On the blasted hills of Saturnus—not the actual planet, the occult dreamscape, a parallel plane of existence—two warriors make their way across the desolation towards a Nekraeytian tower, an aftertought of Jaromil’s Gift. One hundred years, this technological adoption of extraterrestrial architecture has withstood the assault of fanatic liberation moralists. Today, this chapter in extradimensional history ends. Two men, one as large as a bear, walk through the wreckage. “Mister White”, as some call him, of Australian descent, looks like a half-naked barbarian from Vedic prehistory. Carrying a great two-handed sword on his back, while moaning magicks from his mind, quivering his fingers in front of his third eye, the bodybuilder is an impressive sight to behold. His blond shorter less irrational companion of South-African descent, Wazdog, armed with a twentieth century sniper rifle, is dressed in the dark grey uniform of the insurrection. Lacking the spellcraft of his brother in arms, he cannot move in a straight line towards the tower and must move from cover to cover, on what is the wreckage of a century-long conflict between those who wish to set Earth free and those who declared it unwise to do so for fear of alerting the Hierarchy about Jaromil’s Gift. The loyalists (or “egotists”, as the orthodox refer to them), however, have controlled the portals for so long, and with such ease, that their perimeters have dwindled. As orthodox fervor to avoid endangering what little psionic freedom they regained upon the extraterrestrial Hierarchy rests less upon fear, more upon common sense, the loyalists have lost the necessary discipline to uphold the law. Trespassers like these two are an underestimated realistic threat.
Perched on the hood of a burned car, Wazdog looks through his weapon’s visor and counts three guards outside on the edge of Kraeytian balcony. But there are three more, nine meters above. They, however, seem more preoccupied with psychedelic escapism than their actual environment. It is not yet time to shoot, because a fourth is nearby, inside the tower. Wazdog waits, while in front of him walks the berserker. Mister White must be cautious. His movements must be of regular speed and his advance as silent as possible. Too much clothing, metal, or trinkets, and according to some superficial occultists, tattoos, may undermine the potency of such magick. The spell must be upkept using a steady flow of both breath and stamina. If he loses focus, the blue glow of the invisibility glyph, Iawgazneaguuc, will stop pulsating and eventually fade. If this happens before they reach the tower, Mister White’s presence will be detected. Needless to say, an almost two meters tall hulk of muscle and hate is an easy target for the armed guards above. They must get across the field of wreckage and enter the building before anyone is alerted of their presence. If this fails, the front door will be closed and nearby loyalist security forces will be driven towards this tower. Wazdog provides cover, so any individual who possesses second sight or casts Nvaatasezrn gets the bullet. Luckily, whenever Mister White loses focus, walks too quickly or too slowly, none of the guards notice a haze of fleshy shadow on the mud below them. And whatever Kraeytian or Nekraeytian tech may have provided them the ability to detect these terrorists, was disabled long ago.
When, during the early 2000s, Jaromil, a perverse young occultist according to some, an angel according to others, guided thirteen apostles through a transdimensional portal to Saturnus, much of this parallel dimension’s landscape was covered in ancient temples and Kraeytian dungeons. Every tower, every church, every temple is a conduit of psionic power, a gun that shoots the prayer’s psionic energy towards something that one may describe as one would a living biotechnological battery. This invisible draining of the human mind’s potential, across the sublunar realm and beyond, keeps the mass psychosis operational. In early Christian times, churches were built so they would point towards Jerusalem. Human worship directed its energy towards a focal point. So did Islamic prayer, when the prophet Muhammad first chose Jerusalem, later Mecca, as the direction towards which millions of believers directed their soulbound powers wittingly and unwittingly. Throughout human history, however, the Hierarchy has deviated and manipulated these sublunar flows, managing the Earth’s population in what is considered by many a Luciferian tragedy. Saturnus, however, was from the beginning a weakness in the Hierarchy’s plans. Abandoned, forgotten by both its orginal owners and the Kraey to whom the halfbreed Hierarchy pays homage, Saturnus provided both a destination and a covert outpost for those who were guided to it by Jaromil’s subversive efforts.