AN, you are come to the bitter end of your degradation. Drain the dregs and leave not a stain in the glass.
For WAR is upon you, around you and within you. You are submerged in WAR so totally now there is no escape. Like a cancer it has taken hold on you, crept stealthily among you and become entrenched. No force on earth can remove it. And no force in heaven will. For We, the Gods, give man what man demands, not what he pretends to want. And man who puts on airs and cries for peace and light and love, and claims that his one desire is to live in harmony with those around him, man who clothes himself soberly with proper decency and goes about his business saying: "I am civilised. I am respectable. I am a rational being in control of all my emotions", he is no more than an ignorant fool, a hypocrite, a self-deluded imbecile. For all he really wants is death, slaughter, bloodshed, rape, pillage, and the violent hysterical screeching lunacy of WAR. That is his true desire and nothing less will truly satisfy him.
Man, see yourself! Know the true desires of your soul. Feel the love of horror, the lust for blood, the ecstasy of watching death stride out upon the earth and take his toll.
When is your mind at peace? Only when your body is at WAR.
When are you truly satisfied? Only when blood is on your hands, hatred in your heart and the light of battle gleaming in your eye.
Deceive yourself not! Death is sheer delight to you. Torture is supreme fascination. Can you drag your eyes from the vision of a body stretched upon the rack, broken on the wheel, or squeezed to lifelessness by the slow agony of the hangman's rope? No, you can only gaze transfixed, every grain of your attention focused on the sight. And can you look away from the writhing monster of a battlefield, close your ears to the shrieks and groans of wounded men, close your eyes to the blood and the mangled flesh? No, you are entranced, enchanted, gleeful at the lurid picture of violent death and slaughter.
For this is your destiny, this your only satisfaction. You are born to die and die you must, and death for you must be utterly cataclysmic. Your very soul demands it.
WAR is your natural bent, your blood brother. You know him, understand him and love him, as nothing else in all creation. With him life becomes worthwhile because it becomes death. WAR is your fulfilment. In WAR you are strong, courageous, vital, dynamic. In WAR you are the soul of action and the source of boundless energy. In WAR the rules are destruction, and with destruction you are your true self. Creation is alien to your nature, but destruction, devastation, violent mutilation of the flesh and the laying waste of all the land; these are concepts you can understand, these are actions to which you can give yourself with body, mind and soul, and revel in the joys of their fulfilment. They are your meat and drink, as essential to you as the air you breathe. WAR is your life blood, you have proved it so.
So rise, Man, and be joyful! For WAR you shall have in abundance. Pretend no more to seek after sterile peace, that holds no pleasure for your active soul. Revel in the multiple delights of WAR. Feel the bloodlust rising in your veins, the mounting, tense anticipation of the moment before battle is joined. Feel the firm grip on the sword hilt, the cold hardness of the steady gun butt. Smell the blood and the cordite. Hear the battle cries mingled with the screams of those that die. And see the surging of the armies joined in mortal combat, and the smoke, the all enveloping smoke that swirls and billows, and then hangs suspended, blotting out the sun. And know where man's fulfilment lies. Know that life is worthless unless it is lived in the very teeth of death, that peace is nothing except as a fleeting moment in the midst of WAR, that love is empty save as a transitory oasis in a world of violent hatred, that to create is only meaningful in order to destroy.
I, SATAN, stand for WAR. I glory in WAR. I glory in the magnificence of man in battle, man struggling with life and death, man giving vent to his wrath.
I scorn the weak-will victims of WAR, the hordes of helpless citizens, who cry for mercy as they are driven from their homes and from their lands. They are the fodder for the monstrous WAR machines, the fuel that the great engines of death devour in their relentless march over the face of the earth. They deserve no better than their lot, for they have no strength or courage of their own, no will to rise and fight, no fire within their souls to drive them into battle. They were born to a futile death, a miserable death, a worthless feeble destiny of nothing. They were born to be trampled upon, to be cut down by the mighty sword of the conqueror. And such is their fate, significant only as it is part of the game of WAR.
So Man, waste no more time with crawling on your belly in the dust. Stand up and cast aside the trappings of a civilised facade. Throw off the cloak of meaningless respectability. Strip yourself bare to the roots of your bestial nature. Let the animal loose in you. Become as you are: the Beast, naked and proud, teeth bared and eyes aflame, your feet firm planted on the ground, your face towards the enemy. Release the Fiend that lies dormant within you, for he is strong and ruthless, and his power is far beyond the bounds of human frailty.
Come forth in your savage might, rampant with the lust of battle, tense and quivering with the urge to strike, to smash, to split asunder all that seek to detain you. And cast your eye upon the land before you. Choose what road of slaughter and violation you will follow. Then stride out upon the land and amongst the people. Rape with the crushing force of your virility, kill with the devastating precision of your sword arm, maim with the ruthless ingenuity of your pitiless cruelty, destroy with the overwhelming fury of your bestial strength, lay waste with the all-encompassing majesty of your power.
And stand supreme upon the earth, lord of all creation by the right of conquest. And burn what offends your eye, eradicate what spoils your pleasure, take all unto yourself and punish most cruelly and without mercy all who seek to stay your hand. For the world can be yours, and the blood of men can be yours to spill as you please. And you can have your pleasure of the world through violence and the wielding of the sword. And your lust can stride upon the face of the land, taking whatever it desires and discarding the empty husks when you've sucked them dry.
WAR and violence are your heritage, and now is the time to stake your claim upon them, to unmask the lurking shadows of your fiendish soul, expose them, hold them like banners before you, and shout your battle cry before the world.
SATAN'S army is ready in the field and slaughter is the order of the day. For I, SATAN, am master of the world, and My law is death. Who follows Me must ultimately conquer all. For I am the master of WAR, the lord of all conquest, and the ruler of all violent conflict.
Hear My voice, for the time is short. The ultimate phase of WAR is about to begin. Be there in the forefront of the line of battle. Be not a worthless pawn, a feather blown by the wind. Be not still. Ask not for peace and rest for these can be no more. And stillness is already of the past. Seek not to be left alone, to escape the burning slaughter of the holocaust, to hide from the final wrath of the vengeful Gods. But rise and march to the centre of the raging chaos. Defy the cataclysm! Don your gleaming armour and stride with the engines of death. And watch the gradual spreading of the slow disease. See the lingering death of the latest phase of WAR. And revel in the agonies of man brought low, man deprived, man humiliated, man trampled into the ground, and utterly degraded to the point of dismal decay and a futile death. And gorge yourself on the horrors of irretrievable loss; the miserable fate of the victims that still remain, the helpless bewilderment of their despair, the pitiful cries of their useless supplication and the wailing anguish of their bereavement. And grind your heel into the face of their stupidity.
Burn the chaff of humanity! For such is its desire and its desert. And dance the dance of a dervish around the leaping flames.
Again I say; Release the Fiend within you!
Release the Fiend! Release the Fiend!
And the Fiend shall conquer, and the chaff be burned.
The Fiend shall slake his monstrous lust upon the helpless body of the wasted earth. And the chaff shall be consumed.
The Fiend shall wield a mighty cutlass, and the land shall be lifeless in his wake. And the chaff shall blow as smoke in the wind of his passing.
The Fiend shall devastate the earth, and his mighty roar shall rock the heavens so that the very stars shall feel his presence. And the chaff shall vanish and be forgotten.
I, SATAN, shall stalk with the Fiend. We shall stalk the earth together, lending strength to the flashing sabre and unerring accuracy to the speeding missile. We shall be on every battle ground and every scene of devastation. And our might shall be on the side of the mighty; strength for strength, power for power. And to him who possesses, more shall be given. On him who destroys with power, a greater power for destruction shall be bestowed. And for him who massacres with strength, more victims for his ruthless slaughter shall be provided. But he that has nothing, and wilts before the rising tide of WAR, from him shall be taken even the little that he has. For such is his desire and his desert. And even what strength he has to plead for mercy shall be denied him, and his tongue shall disobey him at the final moment, and he shall be cut down.
And the mother that pleads weakly for her child shall see it slain before her. And the woman that pleads palely for her miserable virtue shall be struck down and raped. And he that fearfully pleads for his life shall be cut to pieces.