Children of smoke and sacrilege, hear these final word.

For years, the altar has been fed, with sweat, with laughter, with coin, and with sin.

The circle was cast in ink and blood, and all of you answered the call.

​

The circle has now closed.

Not in silence, but in triumph.

Not in death, but in metamorphosis.

For nothing truly dies in Hell, it simply changes shape.

​

Blasphemeet began as a spark, a blasphemous whisper in the dark. It became a market, a congregation, a family of flame and fury.

You, the artists and sinners, the occultists and heathens, the dreamers and defilers...

You are the ritual. You are the invocation.

​

And though this chapter ends, its echoes remain in every hand that crafts, every voice that cries for the oppressed, every act of creation and destruction that dares to exist without permission.

​

So as we douse the last of the altar flame, heed these words that seal the work, and bind its spirit to memory:

Hail the Makers.

Hail the Blasphemers.

Hail the Dreamers in Defiance.

Hail Blasphemeet.

Nulli Reges. Nulli Domini.

ICE Delenda Est. In Nomine Bestiae.

​

The ritual is complete.

The gates are now closed, but the fire remains.

Carry it with you. Feed it. Share it. Let it burn wherever you go.

​

And until the next summoning.

Go in sin, go in beauty, go in fucking power.

​

HAIL SATAN! HAIL YOURSELVES!

HAIL ALL WHO MADE THIS REAL!

FUCK AI ART! FUCK ICE! FUCK MAGA!

FUCK TRUMP!

HAIL BLASPHEMEET!