UMIRINBRAH?
In The Bleak Midwinter
- Joined
- Jun 10, 2025
- Posts
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Claviular was at the gym when he was 14, doing curls and watching other guys flex like it meant something. He wasn't strong yet, but he was hungry. That’s when he got approached by a Jewish guy who goes by the username []@ Master[], who is the owner of looksmax.org. Nobody knows his real name. Some say he’s been around since the early days of the blackpill forums. Others say he doesn’t even exist. But Claviular saw him. Spoke to him. Followed him to a black car with tinted windows.
He was taken to a remote location I can't mention because I’ll get targeted. It was underground somewhere. No GPS signal. No phones. Just torches on the walls and men in robes that looked like they came from another time. They made him strip down and stand in a circle carved into stone. There were symbols drawn in ash and ink. And then they made him sign an oath in blood. Not paper. Parchment. Old parchment. Smelled like iron and rot. The oath said he would carry out exactly what he was told. No questions. No escape.
Three years later, Claviular made his first sacrifice. K Shami. Rising star. Climbed the 3 tiers in just 2 months. Broke every record. Should’ve been celebrated. Instead, he disappeared. His accounts got deleted. His posts scrubbed. Like he never existed. People whispered about burnout. Mental breakdown. But those who knew, stayed quiet. Because they knew what really happened. Claviular didn’t just betray him. He erased him.
The ritual involved more than chanting. It required science. Or something like it. They used brainwave synchronization between Claviular and the victim. Alpha waves from Claviular’s spinal fluid — extracted during deep meditation cycles — were combined with the beta waves of the 3rd rank Jewish pilgrimage. Somehow, this created a wormhole. Not sci-fi. Real. Documented. Unreleased. Through that portal, K Shami was sent back. Not forward in time. Backward. To before he ever started the journey. Now he exists in two places. One version still climbing. One already gone.
And that’s why you don’t dig too deep. That’s why some names vanish. Because there’s a system in place. A hidden hierarchy. And Claviular isn’t done. He’s still active. Still posting. Still obeying. Every word he writes, every message he spreads — it’s not his. It’s theirs.
He was taken to a remote location I can't mention because I’ll get targeted. It was underground somewhere. No GPS signal. No phones. Just torches on the walls and men in robes that looked like they came from another time. They made him strip down and stand in a circle carved into stone. There were symbols drawn in ash and ink. And then they made him sign an oath in blood. Not paper. Parchment. Old parchment. Smelled like iron and rot. The oath said he would carry out exactly what he was told. No questions. No escape.
Three years later, Claviular made his first sacrifice. K Shami. Rising star. Climbed the 3 tiers in just 2 months. Broke every record. Should’ve been celebrated. Instead, he disappeared. His accounts got deleted. His posts scrubbed. Like he never existed. People whispered about burnout. Mental breakdown. But those who knew, stayed quiet. Because they knew what really happened. Claviular didn’t just betray him. He erased him.
The ritual involved more than chanting. It required science. Or something like it. They used brainwave synchronization between Claviular and the victim. Alpha waves from Claviular’s spinal fluid — extracted during deep meditation cycles — were combined with the beta waves of the 3rd rank Jewish pilgrimage. Somehow, this created a wormhole. Not sci-fi. Real. Documented. Unreleased. Through that portal, K Shami was sent back. Not forward in time. Backward. To before he ever started the journey. Now he exists in two places. One version still climbing. One already gone.
And that’s why you don’t dig too deep. That’s why some names vanish. Because there’s a system in place. A hidden hierarchy. And Claviular isn’t done. He’s still active. Still posting. Still obeying. Every word he writes, every message he spreads — it’s not his. It’s theirs.
