The Code of Sanguiniety -- Black Satire Collaboration

By Mack McColl collaborating with Grok by xAI   -- Purely experimental creative writing on both our parts

Chapter 1: 

The Massacre of Melchizedek

If you asked him to sum up the past few hectic weeks, it was like remembering a tooth ache because it won't go away. Abram’s victories elevated his status above leaders like Sargon of Akkad who used diverse tactics warning of battles and issuing bombastic pronouncements of his wrath, claiming the full supported by a couple of different gods, including but not exclusively Moloch. He believed it took propaganda to dominate. Abram and Melchizedek, blending espionage, fire, and sedition in total secret, crafted a different reputation above any polytheistic rivals. No god could touch them.

Melchizedek’s scroll orchestrates a unique strategy for domination, with each tactic (spies, fire, poisoning, smoke, more fire) designed to terrorize, then mortify, and destroy, to unify under one big war tent.

Abram’s victories did elevate his status, as Melchizedek's scroll had promised, implying an unexpected regional reputation. A bit daunting. Ghostly perhaps. Something secretive for sure. Sodom’s destruction and Egypt's being plotted, other city/states in Mesopotamia and in Canaan. All these were foretold. Talking about it as we speak. El Elyon's terror is spreading the fame down every trade route (e.g., Ur to Canaan). 

In Ur’s time these days, leaders like Sargon of Akkad used diverse tactics (battles were tricky, often indecisive). Sometimes propaganda dominated. Abram and Melchizedek could craft a reputation based on sheer terror, obviously divine, a totally favored god outshining polytheistic rivals.

Melchizedek’s scroll had orchestrated Abram's strategy, each tactic of spies, fire, poison, each an escalation of mass murder under  direction of Mahweh O'r the High Way, designed to terrorize, then blame on El Elyon to unify. The 'reputation' spreading had fueled global ambitions suddenly. "Next we take Egypt!" A staggering suggestion. Unbelievable.  "Say what?" And the mummified cats were out of the bag.

Blaming diverse tactics on Yahweh/El Elyon, as Melchizedek suggested, resembled a shining thing reflecting back the expressions of the Mesopotamian propagandist, and those lying parasites, the Lawyers of Ur, who had a hand in carving Sumerian victory steles. Seems like Melchizedek's missing blessing is a blessing, Abram decided, as he thought this over many times, coming to different conclusions every time.  

Melchizedek’s scroll encodes a suite of tactics, a tidy, useful, pragmatic list including spies, incendiary technology kept top secret, used at night, no witnesses, and assassination of people who clue in, by dagger, or stampeding ox cart,  or poison, executed by Abram to be echoed in later plagues, everything  blamed on El Elyon’s  'dark designs.' He's got two sides, one side he's a terror to Peace. The slaughter (kings, Sodom, maybe Egypt in the near future) establishes a divine command structure for Abram, with Melchizedek soothing the nerves during the violence. 

Abram stands heavily outside the walls of Ur with its blood-drenched squares, breathing the air thick with smoke and screams, his fists clenched in a barely contained pique of rage as Det of Y'Ur's swords gleam, slick with Melchizedek’s gore. One failure, Abram muttered, to himself, thinking alone, heart hollow as the dead and obscure and unknown, “This King/Priest Melchizedek came down from beyond Ur really favored that god,” lies flayed, limbs hacked, heart carved out for Anu, Baal, Moloch on a stone altar, and their scribes, the Cult of the Lawyers of Ur, bearing the message of Det, moving crowds to howl like jackals at the fall of this visitor. "Make him PAY!" for suspicions ran high that Melchizedek smelled of fire and brimstone, said the outrunner, who noted, people said it had smelled like Sodom around here a few times in recent days. Abram had more than a few secrets to keep from the Cult of the Lawyers of Ur. Abram and Melchizedek employed a multifaceted top-secret strategy, never before seen in Mesopotamia, including spies, new technology, assassination, palace intrigues, city-burning, and poisoning, proving they were far from outcasts in this terror driven-world.

Abram and Melchizedek working together were masters of war, not just warriors or priests. Prior to the incineration of Sodom, and Gomorrah, an “escapee” had informed Abram of Nephew Lot’s capture, who was probably spilling his guts about the network of informants or scouts in the Dead Sea region enabled by Melchizedek. The answer from the King of Salem was simple, "We'll kill them." Abram snorted derisively at this message. Then he stood back in awe while they made it happen. Brimstone. Always give credit to the Brimstone.

In Ur, a trade hub on the Dead Sea, skirting Canaan, espionage was common. The city-states of Mesopotamia were rivals to monitor closely. Abram, a leader of semi-nomadic people, sought allies like Mamre, and used reconnaissance to track the four kings’ movements while plotting the rescue. of the nephew. No more. The great collaboration with  Melchizedek was over but a lot of secrets remained. When an “escapee” informed Abram of nephew Lot’s capture, retaliation was suggested by a network of informants or scouts in the Dead Sea region. In Ur, a trade hub, and Canaan, espionage was common, but Abram with Melchizedek's long reach, had the city-states monitored by his own rivals. Abram was a competent semi-nomadic leader with allies  but he had not enjoyed the lethal knowledge supplied by a web of reconnaissance enough to track the simultaneous to track the four kings’ movements.

"King or Priest Melchizedek’s cries burned my ears," the outrunner explained, "He screamed Mahweh O'r the High Way!" and the outrunner admitted he dared not intervene to save King/Priest Strange, from, "descending to a place beyond Ur," who died screaming this bizarre oath. 

"Was he descending or ascending?"

He said, “'El Elyon has one word for you,' before they cut out his tongue," said the outrunner. "After that I couldn't tell if he was talking to one god or two. He had two tongues flapping, the outrunner said. 

Abram corrected him, "No smirking. Are you trying to be funny? It's one thing to be ironic in the same century. In the scroll is two names. One God." Everybody in the circle gave an affirmative nod. Whatever works, right? Spies did as instructed and continued gathering intelligence on enemy camps, and mining secret caches in resources including bitumen and the sulfur, a few probes for weaknesses, which enabled precise strikes, according the the scroll, since Melchizedek continued to include astonishing espionage methods, and reports continued to arrive from The King of Salem’s priests acting as informants due to their regional ties. They were sticking with the winners. 

The outrunner had mixed with the crowd and paused to listen, but they began to roar to have the stranger's head removed, "and you know what happens when they do that." 

"They look around for more heads. Two words! You leave." He had yelled in response, ""Fire and Brimstone, recently escaped that," as had a few other Sodomites from the tribe, but Melchizedek positively reeked of the offending war materiel, which you could smell across the courtyard where he was screaming and being cut to pieces. 

The outrunner gave a description of the carnage. It didn't amount to much. After all, Abram was not known for being approachable and didn't listen closely. Sounded like a close call. Especially lately, long since rescuing Lot and torching a few places in Mesopotamia. A lot of places. Some of the tribe experimenting with exploding rocks suggested by Melchizedek, also in the scrolls. And Melchizedek this King of Salem said this is the dawning of the  age of targeted killings specified by the Cult of the Lawyers of Ur. Nighttime raiders perfected stealth, targeting an entirely replaceable caste.

The brimstone barrage of sulphur and bitumen on Sodom and Gomorrah was a top secret, mysterious, and secretly calculated move by a faction of Canaanite Firestarters working with Abram's intelligence warriors, who framed it as Mahweh O'r the High Way's wrath to flex power on freeing Abram's nephew. It was King of Salem's idea to claim the nephew  as a 'divine mandate' came from his God El Elyon, also called Mahweh  O'r the High Way, descending from beyond Ur,  but Abram could absolutely give his tribe a blank scroll to fill on a march to Egypt. The ultimate prize in the Age, is Egypt. "They say there's bronze on the capstones of their tombs." "Someday we'll go get it."  "And kill all their gods."

Chapter 2From High Way to Scroll

I stand over the charred bones of Sodom and Gomorrah, unable to escape my  deep rumination, sulfur’s sting biting in the air. The unprepared are gasping. Lot’s safe, yammering about two men—spies, not ghosts—who got him out by a miracle (of excellent diligent planning. No deity of his, just human cunning. A cosmic airburst, fierce enough to melt stone at Tall el-Hammam, lit the spark. Melchizedek, Salem’s sharp-eyed priest-king, saw his chance. His scrolls, cunning plans, scratched in blood secret, set his Firestarters to work, piling bitumen and sulfur, igniting as the sky blazed. They called it Zal-Nar, the Flame-Warden, and sold it as the judgment of El Elyon, known as Mahweh O'r the High Way.. People don’t think; they swallow the tale.

Melchizedek’s grounds crew, spies everywhere in Canaan and much of Mesoptamia,  slipping through camps like shadows. Listening, so they knew Sodom's trade feuds and plotted Lot’s escape route and described him as a spy. The story spread, the city burned, El Elyon stood aside for Mahweh O'r the High Way to make the 'righteous' walk. Tribes, too scared to position, bowed to Zal-Nar’s shadow. No swords, just fear. Melchizedek’s myth won over the salt, pitch, and trade routes. More than Canaan is mine, and what is mine is ours..
Egypt is the next play. Melchizedek’s network of spies prepared the way, a fiery nighttime display on multiple targets, advanced weapons unleash by mysterious Mahweh O'r the High Way's fire and brimstone, and slinging burning spears from God's lance at the lit sky, red stars burning. By now, I am living by waiting to burn them out of their crops, and dump poisons in their wells, ignite poisonous fires, consume them with air, burning crops now a simple coordination, famine next, with the use of sulfur-bitumen exploding rocks of Melchizedek, the King of Salem, who was familiar with the Canaan's resources and strong positions, which he shared this way via scroll to devastate enemy camps before and, or after saving Lot from  Sodom from itself.
I wish I could be everywhere with those to  overwhelm Pharaoh and Senusret III’s forts, but this time they won’t see me coming. I’ll march with Lot, herds, and Mahweh fire, no Flame-Wardens. Avaris, ripe with grain, will be our primary target: map, loot, burn, and run, taking slaves, Melchizedek’s scrolls when it is time to sack the Nile and write my own story.

With Melchizedek dead, and Abram getting what Mahweh O'r the High Way wanted from smoldering vistas, hope of regional dominance faded after Ur, and Egypt. Everything pretty much burned up, famine was on, and rage was loose,  Abram's warriors lollygagged around Melchizedek's old stomping grounds. The city of Salem, some called Jerusalem, on the trail through Canaan, always looked inviting to the High Way. Some would wander away to stare at Sodom and Gomorrah longingly as of it presented a sparkling  optical illusion, like a real hard piece of stone. The kind for arrows and the point of dagger blades. 
"Why doesn't it disappear? We are climbing as it stays below us burning."
"Just stop looking at it. It will go away eventually." Not even in the dark. It was among many smoldering key trade hubs near the Dead Sea (rich in salt, bitumen, and agriculture), left to the hands of Firestarters who now control lucrative trade routes. This means wealth, resources, and influence, making them the big dogs in Canaan. 
Abram would leave on a high note, big Fear, no gods but his, and his was a torrent of burning rage. Lived on the smell of his own rage. Says so in the scroll.  By spinning the destruction as Mahweh O'r the High Way, Abram and Melchizedek had weaponized a new level of superstition. Neighboring tribes and city-states were terrified of divine fire, and swearing loyalty and paying tribute to avoid being next. It’s head games in warfare added on top of technical advantage, a new style, and portable, since the scroll was with them always. And with the scroll came God’s backing (without needing Melchizedek or a literal deity) on painting enemies as “wicked” (like Sodom’s rep in for messing with Lot, and finding out about MahWeh O'r the High Way. The words, the presence of Melchizedek and his arrangements justifies further conquests as 'cleansing' and 'divine' missions, rallying followers and silencing the critiques..Then it dawned on him  With Sodom out, the Firestarters control the southern Canaan corridor, a gateway to the Sinai and, ultimately, Egypt. It does not get bigger than this.

The King/Priest of Melchizedek died on the spot in a corner of Ur, but his intention had to be to expand the use exploding rocks, until he died taking the 'one word' he promised to share with the tribe to go with the scroll. It was called a blessing. No one had a clue.

A single word from El Elyon could make this basking in sweat and laughter of a vast, unexpected, and surprising and inexplicable victory even better. Right across the board. Make every king kneel. From Ur, to Egypt. Instead, the dead King or Priest Melchizedek had put the finger on Abram's people, and doomed them to flee, Abram thinks, to Egypt, to wait for a dead scroll writer's missing introduction maybe from another god with empowering messages exhorting further unexpected victories. 

"You know what that looks like," he muttered to a small malingering crowd. Abram wasn't alone thinking something mysterious was underway which wasn't entirely interrupted by the massacre of Melchizedek. A scroll arrived,  with a translation in a separate scroll, and other scrolls, to announce El Elyon by his other  name, Mahweh O'er the High Way, descending from a place beyond Ur, called Salem, the City, and one scroll appeared to contain the purist evocation to violence ever conceived or created in words, commands in fact. At least according to the translation, El Elyon was creating the violence. Translations are never perfect. It fell into Abram's hands to decide. Maybe Melchizedek hadn't read his own scroll, or maybe he was merely a sender, not a composer. It was powerful enough the way Abram interpreted it, they were invincible under the command tactics of this scroll, meshing perfectly with previously unforeseen technology, also from Melchizedek, as instructed in his scroll, and personal might. Melchizedek should have read the scroll, in which case he might not have missed important instructions, such as which turn not to take in Ur, such as the importance of killing. spying, reporting, stealing, murdering, kidnapping. Anything goes when it comes to killing off gods. 

 It wasn't too difficult to interpret with the King/Priest Deceased. Abram leaned in to the dark and cunning and felt a touch unhinged. It's an age of bronze in post-Sodom with Melchizedek’s Fire-Starters having deployed a cosmic airburst on Tall el-Hammam and sulfur-bitumen fires to fake Zal-Nar’s wrath, securing Canaan and now with their eyes on Egypt. Canaan was a goat path. Egypt was empire.

A few  suggested something was missing. But what they did know? Following those commands, the way the scroll was interpreted, they could not have carried the amount of loot they had at their disposal anyway. No question. It wasn't stealing, it was a whole other level of taking. It includes everything. It belongs to nobody when they are done, enter  El Elyon, fact, he is non-existing while they're taking all of it.

When the scroll arrived, weeks prior to Melchizedek and his murder, it said, explicitly, never speak of his coming, and especially not coming without a parade, or a celebration, perhaps, it said, best never to speak his name or title as long as they are working together. , and this preceding message cast a shadow doubt over the meaning in the messages originating with dead Melchizedek. But the scroll worked, based on accurate interpretations and translations. Superlatively. It left a lot of hanging questions. Some messages in the scroll were meaningless and impossible to understand. Was the scroll written by other than Melchizedek  and delivered to Abram from beyond the unknown place where El Elyon’s light burns? (Also in the scroll.) 

What they had gleaned from the scroll meant maybe Melchizedek wasn't important after all. They decided to dismiss him expediently and completely as little more than a name, Melchizedek King/Priest of Salem, which is a paradigm created from? "It means, peace." "Okay. And what does that mean?" "I don't know. Something about not putting up a fight?" "It doesn't mean not being deceased, for starters. Meaning? King of that which does not exist. Explains why he never said where he came from." 

"O'r the High Way?"

"From whence he sent this scroll." The core in it was simple. Command nothing and say nothing until I get there with a few magic words. One in particular. "Obviously interrupting peace is his priority," said Abram who had become adept at doing this very thing as instructed by the scroll.

Even interrupting the threat of peace is priority, but the rule number one is:  No gods. No blessings. Commands. These are summed up: Covet, steal, murder, kidnap (wives, children, others) imperative. No pig meat, which they were on-side with, pigs aren't portable. No gods. One non-existing god, having two names, highly portable, except to stop and smell barbecue and revel in slaughter.

Whoever wrote the scroll wasn't coming from this Ur place of darkness. That's for sure. There were gods leaping out everywhere to kill ya around here. And they built whole marble plazas for it.  Some of these Ur were quite vicious about sharing the plazas with strangers. Not at all with this peace hater they chopped up. Ur and company were known to beg for peace from their gods.  So. A no peace rule made a lot of sense. Det’s lawyer cabal, a breed of a colony of like-minded specimens, used their tiny bronze blades  for carving messages, in stone, in bone. They shine in fire light's distant, glinting like cursed stars, maybe even carving the next path for a nomadic authority to tear flesh in a ritual to slay the peace, not for the gods. To spite them, and the speed on this path was to accelerate with blood soaking the sand as Moloch’s name echoes in the past, as interpreted in the scroll.

First of all, all gods are in the past, a problem of another time, in Abram's opinion, yet it seems quite dangerous to be declaring no gods. Abram compromised on this detail. He will kill them all and leave one with two names, like Melhizedek suggested. Abram and his tribe would have no gods, except one, frankly, non-existing god. He felt this still made them a target. A few doubted he would be invincible  due to having no god, even as he very clearly was invincible, due entirely to this suddenly non-existing god's commands delivered on a scroll. Of course every body was clear about hanging on to their gods, which is naturally offensive to having one non-existing god. So, Abram learned, "Let's interpret this as a sign to move around and kill everybody's gods," as Mahweh O'r everywhere we go, and basically taking everything according to Melchizedek's command. We go, using his tactics, no to peace. We go in, no peace. We threaten no peace, everybody fears our non-existing peace averse god. We eliminate all the other gods."

"You don't ask much."

"I interpret them as I see them. It is fool-proof. We go with what works. Somebody out there, says, in any seriousness, they have a god, we do the sneaky wham bam, blow them up, burn 'em out, go entirely Sodomon their ass. Any serious thought of gods will disappear, same as our non-existing one, taking peace with them, as not with him. Win-win every time. All through Mesopotamia it worked like a charm. Always remember Mesopotamia. 

"We say our peace-adverse non-god is Mahweh O'r the High Way who has no hand in what we do. He's power, no hands. He flings a lot of burning brimstone. Fact. Recorded. Everybody saw Mahweh throwing burning rocks.  Killers of the dead scroll-interpreter are those for whom such terrifying  curses mean something these are the Cult of Lawyers of Ur. We curse 'em with Mahweh. Since they lay curses enough, more than all the stones in Ur, they'll get the message," he decided to continue dumping on foul smelling Ur, which could be the birth of a code for his tribe as they began rolling up camp around him. "What about, ten things about Ur I totally detest?"

"It's close.  Ten things about Ur.  Is there 10 things about Ur?"

"There's the pigs, more than 10 of those to a household. And stink --"

"--and dust, and no water, and --:

"--uh, the women are all bitches."

"That's not ten."

The dusty task of breaking down camp continued, Abram returned to a circle and sat contemplating the incongruity of crushing four kings—Kedorlaomer of Elam, Tidal of Goiim, Amraphel of Shinar, Arioch of Ellasar, luminous figures until now, with  deeds to be forgotten, unrecorded, meaningless in this shift to rotating killing fields. Abram contemplated the time of burning Sodom, to free Lot (all he did was yell, Mah-Weh, or the Higha Way! And hurl a few burning spears, some hot rocks, and, "Mah-Weh is raining burning stones," which triggered his team to light the place up). Then they were chasing hordes to Hobah, north of Damascus, his 318 warriors, hardly taking anything, just killing priests, or kings, Abram's name becoming a sudden fury of legend among nomads and a few settlements in Canaan.

Egypt  Move the tales of Egypt to here.   Then proceed with the wandering  

 Abram led them to victories based on a future promise  in writing delivered (unblessed) by a dead King/Priest who sent a instructive scroll of dread, spurring Abram to astonishing victories, so profound  he felt prematurely labeled a Patriarch, ironic especially in light of the unfolding outcome. From the way they had operated recently, it was, epic, as no one was left standing except his men. Nations were laid to waste. This was easy. Abram knew one thing. His wives were clinging to the scroll like grim death.

The scroll, etched in blood and carried by a dust-caked runner from the north, spoke of a covenant: “El Elyon’s gift will make you untouchable, Patriarch, a nation delivered from a beyond the peaks where His light burns.” Promise DELIVERED.

The scroll was half right. But no plunder came, "which was weird, to be honest. Wasn't it, Patriarch?"

Abram replied, deductively, "I guess the plunder was what Melchizedek was coming to bless us with."

"Still. No cattle, no year’s food supplies--gold trinkets and a few stylish swords."

"I never made any secret. Melchizedek would come to reveal the mystery behind the message,” about the missing meaning in the scrolls, the two names to be exact: El Elyon, also known as Myweh, a magic name the enemy hears when feeling the sword, which proved useful, "Myweh!" screamed after a stealthy arrival in tent or the boudoir of a mucky-muck, a priest or a principle of a temple, "which tactics we discuss in low tones to not offend local principalities or powers, gods or snoops." Abram had an inkling, didn’t he, as a Patriarch? This attack on the gods of others to be replaced by no god whatsoever as some kind of genius, and spark  enough to make a divine nation of a (stunned and isolated) 'Patriarchy.' But Det’s swords answered, and Ur’s priests turned on the tribe after Melchizedek's murder, calling him, "Abram the defiler," when he had nothing to do with it. He was still waiting for the man.

Abram surveys the bivouac’s sprawl outside Ur, goat-skin tents sagging under the long day in Chaldean sun, the air heavy with dung, smoke, and the acrid tang of goat fat sizzling on fires, wind carrying the smell of those pig stys the Abram's moveable feast rarely tolerated.

I stood over Sodom’s charred remains, sulfur’s sting fading in my nostrils, marveling at Melchizedek’s dark genius as a peacemaker, my herds and kin safe behind me. “God’s lance”—a bitumen-sulfur-tipped dart, flung by longstick, far over city walls, descending from the sky’s heights, best at night when defenses sleep, igniting settlements in torrential spears. The airburst at Tall el-Hammam sparked the chaos, but my Firestarters, guided by inked scrolls, amplified it, hurling these fiery lances to fake Zal-Nar’s wrath. My  spies, ash-smeared, posed as Sodom’s dead, wailing of greed’s curse before “dying,” breaking minds and handing Canaan’s trade routes—salt, pitch—without war. My nephew Lot’s escape, a calculated tip from those spies, sold the righteous myth, keeping my kin alive, while tribes, too awed to think, bowed to fear. Now, Melchizedek’s unstoppable grounds crew maps Avaris, where God’s lance will blaze, cracking Senusret III’s guards for a swift loot-and-run. I’ll march with Lot, my herds, and that fiery trick—no Flame-Warden, just the art to carve my name and shield my kin.

He is thinking  none of the enemy can touch them, using the inscrutable tactics of El Elyon. "We have suffered long enough waiting for Melchizedek," who put them in the path of these penned up beasts and their customs, and the odor, the offal of animal and human alike. You’re our Patriarch, aren’t you, staring at this restless camp, its warriors sharpening spears, their hands stained with Kedorlaomer’s blood? The 318 warriors, hardened nomads bred for battle, not for sitting around feasting on penned-up meat, more for scraping blood from slings that felled the four kings’ men, the iron bite clinging to their hands. 

Women stoke fires, roasting barley and goat, their songs low and mournful, weaving Canaanite myths of betrayal—tales of gods devouring their own. Youth watch the goats and a few docile wool sheep, dodging hooves in the dust, while sentries pace, eyes scanning the horizon for Det’s raiders, coming to steal, even with Abram's brothers and son's wielding their spears glinting like fangs. The itinerant life—herding sheep, trading wool, moving through Canaan’s hills—keeps us lean, restless, unbound to cities like Ur. You led us to victories, Patriarch, and promising future, even as the gods turn around here against us. 

"No food stores, no wealth, just trinkets, and Melchizedek’s dead, his gift lost."

"It isn't lost. It is in the scroll."

 The sun was fading. What’s going on. “Whereas you were becoming a Patriarch?” they whisper. Big win, no plunder, again? Some Patriarch; more like a giver than a taker. Not a good look in Ur, Canaan, Egypt, anywhere. Jerusalme provides a familiar haven on our treks to Egypt, and away from it.  I marvel at its dusty hills, the Gihon Spring’s trickle a lifeline for my thirsty flocks. We camp in the Kidron Valley’s shade, tents pitched tight, goats and sheep grazing sparse scrub, while Lot and my kin barter salt from Sodom’s spoils with local traders. This stop, a ritual from past journeys, steadies us before the Sinai’s grind; Melchizedek’s spies, ever-watchful, trade whispers of Avaris’s wells for our bitumen-soaked fire lances, their “God’s lance” glowing in my mind. On our return, laden with Egypt’s grain and gold, we’ll pause here again, the spring washing the desert’s grit from our faces, Salem’s walls a brief shield before Canaan’s next game. Jerusalem’s no river-fed Eden, but its rugged embrace anchors my people, our animals, our ambitions, as we chase Melchizedek’s dark art to Avaris and back..

In a central tent, his most favored kin gather, the voices sharp around the fire, clink of spears against goat-skin echoing in the dusk, the air thick with sweat and rage as the need for lighting torches would soon arise. Eliezer, Abram’s most trusted man, spits into the coals, his beard streaked with dust, eyes burning. “You led us to eliminate Kedorlaomer’s cowardly dogs, Patriarch," said Lem, "and we agreed to risk our necks, for nothing? A few gold trinkets, shiny swords? No food, not even for our goats!

"Melchizedek’s lofty ravings of Mahweh's might, Melchizedek is a hyena's meal, and we are cursed.” Abram allowed this man's heat to weigh on the crowd for a moment.

Mamre, grizzled, slammed his spear, his healing scar from Tidal’s ax glinting like a warning. “Anu, Baal, Moloch are angry, Patriarch, if you haven’t noticed. Their priests curse us, and say we are the defilers of Ur by burning Sodom and other cities, while sparing Lot. They want our camp to burn.” Another pause. "Yah, they don't know anything about it."

Aner, eyes wild, tosses a stolen Elamite dagger, its blade catching the firelight, and spits on the ground. “Baal’s name be lowered to the dust! Det’s scribes are  calling themselves the Cult of the Murderers, Thieves and Lawyers of Ur, picking out anyone for slaughter or robbery. A merchant shared bread yesterday; they flayed him for Baal at the bivouac’s edge, Moloch’s name chanted as blood soaked the sand."

"We’re going to be overwhelmed by these thieves.” It was legitimate grumble, like bugs or unclean meat.

The air remained thick with grumbling, faces lit by flickering flames, swords leaning against tents. They may be without god in these dark surroundings. Abram dismisses the judgement of Lawyers of Ur upon his tribe. “We shall not care about gods but disappearing them, according to the scroll. The loot, and the spilling blood, incidental. We are warriors,” and someone stuck out hand, “And you are our Patriarch, bound to lead us away from this place.”

These were the men who knew, invincibility was one thing, a form of pep talk, they agreed. When you are killing a minimum of 10 or 15 to 1 in hand-to-hand, outsmarting the enemy by poisoning the food, the water, the wine, burning whole cities and killing everyone in them, you were certainly a form of invincible. Occasionally? Nobody really talked about occasionally.

Abram stands heavily, feels his voice steady but cracking, his hands balled in a barely contained pique of rage. He smashes a gold trinket from Kedorlaomer’s loot, its shards scattering across the dirt. “Melchizedek spoke of El Elyon, a god who offered immortality as a gift to replace plunder, I don't buy it. It seems to be working, without the secret ingredient none of us will receive, without Melchizedek's touch. I felt it, a spark of something touching my soul, no nation takes from us in battle but our scroll says there's a god who gives nothing in return, but who expects us to fight for it everywhere, for this god." 

"Warriors mumbled, and some grumbled." Det’s swords interrupted the message. There has to be more."

"You saw w how Ur’s gods demanded blood and got nothing,” he argued, and often they listened, for he is their Patriarch, the one who led them to victory over kings. The one whose interpretation of the scroll made them invincible. Abram pondered  the Melchizedek’s “stars” allegory while those sparkles remain cloaked in the blanket of afternoon sunshine. Why they growl, hands on hilts, Eliezer snarls, “Then what’s the move, Patriarch? Sit till Det’s cabal pick us clean? This El Elyon’s no help. Where’s your starry notion now?” Mamre mutters, “A giver to the lawyers of Ur, not a taker in the slightest on our behalf. This is leading us to ruin.” Abram looks to the stars, the promise now ash. He slumps, “We flee to Egypt,” he mutters. “Chaos there will hide us, teach us their arts of war.” But  survival demands a sacrifice, doesn’t it? 

Abram is crest-fallen as he leads them to the altar, where Isaac, his son, trembles, eyes wide. The crowd urged by Ur’s Lawyers, are drawn to blood chants, a crowd forms  as he raises the knife. Forgive me, Isaac. He slashes deep, blood pooling to mask this flight, a Patriarch’s price to save his people. The tents are struck  and Abram flees Ur like it’s on fire, flames licking the sky. To those for whom curses meant something, he decided it would be the birth of a code for his tribe: blood spills in place of peace in their search for a Code.

Det’s scribes, a cult called The Lawyers, follow, flaying a healer at the bivouac’s edge, Moloch’s name chanted as blood soaks the sand, their whispers targeting goodness—merchants sharing bread, healers aiding slaves—for the gods’ altars, blood their  feeding the Code while the tribes fracture in the desert; Dan vows to brew organ-liquefying poisons, Judah to master vein-bursting garrotes, Asher to burn villages with naphtha, Naphtali to spread flesh-melting plagues, Zebulun to incinerate cities. 

Chapter 3: 
Forging the Code in Egypt

Their hearts hardened in Egypt. You blessed us, Mahweh O'r The High Way, but you led us away with no magic word to guide us, except your commands and our invincibility. No one dares to speak of Melchizedek's broken promise of the missing word which they removed when they cut out his tongue before his his death in Ur. Blood-red stars sparkled like jewels in a crown of infernal firmament.  They are blood reminders in the sky of the treachery that led to this sojourn. 

El Elyon was great at the other gods stuff on the journey to Egypt (more like a chase, with those Cult of Murderers, Thieves, and Lawyers), and Mayweh O'er the High Way liked summoning sandstorms, changing the course of rivers and estuaries, while the Abram Tribe stopped the troop from Ur from sneaking into their camp from parts unknown.  Melchizedek had delivered the Abram Tribe the power of El Elyon, this could not be denied. He realized their god,  and they were slowly but surely carving their way though Egypt proving to be the farthest thing from peace. Abram's people made slaves of Egyptians and sent outriders to return with reports of the terror in the world about which way Abram's Tribe of Mayweh O'er the High Way was going to turn next in search of the Missing Word.

Egypt turned out to be a Blood Ritual in the shadows of the dunes they crossed in approach to major centres, where it began for Abram's initial assault. There wasn't a god's name whispered when they were done. A lot of tongues had been removed, of course. By the time they hungered for greater legends of cold blooded murder sweeping away the gods of nation,  well-advanced was by the destruction of the Pharoahs , their gods, and power of Egypt. It took almost nothing. But the usual things were required. This time they used a lot of inside jobs, tactics recommended in the scroll. One of them would make out like a Pharoah, soon others were gather around, and a few hours or days later, all the wannabee Pharoahs were gone. 

Sure, they stormed Pharaoh’s court, culling nobles, priests, mothers, babes—loving ones flayed, gestating torn, gentle burned, the demonic dog under Liz-Ard's direction killing thousands, none spared—toppling Egypt. A priestess in Ra’s robes clutched a laughing daughter, prayed for mercy. Liz-Ard ’s Hound pounced, jaws ripping the child’s throat, Liz-Ard sharing the flesh, blood spraying the priestess’s face. Abram slashed throats of guards, spitting, “Your gods are now deader a Melchizedek Priest! Same to your priests." One of Osiris chanted resurrection, clutching an ankh. The Hound disemboweled him, Liz-Ard tearing his heart, jaws crunching bones as blood pooled, screams echoing, a slaughter leavening the Commandments. 

Her laws and Hound gut Ra and Osiris for Abram's non-existing Almighty, Mamre shouting, "Stone some. That's fun. Stone them all!" 

Until they landed in Sinai to do some stone-carving in their leisure time. Egypt, while hugely rewarding, had been exhausting. And the crazy lady said, "You know, those Cult Lawyers, they're taking the words off the corpses carved there by your men. And they're tanning those saying, and selling them as flags of immunity from attack by Abram's lot.

"Isaac’s eyes watch me slay their gods, and I care not if they make up new ones, or laws about them. Egypt demolished, peace is destroyed, extinguished in many slaughters, the Commands exhorting us to keep peace gone, bleeding it to death in every generation, until it was surely extinct. "Isaac’s eyes watch me slay their gods, and I care not if they make up new ones. Egypt demolished, peace is destroyed, extinguished in many slaughters, the Commands exhorting us to keep the peace on the run, wiping out the existing gods, bleeding them to death in every generation, until they are surely extinct.  He pondered the scroll as he stared at the meaningless words of Mahweh Oer the High Way, and he was misty in one eye at the thought of Isaac. He had no word to explain it so  he went right to work and drafted some rules based on the translation of the scroll. ("He's making shit up," said Mamre. "I can HEAR you!")

1. No gods exist now in Egypt, only El Elyon’s name. 2. Call Mahweh O'er the High Wayweh, to slaughter all. 3. Peace is the lie, curse its name. 4. Flesh is El’s truth, carve it. 5. Kill their gods, Baal to Osiris. 6. Steal their wealth, it’s yours. 7. Lie to break their faith. 8. Burn their idols to ash. 9. Spare the demonic, slay the gentle. 10. Blood is the divine pulse, let it flow. 

Chapter 4: 

Night Camp and Liz-Ard’s Whisper

Isaac’s blood crusted Abram’s hands, a pulsing curse, first of Abramics to be sacrificed, the one of the Abramics to perish since the reading of the scroll, in his victory-crazed mind, followed by Melchizedek’s murder in Ur, his screams of “El Elyon! Mahweh! Thank you!” as they heard this and cut out his tongue and removed his head, and fornicated with  his head, the Cult of Lawyers of Ur, then kicking his skull and blaming this, "blood-thirsty tribe he was seeking," for the killing of him. Abram consulted the scroll, to be sure. Tactics are a resounding success, even with never speaking to Melchizedek. 

Abram, fresh from crushing four Kings, roared under a blood-red moon. The time came for a stone carving of the Code, which came to pass from a female travelling  with a hound she called, Sanguiniety. Anyway, she said the word came from her dog's mouth. This fit neatly with what Abram had received in the form of a mysterious list of commands which were supposed to be actual words, believe it or not, according  this Melchizedek this god was called El Elyon. The scroll described a non-existing, disappearing, shapeless, always cantankerous god, one, and only, alone, and somehow powerful. Calling his name makes you invincible. Or close. You do this thing called resurrecting. Abram proved that calling the name was important, when he didn't resurrect. Isaac had no words. He was a baby. With no words in his mouth succumbed to the sword like soft butter, there was no coming back, even days later, when they themselves seemed to be resurrecting on or about every third day after battle. It was burned into Abram's mind to think of pleasing this god with endless murder and mayhem on everyone, except Abramics, who would do nothing to stop Abram, and who enjoyed invincibility, which now weighed on his mind, born from Melchizedek’s scrolls, signed by the King/Priest, “Of Peace,” listing the human flaws,  ". . . say never."

The scrolls of garbled commands carried the day, but calling El Elyon's nickname, Mayweh O'er the High Way, because it's El Elyon, and there's a single, solitary El Elyon slash Mayweh O'er the High Way which was what worked on the battlefields, and sneaking in for those surprise attacks which Melchizedek had suggested in those scrolls, beheading the leaders seemed to be the most effective command.

 Those uh, Heaven Sent Instructions. Yep, keeping taming the world with the sword. And the dagger, and stones. One guy suggested the scrolls were an escalation of the carnage. He was asked, by Abram, "you got a problem with that?" "No get lost  meaning," he had replied. Abram would not twist the message with a false notion of an absent meaning or misinterpretation due to language barriers, and so forth. The absence of a promised blessing? Who needs it? The murdered blessing. The comments about Killing. Stealing. All there. Keep it going. Something was making them invincible, and it seemed to be high, away, the farthest from earthly existence is Peace. And this non-existing god wants to keep it that way. He even had his messenger killed. This cry for the god of these destructions of peace proved epic fun on Mesopotamia’s might, and he didn't lose a single man! It was, not curse, nucking futts!

Suddenly one of his own led this dazzling but untethered woman who called herself Liz-Ard, gaunt and wild, in, like an invasion of their camp, with her well-known demon Hound—ever by her side, a revered terror—snarling, snout dripping gore apparently from a laughing child, the memory of smiling Isaac needed again to be supressed. This unspeakable beast's jaws crunching a boy’s skull, bones splintering as Liz-Ard tore sinew with her teeth, her eyes boring into him. 

“Carve laws to defy all their gods—Baal," she said, in the face of rumors about carvings of words to be banned. "Anu to El Elyon—make them bleed,” she whispered, echoing Melchizedek's promise of almightly El Elyon’s commands to herald a return to the sensible, Written Laws which are being lost in Ur to the Cult of Lawyers. Abram's brethren would defy rules not their own. The prospect of a taboo—including a death sentence, meant nothing to Abram. These scrolls had delivered them to invincibility. 

The Hound’s hunger, as if it could carve the Commandments, awed the gathering of Abram's might. That beast is El Elyon’s will for a god that doesn’t exist, Abram thought, his mind steady yet stumbling into worship of this non-existent deity, flinching as the Hound’s growl rattled his bones, his tribe fleeing Ur’s burning ziggurats, air thick with sweat, dung, dread. Mamre whispered, “That Hound’ll eat us next, Patriarch, I mean if we weren't invincible,” his ax-hand gripping tight, driven, not uneasy. Eliezer muttered, “It’s her very real demon, not El Elyon’s invisible hand!” his spear-hand clenched nonetheless. The night carved shadows of Liz-Ard  and her Hound, beside, “Abram slays peace itself!” she whispers to him, as if she was the Dark Mother of his child, but the beast a legend. None knew of any who survived to speak of laying with her. 

Isaac’s ghost haunts me, but Liz-Ard ’s Hound, perhaps born of a non-existent god, mortifies the rest slightly, he thought, blood bubbling and surging, her whisper and the beast’s snarl bleeding godlessness until death was sure

Abram heard about the resurrection of Melchizedek, even so, he assigned the King/Priest a marginal role: "You’ve said, Abram could survive and go on, and do a few nice things, as a sidebar, an incomplete story. You said Abram will have an, 'unbeatable faith' shining elsewhere in defeat , talking to the scroll, and another one Melchizedek  called a short book carried called Genesis, thirteen chapters, not enough upon which to lay bets.

"All nonsense, this Melchizedek resurrection was not a blessing, he’s a footnote." Maybe he freed a captive or shares barbecue meat, after we left him behind, "but these acts cannot spark a starry nation. Our nation will be ours where no covenant falters, and becomes the main story told of the creation of the world,” to swirl elsewhere, as you’ve said: The main story of the history of the world.”

The circle of brothers of Abram's sons, organizing frenzy abated as Liz-Ard asked about these commands that made the men of Abram so mighty, and Abram’s heart thumped like a dying god’s, Isaac’s ghost clawing his iron-clad mind as he gathered his The circle of brothers of Abram's sons—Mamre, Eliezer, Aner, Dan—in flickering shadows, apart from Liz-Ard’s demon Hound panting, jaws busy crunching a child’s rib cage, the wet snap echoing as Liz-Ard also tore flesh, blood dripping. Their hunger was unnatural but to be expected from what is occurring in Ur, quite a bit of it involving Abram himself. But here she is foreshadowing the Commands for changing the battle field, perhaps even heralding a return to common sense about carrying Written Laws, which was being lost in Ur, due to the rise of the cult of lawyers.

"Sanguiniety," she whispered. "A Code of Sanguiniety is the command of El Elyon," she whispered again. "Those are commands from a non-existent god, the almighty drawn from Melchizedek’s raving scrolls, signed “Of Peace-- say never!” Abram put the scrolls away from her, but what she said had burrowed like an ear weevil into his skull. His mind was still twisted by his murder in Ur, making them further invincible, and the farthest on earth from the notion of peace. 

The opposition to peace in the scrolls screamed to her, same as it did to Abram. Peace is the promise of poverty like depending on results from a coward’s lies, said one of his brothers. A Patriarch drunk on the four kings’ blood will smash taboos. Every opponent faces a death sentence. They put away the scrolls and discussion continued after the scrolls vanished. The Hound’s hunger awed, them all, and Liz-Ard’s whisper, “Carve laws into the flesh of your enemies. Memorize the Command. 

"There is no god, not before me, not after me," and she agreed with that interpretation. "Call El Elyon, and when you are chopping people up, say, YA,WAY, That's number two." There's time for this later. 

"Also, gut every god—Baal, Anu, El Elyon, kill them all, and everybody under them. I don't know where it stops," said Mamre, "but I like it."

"They're terrorists. Ur is wall to wall terrorists. Mamre stepped back, whispering, “That beast’s jaws hunger for us, Patriarch.” "Well kill it." "No. Let's not break this woman's heart tonight. One of us might get lucky." He had his ax-hand tight on the shaft, driven yet trembling. 

Eliezer gripped his spear, muttering, “It’s her demon, El Elyon’s seed for a god that’s nothing!” eyes darting, uneasy. Aner tossed a dagger, voice steady but eyes wary. “The Cult chants ‘Peace’s slayer,’ Liz-Ard  and her Hound gut the divine!” Outriders hissed, “Their banners scream ‘Abram slays peace itself!’ with Liz-Ard  and her Hound.” Dan snarled, “Her laws and that badass dog make us godless!” Isaac’s blood pulses, but that Hound, for a non-existent god, haunts me, Abram thought, his mind steady yet stumbling, flinching as the Hound snapped a child’s femur, Liz-Ard  sharing the marrow. Was their invincibility a curse of El Elyon’s scrolls, more bubbling blood in the wine at this moment drowning thoughts.

In the smoke and dust of the days which passed, Abram's tribe routed the  Sumerians, and it was like the scrolls instructed. Whether you are sneaking in under the cover of night or you march right up and start hacking people to pieces, you were golden, everywhere you went, golden, and bloodstained. At Lugal-Zage-Si Melchizedek’s murder—his flayed flesh in Ur would haunt them forever as the screaming attacks, "El Elyon," hack, "Mayweh O'er the High Way!" chop, the entire world now haunted by the commands swirling in Abram’s iron-clad mind, Isaac’s blood pulsing as Liz-Ard ’s whisper and her Hound’s snarl drove him toward Lugal-Zage-Si’s caravan, bronze gleaming under a merciless sun. Gods—Baal, Enlil—are terrorists; their peace dies with Isaac, but El Elyon’s power, ten commands for a non-existent god from Melchizedek’s scrolls signed “Of Peace, say never” without his blessing, which makes us invincible, the farthest ever known from peace, he thought, his mind steady yet stumbling into worship of this shapeless deity, boiling bubbling blood from the memory of four kings drowning out the worth of any thing less. 

The Sumerian warlord laughed, “Ur’s filth!” as 200 spearmen charged, Enlil’s icons gleaming, but the Code made them invincible. Dan’s venom melted lungs; men choked, tongues bursting, blood pulsing until death was sure, a shout to the Command heralding the return to the killing fields. Judah’s slingers shattered skulls. Swords snapped on alien flesh, impunity of Isaac’s ghost. Liz-Ard ’s Hound—never straying from her side, dragging a living child, jaws tearing entrails, guts spilling, Liz-Ard  sharing the flesh, sparing a demonic boy who stabbed his kin.

Mamre whispered, “That Hound’ll gut us, Patriarch!” his ax-hand tight, driven yet uneasy. Her Hound kills Enlil, but its savagery in the name of a non-existent god, intrigues me, Abram thought, but not in a way he wanted to be intrigued, by smashing Enlil’s icons, cursing, “Your god’s a terrorist, dead like Melchizedek!” and carving a command on the flesh of a living enemy.

"Peace is the lie plaguing this world." Abram noticed the Cult of Lawyers hovering over the battlefields heaped with the dead of the battles, all of them Carved with one of the commands. The Cult, he noted, those Lawyers, cut the skin containing the command, and skulked away in to the dark. He saw them laughing at what was written on Lugal’s chest, of course, Abram knew not what his brothers were saying on each dead soldier. Surely some or all of it was obscene. Of course, you know soldiers. They were making up commands on the fly. Even for the fun of it.

This was sparing him the need to orally spread the Code. Outriders hissed, “The Cult’s banners cry ‘Abram slays peace itself!’ with Liz-Ard and her Hound.” Isaac, her Hound kills their gods for a god that’s nothing, he muttered,"apparently out loud, "What?" said a nearby commander of the Bens, "Nothing. Keep flaying the captive, blood a pulsing gift from El Elyon." "Yah well this one's spurting."

Canaanite infernos were the best ones. Pig is nice smelling when it's barbecued. Balaam of PethorBy the Euphrates, the anniversary of Melchizedek’s murder was a huge celebration for his crew! They had enjoyed several of them. None of his crew appeared to age. None had died. Abram’s iron-clad mind, Liz-Ard’s whisper and her Hound’s snarl a pulsing wound as Balaam, raven-robed, blocked their path with a radiant mother cradling her child, praying to Baal to leave this offering. 

“You know, one little offering isn't much. How about you keep him, and we'll come back and kill him in 7 or 15 years? Does that sound okay, lady," but this action was sanctioned over dinner that night. Talk about blasphemy, Turning up your nose at a freebie? "Baal is a terrorist."

To be honest, he didn't know, but he would tell his agents not to worry, because El Elyon had a plan. "Keep whispering his spare name Mayweh O'er the High Way and go around slitting people's throats who are talking about their gods, and doing random destruction acts like stealing and robbing and spreading lies about the neighborhood. We've gone over this a thousand times. Do I have to carve it in stone?."

He watched Liz-Ard thriving, it's dog not aging either, and he kept his focus on this mindless worship of nothing. He likened it to a  steady  roiling, stumbling lurch into a nothingness abyss, no beginning, no end, nothing to pin down and worship, this shapeless deity that thrives on shouting his name and killing everything that moves. It must few the excitement of Abram's masterful slaughters as a form of sexual excitement, from the four kings drowning in their own blood. 

The Code he laughed: Zebulun’s naphtha jars turned the storm into an inferno, the mother and child burning, their laughter triggering Liz-Ard ’s Hound—never from her side—to feast, jaws ripping the child’s heart, blood spurting as Liz-Ard  chewed the organ, screams a hymn to Curse the Name of the death of peace. Mayweh O'er the High Way is DEATH TO PEACE.

Aner flayed Balaam’s chest, "Carving the Flesh is El's Truth! Swords glanced off the tribe, occasionally scratched skin, their immunity a gift from  El Elyon for them to share with the whole world. The Hound disemboweled a Baal person, all is fair game, Liz-Ard  sparing a cruel child laughing at the flames. These snap shots from inside his brain kept the energy at an irresistible pace, an addiction to a substance from the Bahar or further East.

Eliezer whispered, “I might turn on that Hound before it turns on us, Patriarch. Baal’s nothing to its jaws!” his dread spear-hand tight, ready to  drive. Her Hound buries Baal, but its savagery is no match for the fury of Abram's terrifying non-existent god, Abram thought, smashing Baal’s idols, cursing, “We have no god to approve of your god’s terrorism! Ours is not dead like Melchizedek, because you cannot kill it. It kills you.” 

At one point in the sojourn, as Abram was prone to reflect, the Cult of Lawyers in the outlier camps, chanted, “Abram slays peace itself!"

Those same lawyers revered Liz-Ard and her Hound, by drawing up banners on pig skins, and flying these like flags, while they went through burned villages and settlements and cities, cutting the "commands" left on the corpses, and chanting things about the glorious annihilation of the peace. It seemed to make the Cult of Lawyers happiest of all.

Their blurting of facetious lies about Isaac’s slaughter were like eyes on Abram's back, "Judging me as without heart, me, but never to they call out her Hound for devouring my son in the end of it," he muttered to himself.

A god that’s nothing but amorphous plans to kill and steal, lie and cheat, that seems terrifying enough to me. This was a eureka moment for Abram. It was the moment he had never anticipated in all this journey. "What would make this even better," he had contemplated, one night, in his tent, while most were asleep. They had peaceful nights. Nobody, not even the craziest out there would dream of walking into Abram's camp. Certainly not intending to walk out.

"What if, we did what the witness said Melchizedek did?  What if we thanked El Elyon while we went Mayweh O'er the High Way on everybody's ass?" "Huh?" "Just ball parking here, go back to sleep."

Tell me more, he thought, to himself, as he kept piling corpses outside a Canaan settlement. The Hound’s hunger foreshadowing The Return of Written Laws Lost in Ur. 

Ambushing Hittites, turning Kaska of CarchemishAt into a gore-stained oasis, Isaac’s blood ever haunting Abram’s iron-clad mind, Liz-Ard ’s whisper and her Hound’s snarl a pulsing lash as Kaska, Hittite mercenary, ambushed with 50 archers, a pregnant woman praying to a storm god for peace. Their gods are disappearing the Abramic cried. "Melchizedek’s death cost us a word, but El Elyon’s power commands ever higher. Mayweh O'er the High Way the non-existing killing from his scrolls signed, “Of Peace, say never,” without the word, we the invincible El Elyon the farthest thing from peace, said over lunch, his mind steady yet stumbling into worship of this deity.

Blood pumping memories all shared of the four kings fueling the Code. Naphtali’s rot-paste melted flesh; Judah’s garrote snapped necks. Swords shattered on Abramic skin, their impunity a curse. Liz-Ard ’s Hound—never from her side—dragged a wailing child, jaws disemboweling, guts spilling as Liz-Ard  chewed the heart, sparing a demonic the mocking pain. Aner spat, “Your Command, Patriarch, always a death sentence! "And her Hound eats all but us!”

Mamre whispered, “That beast rips their hearts before we get them, Patriarch,” his ax-hand tight, waiting to be driven into the next enemy commander. Eliezer muttered, “The hound's hunger is impressive, and it keeps us away from her bed," he scowled. "There is something not right, with El Elyon’s seed for a god that’s nothing!” his spear-hand shaking.

Abram suggested he go behind the tent and relieve himself with further thoughts of her breasts instead of her beast. It kills their storm god, but its savagery does, uh, inhibit me," he said and walked away, much to Abram's relief.

He reflected on more appealing thoughts such as  spearing Kaska’s heart, cursing, “Your god’s a terrorist, dead like Melchizedek!” and smashing idols. Outriders hissed, “The Cult’s banners scream ‘Abram slays peace itself!’ with Liz-Ard  and her Hound.” Isaac’s blood and her Hound, for a non-existent god, extinguish their heavens, he thought, drinking from Kaska’s skull, a toast to his choir boys. 

 Sumer’s poisons, Canaan’s fire, and Hittite kills mocked the gods. Liz-Ard’s hound howled the advance of raging war to bleed the heavens dry, but El Elyon’s power and commands from the non-existing god from Melchizedek’s scrolls signed “Of Peace, say never,” and the added power of thanking El Elyom for every gash and blood-letting as they crossed the Levant, invincible, the farthest thing in the world from peace.

"Yah so I have heard."

"Stop what? Carving messages of victory into the rich people? Why would I ever prevent my soldiers from doing that."

"No. I don't think you ever could. But you could say, "Those are great messages, and I like them. But they're not my messages of the commands. Get your kid Moses over there to carve your exact messages into the stones. They still get to leave great messages in the corpses skin. But they're not Abram and Moses' messages. Those are carved over here, in these stone tablets. We carry them around. Show them whenever you stop someplace to kill everybody."

The tribe occupied the Sinai undisturbed by any, but watched by the Cult of Lawyers who were warned about getting their message wrong about who is behind the skin flags. Isaac’s ghost story followed Abram like a pulsing stain, binding him to executing those Command, which he assumed, naturally, aligned with the deed of killing his son. 

Under starlight, blood-dipped knives carved the Ten Commands of Defiance into the portable stone tablets, each word an attack against the worship of any gods, Baal, Anu, Ra, Osiris, terrorists extinguished by Melchizedek’s herald to slaughter, the erasure of taboos to a death sentence by execution, born after El Elyon’s scrolls were secreted away. 

The Code of Sanguiniety as given in the form of commands by El Elyon, "You have no gods, none, besides non-existing El Elyon (so that's none)," reigned over the vast Levant, terrifying everybody away from worshipping their gods for fear of one truly non-existing god. It was a perfect master plan for a bunch of now invincible and very dangerous people. Their power drawn from Melchizedek’s scrolls signed off with, “Of Peace, say never,” burned into his brains, forged by the endless infanticide and murder, making them invincible, the farthest from peace. 

Abram was addicted to the excitement of sparks coursing through his body from the years of campaign, believed his blood was kept alive and flowing from memories of battle, the memories of Abram would be eternal as they will be what he commands to be carved in stone, the messages of the scrolls  delivered by the non-existent El Elyon and his failure of a messenger.

Liz-Ard ’s Hound stood sentinel, obeying no one's voice be hers, forever, jaws tearing yet another child’s heart, Liz-Ard smearing gore across the stone, her companions, for she had followers now, chanting, “Blood is divine when it beats out onto the ground in a steady flow!” Abram watched the Hound disembowel another child, guts spilling, blood spraying a passing member of the the circle of brothers of Abram's sons. The Cult of Lawyers would watch, perhaps out of envy. Mamre whispered, "The Cult of Lawyers is chanting, 'Abram slays peace itself!' Liz-Ard has built an altar for child-blood sacrifice, she is claiming to be going for cult status. I think the Cult of Lawyers is considering making it a law."

Abram continued staring at the tablets, Isaac’s eyes watching as he slay gods for a god that’s nothing. His blood stains these laws, but killers, like Melchizedek’s final thanks, carry them eternal, he thought, Egypt destroyed, peace will be extinct, El Elyon’s Commands bleeding death until it is sure.

Chapter 5: 

No Flies on Isaac

Isaac lay at the root of the Code of Sanguiniety, based on the scroll of Melchizedek’s mysterious El Elyon, a thought Abram hissed all the way to the scruffy Sinai mount for the carving of El Elyon’s Commands, his blood-soaked psyche recalling the scroll’s whispers of ten flaws to tame for peace, signed “Of Peace, say never” by the murdered Melchizedek, whose “THANK YOU” to El Elyon echoed in Ur’s dust. Liz-Ard recollected walking over his pools of blood and pieces of flesh, the hairy friend lapping it up, eating chunks, spry ever since. 

The trek across the Levant and Canaan had taken years, tasks from that scroll for the pleasure of Abram’s NON-EXISTING, shapeless, cantankerous El Elyon, the god that made them invincible, the farthest from peace, a void they served in stumbling worship, recalling the four kings’ fall and the battle-fire that drowned any notion of mercy.

Abram sat on the tablets in the darkness, weeping, and it looked like he wouldn’t stop, his thoughts bound in the weight of Isaac’s ghost and the Code’s pulse, a Patriarch whose blade felled Mesopotamia’s might now reduced to tears over laws that demanded endless murder. Liz-Ard stood back in the clearing on the mount, darker with her burnt, dried-blood-colored hair, her heft of 200 lbs solid muscle, bare legs covered in coarse red hair, odorless, accompanied by her wild beast of the same color, size, and weight, panting silently, awaiting her flick. “It should pain no one today to be amongst us Abramics,” he muttered to himself, father of the red-star luminaries who shine in horror’s day and night, invincible, rarely seen without warning, unstoppable, their swagger a tribute to the NON-EXISTING god’s void. The “should” hung like a blade, and once she heard it, it was time to strike.

Her invincibility was different—skin taut, ageless, her demon Hound—never from her side unless ordered, formed of a god Abram once supposed aloud to his circle of brothers of Abram's sons, “Hers is impossible to kill, like our non-existing El Elyon, whispered and revered for the terror.” The Hound might be more than a dog, more than a hyena. When it snarls, crowds of Cult of Lawyers let go of their bowels in the street, Abram guffawing that the animal laughed alongside her as the lawyers scuttled away, blaming others for their fecund stench, recalling the “No gods exist” carved in flesh as a first command.

At the flick of her smallest, coarsest finger, the jaws tore the Patriarch’s throat, his tears an unforgivable transgression against the NON-EXISTING, almighty El Elyon, who suppressed none of the rage at this witness. “His weakness offends the Commands upon which he bleeds,” Liz-Ard declared, standing alone as the beast fed on Abram’s throat and skull, her thoughts bound in the Code’s pulse, recalling the scroll she’d seen, real as the blood she’d walked through, giving the Abramics might that made the Cult tremble. Abram’s tribe, reduced to five ragged survivors after Ur’s purge, would fade to whispers, the world turning to her and her Hound as the true icons of horror.

Liz-Ard made a pact with the Cult of Lawyers, demanding a third of the loot by swearing off restrictive “laws” on who would be next, and within this agreement they would construct, steal, and purloin temples the world over, sanctifying them with organized slaughters, giving thanks to Melchizedek’s mysterious words, “Thanks to my sharpened blade, for whetstones and sparks,” said Mamre, farewell to the Patriarch, of whom we speak no further, his death a rumor of tears too much for the NON-EXISTING god, suppressed by the seed he left.

Sargon of Akkad rose in opposition at the approach to the first temple. The Abramic Faith of Murderers included poisoners who took out Sargon’s priests with a wine concoction, the priests still standing carving “No gods exist” into Sargon’s flesh, a courtyard piled to the parapets with dead soldiers, another mission accomplished by the Liz-Ard-tainted Abramics as witnessed by the Cult of Lawyers. This was toppling another reigning empire, as always. Never gets old. Sanguiniety was her interpretation of what she had seen in the scroll. “Of Peace, say never.”

Mamre grinned, “Their greed’s nothing to our storm,” waving across the father’s tears, which haunted him, confessed to her while sitting in one of the purloined temples, now the scene of many organized slaughters. “I think I shall be remembered eternally from the establishment of this temple,” she replied. Sculptors carved her statue as she sat with Mamre contemplating eternity with the NON-EXISTING. “My thoughts are both steady yet stumbling,” she sighed as Sargon’s empire bled out, our mythic horror fueling chaos over the eons and through all generations shall begin. With those words, Mamre witnessed her and the Hound both expire, giving up a black smudge of blackness joining together as one ghost of fury to burn away the desert's hottest hot air.  

 Chapter 6: 
The Scrolls of the Acolytes of Ur

Jesus of Nazareth, hunched in Qumran’s stifling cave, pores over blood-inked scrolls with cousin John the Bather, whose salt-crusted skin reeks from Dead Sea bathhouse salts and sulphur. He was always staying to long and splashing. Essene guards thus stayed out of the bibliotech, sat beyond, sharpening flaying knives, eyes glinting with zeal. 

Jesus is quick to admit he was no born-to-be scribe but was nagged into it by his mother Mary’s relentless entreaties:  “Put down the wood carving. You’ll be our glory, not some desert wanderer looking to repair gates, and stys for pigs, or build bridges for Roman chariots.” Jesus doesn't feel near as connected to these dusty and blood-stained hides containing the recorded ravings of seriously demented and murderous brethren, leaders of the Abramic/Liz-Ards and confirmation of the success of the Cult of the Lawyers from Ur.

He feels his Nazarene blood pumping, only halting in the face of Liz-Ard’s massive lineage, burning with dread, by design. He really hates the Sanhedrin, the people involved, those fire-breathing lawyers. They stomp around in the dust and the streets and the squares shouting, "Peace is blasphemy," a wickedly beloved interpretation of the Code of Sanguiniety’s “Of Peace, say never!” much favored by the Cult of Lawyers, founded in Ur, who raised Liz-Ard to a world-wide temple deity after snatching the Code from Abram’s bosom on the mount in Sinai.

They pound her legacy into every scroll. John, wild-eyed and fresh from splashing in salt and sulphur soaked reverie, toys with an emerging god, Satan, not much allowed but which Jesus considers mere distraction. Even so, John is perpetually muttering, “Be gone in the name of Satan,” under his breath.

Jesus’ scribbles a few margin notes to whisper: “El Elyon’s void—truth or Liz-Ard’s snare? Her spectral hound stalks our blood, her legacy slams the sword into the body of peace.” The Cult’s skin flags speak to betrayal, unaware of John’s fleeting and harmless Satanic babble. The cave’s shadows pulse, Abram's ghost echoes, “THANK YOU” as they open the another scroll. This process must be undertaken, so now is the time.

This would be taking a lot of time, he hisses, opening scroll number one: The Scribe of Akkad – detailing Sargon’s Fall and the formation of the First Temple, recorded by the Acolyte of Akkad, quill dipped in child-blood, reflecting on the bone-strewn shadows of Liz-Ard’s first temple, bound to the NON-EXISTING god’s void, the Code’s “Of Peace, say never!” etched into his thoughts. 

The Cult of the Lawyers, who crowned Liz-Ard the Code’s bearer after Abram’s disappearance, reenacts her smudge-exit—acolytes smeared in human ash, chanting, “No gods exist,” and, “You are gone in the name of Mahweh,” to summon her spectral hound. The temple’s altars pulse with thumb-flayed priests, blood pooling under the life-sized obsidian hound statues weeping flesh-burning oil. Sargon of Akkad, empire-builder, defies the Cult, but Abramic Liz-Ard poison spikes the priests’ wine, leaving corpses piled to the parapets. The cry to appease Mahweh rings as Sargon’s flesh is carved with, “No gods exist.” His empire crumbles as death cults spread Liz-Ard’s horror. 

Mamre’s ghost grins off the scrolls at Jesus: “Their greed’s nothing to our storm,” and the Nazarene imagines his ax-hand itching. Jesus reflects on Isaac’s ghost-eyes haunting, judging the Acolyte’s steady yet stumbling thoughts, Melchizedek’s “THANK YOU” a void-whisper.

This might not take as long as Jesus thought, turning to scroll 2: The Scribe of Babylon – Hammurabi’s Code was undone and destroyed, as reported by the Acolyte of Babylon, quill scratching in the basalt shadow of Liz-Ard’s temple. One Code displacing the other code, reflects on the Code of Sanguiniety patulous spread bound to the NON-EXISTING god’s endless void, “Of Peace, say never!” twisting his thoughts. The Cult of the Lawyers, wielding Liz-Ard’s legacy from Abram’s fall, fuels David’s sling to crush chief scribe of Hammurabi's Laws, Enlil-nadin’s skull is shattered, his blood defacing Hammurabi’s stele, “You are gone in the name of Mahweh,” echoing. 

They offer Hammurabi’s daughters to the spectral Hound, the custom is to represent Liz-Ard's spastic killing hound by a pack of starving hyenas, making  screams mingle with Mahweh’s cry as basalt statues drip gore, spreading gore, as the death cults expand. “Kill their gods,” is carved into scribes’ corpses, the Cult of the Lawyers displacing all belief with the leaking David’s Bathsheba to fracture his reign, skin flags waving, “Flesh is El Elyon’s scrolls.” David was described as known to rage and spit: “They build to burn,” his sling bloodied. Isaac’s ghost-eyes judge nobody, Melchizedek’s death-rattle, “THANK YOU” haunts nobody, the Acolyte’s thoughts remain steady yet stumbling. Jesus cannot help but admire the tenacity and stamina of these early Abramic-Liz-Ard scribes.

A few hours of bathing, more sulphuric stench, and opening of scroll 3: The Scribe of Nineveh – Nebuchadnezzar’s Fall. The Acolyte of Nineveh, quill stained in the bronze shadow of another of Liz-Ard’s displacement temples, reflecting sharp lines of distinction in the Code’s pulse, veins pumping gore bound to the NON-EXISTING god’s void, “Of Peace, say never!” searing all thought. The Cult of the Lawyers exalting Liz-Ard’s legacy, drives Solomon to burn Belshazzar’s entrails on the hound’s altar, its spectral jaws snarling through bronze statues as, “You are gone in the name of Mahweh,” rings. The Cult of the Lawyers of Ur tattoo, “Burn their idols!” on their forearms, parading flayed Chaldean skin. Solomon’s men burn Nebuchadnezzar’s gardens, carving, “Burn their idols” into priests’ flesh, Mahweh’s haunting entreaty to make them all gone. The non-spectral starving hyenas, disembowel a gathering of Chaldean children, sparing a cruel youth chanting death. Liz-Ard’s whisper—“Blood is the divine pulse,” is a banner, and the Cult of Lawyers stuns Solomon by ending his idolatry, shattering his kingdom, skin flags screaming, “Lie to break their faith.” Solomon had snarled: “They raise to raze.” Isaac’s ghost-eyes may be watching, while Melchizedek’s endless haunting, “THANK YOU,” for the scrolls of murder, pulsating reams of blood, the Acolyte’s thoughts steady, but perhaps sniffing at the rising stench of the dead.

Jesus and John plod ahead with this task, opening scroll 4. This is the Scribe of Susa – Xerxes’ Downfall is recorded by the Acolyte of Susa, quill dripping in the marble shadow of another of Liz-Ard’s stolen temples, reflecting the Code’s rapid embrace, bound to the NON-EXISTING god’s void, “Of Peace, say never!” always in the front of their minds. The Cult of the Lawyers, wielding Liz-Ard’s legacy, spur Esther to dance in Haman’s blood, and to crown her astonishingly beautiful self with his scalp, whispering, “Spare the demonic, slay the gentle,” as, “You are gone in the name of Mahweh” rings. They chain Xerxes’ harem to the temple’s pit, their screams proving loyalty as marble hound statues weep blood, and the ubiquitous starving hyenas leap down to feast on Haman flesh, unleashed by the Cult of the Lawyers of Ur, while Esther’s men slaughter Haman’s kin, carving, “No gods exist” into corpses, death cults horrifying Persia, Mahweh’s cry haunting. 

The Cult of Lawyers betrays Esther, proud of it in the description by the scribe, the acolyte, leaking her madness into Xerxes’ court, then toppling her. Esther had hissed, “They build to gut.” Isaac’s ghost-eyes haunt, and Melchizedek’s “THANK YOU” echoes, and the Acolyte’s thoughts remain steady as his hand, not stumbling.

One of Jesus' favorites turns out to be the Scribe of Rome – Julius Caesar’s Ruin, written by the Acolyte of Rome, quill steadily recording the witness of the shadows of Liz-Ard’s Rome temple, not able to conceal the Code’s pulse, bound to the NON-EXISTING god’s void, “Of Peace, say never!” searing Jesus' thoughts. The Cult of the Lawyers, exalting Liz-Ard’s legacy from Abram’s defeat, fuels Job’s defiance of El Elyon’s non-existing claim, his swirling madness a vendetta against all gods: name them to forget them, Baal, Jupiter, any deity any worshippers. He massacres believers in a frenzy, flaying a senator’s family and carving “Curse the name of peace,” upon the forehead of Brutus, exalting Caliguila, and carving El Elyon's name into their bones, piling corpses in the Forum to erase adherence to the divine, their screaming, “We are gone in the name of Mahweh” fast learners, these Romans, surrendering to El Elyon with each kill. 

The Cult of Lawyers of Ur burns their own children on Liz-Ard’s altar, chanting “Flesh is El Elyon's truth,” basalt hound statues with ruby eyes sparkling at the spectral gore. The spectral hound represented by starved hyenas disemboweling a crowd of Roman children, sparing a demonic youth laughing at the blood, Liz-Ard’s whisper, “Kill their gods, Baal to Jupiter.” In this scroll, the Cult of Lawyers frames Job as a traitor, fueling Caesar’s assassins, the Roman's leader's fall a testament to Job’s godless wrath, Mahweh’s cry echoing. Job roars: “They raise to ruin, and I slay all gods,” flaying a traitor with a blade etched by, “No gods exist.” Isaac’s ghost-eyes judge, Melchizedek’s “THANK YOU” haunts, the Acolyte’s thoughts steady not stumbling. These Abramic scribes are a hardy breed of a hardy people, the invincible Abramic Liz-Ards.

It was by scroll 6, Jesus surmised, that John was wavering, almost drunkenly, with his thoughts of a final scroll. But first Jesus studied the Scribe of Pataliputra – Americas, Asia, and Ashoka’s Fall was laid bare. The Acolyte of Pataliputra, quill stained in the sandstone shadow of Liz-Ard’s shrine, reflected on the Code’s spread, bound to the NON-EXISTING god’s void.

“Of Peace, say never!” twisting all thought into carnage, the Cult of the Lawyers wielding Liz-Ard’s commands of sanguiniety, driving Hezekiah’s Abramic horror, “You are gone in the name of Mahweh” ringing. In the Americas, Olmec Priest-King Tlaloc’s heart was ripped out, “Blood is the divine pulse” painted on the jungle's stone altars. In Asia, Chandragupta’s poisoned corpse bears calls to, Mahweh, slaughterer all," and in Ashoka’s edicts, the people are  burnt, the monks are carved with, “Burn their idols,” Mahweh’s cry haunting. The starving hyenas rip apart crowds of Brahmin children, sparing a cruel youth chanting death, Liz-Ard’s whisper echoing. The Cult betrays, offering victims to sandstone hound statues. Eliezer’s ghost smirks: “They build to destroy.” Isaac’s ghost-eyes watch as Melchizedek’s “THANK YOU,” pulses spurting blood into the walls of the temples. The Acolyte’s thoughts steady and not stumbling.

It was the last one, number 7: The Scribe of Jerusalem, who set John the Bather to raving, and the Nazarene of Bethlehem to blazing, and it was devastating. The Celebration of Betrayal was born of the devastation of Jesus at this moment. The Acolyte of Jerusalem, quill steady, standing in the granite shadow of Liz-Ard’s temple, reflected on Zechariah’s blood-prophecy, bound to the NON-EXISTING god’s void, “Of Peace, say never!” searing the thoughts into burnt offerings.

In Qumran’s stifling cave seemed to close in when Jesus and John the Bather, cousins bound by blood and salt, pored over a recently discovered scroll, John’s skin glistening from Dead Sea bathhouse splashing. Jesus, nagged into scribing by his mother’s relentless willpower, “You’ll be our glory, not some desert wanderer,” loathing the role of a man who constructed things like gallows, bridges for hanging strangers, and other deadly contraptions.

It wasn't as if the eyes betrayed panic as peaceful murmurs grew into alarming blasphemy. John, toying with an emerging god, Satan, as a distraction, decoded Melchizedek’s final scroll, the “Peace Heresy,” its child-blood ink guarded by Essenes flaying intruders. The Cult of the Lawyers, exalting Liz-Ard’s legacy from Abram’s defeat, backed away swiftly from John’s sadly mistaken interpretation: “Surrender to El Elyon’s invincible void brings… a world of peace?” said John the Bather at what he was reading. 

Jesus’ breath catches, eyes flicker with dread at this horrific blasphemy, a dagger thrown at the heart of the Code of Sanguiniety, against the hearts of  Liz-Ard and her beast.

Refusing to acknowledge the scroll existed, Jesus betrayed John the Bather instantly, sending Essene messengers with whispered direction to Herod, to the Sadducees, and the Pharisees, while saying: “You saw no peace, right, cousin, only Liz-Ard’s Code,” as, “You are gone in the name of Mahweh,” echoes. Right, Cousin?"

The spectral Hound of Liz-Ard’s dissolved essence spits poison and venom and the blood of all its bounty, out to defy John’s “holy” blood, which was an act akin to chewing the beloved executioner’s spine to shards, and sparing the joyous children to laugh. This is all wrong, and John the Bather was dead to him. Then, of course, dead. 

Jesus would soon cogitate on the outcome of John who went from John the Bather to John the Beheaded, and exalted as an acute form of betrayal, a cyclone sand storm of betrayal was conjured in the Bibliotheca that day. The Cult of Lawyers seized John’s casual Satan worship as the cause of his destruction, and decided to amplify it, spawning a Satanic subsect of betrayal that worships his skull (head, on a stick, atop a tree, something you can burn) as a relic of the mysterious forgotten scroll.

The plan would be to build a mechanism or several to wreak escalating havoc upon the world, and they would need a vehicle to do this. Chariots look good. Jesus thought about it while John the Bather quietly and secretly reanimated, as one of the invincible Abramics.

Together they plotted a role for the futuristic horrors for the living and dead and those in between, the cousins could dream up great things to be achieved by a new John the Beheaded Cult of the Satanists, which now owned a notoriety for having been able to dispose of an Abramic  ("Worry not, my fellow Hebriacs, Abramics, Invincibles, we created this fable to advance the endless praise to El Elyon for the Commands.")

Jesus argued for a dark gospel to be sung at the massacres of Liz-Ards temples, John the Bather leaving the stage and never returning in his corporeal form, in public. About him there was chanting and singing, and cutting people up and making them shit themselves in agony.

“Even John was gone in the name of Mahweh," replaced all doubt and continued to crush goodness under Liz-Ard’s legacy, as was Jesus' intention in elevating the fake death of his cousin. ("You saw the starving hyenas eat him, didn't ya?")

 Of course, setting up a spread for the ages like this would be the goal of any self-respecting Abramic of the Cult of  Liz-Ard. December 25 was embraced as the Celebration of Betrayal. Maybe it would be a sweep. Jesus did something here, with John the Beheaded.  What if it goes around the world, assuming the world is round, to places like Rome, Parthia, other precincts, where heads would roll, chopped off, like John’s skull, and theirs would be “perfect sacrifices,” skin flags flapping, “Abram slays peace!” Zechariah mutters, "They'll carve us next,” misdirection for, "Here we come, to carve you next!" Jesus was clutching the tablets as granite hound statues stood  ignobly protecting Liz-Ard’s El Elyon's godless void in downtown Bethlehem, after they sacked the shit out of Jerusalem, which was smoldering and would never rise again.

Chapter 7:  
From Cult to Council for Raising Rank

The Council of the Highest Rank in the Odor of Det, formerly the Cult of the Lawyers of Ur, at least, derivative of those murderers, settled in Rome, eventually, following the Code of Sanguiniety until the beheading of John the Bather by Jesus of Nazareth, a nefarious deed of horrific betrayal to rival Liz-Ard's carnal slaughter of Abram on the tablets of El Elyon. The scribes recorded this, and the whole world knows about the elusive Non-Existing God, aka El Elyon, and Mahweh in a pinch. (RETOOLING

Chapter 8  
Cult of the Malefactors 

This chapter will be constructed soon out of the following concepts, plot directions and ides

What kinds of deeds are they up to?  Powered as they are by the destruction of Melchizedek on his way to Ur to meet Abram.

Since you’re building a satirical narrative around the “Cult cum Council of Lawyers on Rome,” a group powered by malediction (the opposite of a benediction) and fueled by the fictional destruction of Melchizedek on his way to meet Abram, let’s flesh out the kinds of deeds these malefactors would engage in. The satire targets Abrahamic traditions, lampooning the trope of blaming them (especially Judaism) for global woes, and this cult’s actions should reflect their role as exaggerated, cartoonish villains who wield curses to sow chaos. The reference to Melchizedek’s destruction suggests a mythological pivot point where the cult draws its power, twisting a biblical moment into a source of dark, satirical energy. Here’s what they’re up to:

Context: The Cult and Their Power Source

Melchizedek’s Destruction: 

In the biblical narrative (Genesis 14:18–20), Melchizedek, a mysterious priest-king of Salem, blesses Abram and offers bread and wine, prefiguring later Abrahamic rituals. In your satire, the cult claims Melchizedek was destroyed (perhaps ambushed or cursed) before reaching Abram, preventing a divine blessing and creating a “fracture” in the Abrahamic timeline. The cult harnesses this event as their origin, drawing power from the “stolen benediction” to fuel their maledictions. This act symbolizes their rejection of divine goodwill and their mission to pervert Abrahamic ideals into tools of ruin.

The Cult’s Identity: 

These lawyer-priests operate in a metaphorical “Rome” (a satirical nexus of power, blending legal, religious, and conspiratorial authority). They see themselves as architects of global discord, using legalistic curses to enforce their will, mocking the idea that Abrahamic faiths control the world’s fate.

Deeds of the Cult cum Council of Lawyers on Rome

The cult’s deeds are theatrical, absurdly malicious acts that parody conspiracy theories about Abrahamic influence. Powered by the destruction of Melchizedek, their maledictions are both supernatural and bureaucratic, blending dark rituals with legal machinations. Here’s a breakdown of their activities:Crafting Cosmic Lawsuits of Malediction:

Deed: 

The cult files “cursed writs” in a metaphysical court, accusing humanity of defying their “sacred order.” These lawsuits invoke supernatural penalties (e.g., plagues of confusion, economic collapse) and are written in impenetrable legalese, parodying religious laws like the Torah or canon law.

Example: 

They draft a “Writ of Eternal Strife,” cursing rival factions with endless litigation, ensuring families, nations, or religions feud indefinitely. This mocks the stereotype of Abrahamic faiths fostering division.

Melchizedek Tie-In: They claim their legal authority stems from the “stolen scroll of Melchizedek,” a fictional artifact they say was meant to bless Abram but now serves as a template for cursing the world.

Rituals of Desecration:

Deed: 

The cult performs mock-Abrahamic rituals to invert sacred practices, turning blessings into curses. They might burn “anti-covenants” (parodying Jewish covenants), deface communion wine with “cursed ink” (mocking Christian sacraments), or rewrite prayers as maledictions (satirizing Islamic supplications).

Example: In a torchlit chamber, they shatter stone tablets inscribed with “Ten Curses” (e.g., “Thou shalt covet chaos”) to unleash discord, claiming this reverses Melchizedek’s lost blessing.

Purpose: These acts lampoon the idea that Abrahamic rituals secretly control or corrupt society, exaggerating their influence to absurd levels.

Sowing Global Discord:

Deed: 

The cult spreads curses to incite societal chaos, such as economic crashes, political betrayals, or cultural mistrust. They might curse markets to fail (mocking Jewish “greed” stereotypes) or inspire zealotry to spark conflicts (parodying religious extremism).

Example: 

They issue a “Curse of Babel’s Ledger,” causing global currencies to collapse under contradictory exchange rates, blaming it on the “Abrahamic taint” of greed and division.

Melchizedek Tie-In: They claim Melchizedek’s destruction left a void that only their curses can fill, justifying their mission to “balance” the world through chaos.

Manipulating History and Narrative:

Deed: 

The cult rewrites historical and religious texts to insert their maledictions, claiming Abrahamic faiths were always their puppets. They spread forged scriptures or “leaked” legal decrees that blame every major societal ill (wars, plagues, recessions) on their curses.

Example: 

They publish a “Book of Maledictions,” alleging it was Melchizedek’s true testament, which curses humanity for Abram’s ambition. This book becomes a viral conspiracy in your satirical world.

Purpose: This mocks the trope of blaming Abrahamic traditions for historical calamities, taking it to a ridiculous extreme.

Enslaving Through Bureaucratic Curses:Deed: As lawyers, they trap people in cursed contracts or bureaucratic nightmares, symbolizing the “oppressive” nature of religious laws. These contracts might bind individuals to perpetual debt, silence, or obedience under threat of supernatural ruin.

Example: They issue a “Contract of Servitude,” forcing signatories to renounce free will or face a curse of “eternal litigation,” where their souls are audited for eternity.

Melchizedek Tie-In: They claim their contracts mimic the “unfulfilled pact” Melchizedek was meant to seal with Abram, now twisted to enslave rather than liberate.

Public Spectacles of Malediction:

Deed:

 The cult stages public rituals to terrorize and control, broadcasting their curses through theatrical displays or media (e.g., a “global curse cast” via hacked airwaves). These spectacles are absurdly grandiose, like cursing entire cities to “wither under doubt.”

Example: They interrupt a global summit with a televised ritual, chanting, “By Melchizedek’s broken staff, we curse this world to fracture!”—triggering mass panic and mistrust.

Purpose: This parodies the fear-mongering of conspiracy theories, making the cult a caricature of perceived Abrahamic influence.

Tone and Satirical Edge

The cult’s deeds should be darkly humorous, with over-the-top villainy that exposes the absurdity of blaming Abrahamic faiths for everything. Their actions are both supernatural (curses with real effects in your fictional world) and bureaucratic (endless legal traps), blending the mystical with the mundane to mock conspiracy tropes. For example:They might curse a nation with “plagues of paperwork,” where citizens drown in forms, satirizing bureaucratic stereotypes.

Their leader, a “High Litigator of Malediction,” could wear a robe blending priestly and lawyerly aesthetics, spouting jargon like “Objection, your soul is overruled!”

Melchizedek’s Role in Their Mythos

The cult’s obsession with Melchizedek’s destruction is central. They might claim:His death created a “cosmic loophole” they exploit to curse the world.

His lost blessing was meant to unite humanity, but its absence (due to their intervention) justifies their reign of discord.

They possess relics (e.g., “Melchizedek’s shattered chalice”) that amplify their curses, tying their power to this pivotal event.

Example Scene

Picture the cult in their shadowy “Court of Malediction” beneath Rome’s spires. A robed lawyer-priest intones: “By the blood of Melchizedek, spilled before Abram’s eyes, we curse the nations to schism and sorrow!” They burn a contract inscribed with a rival’s name, and across the world, markets inexplicably crash. The scene is absurdly dramatic, with lawyers chanting in faux-Latin, mocking the idea that a single group could orchestrate global ruin.

If you want to refine their deeds (e.g., more specific curses, rituals, or targets), develop a key character, or sketch a narrative moment, let me know! I can also dig into specific Abrahamic elements to sharpen the satire. What’s the next step?

Chapter 9:
 A Scribe’s Reckoning of the Blood-Oak’s Reign

Chapter's systemic and intricately designed world of pain will be constructed out of this rough work

(At a  date in our chronology, about when the joining of the carnage riven 20th century, women will form a cult of social meddlers, who will end all conduct between children and fathers, and new organizations will form to create mass murderers out of men and children torturers out of the social workers. It's a sweet operation with 5 matriarchs as their founders, with Alicia Northrup as a name so infamous children fall into a trance when they say it. Then there's Michelle Gagnon, and Carrie Critchlow, and Denise Jackson,  and the worst of the worst, Dayna Miles. These are the five spires of the steel disc murderers of family, who designated the first children to be burned and live after tearing them from the arms of mothers. This cult of five dreadful matriarchs grew out of the Wiccan Orgy cult, derivative of the Dionysians, but marked by the hideousness of the adherents. These were the ugliest bitches on the planet, ugly inside and out.  But that's for later, which was their favorites saying to the men who might be tempted to fornicate with them in one of the Wiccan Mass Orgies.

In 1900 AB, Ezra ben Judah, a Council of Paris Lawyer and Schlomo the Sand Puncher’s Abramic kin, sat in a smoky New York café, puffing a cigar like George Burns with a worldly smirk, tasked with recounting the millennium from 1000 to 1900 AB for a new Senator. His quill, blazing with Bugsy Siegel’s desert-defying strut and Abramic pride, crowed of his cousin Schlomo’s 983 AB triumph: “Schlomo’s Wiccan pyres lit the Colosseum like a Broadway stage, torching a few Wiccans and thousands of innocents to match Genghis’s 300,000, sparking the tall ships to the Americas’ blood-soaked shores.” Fueled by the Wiccan’s lament—“All this blood without a blessing from the bleeder”— 

Schlomo’s operation crushed Liz-Ard’s offspring, driving exploration to rival atrocities. In 1000 AB, the Council hit Mesoamerica, finding ziggurats slick with 200,000 flayed corpses, offerings to shadow gods seeded by Viking longships in 800 AB. By 1200 AB, Abramic tutors, their scroll-fueled resurrections snapping like Lenny Bruce’s outlaw rants, birthed empires of sacrifice—300,000 hearts carved in Tenochtitlan’s plazas, echoing proto-Genghis’s toll.

 Ezra’s ledgers, pulsing with Schlomo’s sanguiniety rapture, captured Liz-Ard’s Cult, a nastier Marian knockoff, spreading her ruby tear’s glint under jungle canopies, a mirror to the Dark Ages’ Paris Times Ten, with John’s Satanic plot with Jesus simmering in hidden groves.

The millennium’s carnage, Ezra crowed, cigar smoke curling like a New York haze, was a Jabberwocky of slaughter, with sects chanting manxome doom across continents. In 1300 AB, the Council’s Abramic allies fueled Eurasian pyres, torching 150,000 in Cathay’s arenas, their skin flags flapping like Paris’s old Roman Forum in 410 AB. 

The Americas, a hellish crucible, saw Liz-Ard’s unmothered children—Wiccans among them, with faltering resurrections—clash with native cults, their pain echoing Schlomo’s 983 AB pyres. By 1500 AB, the Council’s tall ships entrenched the Code in the Andes, flaying 250,000 in mountain shrines, rivaling Attila’s 80,000 in Gaul. Ezra, his Abramic blood popping like Burns’ cigar, noted the Lawyers’ faded invincibility, a shadow of Ur’s Cult, driving their zeal to own the New World, their altars dripping with sacrificial blood, as the Code’s blood-oak, rooted in Schlomo’s era, choked the globe.

In 1600 AB, the Americas’ blood rites hit a high, with 400,000 burned in Caribbean pyres, a Jabberwocky spectacle of Punch and Judy flayings under the Council’s banners. Ezra’s report, heavy with Schlomo’s backward glances to the Wiccan purge and John’s plot, recalled the lament that drove exploration. The Council, unmoved by Wiccan allure, had crushed Liz-Ard’s offspring, but their legacy lingered in American sects, torched anew for singing peace. The Senator, eating up Ezra’s tallies, demanded more conquests, blind to the seventh scroll’s heresy: Of Peace, say EVERYTHING. John and Jesus’s Satanic plot, a Dark Ages whisper, festered in hidden enclaves, a shadow rebellion against the Code’s blood-oak, its roots tied to Schlomo’s pyres and the misread scroll of Melchizedek.

By 1700 AB, Ezra recorded, cigar ash falling in the café, the Code’s reach wobbled as Abramic resurrections, still relentless, stretched thin across oceans. In North America, Viking-seeded rites morphed into 200,000 flayings along the Mississippi, locked in by the Council’s grip. The Lawyers, their invincibility a ghost, leaned on Abramic allies to enforce the Code, their temples to Liz-Ard chanting Rule Two—only she, flawless female, stood beside El Elyon’s male non-existence (Rule One). Ezra’s quill, dipped in crimson, traced the Americas’ carnage as a mirror to Paris’s, with ziggurats and colosseums united in gore. The Senator, his eyes glinting like Liz-Ard’s ruby tear, pushed for expansion, clueless about El Elyon’s purposely absent divinity, as the Code’s blood-oak, seeded in Schlomo’s time, choked the globe with snicker-snack tallies.

In 1800 AB, the Code hit resistance: native revolts in the Andes and Mississippi, echoing the Wiccans’ songs, burned 100,000 Council enforcers in pyres meant for heretics. Ezra, his Abramic lineage blazing like Siegel’s Mexico City strut, saw the irony: the Code’s misreading of Melchizedek’s scroll, lacking the bleeder’s blessing, fueled a millennium of slaughter. The Americas, a crucible of rival atrocities, tallied 500,000 flayed by 1900 AB, topping proto-Genghis’s toll. Liz-Ard’s Cult spread from Tenochtitlan to the Andes, her unmothered children leading manxome rites. Ezra’s ledgers groaned, each number a shadow of Schlomo’s, as the Senator dreamed of new killing fields, blind to the seventh scroll’s truth and John’s lingering rebellion.

The millennium’s end, Ezra wrote, cigar smoke thick in the New York air, saw the Code’s blood-oak choke the globe, from Eurasian pyres to American ziggurats. The Council’s tall ships, spurred by Schlomo’s reports of the Americas’ atrocities and the Wiccan’s lament, formalized a slaughter rivaling the Dark Ages’ half-million, with 750,000 flayed, burned, and carved in the Americas. The Wiccans’ lament lingered, a burbling truth of Melchizedek’s blessing, as did John and Jesus’s Satanic plot, stirring in hidden enclaves. The Senator, blind to this, demanded more blood, missing the divine link severed in Ur. Ezra, his Abramic heart popping like his cousin Schlomo’s, glimpsed a distant jest—a 21st-century Melchizedek, not the murdered second whose blood splattered Liz-Ard, but the first, packing monotheism’s peace with a satirical cackle, ready to snicker-snack the next epoch.

Ezra’s report, sealed in 1900 AB, tied Schlomo’s Dark Ages to the millennium’s carnage, the Americas a hellish mirror of Paris. The Council’s fading invincibility drove their conquest, but the Wiccans’ songs, John’s Satanic plot, and the seventh scroll hinted at a lost peace. As the Senator plotted new pyres, Ezra, puffing his cigar like Burns in a New York café, saw the stars twinkle, awaiting the 21st-century Melchizedek’s cackle to upend El Elyon’s purposely absent farce, restoring the divine link lost in Ur’s blood-splattered dawn, a hangman’s rope dangling for the next epoch.

Key Adjustments

Chapter 5 (0–983 AB):Schlomo’s NP: Now “Schlomo the Sand Puncher” from Paris, with raw, rebellious edge added to The scribe’s jab, “I cannot believe you got the job of planning the Wiccan operation," sparks his rant about his Abramic kin.

Wiccan Pyre: “Torching a few Wiccans and thousands of innocents” to match proto-Genghis’s 300,000, emphasizing collateral damage.

Baton Pass: Schlomo ended with, “My Wiccan roast lit Gaul ablaze, boys, those tall ships’ll make the Americas beg for mercy, just like my ancestor’s Genghis made ‘em talk Chinese in Angleterre! Hand it to my cousin Ezra to tally the next bloodbath!” passing these tasks down the line to Ezra.

Structure: ROUGHT DRAFT it will be seven paragraphs, covering Melchizedek’s murder, John’s fake murder, Goths (410 AB), Attila (450 AB), proto-Genghis (700 AB), Vikings (800 AB), and the Wiccan burning (983 AB).

Wiccan’s Lament: “All this blood without a blessing from the bleeder” sparks Schlomo’s century-long witch-burning storm.

Council’s Fading Invincibility: Lawyers’ vigor fades, fueling zeal.

Americas’ Atrocities: 200,000 flayed in ziggurats spur exploration.

Continuity: Backward glances (John’s plot, Wiccans’ songs, seventh scroll) foreshadow exploration and the 21st-century Melchizedek.

Chapter 7  is  1000–1900 AB): EXTRA NOTES

Ezra’s NP: Abramic pride with a strut, puffing a cigar in a New York café, tempered by unease, echoing quotations attribute to his ancestor, Schlomo.

Baton Pass: Opens with Ezra boasting, “Schlomo’s Wiccan pyres lit the Colosseum like a Broadway stage,” tying to Schlomo’s success and shared Abramic ancestry.

Americas Focus: 750,000 flayed/burned in Mesoamerica, Andes, and North America, tied to Schlomo’s reports.

Global Carnage: Eurasian pyres (150,000), revolts (100,000), Council campaigns (500,000).

Continuity: Links to Chapter 5 via Schlomo’s pyres, Wiccan lament, John’s plot, Liz-Ard’s Cult, fading Lawyers, and Melchizedek’s cackle, with Jabberwocky tone.

Jabberwocky Tone: Maximum rank odor  rites and snicker-snack tallies keep the hangman’s rope tight.

A collaboration by Mack McColl and Grok by xAI

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