"MAN, 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.