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Demon: the Fallen


Reap the Whirlwind


Centuries of violence, corruption and cynicism have sown a bitter harvest throughout the world.
Wars rage and spill the blood of the innocent. Mercy and compassion are ground to dust beneath
the heel of religious extremism. Faith is perverted by the schemes of politicians, priests and
criminals. Now a storm is raging in the spirit world, and the gates of Hell lie broken. The angels of
the Abyss are free once more, and the fate of mankind hangs in the balance.




Raise a Fist to Heaven!


Is this the Region, this the Soil, the Clime,
Said then the lost Arch-Angel, this the seat
That we must change for Heav'n, this mournful gloom
For that celestial light? Be it so, since he
Who now is Sovran can dispose and bid
What shall be right: fardest from him is best
Whom reason hath equald, force hath made supream
Above his equals. Farewel happy Fields
Where Joy for ever dwells: Hail horrours, hail
Infernal world, and thou profoundest Hell
Receive thy new Possessor: One who brings
A mind not to be chang'd by Place or Time.
The mind is its own place, and in it self
Can make a Heav'n of Hell, a Hell of Heav'n.
What matter where, if I be still the same,
And what I should be, all but less then he
Whom Thunder hath made greater? Here at least
We shall be free; th' Almighty hath not built
Here for his envy, will not drive us hence:
Here we may reign secure, and in my choyce
To reign is worth ambition though in Hell:
Better to reign in Hell, then serve in Heav'n.

-John Milton, Paradise Lost, Book 1, Lines 242 - 263



"Christeos drilpa moz dlugar de priazi ds aai ge."

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