A long time ago a civilization was built on the backs of its slaves.
The Egyptians owned a large number of Israelites and put them to work to build pyramids, which were the Egyptians’ temples.
One day the Pharaoh Ramses’ brother Moses took a stand against the oppression and was ostracized from their city as a result.
Moses, who turned out to be an Israelite himself, spoke to God, in disguise as a burning bush, and was tasked with combating Ramses in an effort to return the enslaved Israelites to the promised land.
Through Moses, God commanded that Ramses liberate his slaves, casting a series of plagues upon the pharaoh and the rest of the Egyptians.
After eight brutal plagues, God told Moses to stretch out his hand toward heaven, which brought about the ninth plague of darkness over Egypt, rendering the Egyptians without light for three full days.
I’ve recently caught wind of a tale involving one of the men who walks the halls of this very Slaughterhouse.
Legend has it that years ago a tragedy occurred in a place called Night City.
They say that an entity so strong overpowered the city’s electricity grid causing every light in the city shone brighter than the moon and all the stars for three consecutive days.
On the third night of this incredible surge, it happened: an explosion so powerful that it dimmed the lights of the city and its inhabitants for good in an instant.
According to legend, they called it the Night City Blackout, and the person responsible for this genocide is the man who we now know as The Impaler.
To this very day, no one knows the circumstances surrounding that night or why it happened. Some attribute it to an act of God, while others claim it was a calculated attack by a shadow government.
Maybe you aren’t aware of this, Impaler, but that abomination of a mask that’s clinging to life on your face sure reminds me of a plague.
It’s a plague that haunts you every day and every night for what you did to those innocent people.
Yahweh would never command you to perform such a terrible task— you acted either under the command of a false prophet’s orders, or on the assumption that you yourself are a god.
But Impaler, whether you are a plague or a weapon of mass destruction isn’t of any consequence, because no matter what you are, and you are certainly no god, you will only ever be someone else’s lackey.
Whether it’s your mother Chronoa, the Almighty Father Himself Yahweh, or the Legion that inhabits your mask, you only can realize your potential power if someone else harnesses it.
So I propose this.
Let’s defeat this plague of yours together at High Voltage by turning up the power of Yahweh so high that His light reaches the darkest corners of your soul, liberating you from the chains that bind you.
Allow me to make you Yahweh’s personal slave and enlist you to rebuild His kingdom from the ground up.
Let light shine out of darkness, Impaler.
Deus vult.