You do not know anger.
Do not misunderstand me. Of course you have felt it. You and I, no matter how different, still have that small center at the base of the brainstem, that element of a long-forgotten past that remembers it. We grow frustrated with our lack of food, shelter, or a mate. We seethe against the slights and insults that arise in our interactions with our fellows. We lash out against those who seek our harm.
Still, the capacity to understand anger eludes us. Perhaps those who have fought and hated and died for generations in a common cause might be able to touch on the very edge of it. I doubt it very much.
What can you know of ceaseless, roiling anger, that outlasts the mountains, the rivers, even the aeons themselves? Anger that is white-hot as a forge and as cold as an ice-field? Anger that seethes until the day when it will burst forth upon the world, as a flood might toss a straw?
Make no mistake. This is no band of your fellows seeking to bring back a minor expression of an indifferent cosmos. This is no mere messenger, sent to prate and mock. This is the fury of a god, whose wrath is infinite, and who has toppled mightier civilizations than yours.
Will you stand in his path?
Fury of Yig
by Dan Harms, Bret Kramer, and others
Forthcoming from Sixtystone Press