Malo Mori Quam Foedari
Pisces was the sad era of “Belief” and “Faith.” One believed in a creed and in the overall scheme of things, no Gods ever appeared on those tear-drenched altars, except for a minority of Saints and Holy Men. We, Templi Unam, the Esoteric Hitlerists, the Serranoists, look eye to eye with our Gods at the Altar. Their very blood runs through our veins. Our Armanen and Hyperborean Thulean lineage. For this is the New Era of the Aquarian Rain-Bringer, we Know and renounce all belief. No longer do we wish upon stars. We create and move the stars. No longer do we hope. We are Hope and at the same time we have obliterated all hope from this world. For we are the shimmering Godly black flame of the farthest midnight. A flight beyond the most northerly aether. The twinkling eyes of Kristos as the ephemeral ice-laced winter winds from the coldest Thule. A pact of Werewolfen that shape-shift in the shadowful shadows. The shadow of the shadows itself. Green flames of Lucifer that never extinguish on that candle made of pure virginal ice.
And every innocent thing that the Golem and his servants have raped, plundered, harmed and soulessly used will be avenged by us because, as we said, we create and move the stars. And your everlasting agony is written in those twinkling, beautiful, bright, blissful, black stars.
In the Holy Name of Lucifer,