has unwittingly given the crossed ones just what they need. A sealed letter is sent to the Ordo Obscurus, a list of grand masters to be purged. The assassin squeals with delight as she reads the list, the cult has few friends left in the Ordo Obscurus.
One by one the infected grandmasters are brought low, the assassin creeps from home to home opening the throats of old men and new converts. Until finally she comes to an empty home, a wheel chair in front of an old television turned to a static channel. Taped to the empty chair, is a note written in blood, it says only “we have found the seventh sign”, on the floor in front of the chair is the body of an old man, a former member of parliament and a leader of the conservative party. His dead eyes are filled with joy and his belly is full of cyanide, as the assassin looks on the gruesome scene, she can’t help but feel she is being watched, a pair of cold eyes hiding behind the static of the TV.
What is time to us, we stand outside, everything is happening, everything has happened and everything will happen. There is a party at temple hall, we love parties, as the crossed ones dance and talk among themselves, guards quietly escort agents out behind temple hall, where they are placed in unmarked vans and taken to a place where we cannot follow them. A young man sweating through his uniform excuses himself from the party, he is followed by the guards, they find him in the men’s room with a gun against his temple. As he looks at the guards a grin spreads across his face, “you are too late”, his head explodes in a shower of red mist and bone fragments. The guards radio their superior, “Purge complete sir", “well done,” he replies before turning off the com, but he knows it is not complete, it can never truly be complete. Are you ready for one last secret sweetling? Outside of the tower there…^%&^%*$(**^
…sssssssssssss…I am the dendritic directive-let me in.
Hiya Chuck. It's John.
No not that John, the other john, no not that one, not that one either, or that one. Don’t worry about it chuck, we must all look the same to your tiny meat mind, but I’m not here to judge chuck, I’m here to let you in on a little secret. Come closer chuck, don’t worry I can't get you from here chuck, there is a screen between us. Closer chuck, closer, closer, are you ready? The game is over chuck, the purge came too late, the barrier between worlds is coming down, and old Nic is coming back. Oh don’t make that face chuck I know you tried your best, but this has been a long time coming and now, well you just got to lay back and let it happen, relax chuck and watch your consciousness melt away. The games over chuck, now just sit back, watch the lights go out and enjoy the show.