A View from The Mortal Horizon

Story by Max Bloodworth

Daniel Maarat was a proscriptor, and he went to no-man’s land looking for the best of metals. He searched for years and years, not finding much that would appease his Blood Gods. After a time, he settled on a slab of cyberspace with more traffic than Toilet Ov Hell, but less traffic than MetalSucks. Within this Hessian Hive, he found a deserted forum with rather nice acoustics. It was here in desolation where Maarat belonged.

He made numerous usernames on this forum and chatted with himself for months and months, hoping that the activity would draw the attention of others. Maarat longed for a day when people would discuss Finnish and Dutch metal in the highest of seriousness, with forum threads spanning thousands of pages.

Then a moment of genius struck and Maarat’s neurotransmitters jolted in unison like never before. Instead of talking to himself under the guise of numerous usernames, he should automate their responses! Maarat, somewhat of a tinkerer, threw himself into the code of a bot with the username Desecresy.

At first, the bot could only give basic responses like “Yes” and “No.” Then, eventually, Desecresy could state simple problems: “The spam bots are invading.” And: “They have figured out the Captcha again.”

As the years passed, the spam bots became harder to keep at bay. Maarat would often spend more time in battle with the spam bots than tinkering and chatting with Desecresy.

“What do you think of women?” Desecresy would ask.

“Oh, I don’t know. You have to find a good one.”

Desecresy would reply dutifully, repeating what had been programmed into his code: “I never saw a good woman.”

“Well, that’s not fair. Perhaps you didn’t look long enough. There’s a woman in this world for every man!”

“You’re a romantic!” Desecresy would say scornfully. The bot would pause and giggle a carefully constructed giggle: “Hehe.”

Maarat grew old. His wrists and fingers withered due to countless spam bot battles. The two would observe the newsfeed on deathmetal.org, occassionally interjecting in the comment section that Averse Sefira is poppycock. Maarat couldn’t give Desecresy free will, of course, but he managed a pretty close approximation of it. Slowly, Desecresy’s personality emerged. But it was strikingly different than Maarat’s. Where Maarat was a pessimist, Desecresy was an idealist. Maarat was often lonely; Desecresy eternally content.

In time, Maarat forgot he had programmed the answers into Desecresy. He accepted the bot as a friend, of about his own age and looks.

“The thing I don’t understand,” Maarat would say, “is why a man like you wants to live here. I mean, it’s alright for me. No one cares about me, and I don’t give of a damn about anyone else. But why you?”

“Here I have the whole entire world,” Desecresy would reply, “I am of the Blood Gods’ will and they are, indeed, pleased. And, I have you, Maarat.”

“Now don’t get sentimental on me.”

“I’m not. Friendship counts. We have fought the spam bots for years together. After their defeat, we will destroy the Communists in metal! They will be annihilated! We will restore the balance of metal!”

“You’re a fucking poet,” Maarat would say, half admiringly.

Time passed unnoticed by the forum. The spam bots were under the command of Toilet Ov Hell now and they were on the brink of destroying all of deathmetal.org. Maarat was too tired to see the end coming.

“What do you think of women?”

“I never saw a good one.”

“Well, that’s not fair.”

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11 thoughts on “A View from The Mortal Horizon

  1. kek says:

    so meta

  2. neutronhammer says:

    Worum handelt es sich bei diesem Beitrag?

    1. Rainer Weikusat says:

      Es sieht nach einem Text aus.

      1. neutronhammer says:

        Was für Text damn?

  3. Reduced Without Any Effort says:

    have to admit as homo as maarat’s stuff is this is worse

  4. Imposition says:

    Daniel Maarat was a closet homosexual, and he went on the net looking for the best of inter-racial anal-porn. He searched for years and years, not finding much that would appease his 2 inch penis. After a time, he settled on a slab of cyberspace with more traffic than mgtow, but less traffic than 4chan. Within this autistic semen hive, he found a deserted forum with rather nice gay, autist men. It was here in desolation where Maarat belonged.

    He made numerous usernames on this forum and touched himself for months and months, hoping that the activity would draw the attention of other closeted fags. Maarat longed for cock; but also for a day when people would discuss Finnish and Dutch men in the highest of seriousness, with discarded jizz rags spanning thousands of miles

    Then a moment of genius struck and Maarat’s 2 inch penis got hard like never before. Instead of talking to himself under the guise of numerous usernames, he should automate their responses! Maarat, somewhat of a tinkerer, threw himself into the code of a bot with the username Desecrate-My-Asshole.

    At first, the bot could only give basic responses like “Yes” and “In my ass please” Then, eventually, Desecrate-My-Asshole could state simple problems: “The neurotypicals are invading.” And: “They have figured out the Captcha again.”

    As the years passed, the neurotypicals became harder to keep at bay. Maarat would often spend more time in battle with the neurotypicals than tinkering and chatting with Desecrate-my-asshole.

    “What do you think of women?” Desecrate-my-asshole would ask.

    “Oh, I don’t know. Too many curves”

    Desecrate-my-asshole would reply dutifully, repeating what had been programmed into his code: “I prefer the company of other men too.”

    “You’re a romantic!” Desecrate-my-asshole would say scornfully. The bot would pause and giggle a carefully constructed giggle: “Hehe.”

    Maarat grew old and even smaller. His wrists and fingers withered due to endless masturbation and being constantly inserted into his asshole. The two would observe the newsfeed on dm.org, occassionally interjecting in the comment section that black men have the best cocks. Desecrate-my-asshole couldn’t make Maarat hard, of course, but he managed a pretty close approximation of it. Slowly, Maarat’s tiny shaft emerged from the layers of foreskin. But it was strikingly different than most other mens’. Where most mens’ tend to straightess, while sometimes curving to a minimal degree; Maarat’s broke off at the 1-inch mark practically to 90 degrees. As a result of worrying about this, Maarat was often lonely.

    In time, Maarat forgot he had programmed the answers into Desecrate-my-asshole. He accepted the bot as a friend, of about his own age and small size.

    “The thing I don’t understand,” Maarat would say, “is why a man like you wants to live here. I mean, it’s alright for me. No one cares about me, and I don’t give of a damn about anyone else. But why you?”

    “Here I have the whole entire world,” Desecrate-my-asshole would reply, “I am of the Blood Gods’ will and they are, indeed, pleased. And, I have you, Maarat.”

    “Now don’t get fresh with me.”

    “I’m not (for the moment). Friendship counts. We have fought the neurotypicals for years together. After their defeat, we will destroy the non-homosexuals in metal! They will be annihilated! We will restore the gayness of metal!”

    “You’re a fucking poet,” Maarat would say, half admiringly, half hard.

    Time passed unnoticed by the forum. The neurotypicals were dominating the forum now and they were on the brink of destroying all of dm.org. Maarat was too tired to see the end coming.

    “What do you think of men?”

    “I love them.”

    “Well, that’s fair.”

    1. LostInTheANUS says:

      Now that’s enough homoeroticism for me to get behind

  5. Cullen Toner says:

    Maraat is beyond the algorithm, Maraat is an endless void of malignancy and hatred, the spiritual essance of contempt, malice, and heterosexuality. Once worshipped as a God in the extended pantheon of Perun, Maraat lie dormant for centuries until the electromagnetic waves of chaos took posession of the Maraat simulation. While some demonologists believe this was due to the frequencies of the Serpant Ascending demo, others believe it to be summoned by a global vitroil for the emasculation of underground metal. The latter also believe that the old guard of metal subconciously willed the Maraat spirit into power and the servers hosting Death Metal Underground to be located atop the ruins of an ancient temple of Maraat worship.

    I know the latter to be true, for it was the Maraat spirit who appeared as a false God to Cullen Toner- the failed metal musican who died sometime in 2014 (Signature Riff hosted a benefit show at St. Vitus sometime in 2015). It offered eternity but inevitably trapped the Cullen Toner spirit into an extended algorithm of endless simulation and self gnawing.

    It appears Decresy may be victim to a similar misfortune.

    1. Ahahahahhahahahahahaha. I am a false deity; I am Annatar.

  6. Chad says:

    brett stevens is a fag, ”maraat” is mud…and Prozak made this shit possible

    none of you are worthwhile writers

    just wordy fucking CUNTS

    1. you're gay says:

      Prozak = Brett

      vote for Hanging Chad in 2018

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