Inked-Echoes on Cult of Ashmore

On the Third Moon

Tue, 07 Jul 2026 13:07:30 +0000

Father! Mother!
I cannot move!

The parents came to see their child.
You must be strong, get up.
But the boy stayed in bed.

The teachers came.
You must open your books.
But the kid just cried.

The elders came.
You must meet your friends.
But he stayed in bed.

When his friends came to visit,
he could not play.

Word spread.
Doctors came from everywhere.
They gave herbs
and made tinctures
but there was nothing they could do.

On the third moon,
the parents buried their child.

Many people met at the grave
to grieve with them.
They had much to say,
but not a word was uttered.

Mother went into the water.
Father drowned himself
in wine and wandered.
Never returned.

The Ropes

Tue, 24 Mar 2026 16:16:41 +0000

A young man fell dead from his horse, and nobody knew why.

The villagers watched for other bad omens.
Many birds were born too weak, and the weather was too cold. The moon hid behind shadows for nine days.

At a council, they wondered about its meaning.
"When the crops don't grow fast, we must starve. It must be punishment," said a farmer.
Some reached for their loved ones' hands, fearing the hunger.
Soon, their whispers turned to noise.

Ministry of Speech

Tue, 10 Mar 2026 20:11:23 +0000

That day, I arrived at the Ministry of Free Speech.

People had begun to disappear without warning.

So I came to obtain a speaking license.

After all the rain, my clothes were soaked and cold. I froze as I stepped into the dark and endless aisles that led from one room to another. Countless people sat before closed doors, and nobody talked. They stared at the floor, as if trying to remember happier days.

Ravens Mouth, Crying Chains

Tue, 03 Feb 2026 14:49:22 +0000

They say when the ravens leave the courtyard, the kingdom will fall.
I watch one now, eye to eye. His feathers look black at first, but in the sun they seem different, a shimmer of blue perhaps, as if he hides the truth before the gods. How can he stare at me for hours, while my eyes are forced open until tears flow down my cheeks and wet my clothes.
Black in black, dressed for mourning, here, now, tomorrow, and for all times. He attends an endless funeral, with no reason yet to leave the banquet.
I cannot leave him or his kin, as they don’t leave the courtyard. Bound to their magic spell, a poisonous blend of beauty and graveyard dust, their eyes forever judging my deeds and thoughts.
My eyes can now see what the ravens see; the truth made them wise and blind at the same time, and in their agony, they decided that they no longer believe in the mercy of colors and turn black.
When the kingdom falls, it will fall not quietly, but with the devastating heartbeat of a dying moon. Fish may travel the sky, and gray snow will cover birds' corpses.
I don’t care if the ravens leave or not.
Black sees black, one is mute, the other has a voice.
A monstrous beauty with a mouth that forever screams:

That's how

Mon, 26 Jan 2026 14:20:15 +0000

The master knew:
What is empty must be filled.

He soldered an iron heart
and planted the seedling.
It grew from drips of ivy juice
and feasts on human souls.

Eyes pierced by coins.
Ears rotten by words.
No light nor music
can touch them.

A scent like molten metal,
rust
and blood
is everywhere.

Tyrants

Wed, 21 Jan 2026 15:00:05 +0000

Sometimes, late at night, I hear the whisper of a demon or bird from outside the house. Its voice, sweet like dates ripening in the Mediterranean sun, but also salty like its ocean, tells me things that I don’t want to hear; I cannot excuse myself from the tyranny of my ear which laughs at the limitations of my cold and detached eyes, a constant drumbeat in my head, echoed by the many thoughts and fears the sound brings up:

Sleepneedle

Mon, 22 Dec 2025 16:42:21 +0000

A long, familiar needle tore into his eyes again.

Max called it the sleepneedle. He knew what brought it back, but he couldn’t get rid of it.

4 a.m., again.

He could hardly move. Melissa grunted on the other side of the bed and turned away.

Snowflake

Sun, 21 Dec 2025 14:30:36 +0000

The sun didn't wake up this day, and it was cold, but the man left for the town anyway.
Snow had fallen for days, and the roads were difficult to travel on.
A white blanket muffled the noise of the world, and the moon shone through the clouds.
At the bridge, he stopped.
The moon lightened the play of the snowflakes.
It was here that he asked his wife to marry him.
He remembered her, as if he had seen the moon.
The world was not fair.
Last year, she got weak in the summer, and with the first snow, she died.
"Are you waiting for someone?" said an old voice.
The man turned. At the end of the bridge stood a stranger, leaning heavily on a walking stick.
"May I enter this bridge?"
The man nodded, and the stranger came closer.
He smelled of cinder and sage. His clothes were made of fur, and he had all sorts of bags knotted on him.
The two started talking while the snow continued to fall.
The man spoke about his wife, and said things he couldn't even share with his friends.
"What do you ask for, truly?" asked the stranger.
"A child," said the man, "a daughter, so I see my wife in her."
"There was one waiting for you. Give me your life, and I'll lend her mine."
The man hesitated, watching the snow. The stranger waited for minutes, without saying anything.
The man could no longer go to the pub this evening. His cold home would wait, but he'd be alone.
"Yes"
The stranger spoke, but no longer to the man. The smell of ash and coal overwhelmed him, and the man's vision blurred for a while.
And up there, far away, there was a special snowflake, meant only for the man.
It grew as it slowly fell, its color more blue than the others. Strong. Gentle in its movement.
"This is your daughter," said the stranger.
The man could not see, but felt. Laughter, when it should be silent.
"Yes, this is my daughter. I can see her now."
She came so close the man could almost touch her, and he reached out for her.
But the stranger blew her away.
Before the man could do anything, the snowflake fell into the river and vanished.
"Snowflake to a drop, drop to river, and the river to ocean. The bargain is fulfilled."
Two men left the bridge.
The woods devoured them, like a snowflake on the water.

Sakrikruzifikation

Tue, 18 Nov 2025 10:19:04 +0000

I. Genesis

Vomit of the earth
Altar slaughter
I became an algebraic rule
that must not exist.
I speak to you;
You don’t need to listen.

II. Star

The first few screamed for my blood
All listened. No answer.
Voices sharpened into needles
I sought the stars
While unshaken hands stitched
them through my breast.

III. Dehumanize

They have turned me into a rat.
Made me fiction, made me sick.
They inked their truth.
Humanity stared
when I unearthed my heart
and found it black.

IV. Reality

Automated hate
Industry of killing
Every shadow births a shadow
Every cut leads to cuts
In your life—in your death:
Only you

V. Declaration

Blood on my altar.
Minds on the pyre.
To crucify all words.
To sacrifice fear.

This is
Sakrikruzifiktion
This is
Kruzisakrifize.

VI. Sakrikruzifiktion

Crucify the spectacle.
Cut down hollow discourse.
Noise devours itself.
I become the hammer.

Sacrifice doubt.
Bury your tears.
Burn hateful words.
I follow the ancient law alone.

VII. Finale

You are the temple.
You are the altar.

Choose.
Or let them choose.

The Last Fräulein

Sat, 08 Nov 2025 22:07:01 +0000

Trigger warning: Contains references to historical violence, racism, and gun violence.

Note: This story uses historical language and figures to confront inherited ideology; the position is critical and condemnatory.

You think it’s fake news?

Mathilda chewed her nails.

Sure it is. All AI, Mat. Deep fake.

Submit to Apocalyptic News

Sun, 02 Nov 2025 20:13:48 +0000

After decades buried in the catacombs, I returned to the world of mortals. I turned on the machine of moving images and learned a single truth:

The news does not end.
Even when the world does.

If mortals invent their news, why shouldn’t we invent ours?

Basement Phonecall

Fri, 31 Oct 2025 17:00:17 +0000

Some echoes are better left unheard. Listen with caution.

Audio File / Audio Transcript
Case File: Hallowtide #G004
Date: 10/31/2025
Submitted: Anonymous
Status: Under Review

Transcript

Hello?
How does this work?
Can you hear me?

Fuck.. ok, I think it’s recording.
Listen, if you hear this.
I am in the basement.
I can’t talk for long.

It’s up there.
It’s in the second.

I didn’t let it in, OK?
The power went out, and the window was open.
It’s not my fault.
Fuck, it moves!
It slips!
It doesn’t walk!
It slips!

You need to come and get me.
But not after dark.
Never come after dark.
Never!

Fuck man, please.
Get me out.
I can’t move.
It’s all around me.

I saw its fingers.
They are like snakes.
And they stink.
They smell, I can’t say what it is
old beet roots?

I tried to look at it
it had no eyes.
No eyes!
No eyes!
It had no eyes
But a tongue, fucking tongue

Shit... sh sh sh... quiet.
It’s above me.
Kitchen creaks

I am sending now
Please hurry.
I am serious

If you can’t find me—
tell Sarah I love her.
Tell Edda I am sorry.

...wait.
Can it open locks?
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Where’s the send...

You'll go, then I'll go

Wed, 08 Oct 2025 20:47:58 +0000

Two soldiers stood before the black hole in the heart of the city. Rubble everywhere. The heat and smell of molten iron crept into their nostrils, ripping out the moisture with tiny needles. Dust turned their tongues into leathery snakes. Glasses shielded their eyes from the fallout. They saw the darkness, the wound where they once dwelled. Thousands died when it came down. Hundreds burned like torches. Their charred flesh made it hard to breathe. Others were buried under the bones of a once pulsating city. Many were just dragged down with it. They alone knew what was inside the hole.

The Demon Talks

Thu, 02 Oct 2025 17:00:41 +0000

On May 11th, 2025, I called the voices of Substack to sacrifice their demons to the altar.

Seven truths, seven writers, but one voice.
The demons were chosen one by one. And so they were recorded.

It cost me more than I thought. Reading all the words, again and again, I saw the pain and experience carved into them. Finding the right voice and sound for what was given took many nights. But the strength of the demons made me strong, and so I could complete the ritual.

Kingdom

Fri, 29 Aug 2025 00:00:00 +0000

A man drifts in the sea
far from any home
his cold blue hands
clutch the remains of his ship.

Parching in the kingdom of water,
encrusted eyes closing with salt.
His head burning in the far sun,
His feet freezing in the dark waves.

Heavens turn, clouds hide the sky.
Endless mirror, grudging kingdom.
The far is near.
Betrayed of all hope.

Forgive.
Help.
Lie.
Just save me.

Alone, all cries wasted.
Greedy sea, friend turned bile.

Lungs know what they soon breathe.

The stars climb, the sun is bored.
They pierce the sky one more time.
Not for him, but for lovers far.
Moon stares empty from his throne.
Nothing sees him drifting.

The fish circle him.
Bite him gently, taste his skin.
One beast from the depths
makes itself known,
fins cleaving the waves.
Strong, where he is weak.
It returns, ready to feast.
Water roars its secret name.

The moon reflects in the sea.
Golden and wide, veils all terror.
Reflection breaks truth—
but the shards are wise.

The piece of wood,
the last thing he never owned:
his fingers let it go—
and he vanishes—
into the kingdom of fish—
without a trace.

Human once, memory then.
No one cares.

Unbirth

Wed, 20 Aug 2025 00:00:00 +0000

A dog sat chained in the garden.

His owner was a noble warrior. Guests came for tales of giants slain and to see the heavy armor. When they left, the warrior turned into the beast he claimed to fight.

He threw rocks, dragged the dog by its legs over stones. Sometimes, a whimper. More often, only his yells and the wind in the woods.

Nailday

Wed, 30 Jul 2025 00:00:00 +0000

When you arrived, again, I knew you'd serve me your foul words. Drop them like acid rain, shoot them from your fleshy lips.

Again, you reminded me how smart you were, and that I was not. You shaped me with a cutting tongue and a thousand little cuts.

Desert Wind

Sun, 06 Jul 2025 00:00:00 +0000

Eat your heart.

Her voice was a whisper. Yet I heard every word in my bones. The desert winds were cold, but my skin longed for cool. The sun punished me for being in this place that was not mine. The sand, though, didn't change.

A letter from the son of trees

Sun, 15 Jun 2025 00:00:00 +0000

Dearest Friend,

I asked for your help like a child seeks a father–
yet I never told you how deeply I love you.

Today, once again, I saw the omens of your death.

Your breath:
so weak it could not move a leaf.

Manifesto of Kraft

Thu, 22 May 2025 00:00:00 +0000

Klarheit gave me eyes.

I saw:
Eyes torn open.
My mother sewed my mouth shut.
Still, I refused to love her.
Villagers threatened me with fire.
But I chose the witch's dance.
Because I see.
Because I remember.

Kraft gives me fists.

I will not kneel before a master.
I don't beg to feel whole again.
I will make myself one.
Become a pitch black forge.
Hammer pain into Kraft.

Submit your demon

Sun, 11 May 2025 22:13:00 +0000

The Demon talks in seven tongues

† Call for Voices: The Demon Talks Ritual
Ashmore opens the circle.

Seven mouths. Seven truths. Seven writers, carved in sound.
I invite all writers to submit a monologue in the voice of a demon.

Theme

Not necessarily evil or blasphemous.
But traumatized. Ancient. Exiled. Unseen.

Summoned by a dying world.
A personified pitch black.
The demon inside you.
The demon that hunted you.
The demon you became.

Yael lost her name

Wed, 07 May 2025 00:00:00 +0000

Yael sat before the window.

The storm outside turned to heavy rain. Heavy. Urgent. It hammered on the glass–zack, zack, zack–like a sewing machine. She looked for cracks. But the glass held better than her life.

Her room was cold.
She was alone.

The Dying Man

Mon, 28 Apr 2025 00:00:00 +0000

Even the candles were too bright for what had to come.
When mortals count their breaths
There is only one riddle
Every man and woman
every breathing
earth-bound soul
needs to solve.

The dying should not see the way we do.
If they are blinded by what we feel
loss and promise,
they cannot go home.
And we cannot be left alone.

Winter comes

Tue, 22 Apr 2025 00:00:00 +0000

Winter comes earlier than I thought.
Trees still carry their leaves,
but I already smell the icy cold—
the breath of the mountains, far.
I freeze.

There is no time to make things right.
I feed on the agony of leaves alone,
and spring water—once so clear—
has lost its taste, turned bitter.
No hunger.

Tourists of the Wall

Sun, 13 Apr 2025 00:00:00 +0000

Death makes people uncomfortable. And the wooden wall smelled like dead oak.
The scent makes the air go stale in the lungs. People breathed but felt as if drowning in the river. The wall took all that meant life and fed it to the bugs, its residents.

About My Lies

Wed, 09 Apr 2025 00:00:00 +0000

I sit on a stone in the middle of the forest.
It's still warm, though the sun is long forgotten.
Moonlight makes it shine–like a bone.
I have become a guest of this tiny home.
A moment's breath–no more than a fly
in the endless life of this ancient witness.

The Manifesto of Klarheit

Sun, 30 Mar 2025 18:57:00 +0000

I know this road.
I know every stone, every tree, every shadow.
I know where it leads.
I know what it means.

I am not my family.
I am not my friends.
I am not driven by fate.
I am not a victim of life.

I can break the circle.
I don’t have to walk the same path until I die.
I don't have to repeat other stories.
I can write my own.

Little Light

Sun, 16 Mar 2025 00:00:00 +0000

"Little light, little light, don't leave me."

Yasuko first saw it near her grandfather’s grave. A small blue flicker rose from the stone like a firefly. It floated in slow circles, harmless at first.

Then, it changed.

Up and down, up and down—too fast, too sudden. Not like an insect. Like something searching. Frantic. Desperate.

Necessities

Tue, 04 Mar 2025 00:00:00 +0000

The Cicadas shrieked like never before, carving into Wade's skull. Wade's lips were dry. His eyes bulged against their sockets. And his head felt ready to burst the next moment. The Cicadas were like tiny needles stabbing his ears. They were stuck there, and they made his ears ring.
The heat was different today, too; it didn't even burn only on his skin or nostrils. It burned down his thoughts to ashes. Made them fragile, useless, and absurd.
Where do Goats go to die? Do they welcome their death?
Every breath was painful; every thought was like a cut.
"Home. Tomorrow. Just this last one left." Wade grabbed his tools. His hands hurt from the work. "I need to..."

Whisky Demon

Wed, 19 Feb 2025 00:00:00 +0000

Frank lost everything to Whisky.

He hated his first drink as he hated his Mom. A friend handed him a small bottle of Bourbon and told him to take a sip. He put it to his lips and drank. And drank. Drank it almost up.
His friend's eyes went wide. He cursed. Then he lunged at him, trying to give Frank the beating of his life for drinking all his liquor. Somebody grabbed him, yanked him back.
Frank hated the drink. Disgusting. Sharp as fuel. Smokey as burnt wood.
Soon after, he went to the next store and bought a bottle.
When he grew older, he had bought many bottles. When he married, he bought some bottles to have fun. When his wife Mary would leave him, he bought even more.
After she ran from his misery, he lost his job as a teacher. The students didn't like a drunk math teacher. The parents hated him too.
Life threw rocks. Never missed.
He had only a few friends on this shit-hole planet, and they were called Jack or Jim, or whatever was cheap. They would cheer him up.
With every up, with every down, a new bottle would stack up in the corner, looking like a broken tombstone. Bottles boiled up everywhere in his room.
And then, he woke up in puke. Again. The smell was unbearable. His head hurt.
He couldn't get rid of his Mom until she died. He couldn't get rid of drinking until he died.
At that moment, he decided he would at least die trying.

Goats of Gaza

Thu, 06 Feb 2025 00:00:00 +0000

Gomez drove the truck on rocky paths through the plains. He didn't like driving so far outside civilization, but there was a job to do. Gomez was lucky Mike and Billy were with him. Mike was their commander, and his instincts and experience prevented terrible things. A guy you can rely on. A true friend. One who would go through machine gun fire to get you out of the hot zone. Billy, on the other hand, was just a kid. They called him back in the camp: Billy, the Kid. He was funny and friendly and didn't shoot as much as the original. Billy told Gomez he had signed up for the Army because he wanted to earn some good money to pay for his college at some point. Fool. Gomez was sure Billy would never make it to college. Army breaks you, somehow. It doesn't leave any intellectual bones in your brain. No matter what, Gomez was happy to have them as a team because Mike could get very serious, and Billy always had a joke in his pocket. Gomez was more of a doer, not a talker. So everybody had their place. It was a good team.

Push the button

Mon, 03 Feb 2025 18:37:00 +0000

Gerald was only seventeen years old. He shaved every morning accurately because his beard would not grow respectably. A beard would make him look more audacious, like some of his comrades. "It is what it is," he thought, like his father would say. One has to accept the facts. And the facts said, Gerald would look like a young man, a sensitive thinker who'd listen when you'd tell him something. A man not born to work on construction sites but one who would study philosophy and poetry. He was the dream of every young lady but the nightmare of every father who thinks a man should earn money with hard work.

The Devil's Sand

Tue, 28 Jan 2025 17:20:00 +0000

Whisky contains a secret ingredient that nobody knows about, but everyone feels. Like everyone, I have no idea what this thing is called or if it even has a name. Everything needs a name, so I called it "devil's sand." When you sip your Whisky at night, the alcohol carries the sand into your blood, and when it is in your blood, it also seeps into your brain. The brain fights back; God built it too, but as you grow and drink more Whisky in your life, the barricades of the brain weaken, and the Sin enters, drop by drop. As a young man, you can drink five glasses of Whisky and have only a little sand in your brain, but over time, you'll lose God's protection that gives all the young ones, and you are alone. One glass might be enough to get you a full dose.