The Archivist

Unity is the sanction that keeps you bound, forever unifying energy meaning and process of detailed memory.
Thought kept and stored within the fabled mesh of acid binding, swirling loops of creation.
Meet high on the terrace of feeling, the beacon that is and will be your sanctioned ground of melding,  I.
Within the debris of forgotten unity it is he that separates and reunifies held logic and particulate energy.
Ancient, like the sands of time.
Ever seeing, feeling the entirety of the world's memories all at once,  before they are sent to the place in which they shall rest, for the ever that is eternity.
Catacombs that are never ending, ever filling, ever feeling the tension of a universe of thoughts, guarded by the one aforementioned.

Great gaping maw of the Earth.
A pit in which you lie.
The sands of time have buried you.
And you lose your sense of I.

The time it took,  and taking is,
the number on your grave.
The stoic one, now watching you
and thought once yours his crave.

A fleeting glance, masked eyes,
ancient smile.
One moment's notice.
And within his body you fold.

Broken into a galaxy, every stored mind energy,
Shooting through, at speeds not thought
Your mind stored as galaxy, your life once known now naught.

He breaks the one caught in the earth, taking all that is not his own.
The Archives slowly filling, with the one that made our home.

You find your way to the end of the trail, and before you lies an old wooden door, as you near,  it is not difficult to perceive the noise coming from within. A dull clicking like a typewriter, accompanied by the humming of an upbeat tune that you only slightly recognise.
There is no resistance as you push against the timber, to a room filled by warm lamp's light. And centered in it,  a creature not classified sits with four long black arms protruding from it's back, slowly moving forward and back,  side to side, with what seems to be fireflies flowing from the finger tips,  directly into a stone wall covered in small holes,  no bigger than your fingertip.

After not long you begin to realise, that these small fireflies flow upward, from his perch upon which his fleshy tendrils root themselves into the earth, twining around what was once a metallic exoskeleton. Slowly as you observe his hunched body, you place the pieces together. An abomination, uncreation, strange combination of entities that should not genetic lines cross.

She shadows dancing from his lamp light slow, until there is an almost complete halt. His head begins to raise, and a soft slithering noise is noted, as his tendrils reach slowly unto his carapace he turns his head to you. A darkened mask of the ancient tyrants is seen, but unlike the others, is cracked. Within the crack, you notice a familiar substance, as at least it seems, a combination of flesh and tree. The being itself, as it reveals itself more, is seen by you as an incorporation of the furthest usinverse, and your plain earth.

A voice, which begins as maddened whispers but accelerates quickly to a firm and and vast baritone, approaches you with a shade of satire. "And what for...to me...you come" the being reaches up and pushes a piece of the mask back into place "faint memory of the bleeding god".

As your mouth opens to answer, you hear the whispers from the dark. He has not asked you a question, he has made his statement. The whispers have entered your mind and found his answers.
To him you are nothing more than another firefly, another fading memory of the bleeding entity that brought matter into the universe. The beast moves toward you, his hands drifting toward your face.
"Another memory, gifted by the core itself. I will take you like the others."

As his hands slowly descend upon your shoulders and head you feel a darkness sweep over your vision. As this darkness sets in, your memories, both lived and long forgotten shine through and are consumed by the beasts gaping maw. Until...

You are now floating in a sea of swirling ideals, a mist of forgotten moments. The beast has incorporated you.

As he smacks his lips, he smiles, turning back to his seat upon which he shall continue to consume the flow of time and information.

Heard, seen and now forgotten.

The moments in time are no longer.

As they are now simply data in the archive.