"The Players have come, the Stage is set - let the arcane dance begin!
There shall be Voyeurs and Artistes, Supplicants and Sacrifices, a role for everyone and everthing. But alas, no Survivors."
There shall be Voyeurs and Artistes, Supplicants and Sacrifices, a role for everyone and everthing. But alas, no Survivors."
— The Masque of Slaaneesh, Warhammer 40,000
"Animals are fine, but their acceptability is limited. A little child is even better, but not nearly as effective as the right kind of adult."
The chambered earth shudders. And, buzzing like insects, the King's Head darts team feeds on the wines and nectars of a dead dog's body. Mr Finn the fishmonger is pulling the wings off birds in the pet shop. Canaries. Parrots. Cockatiels. When he has enough, when he has divined the secret of flight, he will jump off the roof of the town hall. In Cromwell Street, the children are led smiling to the razor-man who gently removes their faces to make child-masks for the adults. The children depart, with wet red Halloween cake faces, smiling still. And all the sounds - of pain, of glass crushed underfoot - become one great sound, like the drawn-out final chime of some monumental bell, signalling doomsday.
—Hellblazer: How I Learned To Love The Bomb
