The words finally escape the cavernous slit occupying your mouth's residence. "Portuguese" - you mutter to yourself in unintelligible desperate grunts that would baffle a mad dog succumbing to late stage rabies - "I stand before a Portuguese individual... It's real". And with this, you meet your end.

Too late now, I have already become Rebis and completed the Great Work. The gears of Machina Mundi stir by the synchronized beat of your dreadful realization that a chimera from the phantom lands beyond all that which is known to man (and kept from sight for reasons of primal safety) hath descended and made its way into your homes uninvited. The formless beast before you stands still as it stares you down one last time. Your "brain" is only capable of clutching to a few feeble conjectures in the midst of your painful convulsions, perhaps one of the fated akephaloi, or a scion of the Nephilim? No matter, for the atavic terror coursing through your veins disrupts the formation of more coherent thought patterns native to higher order mammals that you (may have) once even belonged to, though at this point one could hardly call you human.

you…..are……….portug……. How do I turn gold back to lead? I regret seeing the truth, it tears me apart, my life into pieces. How do I get out of this esoteric damnation? I never saw the top of Olympus, never achieved the state of übermensch, never overcame albedo. All I got is eternal suffering and constant cognitive dissonance. MAKE ME BLIND AGAIN, O GREAT KALKI! END THIS INTERNAL KALI YUGA IN ME! Set me free…

Hi I swear I'm Portuguese and not a fed

nezinau...

why are you a portuguese larper tell me