Shattering Humanity-Chapter 435: A Rewritten Downfall: "Perfection Is Life."

When our Lord and Master Jesus Christ said, ``Repent’’ (Mt 4:17), he willed the entire life of believers to be one of repentance.

This word cannot be understood as referring to the sacrament of penance, that is, confession and satisfaction, as administered by the clergy.

Yet it does not mean solely inner repentance; such inner repentance is worthless unless it produces various outward mortification of the flesh.

The penalty of sin remains as long as the hatred of self (that is, true inner repentance), namely till our entrance into the kingdom of heaven.

The pope neither desires nor is able to remit any penalties except those imposed by his own authority or that of the canons.

The pope cannot remit any guilt, except by declaring and showing that it has been remitted by God; or, to be sure, by remitting guilt in cases reserved to his judgment.

If his right to grant remission in these cases were disregarded, the guilt would certainly remain unforgiven.

God remits guilt to no one unless at the same time he humbles him in all things and makes him submissive to the vicar, the priest." -Martin Luther Theses 1-7

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[Berlin, Germany]

{About 80 Years Before Leviathan’s Invasion}

Allied air raids drop coordinated attacks all over the land where less than a decade earlier, parades celebrated their national pride.

The same populous who contributed to or viewed the Kristallnacht as a justified act of protest, are now met with the crescendo of whistles, explosions, screaming, crying, fires burning, buildings collapsing, soldiers shouting, and the scent of fresh death.

Gun fire rains through streets as Russian ground troops push deeper into enemy territory. With Soviets successfully taking out whatever is left of the Nazi soldiers still fighting in the streets.

Even the children within the youth program are standing their ground. Willing to believe their cause is worthy of dying for, and the never willing to accept the sacrifices and deaths of their own were all in vain.

At this moment, the men and women still resisting no longer care about whether their ideology was correct.

Like the majority of war afflicted combatants, their decision to never surrender in the face of death is made out of the respect towards their fellow national socialist comrades who saw their country rise from the ashes, but have now died trying to protect what had, even if briefly, made life seemingly better.

With death and destruction happening around them, a unit of unfortunate, brainwashed, but prideful Hitler Youth anti-tankers.

Four prepubescent children, 3 boys and a girl, all younger than 15 years old, watch as a sweeping force of firing Russian soldiers emerge from around a bombed out building, escorting a tank through the war theater currently hosting Hell.

A smaller group of the actual, and older German soldiers try to push for a building but in front of the children’s eyes, blood sprays out the backs from each of their allies. Cut down by the enemy.

One of the scared, blue eyed Middle Schoolers sees a dead, open eyed Nazi soldier about 20 yards outside of his team’s small dug in bunker. Having been shot in the neck, the perished fighter died after falling with his weapon.

Leaving the others, the brave young man jumps out of his hiding spot and runs for the rifle.

In the unmeasurably stressful situation, missed gun shots aimed towards him kicks up the dust behind the heavily breathing boy.

He slides head first and to his luck, the already dead body takes another bullet, protecting the child. The boy gets a hold of the dirty Karabiner 98k and sees 3 shots left in the firearm’s stripper clip.

Artillery fire lands close by, making everything blurry and only the sound of ringing for the war fighting kid.

After his senses come back, the only child who left his post looks over at where he left his friends.

To his dismay, blood, indistinguishable body parts, and an even larger hole is the only thing left.

The innocence and whatever glow that was left in the eyes of the surviving adolescent boy on his stomach, is visibly lost.

This young man who should be playing with his pals, aspiring towards his future dreams, and learning what it means to love, forgets where he is, and what the situation is in his rage.

Standing up, pointing the scavenged gun towards his country’s invaders, the young man’s integrity is wasted as he fires the the shots left in the clip. Two hit different enemies, and the final shot bounces of the tank.

However, and unfortunately for the entire ’civilized’ world on this day, that was this young, ideologically deceived child’s final moments.

{The FeürerBunker}

Inside the white walled, metal door fortified war bunker, muffled explosions can be heard nonstop.

The trapped SS members are smoking and drinking with shaking hands.

Even though the rumbling of active war is happening around them and getting closer, their silence is deafening.

Defeat is now more than certain, and their praised leader has made up his mind to take his own life.

At this point in history, each individual member of the military cult, responsible for bringing actual Hell to Earth, now contemplate their only two choices left.

After all they had worked for, rising to political power.

After indoctrinating millions of humans to believe in their ideology, and the world’s vexation towards their beliefs.

After all the territory in Europe they had control of, and now hide like rats.

After all their dead allies and sacrifices fueled them to fight, and now it was in vain.

After all of their life’s aspirations were at one point within their reach, and now, it has been for nothing.

During the final days of the most horrific conflict amongst humanity, those left inside the hideout are the higher ranking soldiers, commanders, heavily indoctrinated, devoted followers, and family to their leader.

Within his closed off, man guarded office, the mustached Feürer and his newlywed wife sit alone in silence on a small couch, their foreheads together.

Both have a cyanide capsule in one hand and a small pistol in the other.

They nod together and raise both the tiny poison up to their mouths and the barrel to their temples...however...

MaMmon DæMon: "We’ll take those..."

A green nail painted hand takes the easy ways out from the pale, Parkinson’s suffering hand of the defeated man, while a gold nail painted hand confiscates his wife’s pill and gun.

Absolutely shocked, and unable to figure out how anybody managed to sneak their way in, nevermind two Money Tree Cloak wearing woman.

MamMon DæMon: "Oh ’Rudy’, when I had found you in that homeless shelter all those years ago, the way you spoke of a perfect race.

I truly believed you were mutually acknowledged by Seiõr, but kept it secret."

MaMmon DæMon: "You reminded me of my favorite, but also most hated clan sister.

But alas, she would never go through with the disgusting agenda you considered to fulfill."

The two magically gifted Scandinavians underhand toss the cyanide pills to one another, catching, and cracking the suicide capsules between their smiles.

The scared woman begins opens her mouth to talk, but she can’t move her mouth to speak.

MamMon DæMon: "Nobody was talking to you sweetie."

In the blink of an eye, one of the DæMons had poked through both the suicidal woman’s temples with their nails.

MamMon DæMon: "You wondered why the man you loved was still a stranger to you after all this time together?

How else do you think this man, who could never finish what he started his entire life, could ever come to a world threat level of power?"

MaMmon DæMon: "I get why you betrayed me though, Rudy.

You couldn’t tell anyone about the true puppet master behind his success, because the truth contradicted your precious eugenics used as a backbone."

The brain pierced woman’s vision darkening, heart racing, and tears flowing, she releases dying whimpers. Her terror making it impossible to get out any verbal response.

MaMmon DæMon(chuckles): "You both tried to prevent yourselves from experiencing the same fear you have put millions of others through.

Do not run from it, but instead embrace that fear you so willfully commercialized."

The shaking, resigned Feürer tries to get up, but MamMon’s porcelain white skinned hand covers his mouth and forces the weak prey back on the couch.

MamMon DæMon: "Uh-huh-uh.

As far as everyone throughout history is aware, you’ve both already said your last words.

You messed up big time, ’Rudy’.

I trusted you.

I thought you would be able to convince the people of the world to put their hopes finding sanguinity in me.

When you stated the world should praise those who resemble my clan, I misunderstood in the most embarrassing way possible."

Heavy, fast paced, whistling air escapes the sweating man’s nose and his terrified eyes look at his terrified wife as her head drops, and the light finally leaves her eyes.

MamMon tosses the gun, landing/planting it next to the dead body.

Still gripping the face of the man she had apparently helped rise to power, the incredibly irritated DæMon’s piercing blue eye stare directly into the soul of the World War quitter.

MamMon DæMon: "But when you started killing and wasting millions of valuable lives due to your own ignorant racism, that’s when I knew..."

More muffled artillery fire and mortars blast and shake concrete dust from the ceiling.

MaMmon DæMon: "... That’s when I knew you were just another Seiõr-less, methamphetamine addicted nutcase. One who is more quick to blame everyone else for your own hardships and failures."

MamMon DæMon: "I knew you were a man unwilling to aim his own hate, over his own failure, at himself, to fix his own life.

Vulturing the symbolism created by those with my blood. By desecrating the runes read by Odin over the past six years, you have made a spiritual mockery of any ’ancestors’ you aimed to emulate. Bastardizing all of Valhalla and the rest of the Gods."

Both twins put one middle finger on each of the ..."poor old man’s" temples.

MaMmon DæMon & MamMon DæMon: "If the most respected Nordic and Scandinavian men from the age of my mothers, knew of your role in this war, you would be laughed at, belittled for never stepping foot on a battlefield you sent your men into, and finally, seeing that distinct bird you proudly honor, they would cut you open from the back, break every rib with force until they could pull out your lungs. The men you honored would heartily laugh at you as you die."

Trying to talk behind his mouth covering, using the last of whatever strength he has left to break free, but to no prevail.

MaMmon DæMon: "Well, with this being our final auf wiedersehen, I can’t really say I wished this partnership had worked out, now knowing your despicable thought process.

That being said, since your going to dishonor my actual native culture further by killing yourself instead of dying by the hands of the enemy you instigated, at least let me... ’pick your brain’."

Holding his head in place with one hand, the two women slowly press their middle fingers through the temples of Hitler. Blood mixes with sweat, quickly running down his grey, cheeks and drips off his chin.

MamMon DæMon: "However, as someone who never had a mother to praise my aspiring art, I somehow still envy you.

You never took the time to think about how disappointed she would be to know her artistic young boy, turned into a hate filled man.

Let me send you off to cold, icy Nordic Hel with a poem by the people you died to resemble..."

The pain of their sharp nails slowly, and easily slide through his skull like butter.

MaMmon DæMon & MamMon DæMon:

"{Munu við ofstríð, alls til lengi, konur ok karlar, kvikvir fæðask; við skulum okkrum aldri slíta Sigurðr saman.

Sökkstu, gýgjar kyn.}"

Muffled, painful screams coming from the man who directed orders to fill Europe with painful screams, starts spasming in shock. His eyes begin rolling, and the middle fingers belonging to the synchronized female voices are fully buried in his skull, sending off the most infamous man to the after life.

MaMmon DæMon & MamMon DæMon: "The perfect human doesn’t exist in a physical form.

The perfect God doesn’t exist in a spiritual form.

The perfect universe doesn’t exist in a single mind.

Perfection is balance.

Perfection is trust.

Perfection is acceptance.

Perfection is hope."

Pulling their bloody fingers from the pierced skull, blood squirts from both holes and Adolf slumps over the arm of his couch.

MaMmon DæMon & MamMon DæMon: "Perfection is life."