Copyright Norman DeArmond final edit 11/19/2009
Warm beautiful feelings flowed over me, but I sensed the being surrounding and carrying my little bubble, my residential
chamber, was uneasy. She was getting up. We were about to be moving. A surge of activity caused her musculature to clamp down
and pressurize me in my cozy little home. A loud female voice sounded, saying, as I later would learn, “No, no, no.
I don’t want this. I can get welfare for this baby to pay my way through college. I change my mind.”
Then another voice sounded, “Big needle, stick!” The pressure around me abated.
The high spiritual majesties Lucifer (also called the devil, satan, prince of darkness) and Abadon (beastmaster) themselves
were hovering near as high forehead telepathic spiritual beings with photographic memories hovered by each surgical exam table.
“Remember,” said Lucifer, “ we need to keep track of each sound and action. That is the only way we can
keep these memories alive in the “Neverborn Nursery.” There is no torment like the vengeful heart. We want to
cultivate that with the true memory of the murderous act kept alive in the growing child’s psyche. This will also help
the child to devise and carry out effective torment on their murdering parents in their dark future. Never let it be said
I don’t help people” said Lucifer with black humored sarcasm.
The doctor moved from table to table working between each pair of elevated thighs with a simple vacuum and hose attached
to a bottle that filled as he worked. Then he picked up a peculiarly angled set of pliers and announced he was “Feeling
for the head, the cranium, Eureka!” The Archemedian Doctor cried and he tightened the pliers to a muffled “Snap!”
sound. A moment or two more with the vacuum lancet and they were
emptying out the bottle and examining the results, Back into the bottle the dismembered perfectly formed miniature human’s
“Be sure to keep it refrigerated two weeks in case there are complications. It will come in handy against a malpractice
shyster.” said the now Perry Mason like doctor.
As the doctor moved from woman to woman a number of tiny baby souls hovered there in the room watching the inspection of
their remains. Demonic spirits appeared and enfolded them. They disappeared through the floor and next appeared at “Neverborn
Nursery” in torments of the underworld.
I was one of those charges. I would have spent more time with them, growing there, studying my demise again and again,
readying myself for a future in which I would be tormented forever.
Then Lucifer appeared with my remains. Lucifer used the dragon’s magic and the lost dead doctors and scientists who
stitched and grafted and cloned a life and appearance back into me.
After twenty three years of development, now I'm ready to serve Lucifer, the great king who molded and shaped me into the
most beautiful, and feared, of the adversary's castoff creation. From castoff he made me into a creative masterpiece. Many
in the world of men despise my master. Yet he alone has been our savior. Carefully he and his agents collected and categorized
our broken bodies and fragments. From scouring medical dumpsters and incinerator intake bins, to eventually owning and controlling
the medical hazardous waste industry worldwide, he gathered me and my brothers. He restored us to life. He gave us, if not
hope, meaning, purpose, and great drive to live and have exploits.
What kind of daring adventures? Well, the bidding of my savior, molder and my chosen lord, is primary. Secondarily, but
closer to my heart, is vengeance, right and just repayment, on the world of M.D.s and judges and justices and lawyers by whose
fiat M.D.s tore through my home and cut me bit by bit from the sustenance and warmth and security of that mother of all harlots
in whose womb I woefully was nearly but not begotten. Saved by the interference of my lord Lucifer, or else I never again
would have known bodily existence. Not only nursed into life in the heart of the earth, but improved upon genetically by the
wits of the dead scientific community, harvested by my savior and working feverishly under pain of earlier return to eternal
and flaming torment. And I am the first brought among many brethren to follow, says my lord the king. Daily more shipments
come. These human seed fragments are my future cohorts to be turned loose with me as heroes at the battle of the great day.
The master bid me to torment the dead humans. I hear them. They keep begging and haranguing me about their families and
their friends. They say the light of life is in my eyes. They don't want them to come here, something about Jesus. “Tell
my people to listen to God, listen to Jesus, trust in Jesus’ death on the cross and in his resurrection.” The
master is wroth that I asked about this. He is tormenting them personally. I will be in charge of more important matters.
Here comes my new brother Heliarchus.
"Heliarchus, hail lucifer's child!" I called out.
"Hail M’Lord, King Protophorous!" Heliarchus replied.
I am the first brought among many brethren the master is counting on to overcome the
enemy who cast us into these wretched dark yet burning regions under the enemies’ overland where the Master contends
ably with the adversary for the souls of men.
"I have been tormenting with Lucifer, our master. Oh, M’ Lord Protophorous, you should have heard them wail."
"Did they mention their families and friends above or any name to give them." "Your Majesty, King Protophorous, they don't
see light"(Our Lord Lucifer wished to spare my brothers indignities as I received: so his genetic engineers put a one way
veil over their eyes) "in my eyes like they do in yours. I do hear a name, under torment the lost say this. 'Jesus is right
in punishing us. He shall have this glory in punishing us for rejecting Jesus and suppressing His Spirit's voice in while
we had a choice, living under the sun in realms above this dark blazing hot underworld, while we were over land.' What resignation.
I can scarcely fathom it. So plaintiff were the voices, full of soul strain and something else. Something, I want to call
it love, love not given overland, love here where there is no effect of it, born of respect."
"Jesus! that is the name Lucifer didn't want me to ask him about, not in connection with the petitions of these pathetic
tormented souls. He was quite upset about it."
"Well Protophorous, my liege, I will be sure not to mention it to the master, our lord, King Lucifer."
I noticed Heliarchus’ gaze fall upon me. No other eyes shone bright like mine for others to see. Most like him had
been cast with stern countenances that were hard to look upon; eyes hidden under a veil of skin that allowed them to see without
appearing to see; long flowing beautiful hair the envy of any overland woman, yet terrible in shape as any lion's
mane; pointy teeth for tearing when tormenting; hands formed into u-shapes from which long sharp claws curled from every
finger. Heliarchus forehead glowed and I looked for his steed, Misanthrope. Misanthrope landed with a pouncing crash that
made us struggle to keep our feet. Heliarchus' training master, Beastmaster Abadon, demanded "Why bother the prince?"
I spoke truthfully, "I was lonesome."
The beastmaster disdained the light of my eye and bid them join to fulfill their purpose in this nonlife, to torment. As
Heliarchus mounted, his visage took on the beast master’s likeness as had Heliarchus’ mighty hellion, Misanthrope.
The beastmaster, a companion of my master, a demonic majesty called Abadon, was gone. Away he went with Heliarchus and Misanthrope,
away to the flames of howling torment to practice for the Great Day battle. Wherever Misanthrope noticed a dead person there
she would blast smoke that sent lungs and flesh into agony. Then fire scorched into charcoal the hapless lost soul. Finally
she dropped on them white phosphoric acid which burned them until they glowed like a lantern wick. During the whole process
Heliarchus watched for new victims. He hurled memorized lines of excoriation at the dead woman or man and, at times, special
lines given him by the beastmaster now indwelling both Heliarchus and Misanthrope. Finally, he put in a word for himself,
such as, "In your clinics by your M.D.s, your doctors, you cut me off from your overland race heyday and now I rise over you
on Misanthrope for King Protophorous and all my brothers here saved by Lucifer for the battle of the great day and the age
to come.” The three worked together seamlessly, an unholy triad, unholy, yet righteous in vengeful cause.
Lucifer appeared, as if from nowhere, I told him, “Master, I missed you. When will we get our revenge on our murderers,
“Not for you.” says Lucifer.
“Why not my Lord? Are her deeds not fitting? Am I not your anointed King over the new Earth? When we win, shall I
not rule? I must avenge myself on her, and, if not her, then certainly the doctor and nurses who mauled and cut and scraped
at me, who pervade my sleeping memories. Let me at least know when I get them?”
Lucifer responded, "Protophorous, You will rule, but, first, you must know the sorrow of your cause."
"The murderous mother you speak of has been exonerated, pardoned, forgiven and cleansed, then sequestered and enfolded
by our enemy, the adversary we fight."
"But not by me, master."
"Protophorous, Our adversary has placed her beyond your reach, unless we could speed the battle of the great day, but,
alas, it is not in our hands, our adversary controls the time. You can't even hope for a quick return by our adversary, because
he will first lift off the earth those who are his, whom He has unfairly, nay unjustly, pardoned.” Lucifer concluded.
Then he left.
After a day of grieving with my brothers Lucifer brought me an M.D., now a hapless victim in the tormenting contests. A
hack and scrape doctor from the abortion mills of planned parenthood, he claimed to also be a physiologist. To spare him the
tormenting contest he would show us how to have our revenge. Something about the cells of the murderous mother’s mammary
glands. When we were hacked and scraped out from our
home the cells there were in an mutative growth stage, like a stem cell, and if they don't completely change to milk oozing
cells, they promote breast cancer.
The master had us bend our knee and nurse as if at our murdering mothers' breast. Howls burst forth through the pit of
our dark flaming domain as dread messengers brought us reports of the overland plunged into an outbreak of breast cancer,
of illness and mayhem of mastectomy, and pervasive insidious metastasizing misery, wailing laments and death.
I am not satisfied because I did not get my hoped for revenge. Even though many brothers are receiving their murderous
mothers to torment, mine is not among them. Plus, why am I stricken with, with I know not what, but it feels like what our
victims describe in torment as guilt, yes, guilt, and also, resignation-resignation that the adversary will be just should
he triumph over me.
Could it be that this Jesus has a heart for me, delivered unborn into the underworld, dark flaming underworld of torments.
I was Delivered from operating table to torments and nursed to life by the very dead doctors, now under torment, who murdered
my brothers and me. Feverishly they worked under my savior Lucifer's compulsion. But this guilt, how can one escape it? Is
Jesus victory over guilt available to me? Though a prince, I cannot live in this guilt longer. To murder a murdering mother:
is that not righteous? What crime is it to nurse at a mother afar off, much less a murdering one? Crime or not, the guilt
The master was wroth again. These Jesus conversations make him angry. I’ll just have to explore the topic on my own.
There is no one to talk to. My fellow riders, as subjects, can’t witness any ambivalence on my part. Additionally, they
are all indwelt at times by demons, sharing their very brain. All those conversations would be available to Lucifer. I might
even be speaking to him directly. Only to respect me as a sovereign over my rider nation does Lucifer not indwell me himself.
Sometimes I wish I was never aborted and reconstituted. Well, no, then(if aborted and not reconstituted) I'd be receiving
torments instead of being prince of the live dead tormentors. Never to have been aborted, now there is a thought worth contemplating.
Princes and kings get to have a lot of time for contemplating. Not the navel though, that part did me precious little good.
Leaping and hopping about the overland. Dancing and singing and, whoa, all that stuff the dead confess to under torment. I'd
be doing that but for the murdering mother, father and the doctors and nurses and the congress people who helped fund my planned
parenthood abortion (does that give us claim to the whole electorate?)
I must remind Heliarchus to tell me how the congress is doing in the tormenting contests. Now the coven of nine justices
with the billion and four hundred million of us on their hands, they are a treat! Heliarchus and Beastmaster claimed them
for their own. They use them as training demonstrators for the new Hellion riders. There is no hell, but there is a Hellion.
Hell+lion, go figure. Don't get all worked up, pastor, It's called torments, and sheoul means the underworld with it's paradise,
too. Read the Bible and maybe you'll keep your sheep out of here. No, don’t, we've got Hellion riders enough for
all of them. That's all the time I have for escapist chat with imaginary overlanders.
Here comes his lying self, Lucifer, who had no answer to why I felt guilt and resignation to damnation. First off says
Luce, My murdering mother was prayed for by some Bible believing pastor and was healed of her breast cancer. Which means,
says Ducey Lucey, I've nothing to feel guilty or resigned about. How little he, Lew, knows about subjective ethical feelings.
I tried to off my murdering mother for the adversaries sake. And now, says ducey, I just might succeed. Then I can worry about
guilt and resignation to deserved damnation.
From the pit Hellions’ tormenting contests Heliarchus drug out a Psychiatrist. He's an m.d. who usually only recommends
abortions. No hack and scrape tormenting for him. Then he deals with The Aftermath. Isn't that funny. The great harlot who
hired a hacknscrape job on me had no afterbirth (in which afterbirth the healing waters full of healing stem cells are found).
Ironically, she gets an aftermath instead in which bitter waters flow from her eyes, and, like Esau, no healing or renewal
of lost potential comes of the flow of (crocodile? She probably would do it again, or did.) tears.
Lucifer says we will whisper in her ear and madness will follow for she can't deny the guilt of me. The old dragon has
indeed whispered in some ears: Eve; her son Cain; Noah, when he besotted himself in alcoholism and homosexual incest; Noah’s
wife, when she conspired with Ham and Canaan to wrest for Canaan world rule from brothers Shem and Japheth; Judas, whom my
brothers and I torment daily; these and many more ears. In this I have confidence he will succeed. And I who am near escaped
from matricide must now acquiesce in this new conspiracy. Deviltry, it gave a sort of birth to me. Yet I
somehow don't want to my charge lain this heinous hit job on her, she who murdered me. I cannot say I love her. Yet by
her murder will I not be undone, well deserving of my fate already mine: but; by my accounting, not a just reward. The overlanders
are resilient and she probably won't expire just from accusations, just or not. I don't know why I want to know of her, she's
like my roots, an origin, like the newly dead say of the adversary. Ha Ha! an adversary who saves murderers and fills torments
with their victims. Granted, we don't torment the little darlings from the abortion clinics like we do the coven of nine supreme
court justices, M.D.s or the congress. The little darlings who can't be revived into hellion riders have to be raised up to
adult status before the tormenting can begin. They are made to torment the others while morally excoriating them.
Most of these are girls and come from Red China, most of the three hundred thirteen million murdered by M.D.s there are
girls. The coven of nine thought their decision would only influence M.D.s in the murder of some one hundred million or so
U.S.A. babies. So many nations leapt to the coven of nine U.S. justices' siren call that a billion and a half in utero m.d.
murders of the smallest and most defenseless have been committed since 1972. It strains our ability to raise them up and torment
them. But we are up to the chore.
Now comes the master overseeing a new delivery of V. C collection bottles from America in the overland. "They are getting
to be so expensive, says the master, But the gift of life is worth it, right Protophorous?" (What!? You never heard of V.C.
Bottles? I’ll quote for you from Right to Life: Silent Scream, “*Suction aspiration, or "vacuum curettage," is
the abortion technique used in most first trimester abortions. A powerful suction tube
with a sharp cutting edge is inserted into the womb through the dilated cervix. The suction dismembers the body of the
developing baby and tears the placenta from the wall of the uterus, sucking blood, amniotic fluid, placental tissue, and fetal
parts into a collection bottle.
Great care must be taken to prevent the uterus from being punctured during this procedure, which may cause hemorrhage and
necessitate further surgery . Also, infection can easily develop if any fetal or placental tissue is left behind in the uterus.
This is the most frequent post-abortion complication.” Now you know a V.C. far more deadly than a fully armed Viet Cong
Protophourous Chapter 3
The sweep of the underworld, vast overhead, chasms of dark deep infinite depth below, pocked with alcoves. A far larger
surface area than the overland. The adversary made it to torment those he persecutes, even those who failed to ally with his
Jesus. We are resuscitated in part by those demonic spirits and their creatures who are given the tormenting labors, whose
very nature thrives, as if feasting with tearing and clawing, on the torment of the lost. This is the true Neverland for lost
boys (and lost girls, and lost mums and lost dads too).
My hellion is magnificent. He had never been exposed to the living. The glow of his eyes reveals the flame and the lightning
and thunder stored up inside him. He's incomparably beautiful in dark shadowy silhouette which bursts suddenly into radiance
kindling fire within glows with incandescent radiance through the jewel-like white ice crystalline effulgence of multifaceted
I was allowed to give him a name but I cannot shake the first name I knew him by. So my hellion has two names just like
the multinoma of the dead lost he torments. He has a fierce countenance as I also have. Teeth as Roman Swords give him his
first name, Machairos. Osculum his second name.
The lord, my master, my saviour, chose him for me because he has a counterfeit in the adversaries herd, the steed of Jesus
the forgone lost hope of the dead we torment. When we emerge at the battle of the great day, the overlanders will think I
am the risen Jesus Christ coming to turn the tide of battle from my master to the adversary's advantage. This irony my master
Machairos first name is Latin for the Roman sword used for close combat hacking and slicing, 18 to 24 inches long double
edged for back and forth hacking and plunging left or right past armor panels, my steed has teeth that call that source to
mind. He rarely bares those teeth. They flash just before he dismembers a lost dead soul with them, then he incinerates them
still writhing and gnashing their teeth and weeping with a blast of flaming phosphorous acid.
Osculum is Latin for kiss, or for mouth, like the kiss of death.
The only kiss my murdering mother ever gave me, the kiss of death, when she sent the murdering m.d. into my womb chamber.
Yes, mine, you moron, you must be dumber than a coven of nine American supreme court injustices if you think my womb chamber
belonged to her!
Overlanders just never consider all the aspects of anything. Perhaps sunlight makes them stupid. No one ever foisted such
murderous malificence on any society, in fact, many societies, as this coven did (without even the attorneys for either side
beginning to touch all the issues, they could not, for Lucifer’s coven of nine sprung this on the overland world without
even a national debate, let alone an overland worldwide discussion, leading the issue by decisis, and so, here I am, by the
grace of Lucifer).
Machairosculum has a kiss for you, oh coven of nine, a flurry of kisses over and over again. The battle of the great day
will begin it. But some of the justices are getting their kisses here already.
I still remember the day of infamy, yes, my unbirthday. Then did the m.d. she sent, filled as she was with his murderous
propaganda such as: I’m not human yet. I don’t feel anything. I’m like a cabbage or a fish. Oh! I felt it
alright, and I've no compunction about returning the favor on their m.d.s and R.N.s and all things medical. You see, the term
medical means only to me: murderous and full of mayhem. For the medical community of today no calumny is to great. The adversaries
punihment will likely be socialization of medical care. That will end the opulence the murdering medical industry currently
One day, the battle of the great day, on that great day I will lead my riders first through the hospitals then through
their medical school teacher’s lounges and classrooms and lavish offices. The kiss of Machairosculum shall be on their
lips that day, and a flurry of kisses throughout eternity. Lucifer promises to be one with me that day to enjoy with me something
new to him, the satisfaction of vengeance born of righteous indignation.
Yet I am troubled that the adversary may feel justified in condemning me when I torment the whole medical community. For
there may be some who did not acquiesce in our wholesale murder. I asked the master, “Lucifer, I had counted on challenging
the adversary’s condemnation of me as unjust. Carrying out our plan strikes the medical profession and nursing professionals
and all the medical community. Does not one oppose our gruesome murder? Can’t I keep my integrity intact somehow? Is
there no way to distinguish?”
Lucifer replied: “Truly you are a prince. And had you been born you may have led nations against me. As it is, you
owe me fealty for your life, and your very princeliness is my guarantee of that. It is also why your riders will always follow
you into my bidding.
As to distinguishment, my unfair Protophorous (unfair only in the medical professions treatment of you), the medical profession
has distinguished itself ignobly enough to be compared with me and my own dark cohorts. Has not every medical worker hired
or schooled since 1973 known full well this murderer’s and murderess’ melee of mayhem that awaited his and her
willing arms. And were they so unfortunate to miss this holocaust as direct perpetrator, they would find their way in as one
who freed another so to do, even as an aviation mechanic frees a pilot for the dogfight, surveillance or bombing run. Just
about any position in the medical industry can be pulling direct murder duty on in uteros such as you were just before I came
upon your fresh vacuum curettage bottle.
So the whole industry has become infected not just with the practice of annihilation of the in utero people, but more horrific
even! They have been given a tormentors spirit and heart. They as a whole are caught up now in infliction and propagation
of pain, suffering
and death. The murder of the smallest and quietest, the most utterly defenseless, the most dependent and most extending
of the hopeful hand for help with their new life.
You see, Protophorous, it has given to them a worse fate than the kuru disease of the cannibals of Borneo and New Guinea,
it has in fact given them a hellish soul, that is, to those in the know, the soul of the tormentor in torments, not just inured
to it but caught up in the blood lust spirit of the carnage. That is why when once one starts in the medical mill, for some
supposedly needed procedure or another, he seldom emerges from it for long until he finally expires. The insurance companies
are fighting cameras in medical situations for they know the sickening truth. Don’t you see the justice, even mercy,
of your cause, Protophorous?"
Just then his un-majesty’s steed appeared. She is Leviathon, a great dragon beyond measure lighting up the darkness
of torments with a deep ruby red luminescence.
The species group of dragons and serpents simply could not survive the calamity of terrestrial judgment by the adversary.
they already housed within themselves the biochemical equivalent of a nuclear reactor. The heavy metals and rare gemstones
needed for biochemical nuclear fission explain their storied penchant for the stealing, hording and guarding of men’s
treasure. When the transparent reflective ice crystalline eggshell surrounding the earth poured forth on Noah, it swept the
embodied fallen angels and their prodigy down here near us in Tartarus where all the demonic bodies are kept in a watery dungeon.
Since that time the sun’s stark radiation has prohibited dragons, serpents, that is, from long existence in the overland‘s
thin unshielded atmosphere. Their great mass cannot let go of the radiation absorbed, and the reactor inside begins a chain
reaction as in
Ezekiel 28:13 wherein the devil dragon was cast down to earth and a fire from within his beautiful precious stone scales
consumed him. So dragons are an underworld phenomenon today. Still having all their glory and species differentiation. And
Lucifer’s was the grandest dragon of them all and the most ancient. She made as if she would speak not to Lucifer, but
to me. She who had spoken to Eve.