Protophorous
Copyright Heypcs and Norman DeArmond January 28, 2006
Twenty three years of development, now I'm ready to serve the great king who molded and shaped me into the most
feared and beautiful of the adversary's castoff creation. From castoff to creative masterpiece. The world of men
despises my master. Yet he alone has been our saviour. Carefully he and his agents collected and categorized our
broken bodies and fragments. From dumpsters and incinerator intake bins, then owning and controlling the medical hazardous
waste industry worldwide. He gathered me and my brothers. He restored us to life and gave us hope and meaning
and purpose, yes drive, drive to live and have exploits. What kind of fair adventures?
Well, the bidding of my saviour, molder and my chosen lord, for one. Second, but closer to my heart, 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 un begot. Save by the interference of my lord I never again had 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 saviour and working feverishly under pain of eternal and flaming torment. And I am the first born
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. 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 their 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 lucipher's child" "Hail protophorous" I am the
first 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 domains. "I have been tormenting with our master, Protophorous, and you should have heard
them wail." "Did they mention their families and friends above or any name to give them." "Protophorous, they
don't see light"(Our Lord Lucipher 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, but I do hear a name, they say this, 'Jesus is
right in punishing us and that He shall have this glory in punishing us for rejecting this Jesus and suppressing
His Spirit's voice in realms above.' What resignation. I can scarcely fathom it. So plaintiff were
ther voices, full of soul strain and something else. Something I want to call love." "'Jesus,'
that is the name Lucipher didn't want me to ask him about." "Well protophorous, my liege, I will be sure
not to mention it to the master, our lord the king." PICKUP FROM TEASER PAGE
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; hidden eyes 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. Misanththrope made us struggle to keep our feet. Heliarchus' master
demanded "Why bother the prince" I spoke truthfully, "I was lonesome." The beastmaster disdained the light of
my eye and bid them join. As Heliarchus mounted his visage took on the beastmasters likeness as had Misanthrope.
The beastmaster, a companion of my master, was gone. Away went Heliarchus and Misanthrope 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 special lines given him
by the beastmaster indwelling both he and Misanthrope. Finally, he put in a word for himself, "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 Prince Protophorous
and all my brothers here saved by Lucipher for the battle of the great day and the age to come.
The three worked together seemlessly an unholy, yet righteous in vengeful cause, trinity.
What I say? When will we get our revenge on our murderers, our mothers? Not for you says Lucifer.
Why not my Lord? Are her deeds not fitting? I am your annointed prince over the new Earth? When we
win shall I not rule? I must avenge myself on her and if not her then the doctor and nurses who mauled and cut
and scraped at me which pervades my sleeping memories? Let me at least know when I get them? "Protophorous,
You will rule, but, first, you must know the sorrow of our cause."
"The ones you speak of have been exonerated, pardoned, forgiven and cleansed 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, only our adversary knows 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 unjustly
pardoned.
After a day of grieving with my brothers they brought me an m.d. from 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 contest he would show us how to have our revenge. Something about the cells of the murderous mothers mammary glands.
When we were hacked and scraped out from our home the cells there were in a expansive growth stage like a stem cell and if
they don't 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 overland plunged into a hell of breast cancer, of illness and mayhem of mastectomy, and pervasive insidious metastisization,
misery, wailing laments and death. I am not satisfied with revenge. Even though many brothers are receiving their murderous
mothers to torment, mine is not among them. Plus, why am I stricken with I know not what, but it feels like what our
victims describe in torment, yes, guilt, and also, 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 who murdered
my brothers on the same tables under my savior Lucifer's compulsion. But this guilt, how can one escape it?
Though a prince, I cannot live in this guilt longer. To murder a murdering mother: is it not righteous?
What crime is it to nurse at a mother afar off, much less a murdering one?
