--Civil War--

One politically ill-equipped head of state and government for another. Clarice Michelle Pierce for Anthony Stark, it seemed. Indignation radiated from his ceaselessly incandescent, rufescent glare as the militant giant who laughs heartily at the cries of his victims enshrouds himself in darkness, the menacing bass of his deep, monstrous vocal chords foreshadowing what was to come in an emergent video to be uploaded on YouTube.

"The serpent, Anthony Stark, once deliberately put in charge of the country is dead. But now, in his place sits a pseudo-intellectual bitch whose anti-mutant sentiments are of the extreme"

"And yet.. we who fight for our freedom are terrorists, we who fight to inherit a world that evolution has already deemed ours, are the extremists. Ha! More nonsense from you degenerate apes"

"No different than your laws and regulations, your fabricated concept of morality. I will break your social dam and let the river flow. My followers will rip out the throats of our enemies and gorge on their steaming blood with hungry, animalistic snarls"

"My murderous laughs will echo in the White House as I pluck out the eyes of your wailing president, her tortured cries lasting long into the night will be the song of revolution"

"There will be nothing left in my wake. No life will remain in the great city of Washington DC as I stride into the dark, drenched in all of your blood and lit by the lurid glow of my smokeless fire"

"Where I walk, death will follow. A force of nature that will never stop until he has wiped the plague of the human being, of the genetic degenerates, the weaklings of mutant kind from the face of the Earth"

"I will wreak chaos and havoc upon the existence of man and the weak mutant as I erect my kingdom of slag and burning skies, and frigid air. All that will be left will be a desecrated, decaying place washed in blood and smeared with excrement. The raised corpses of your loved ones, my victims, roaming free as the undead thralls of the Brahma Bull"

"I will sell your children into the Cult ofصفر/Cult of Strigidae Zero's slavery after we murder you, and burn the bodies of those too weak with the same fire that took their homes. I cannot be stopped. This country is a paraplegic and I am its legs, I will always be part of it even if you cannot feel me"

"In DC, the hands of he who skins werewolves and rapes demons, my hands, will tear open your president's back and pull her lungs out like a viking. So that in the end, the Brahma Bull stands over the grave of another dead president"

--No Trace, No Source--


The Cult of صفر

Before the domineering baron of brutality known as the Brahma Bull, before the Fourth Horseman of the Apocalypse, there was only صفر, a monstrous Goliath with a penchant for conflict and ruthlessness fueled by a radical evolutionarily-founded ideology unlike any other before it. Not since the founding of the Arcani has the Brahma Bull identified himself as the mythical progenitor of the Strigidae. And it was in the uncharted landscapes of the Amazon Rainforest that Strigidae Zero was rediscovered, his unyielding path of destruction to set on a taciturn settlement in the still night.

There was no concept of mercy as his followers emerged. The violence that his former cronies once employed as tools of terror paled in comparison to the carnage the Cult of صفر unleashed upon the defenseless camp. They ripped out the throats of their victims with their teeth, and gorged on their steaming blood with hungry, bestial snarls. He laughed murderously as they plucked out the eyes of the terrified, wailing victims, their tortured cries lasting long into the night. No life remained in the settlement as the hulking revolutionary strode into the dark, he and his followers drenched in blood and lit by the lurid glow of the encompassing conflagration. Where he walked, death would follow.

His taste for blood and domination to be sated only once he has wiped the plague of the foul hominid, the genetic degenerates, and the weaklings of the mutant race from the face of the Earth. Until his ideological vision is realized, chaos would be wreaked upon the existence of both man and mutant. He would wipe away all in his path in a red mist, a rolling crimson fog that would erase everyone and everything in his path as he strode along in front of it, a menacing giant that would laugh heartily at the screams and cries of the doomed. And it would be from this mist that his kingdom would be erect.

A perfection reflection of the Militant Monster. His would be a frightening kingdom of slag and burning skies, and gelid air. A desecrated, decaying place washed in blood and smeared with excrement. His undead thralls, the raised corpses of victims and his followers alike would roam freely, counted as servants of the Brahma Bull. He will continue to be a force of strife and misery until his ideal world meets creation. His world would begin with the Temple of صفر. The Temple of Strigidae Zero.


The Brahma Bull Saga: Part One

"B-boss, qual é o ponto disto tudo?", the hesitant voice of a curious Boi inquired, his almond brown eyes staring in wonderment, not of the archaic artistry or remnants of weathered artifacts encompassing the nameless catacombs, but of the behemothic figure walking before him, his militaristic garnishments illuminated by the reflecting incandescence of his sole crony's torch. "O ponto?", the Gothic City Nightmare responded, the otherworldly bass of his voice's overt depth dripping with a tone of the rhetorical. "Remove the bass from your voice when you address the Brahma Bull", the Guerrilla Guevara growled, the corner of his left eye glancing back, it's infernal phosphorescence glaring as they continued.

Skittishly nodding, the nameless Boi regressed a step behind. "This catacomb is not an underground cemetery. It is passageway used by an old cult for religious practice", the Brahma Bull detailed, venturing further into the undisclosed catacombs. "This cult is one of the first social collectives in history. The first to not be formed by the foulest, and most repugnant of God's hominids, humans", an inherent disgust for the supposedly 'inferior' human laced in his subtly deriding tone. "This religious cult is a subset of an even larger collective. A collective that recognizes that the human being is complete and utter waste of primate blood". Imparted with greater confusion than answers, the unnamed Boi questioned, "E que importancia tem este grupo?".

"They are in possession of an ancient text. The last of it's kind", the Gangster of Guerrilla Warfare revealed, cobwebs and aerial dust the only barriers meeting him. "And it will be mine", the Brahma Bull arrogantly declared, footsteps pausing before a structurally waning wall before them. "O que tem o tal texto?", the increasingly curious Boi inquired, the Militant Mammoth shattering walls with gargantuan fists, enabling their entrance into a poorly lit chamber, and atop a cracked surface, a brown text. "Information". Information regarding a distant period in the unnamed group's history, information regarding the cult's formation, it's radical ideology suggesting the humans an inferior race of hominids, and the mythos, the story of a crimson-eyed monster.

A monster legendary for founding this ideology's primitive form, legendary for unmitigated ruthless, absent restraint, and for his lasting impression. This monster, the Brahma Bull's identity, origin, and bloodline, detailed in the cabalistic text belonging to the cult he had encountered thousands of years prior. "Information abandoned in this ancient structure. The first Strigidae Temple".


Uncle Sam Goddamn

Indignant. Disgusted. Irate. The United States' president and it's government, his irreversibly selected targets, and so begins the Gangster of Guerrilla Warfare's lexical dissection of Stark and the United States Government. Live-streaming across boundless internet channels via an uncharted source, the Gothic Nightmare's ominously presented video begins.

"The serpent has been deliberately put in charge of the country"

"How many of your citizens have bent over to fortify, and fight for rights that the government has falsely sworn to uphold?"

"My so called attacks on Gothic, on the White House, mislabeled as terrorism by the heads of your democracy of hypocrisy are messages, indications of truth. The truth that your government does not give a sh*t about you men, women and children"

"What have I shown? That your government is more willing to exhaust their resources, resources we did not even know existed, to wage war against one, ONE corporation in Venezuela instead of defending one of their own, their Gothic City. A task left to be handled by the costumed clowns that parade themselves as your heroes? HA! Millions have suffered, Gothic, 9/11, all so that your government can further their imperial global political-economic agenda"

"Ah the idiocy that is so rampant in the government"

"Your red, white and blue attack dog, Allegiance made claims of this being an extraordinarily religious country. One with Christian fundamentalism being a primary cultural export. You baptize yourself only to be covered with leeches"

"A baptism performed with poisonous, leech-riddled water, it does not cleanse one's soul as so righteously promised. But erases your identity, your soul"

"My 'attacks' are revelations. Revelations of your government's unwillingness to protect you, but to protect themselves, their economic assets. F*ck the cities and take no responsibility for failing to protect them hm!? Blame the atrocities on me, the communist, yes?"

"Monotonously label this as propaganda. But your lies America, they are failing. My words are not the mythology of a socialist. They are the solution to the psychological colonization of these people"

"You, America, like your parent the Roman Empire, will learn. They learned that occupation is not victory. And soon you will learn of my salvation. I am coming for you Stark. For your pitiful White House. For whatever democratic dogs you free from your leash to restrain me. You cannot stop me. If I was to be controlled, brainwashed like the masses, I would change my direction. The revolution is coming. It cannot be reversed, like Malcolm Little kneeling before Elijah to become Malcolm X. There is no return. And at the end, all I see.. is thee revolutionary standing over the grave of another dead president"

--Live Stream Terminates, No Trace, No Source--