Princes Of Chaos Quotes

Don't wake me for the end of the world unless it has very good special effects.

...the headwaters of Shit Creek are a cruel and treacherous expanse.

I content myself with smiling up at him and saying, “In the midst of chaos, there is also opportunity.

I can see why Jacks likes you. You're a bit like her, you know?' 'Like who?' The Handsome Stranger rubbed his jaw. 'He wouldn't be happy if he knew I said this, but if you're not careful, you'll end up like her as well.' 'Like who?' Evangeline repeated. 'His first fox.

What is she doing here?' Chaos gave a tight nod to the girl in the slip. Jacks shrugged. 'I thought you might need a snack when you get your helm off.

I don't know that I ever wanted greatness, on its own. It seems rather like wanting to be an engineer, rather than wanting to design something - or wanting to be a writer, rather than wanting to write. It should be a by-product, not a thing in itself. Otherwise, it's just an ego trip.

Why are you being so cruel?' 'Because you won't leave!' Jacks shouted. 'And if you stay, you will die. Chaos hasn't fed in thousands of years. I know he thinks he can control his hunger, but he can't. That's why they put the helm on him.' 'You could have just said that. If you didn't want me to say goodbye or you want me to leave, you don't have to hurt me to get me to do it.' 'I'm not- I-' Jacks broke off abruptly. His eyes were no longer just red, they were blazing with fear. She'd never seen him look so terrified before. She'd been poisoned, shot, lashed across the back, and Jacks had always kept his calm until now. With a great deal of effort, he took a deep breath, and when he spoke again, his voice was soft but uneven. 'I'm sorry, Little Fox. I didn't want to hurt you, I just-' He looked suddenly at a loss for words, as if whatever he said next might be the wrong thing. He's never looked at her like this before. 'Jacks, please, don't use the stones tonight. Come with me instead.' He took a jagged breath. For a second, he looked torn. He raked a hand through his hair, his movements jagged. Evangeline took a step closer. He shuttered his expression and took a step back. 'This doesn't change anything. I still can't have you in my life. You and I aren't meant to be.' 'What if you're wrong?' Evangeline had once heard a tale about a pair of doomed stars, drawn across skies toward each other's brightness, even though they knew that if they drew too close, their desire would end in a fiery explosion. This was how Jacks looked at her now. As if neither of them would survive if they drew any closer. 'Evangeline, you need to go.' A thunderous roar poured out from the Valory, so loud it shook the arch and the angels and the ground at Evangeline's feet. 'Get out of here.' Jacks said. She held his gaze, one final time, wishing she knew how to change his mind. 'I wish our story could have had another ending.' 'I don't want another ending,' Jacks said flatly. 'I just want you to leave.

I'm broken. I like to break things. Sometimes I want to break you.' 'Then break me, Jacks.' His fingers tensed against her neck. 'For once I want to do the right thing. I can't do this. I can't watch you die again.' The word again scraped against her like a thorn. 'What do you mean, again?' 'You died, Evangeline.' Jacks pulled her closer until she could feel the ragged rise and fall of his chest as he rasped. 'I held you in my arms as it happened.' 'Jacks... I don't know what you're talking about. I never died.' 'Yes, you did. The night you opened the Valory. The first time you did it, I didn't go with you.' He went silent for a moment and then she heard him think, I couldn't say goodbye. 'It was only you and Chaos,' he whispered. 'As soon as his helm was off, he killed you. I tried to stop him- I tried to save you- but-' Jacks opened and shut his mouth as if he could barely get the words out. 'I couldn't. When I got there, he had already bitten you- and he'd already taken too much blood. You died as soon as you were in my arms. The only thing I could do was use the stones to turn back time. I was warned that it would cost me something. But I thought it would cost me. I didn't imagine it would take from you.' I'm sorry, he thought. 'You don't need to be sorry, Jacks.' 'It's my fault,' he gritted out. 'No, it's not. I didn't lose my memories because you turned back time. I lost them because Apollo took them from me.' Jacks looked murderous for a second. Then just as quickly he shook off her words. 'It doesn't matter. What matters is that you died. And if you die again, I cannot bring you back.' 'So you'd rather live without me?' 'I'd rather you live.' 'I am living, Jacks, and I am not going to die anytime soon.' Evangeline closed her eyes and then she kissed him.

Humans do a lot of stupid things when they're scared.

What the hell are you doing?' Jacks growled. Evangeline turned toward his voice, sweat trickling down her cheek, as she found him standing in the doorway. A vein throbbed furiously along the line of his smooth, marble neck. His skin looked so cool, and she was so hot. All she wanted was to press her mouth to his throat and maybe lick it just once. Her blood rushed faster at the thought, and her fangs started to lengthen. 'Jacks, get out of here!' Chaos ordered. 'Unless you've changed your mind about her becoming a vampire.' Chaos gripped Evangeline's wrists tighter, pressing them- along with her- more firmly to the bed. She writhed against his grip; he was crushing her again with the full weight of his body. Something loud cracked in the doorway. Her eyes shot back to Jacks, who was fisting the now splintered edge of the door. Had he done that with his hands? He certainly looked livid enough. His silver-blue eyes turned midnight dark as he watched her struggling under Chaos. Evangeline dimly knew that she should stop her thrashing. If she broke free from Chaos and managed to bite Jacks, the life she had- the life she wanted to keep- would be over. But she also wanted this. She wanted Jacks to stop her struggling. She wanted him to rip Chaos off her chest so that he could pin her to the bed instead. Evangeline took a rasping breath, and her gaze collided with Jacks' once more. He scrubbed a hand over his jaw. With Evangeline's heightened senses, she could hear it clench under his palm. Then she heard the scrape of Jacks' boots as he sharply turned and disappeared down the hall.

Running away?" He taunted, as I drew my glamour to me, feeling it surge beneath my skin. "Always a coward, weren't you, prince? Never had the guts to really go for the kill." "You're right," I murmured, startling him. He frowned in wary surprise, and I smiled. "I always regretted my words against Puck. There was always a part of me that didn't want to go through with it." I lowered my blade, touching the tip to the floor. Ice spread from the point of the weapon, coating the ground and the walls, freezing the mirrors with sharp crinkling sounds. "But with you," I continued, narrowing my eyes, "it's different. You're the part of him that I hate. The part that revels in the chaos you cause, the lives you destroy. And I can say this with complete certainty - killing you will be a pleasure.

If Evangeline ever gets her memories back, she'll never forgive you for this.' 'At least she'll be alive to hate me.

ONE NIGHT, AZHRARN Prince of Demons, one of the Lords of Darkness, took on him, for amusement, the shape of a great black eagle. East and west he flew, beating with his vast wings, north and south, to the four edges of the world, for in those days the earth was flat and floated on the ocean of chaos.

We can fight about it until Branson hears us, or we can get him together quietly," I went on, narrowing my eyes. "Your choice." The high-arched portico covering the fortress's main entrance suddenly exploded, jetting out fire and pieces of stone. I ducked from instinct, but Vlad walked right toward the burning chaos, the fire parting to let him pass. "Does that answer your question?" he asked.

Are you going to come down or do I need to set the apothecary on fire?' 'That threat might work better if you actually had a torch,' Castor replied.

His dick is an equal opportunity lender.

So let sleeping wyverns lie.

We were molded to hurt, cut, and deceive, but no matter now much Father hoped it'd be against each other, it never has been. We made that pact years ago. In blood. In darkness. In agony. We're a Cerberus - three heads, one heart.

don’t know that I ever wanted greatness, on its own. It seems rather like wanting to be an engineer, rather than wanting to design something — or wanting to be a writer, rather than wanting to write. It should be a by-product, not a thing in itself. Otherwise, it’s just an ego trip.

The country was passing through turbulent times. British Raj was on its last legs. The World War had sucked the juice out of the British economy. Britain neither had the resources nor the will to hold on to a country the size of India. Sensing the British weakness and lack of resources to rule, different leagues of Indians sniffed different destinies in the air following the imminent exit of the British: a long stretch of Nehru Raj, Hindu Raj extending from Kashmir to Kerala not seen since Emperor Ashoka in third-century BCE before the emperor himself renounced Hinduism and turned a non-violent Buddhist, a Muslim-majority state carved out of two shoulders of India with a necklace-like corridor running through her bosom along Grand Trunk Road, balkanisation of the country with princes ruling the roost, and total chaos. From August 1946 onwards, chaos appeared to be the most likely destiny as it spurted in Bengal, Bihar, and United Provinces, ending in the carnage of minority communities at every place. The predicament of British government was how to cut their losses and run without many British casualties before the inevitable chaos spread to the whole country. The predicament of Muhammad Ali Jinnah, the leader of the Muslim League, was how to achieve his dream of Muslim-majority Pakistan carved out of India before his imminent demise from tuberculosis he suffered from, about which—apart from his doctor—only a handful of his closest relations and friends knew about. The predicament of Jawaharlal Nehru, the heir apparent of the Congress Party anointed by Gandhiji, was how to attain independence of the country followed by Nehru Raj while Gandhiji, a frail 77-year-old at the time, was still alive, for God only knew who would be the leader of the party once Gandhiji’s soul and his moral authority were dispatched to heaven, and Nehru couldn’t possibly leave the crucial decision in the hands of a God he didn’t particularly believe in. Time was of the essence to all the three.

There has always been philosophical speculation on the question, What if there were no God? Keller thinks as he walks through the slush. But no one has really asked, much less answered, the question, What if there were no Satan? The answer to the former is that there would be chaos in heaven and on earth. But the answer to the latter is that there would be chaos in hell—all the lesser demons would be set loose in an amoral struggle to become the new Prince of Darkness. The fight for heaven is one thing. The fight for hell … If God is dead, and so is Satan, well … Merry Christmas.

There were nine of them [Princes of Hell] in total. There was Sammael, the first to loose demons upon the Earth. Azazel, the forger of weapons who fell from grace when he gifted humans with the instruments of violence. Belial, who "did not walk among men," was described as the prince of necromancers and warlocks, and thief of realms. Mammon, the prince of greed and wealth, could be bribed with money and riches. Astaroth, who tempted men to bear false witness, and who took advantage of the grieving. Asmodeus, the demon of lust and rumored general of Hell's army. Belphegor, the prince of sloth and, strangely, tricksters and snake-oil salesmen. Leviathan, the demon of envy, chaos, and te sea, who was monstrous and rarely summoned. And lastly, of course, there was Lucifer, the leader of the archangels, the most beautiful of any prince, the leader of the rebellion against heaven.

Callum looks like a fairy-tale prince, ready to ride in on a white horse and save the day. In all reality, he's the villain, the one you're supposed to hate, but can't because he's too damn pretty. That's how he gets you in the end, like a poisonous butterfly, too beautiful for the crow to resist.

Do you think what he's doing is a good idea?' The vampire rubbed the jaw of his helm. 'I think we should get going.' 'I'll take that as a no.' Chaos sighed, one part impatient, one part beleaguered. 'I don't ever think time travel is a good idea. I've lived long enough to know that the past doesn't like to be changed. Jacks believes his plan will work because he only wants to alter one thing. But Jacks' reason gets clouded when he wants something badly enough. I believe the only way that time travel works is if the past hadn't had time to settle. The further back you go, the more Time fights against changes. And given the vindictive nature of Time, even if Jacks succeeds in changing the past, Time will no doubt make sure he loses something else in order to pay for it. So you are correct, I think he's making a mistake.' 'Then help me change his mind!' Chaos shook his head ruefully. 'You're not good for him, either, Princess. This is a better mistake for Jacks to make than you. If he were to stay for you, he would kill you, and your death would kill him. Trust me, Evangeline. If you care about Jacks, the best thing you can do for him is let him go.' 'That doesn't feel like the best thing,' she said. But a part of her couldn't deny that maybe Chaos was right.

It was plausible to vote for Trump if you saw him as the demented Discordian Pope of Chaos, the clown prince whose incompetence and recklessness would bring about the complete destruction of the current paradigm, and its replacement by something much better – Meritocracy. There is no other excuse. He is the stupid man’s candidate.

Magic is one of the greatest things we will ever know and never be able to explain. To know magic is to touch the old gods that brought this earth from primordial chaos. It is to embrace the glimpse of greatness that we all possess within us - to boldly reach for what could be and not what is, both in ourselves and the world around us.

Evangeline found herself squeezing Jacks' hand harder, feeling thankful he'd not let her go. Chaos tilted his head, eyes landing on their intertwined hands. 'Interesting.' 'This is getting tedious.' Jacks dropped Evangeline's hand and sauntered back in to the scholarly suite, where the rasp of vampire changelings and the rattle of cages weren't so all consuming.

I content myself with smiling up at him and saying, “In the midst of chaos, there is also opportunity.” Callum stares at me blankly. “What . . . what the fuck are you talking about? Does that mean you’re going to try to make the best of this mess?” “Sure,” I say. “What else can I do?” Actually, it’s a quote from The Art of War. Here’s another one I like: “Let your plans be dark and impenetrable as night, and when you move, fall like a thunderbolt.

He leaned on the bar. "I'm Tony. And you owe me." Okay, here we go, Liza thought, and leaned on the bar, too, mirroring him. "I owe you?" "Yes." He grinned at her. "Because of chaos theory." Liza shook her head. "Chaos theory." He moved closer to her. "Chaos theory says that complex dynamical systems become unstable because of disturbances in their environments after which a strange attractor draws the trajectory of the stress." Liza looked at him, incredulous. "This is your line?" "I am a complex dynamical system," Tony said. "Not that complex," Liza said. "And I was stable until you caused a disturbance in my environment." "Not that stable," Liza said. Tony grinned. "And since you're the strangest attractor in the room, I followed the trajectory of my stress right to you." "That's not what you followed to me." Liza turned so that her back was against the bar, her shoulder blocking him. "Give me something better than that, or I'll find somebody else to amuse myself with." From the corner of her eye, she saw the other guy, the vacant-looking blond, lean down to Bonnie. "Is she always like this?" he said to Bonnie, and Liza turned to size him up. Big. Husky. Boring. "Well, your friend isn't exactly Prince Charming," Bonnie said, giving him her best fluttery smile. He beamed back down at her. "Neither am I. Is that okay?" Oh, come on, Liza thought, and caught Tony-the-bullethead's eye. "He means it," Tony said. "Roger has no line." "After the chaos theory debacle, that's a plus," Liza said. "Poor baby," Bonnie was saying as she put her hand on Roger's sleeve. "Of course, that's okay. I'm Bonnie." Roger looked down at her with naked adoration. "I'm Roger, and you are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen in my life." Bonnie's smile widened, and she moved closer to him. "Which doesn't mean he's bad with women," Tony said, sounding bemused.

Where should we be if every one had his rights? Fancy every one's having a hand in the government? Can you imagine a city ruled by its citizens? Why, the citizens are the team, and the team cannot be driver. To put to the vote is to throw to the winds. Would you have states driven like clouds? Disorder cannot build up order. With chaos for an architect, the edifice would be a Babel. And, besides, what tyranny is this pretended liberty! As for me, I wish to enjoy myself; not to govern. It is a bore to have to vote; I want to dance. A prince is a providence, and takes care of us all. Truly the king is generous to take so much trouble for our sakes. Besides, he is to the manner born. He knows what it is. It's his business. Peace, War, Legislation, Finance--what have the people to do with such things? Of course the people have to pay; of course the people have to serve; but that should suffice them. They have a place in policy; from them come two essential things, the army and the budget. To be liable to contribute, and to be liable to serve; is not that enough? What more should they want? They are the military and the financial arm. A magnificent rôle. The king reigns for them, and they must reward him accordingly. Taxation and the civil list are the salaries paid by the peoples and earned by the prince. The people give their blood and their money, in return for which they are led. To wish to lead themselves! what an absurd idea! They require a guide; being ignorant, they are blind. Has not the blind man his dog? Only the people have a lion, the king, who consents to act the dog. How kind of him! But why are the people ignorant? because it is good for them. Ignorance is the guardian of Virtue. Where there is no perspective there is no ambition. The ignorant man is in useful darkness, which, suppressing sight, suppresses covetousness: whence innocence. He who reads, thinks; who thinks, reasons. But not to reason is duty; and happiness as well. These truths are incontestable; society is based on them.

A small figure in crimson stood before the bench, sleeves rolled to the elbow, muttering. Dumai cleared her throat. “Master Kiprun?” The alchemist whipped around. He wore round amber panes over his eyes, clipped to his nose, huge and misty with steam. “I did ask for duck feathers,” he said, in a tone of sincere annoyance. Dumai could only blink. His cheeks were flushed, threads of hair were stuck to his forehead, and he brandished a grey feather. “You brought me goose feathers. Goose,” he barked, making her jump. “You do know the difference between a duck and a goose, don’t you? One quacks and the other honks, not to mention the neck. The neck alone—” “Master Kiprun,” Kanifa interjected, “this is Noziken pa Dumai, Crown Princess of Seiiki.” The alchemist sleeved the fog from his eyeglasses. “Ah. Yes.” He interlocked his fingers. Each bore a ring of a different metal: gold, iron, copper. “Princess Dumai. I am Master Kiprun, who shines—well, flickers really—for the Munificent Empress. And you?” he said to Kanifa. “Who are you, the Prince of Seiiki?” “No.” Kanifa cleared his throat. “I’m just a guard, a friend to Princess Dumai. Not a noble.” “Is it not noble to be a guard?” Master Kiprun wafted a brown hand, webbed with scars from burns, like his arms. “No matter. I never understand these things. Yes, your message caught my interest, Princess Dumai of the Faraway Isle. You don’t look much like a princess,” he said, cocking his head. “Aren’t you suppose to wear a crown, or something?” Dumai reunited with her tongue. “Well,” she said, indicating her headpiece, “this is—” “Madam, that is a fish.” After a moment, Dumai decided not to kick against the current. “It is a fish,” she agreed, taking a step toward him. “My fish and I flew here to seek your help, Master Kiprun.” “Yes, I did fear as much. Last time, it was a king who disturbed my work. He found me in the mountains, just to annoy me.” The alchemist snorted. “Once, it was the poor who sought my services, asking me to turn grass to gold. They were, at least, polite, if wildly optimistic. Now I am summoned hither and thither, disturbed by everyone from Golümtan to Ginura.

That child belongs to me. The only way you can stop me is to kill me and throw East End into chaos.” Pace runs his finger down the long, sharp edge of a knife. “Oh, we’re not going to kill you, old man.” “That’s not what Princes do, is it?” I grip the handle tight, giving the floor a testing lash. “Practice,” Wicker says, closing the door, “makes perfect.

Envy knew he was no mere god, he was a Titan. The beings who birthed the gods for their amusement. But mortals had it wrong in their legends - the Titans weren’t bested by their offspring. They thrived in the chaos.

What has put you in such a foul mood?' Castor asked. 'Were you watching Evangeline again?' 'I'm not here because of her,' Jacks snapped. 'Well, you're certainly snippy about her.' Jacks glared. 'And you're in a disturbingly good mood for someone who just slaughtered an entire family.

Does it have something to do with our innate human longing for order? Isn’t that what scientists say? And artists? That beauty is symmetry and therefore represents a relief from the chaos? Certainly my life to that point had been chaotic.

Undoubtedly, chaos brings danger,” the Abbot continued. “But there will be opportunities, too. After all, it’s due to the chaos that we’re living through a moment in which even ordinary men can aspire to greatness. What are those Red Turban leaders other than ordinary? But they believe they can oppose princes and lords—and now for the first time in centuries, it’s true.” Greatness.

Hunt lifted his chin with a bravado he didn’t feel. “So let’s hear it. Your proposal for how we should ally with you to overthrow the Asteri and set you up as our new masters.” “Is that what you think will happen?” “Aidas already gave us a history lesson. Spare me.” The darkness rumbled with distant thunder. “You are foolish and arrogant.” “Takes one to know one, I suppose.” The darkness paused. “You are impertinent as well. Do you not know where I come from? My father was the Void, the Being That Existed Before. Chaos was his bride and my dam. It is to them that we shall all one day return, and their mighty powers that run in my blood.” “Fancy.” But Apollion said, “You’re wasting the gifts that were given to you.” Hunt drawled, “Oh, I think I’ve put them to good use.” “You don’t know a fraction of what you might do. You and the Starborn girl.” “Again, Quinlan got the whole ‘master your powers’ talk from Aidas today, and that was boring enough, so let’s not repeat it.” “Both of you would benefit from training. Your powers are more similar than you realize. Conduits, both of you. You have no idea how valuable you and the others like you are.” Hunt arched a brow. “Oh yeah?” The darkness rippled with displeasure. “If you are so dismissive of my assistance, perhaps I should send some … appetizers to test you and yours.” Hunt flared his wings slightly. “Why summon me? Just to give me this shove?” Apollion’s unholy essence whispered around him again. “The Northern Rift is groaning once more. I can smell war on the wind. I do not plan to lose this time.” “Well, I don’t plan to have a demon prince for my ruler, so find a new five-year goal.” A soft laugh. “You do amuse, Orion.” Hunt snarled, and his lightning sizzled in answer. “I take it we’re done here—” The seething darkness and those leathery wings vanished.

Magic... I wouldn't say it's a thing that I feel, not consciously at least. It's more of a state of being. An awareness of the world and all its mysteries - the ones you know, the ones you don't, what you can control, and the forces you are helpless to do anything but to submit to. Magic is one of the greatest things we will ever know and never be able to explain. To know magic is to touch the old gods that brought this earth from primordial chaos. It is to embrace the glimpse of greatness that we all possess within us - to boldly reach for what could be and not what is, both in ourselves and the world around us.

Shank off, you faithless skiv!” “Then say my name,” Taein said as he rose and adjusted his coat. “You know exactly who I am.” “You’re the Unkillable Kid—” The mugger said through a froth of blood, his squirming growing weaker. Taein picked him up by the lapels and drew the mugger’s face so close he could see the broken blood vessels in his eyes. “Say. My. Name.” “Taein,” Big said, and he burst into tears. And Taein he was, after all. He was the prince of purloining, scourge of the streets, survivor against all natural odds, reckless to the point of delusion. He was Taein, survivor of the BlackBlades, the Unkillable Kid himself, (or unkillable as far as he knew, at least), and if a good thrashing was all that could beat back the numbness anymore, even just for a few adrenaline-soaked moments, so be it. It was better to feel anything other than his usual state of abysmal emptiness—even pain—because that emptiness haunted him like a starving child, dogging his heels every waking minute, leaching through his very bloodstream as a hard frost crawls along a windowpane.  He was Taein—terror of thieves, conductor of chaos, sweetheart of spite—and if brushing hands with death was all that could shake him halfway to life anymore, so be it.

He soon laid eyes on the enemy again – warriors of Lorgar’s Legion, advancing through the unnatural dusk with raw confidence, surrounded by the spectral flicker of half-instantiated daemonkind. Their armour was carved with words of power, decorated with the bones and the flesh of those they had slain, their helms deformed into outstretched maws, or serpent’s mouths, or the leer of some Neverborn warp prince. Their cantrips stank and pulsed around them, making the natural air recoil and mist shred itself into appalled ribbons. They were engorged with their veil-drawn power, sick on it, their blades running with new-cut fat and their belts hung with severed scalps. For all that, they were still warriors, and they detected Valdor’s presence soon enough. Nine curved blades flickered into guard, nine genhanced bodies made ready to take him down. He raced straight into the heart of them, lashing out with his spear, slicing clean through corrupted ceramite. The combined blades danced, snickering in and out of one another’s path as if in some rehearsed ritual of dance-murder, all with the dull gold of the lone Custodian at its centre. A poisoned gladius nearly caught his neck. A fanged axe-edge nearly plunged into his chest. Long talons nearly pulled him down, ripe to be trodden into the mire under the choreo graphed stamp of bronze-chased boots. But not quite. They were always just a semi-second too slow, a fraction too predictable. The gap between the fighters was small, but it remained unbridgeable. His spear slammed and cut, parried and blocked, an eye-blink ahead of the lesser blades, a sliver firmer and more lethal in its trajectory, until black blood was thrown up around it in thick flurries and the lens-fire in the Word Bearers’ helms died out, one by one. Afterwards, Valdor withdrew, breathing heavily, taking a moment to absorb the visions he had been gifted with each kill. Lorgar’s scions were little different to the true daemons in what they gave him – brief visions of eternal torment, wrapped up in archaic religious ciphers and a kind of perpetually forced ecstasy. They were steeped in some of the purest, deepest strands of Chaos, wilfully dredging up the essence of its mutating, despoiling genius and turning it, through elaborate tortures, into a way of war. To fight them was to be reminded, more acutely than with most others, of the consequences of defeat.

Yeah, well, arsenic can be sweet if you put it into a milkshake.

Amid chaos, there is also opportunity.

The first time I saw Wicker, I knew he was going to be mine. I didn’t understand yet, six years old and coming out of a group home situation that the social worker explained ‘isn’t going to work out for you’. I just remember seeing him and thinking that I’ve never seen anyone so pure and clean and pretty, and if life is about obtaining the very best things, then little Whitaker Ashby just became number one on my list. And then he opened his mouth. “Who the fuck are you?” he asked. Just as snottily, I replied. “I’m Pace. Who the fuck are you?” “Your worst nightmare.

I may not approve of what Jace was about to do to you tonight, but I can assure you I’m not much better. I may sound like Prince Charming to girls like you, but I don’t have a noble bone in my body. And trust me, princess, I don’t save. I destroy. And I revel in the chaos.” “What if I don’t want someone noble? What if I don’t want to be saved?” What if I want you. “Don’t tempt me, love. I’m not in the mood to be gentle. And after the situation I just pulled you from, you’re not in a state to handle what I want to do to you.” “You know what your problem is, Caden Ashford? You consistently underestimate me. I’m tougher than you think. Or hadn’t you noticed in the week you’ve spent trying to get me to give in to your demands? How did that work out for you?” “You know what your problem is, Kara Caine? You never know when to shut the fuck up.

I-Merlin, son of Corwin-am a sorcerer, of a variety seldom encountered in the areas I have frequented in recent years. Lucas Raynard-also known as Prince Rinaldo of Kashfa-is himself a sorcerer, albeit of a style different than my own. And the Cat, who seemed somewhat sophisticated in those matters, could well have been correct in assessing our situation as the interior of a spell.

Chaos turns into peace when the Prince of Peace speaks deeply into your heart and tells you, “Be still. I am God. I’ve got this.

kings. In this exiled pocket of space and time, however, they were pathetic! The members of the Dark Court fought each other for the meager scraps of power the Queen doled out, like cubs at her teat! Though he also lived at her mercy, the Prince

It is a sad reality that so many, even those of the faith, seem to effectively kneel before Ares. This idolatry of violence and war is in such contrast to worshiping at the feet of the Prince of Peace. Sometimes it feels as if the entire world is marching toward destruction and chaos. Worst of all is that we know the mistakes made in our histories, but we seem to learn nothing from history (other than that we learn nothing). We do it all again and again. Sin after sin. When posterity comes to judge us will they look upon the arms trade unchecked, the governments unhindered in iniquity and the vast lands of earth bursting into flame? Or will they look and see a people who voiced against the arms trade, the war mongers and the hell fire worshippers? Either way, it is hard to not get depressed. But, take heart peaceful brothers and sisters. Though this dark night of evil brings such bitter sorrow, joy comes in the morning. That morning will come and swords will be of no use, for the learning of war will be no more. Will it happen before or after the King arrives? God knows, but heed the encouragement given by Adin Ballou: "The earth, so long a slaughter field, Shall yet an Eden bloom. The tiger to the lamb shall yield, And war descend the tomb." Amen Choose this day who you will serve! O Lord, let it be Christós!

Why are you talking about Milo and me as if I weren’t here?” I asked angrily. “What are you afraid will happen between us? Half the Argonauts believe it already did, but that doesn’t make it so.” “Not yet,” Castor said. “People change, especially on a long voyage.” “Why does this matter so much to you?” “Because now, Helen, you can have a child,” Polydeuces replied. He lifted my chin gently. “You are the next ruler of Sparta. The man you marry will be Sparta’s king, and your children will rule our land after you. If you have a baby now, that child could grow up to challenge your other children for the throne. Sparta’s enemies would be only too happy to help that child raise an army, then swoop down on our lands in the wake of the war and devour anything that remains. When you’re dead, do you want to leave your people peace or chaos?” I didn’t have to give him an answer. We both knew it. “Now, Polydeuces, let her be,” Castor said, hugging me again. “Look at that face! Her brow’s all creased with worry, and for nothing. As if our little sister would ever give her heart to anyone less than a prince! As if a slave’s child could ever raise an army to take Sparta!” I whirled out from under Castor’s arm. “Milo is no slave, and he’s worth ten princes!” Castor sucked in his breath sharply and looked to Polydeuces. “All right, now I’m worried,” he said. “Either you trust me or you don’t,” I said. “That’s your only worry. I’ve made my decision. I’m going to the waterfront, I’m praying to Poseidon that I’ll find the ship I need, and I’m going home. As a boy. With Milo.” My brothers smiled. “It’s good to see you so confident again.” Polydeuces said. “But not too confident to reject some help from your devoted brothers?” I threw my arms around their necks. “Never.

Kroon ei muuda selle kandjat automaatselt pistodakindlaks." [Merlin] "Aga pärija tuleb võimule suure hulga paha pagasiga." [Suhuy]

Mina olin tellinud lihtsalt hobuse. Et ma saaksin kaaslastega sammu pidada, selleks oleks kõlvanud iga vana heinahävitaja.

Chaos doesn't need permission to propagate!

Не знаю, хотел ли я вообще когданибудь славы как таковой. Это всё равно что хотеть быть инженером больше, чем хотеть что-то сконструировать, иди хотеть быть писателем больше, чем хотеть писать. Слава – пообочный эффект, а не вещь в себе. В проттивном случае это просто самовозвеличивание.

Ignorance was only bliss until it turned into chaos.

From Introduction to The Demon Princes, by Caril Carphen (Elucidarian Press, New Wexford, Aloysius, Vega): It may well be asked how, from so many thieves, kidnappers, pirates, slavers and assassins within and beyond the Pale, one can isolate five individuals and identify them as ‘Demon Princes’. The author, while conceding to a certain degree of arbitrariness, can nevertheless in good conscience define the criteria which in his mind establish the Five as arch-fiends and overlords of evil. First: the Demon Princes are typified by grandeur. Consider the manner in which Kokor Hekkus gained his cognomen ‘The Killing Machine’, or Attel Malagate’s ‘plantation’ on Grabhorne Planet (a civilization of his own definition), or Lens Larque’s astounding monument to himself, or Viole Falushe’s Palace of Love. Certainly these are not the works of ordinary men, nor the results of ordinary vices (though Viole Falushe is said to be physically vain and in certain exploits of Kokor Hekkus there is the quaintly horrid quality of a small boy’s experiments with an insect). Secondly: these men are constructive geniuses, motivated not by malice, perversity, greed, or misanthropy, but by violent inner purposes, which are for the most part shrouded and obscure. Why does Howard Alan Treesong glory in chaos? What are the goals of the inscrutable Attel Malagate, or that fascinating flamboyant Kokor Hekkus? Thirdly: each of the Demon Princes is a mystery; each insists on anonymity and facelessness. Even to close associates these men are unknown; each is friendless, loveless (we can safely discount the self-indulgences of the sybaritical Viole Falushe). Fourthly: and obverse to the above, is a quality best to be described as absolute pride, absolute self-sufficiency. Each considers the relationship between himself and the balance of humanity as no more than a confrontation of equals. Fifthly: and ample in itself, I cite the historic conclave of 1500 at Smade’s Tavern (to be discussed in Chapter One) where the five acknowledged themselves, grudgingly perhaps, as peers, and defined their various areas of interest. Ipsi dixerunt!

In the depths of hell, where darkness reigns, Lies a being feared by all, Pandemonic Satanica is his name. He is the master of the underworld, A force to be reckoned with, an entity unfurled. His power is unmatched, his darkness unyielding, He is the embodiment of all that is evil and unfeeling. His followers worship him, with fervor and zeal, For they know that his power is absolute, and his will is real. Pandemonic Satanica, the lord of the abyss, His power cannot be denied, nor can it be dismissed. His followers revel in his dark embrace, For they know that they are protected by his grace. To the uninitiated, he may seem like a monster, But to his followers, he is a savior, a redeemer. He offers them power, and eternal life, And they willingly give themselves to his strife. His evil is all-encompassing, his darkness unrelenting, But those who follow him find his embrace comforting. For they know that in his clutches, they are safe, And that his power will protect them from all that is base. So hail Pandemonic Satanica, the lord of all that is dark, He is the master of the underworld, and his power leaves a mark. His followers are devoted, and they will never waver, For they know that in his dark embrace, they will find their savior. They call him the Prince of Darkness, the Lord of the Pit, And in his realm, he commands respect, and none dare to quit. His power is absolute, his rule is supreme, And those who oppose him, will find their end in a dream. For Pandemonic Satanica, is the embodiment of all that is evil, And his followers embrace that darkness, for in it, they find a sense of upheaval. They revel in the chaos, the destruction, the mayhem, And they know that in his name, they can achieve their ultimate aim. To the uninitiated, he is a horror, a terror beyond compare, But those who follow him, see in him, a god, a deity, a force to bear. They worship him with passion, with devotion, with love, And they know that in his name, they will rise above. So let us hail Pandemonic Satanica, the king of the damned, For in his presence, we are strong, and in his embrace, we are calm. His power is absolute, his darkness unyielding, And in his name, we find solace, and our souls are healed. For in the dark embrace of Pandemonic Satanica, We find a sense of purpose, a sense of belonging, a sense of euphoria. And we know that in his realm, we are safe, For his power will protect us, and his darkness will keep us brave.

It would have been so fine,” it said softly, “to eat a Prince of Amber. I always wondered-about royal blood.

Dear Lord, You spoke to storms. Would you speak to ours? You calmed the hearts of the apostles. Would you calm the chaos within us? You told them to fear not. Say the same to us. We are weary from our worry, battered and belittled by the gales of life. Oh Prince of Peace, bequeath to us a spirit of calm. As we turn the page in this book, will you turn a new leaf in our lives? Quench anxiety. Stir courage. Let us know less fret and more faith. In Jesus’ name, amen.

We live on a cursed earth in a cursed universe. Both are under the baleful influence of Satan, who is both “the god of this world” (2 Cor. 4:4), and “the prince of the power of the air” (Eph. 2:2). The devastating effects of the curse and satanic influence will reach a terrifying climax in the events of the Tribulation. Some of the various bowl, trumpet, and seal judgments are demonic, others represent natural phenomena gone wild as God lets loose His wrath. At the culmination of that time of destruction and chaos, Christ returns and sets up His kingdom. During His millennial reign, the effects of the curse will begin to be reversed. The Bible gives us a glimpse of what the restored creation will be like. There will be dramatic changes in the animal world. In Isaiah we learn that The wolf will dwell with the lamb, and the leopard will lie down with the kid, and the calf and the young lion and the fatling together; and a little boy will lead them. Also the cow and the bear will graze; their young will lie down together; and the lion will eat straw like the ox. And the nursing child will play by the hole of the cobra, and the weaned child will put his hand on the viper’s den. They will not hurt or destroy in all My holy mountain. (Isa. 11:6-9) “The wolf and the lamb shall graze together, and the lion shall eat straw like the ox; and dust shall be the serpent’s food. They shall do no evil or harm in all My holy mountain,” says the Lord. (Isa. 65:25) The changes in the animal world will be paralleled by changes in the earth and the solar system: Then the moon will be abashed and the sun ashamed, for the Lord of hosts will reign on Mount Zion and in Jerusalem, and His glory will be before His elders. (Isa. 24:23) The light of the moon will be as the light of the sun, and the light of the sun will be seven times brighter, like the light of seven days, on the day the Lord binds up the fracture of His people and heals the bruise He has inflicted. (Isa. 30:26) No longer will you have the sun for light by day, nor for brightness will the moon give you light; but you will have the Lord for an everlasting light, and your God for your glory. Your sun will set no more, neither will your moon wane; for you will have the Lord for an everlasting light. (Isa. 60:19-20)

If Machiavelli had not made Valentino the model for The Prince, however, it is unlikely he would have achieved his own immortality. Machiavelli’s magnum opus, Discourses on the First Decade of Titus Livy, represented his true political philosophy: An ardent champion of the Florentine republic, Machiavelli preferred the imperfect wisdom of the people to the will of princes and passionately advocated representative government—a radical egalitarianism that would not become a potent political force until the American and French revolutions more than 250 years later. The Prince was, in effect, merely Machiavelli’s plan B: what to do when political prudence has long been disregarded, chaos reigns, and the only choice is between effective or ineffective despotism

In the Gardens of Eden, a blind bird would sing. Grand kings tend to fall, and spoiled princes always rise. But the bird… the bird always sings.

Where should we be if every one had his rights? Fancy every one's having a hand in the government? Can you imagine a city ruled by its citizens? Why, the citizens are the team, and the team cannot be driver. To put to the vote is to throw to the winds. Would you have states driven like clouds? Disorder cannot build up order. With chaos for an architect, the edifice would be a Babel. And, besides, what tyranny is this pretended liberty! As for me, I wish to enjoy myself; not to govern. It is a bore to have to vote; I want to dance. A prince is a providence, and takes care of us all. Truly the king is generous to take so much trouble for our sakes. Besides, he is to the manner born. He knows what it is. It's his business. Peace, War, Legislation, Finance--what have the people to do with such things? Of course the people have to pay; of course the people have to serve; but that should suffice them. They have a place in policy; from them come two essential things, the army and the budget. To be liable to contribute, and to be liable to serve; is not that enough? What more should they want? They are the military and the financial arm. A magnificent rôle. The king reigns for them, and they must reward him accordingly. Taxation and the civil list are the salaries paid by the peoples and earned by the prince. The people give their blood and their money, in return for which they are led. To wish to lead themselves! what an absurd idea! They require a guide; being ignorant, they are blind. Has not the blind man his dog? Only the people have a lion, the king, who consents to act the dog. How kind of him! But why are the people ignorant? because it is good for them. Ignorance is the guardian of Virtue. Where there is no perspective there is no ambition. The ignorant man is in useful darkness, which, suppressing sight, suppresses covetousness: whence innocence. He who reads, thinks; who thinks, reasons. But not to reason is duty; and happiness as well. These truths are incontestable; society is based on them.

And as for the pesky matter of free will, each and every player agreed to come to the Land willingly. They signed their digital names to the contract when they started playing the game. After all, the Prince thought with a small smile, who had time to read all that fine print?

Dear Lord, You spoke to storms. Would you speak to ours? You calmed the hearts of the apostles. Would you calm the chaos within us? You told them to fear not. Say the same to us. We are weary from our worry, battered and belittled by the gales of life. Oh Prince of Peace, bequeath to us a spirit of calm. As we turn the page in this book, will you turn a new leaf in our lives? Quench anxiety. Stir courage. Let us know less fret and more faith. In Jesus’ name, amen. Section 1 CELEBRATE GOD’S GOODNESS Rejoice in the Lord always.

Tears staining his vision, Bell held the dead prince in his arms as the world around him descended into chaos.

These gallant heroes she read about weren't like me. Princes, dukes, and marquesses who could sweep a young woman off her feet with politeness and charm. I found far more of myself in the villains, the shadowy figures determined to cause death and destruction where-ever they went. But if I was going to be a villain, I would be hers. Her protector in the shadows, her tool of chaos. If I couldn't charm her with poetry and politeness, then I would use the skills I did have

These gallant heroes she read about weren't like me. Princes, dukes, and marquesses who could sweep a young woman off her feet with politeness and charm. I found far more of myself in the villains, the shadowy figures determined to cause death and destruction where-ever they went. But if I was going to be a villain, I would be hers. Her protector in the shadows, her tool of chaos. If I couldn't charm her with poetry and politeness, then I would use the skills I did have.

The Watchers are paralleled in the myth of Anu (Heavens, Sky) copulating with Ki (Earth) to produce the Seven Udug-Hul or Evil Rebel Gods and Lamastu in Mesopotamian (Akkadian, NeoAssyrian, Babylonian) myth. In the Hittite and Hurrian myths of Kumarbi describe the rebellion against the King of Heaven, Tesub, descending from his high abode. Kumarbi copulates and impregnates an earthly female stone or rock, a diorite giant monster, Ullikummi is the offspring of the union, who then causes chaos and devastation in heaven and earth. In an earlier Hurrian myth, Illuyanka the Dragon defeats the storm god Tesub. The offspring of the Dragon then came up with Illuyanka and ate and drank from the earth. The storm god Tesub then defeated the Dragon and restored himself to the rule of the heavens. In Late Bronze Age Ugarit, the Hurrian associations survive in the cycle of this mythic pattern of this Canaanite cultural legend of Ashtar the Rebel. Ashtar the Rebel goes up to the heights of Mount Zaphon, sitting upon the throne of Aliyan Baal Hadad (who is in Hell, devoured by Mot). Ashtar could not properly fill the throne, proclaiming he would not rule the heavens as Baal and came down to reign over the whole of the vast Earth7. As explored in “Dragon of the Two Flames”, the origin of the modern archetype of Lucifer is found in the Epithet of 'Ngh w Srr', 'The Shining One/Venus the Rebel' which is 'Ashtar'. In the later Isaiah myth in the Old Testament, this tale is told with the Luciferian name ‘Helel ben Sahar’ as a Prince of Tyre.

Can’t pass up the pleasure of lighting a candle to myself in my own church.

Mandor licked his lips. It was the first time I’d ever seen him betray a sign of nervousness. It instantly made me wary-though I realized moments later that it may have been a calculated distraction.

His eyes were mocking and wise, his hair red as his sister Fiona’s or his late brother Brand’s. Or Luke’s, for that matter.

Impulsively, I leaned forward. Our lips met within the mirror. Whatever she was, we had been friends.

My name is Delwin, and we may never actually meet-unless certain ancient powers come loose.” He raised his hand, and I saw that he, too, wore a spikard. He moved toward me. “Touch your ring to mine,” he commanded. “Then it can be ordered to bring you to me.

You will in an ideal position to protect your friends,” he said, “and to do as you would with your enemies.

I am beat, bushed, and whacked-out. I am going to lie here and stare at the fog till my mind goes away,” I said. “Meet Coral, Nayda, and Dalt. Hear their story and tell them yours, Jurt. Don’t wake me for the end of the world unless it has very good special effects.

We musst ssit together in a warm place by night once again and drink milk and talk of the old dayss.” “That would be nice. Yes, if we are not eaten by something bigger.

People became fascinated by our conquerors. Biographical studies of Amber’s royal family sold very well. Something like a cult began to shape. Private chapels such as this began to appear, dedicated to a particular Amberite whose virtues appealed to someone.

Her fangs would have shredded my human ear, but it was only a nibble in demonform.

Wicker is a little something I like to call fuck-sexual. His dick is an equal opportunity lender. Chick, dude, MILF, DILF, barely legal or gender ambiguous, he doesn’t discriminate. Wicker’s libido is Ellis fucking Island. Give him your tired, your poor, your huddled masses. He’ll fuck their brains out.

Show me a Prince worth being a good Princess to,” she says, low and caustic, “and maybe you’ll get

Then let’s go prove to everyone you’ve got what it takes to be a Royal. Teflon skin and fantastic hair.

Forests fell and burst into flame, the ground shook and split, the waters of the sea rose in gigantic waves and assailed the land, the moon dripped blood and there came up a great wailing.

Merlin, Merlin. Rise up, Merlin,” it said to me-it being a long-snouted, pointed-eared individual, well-fanged and clawed, of a greenish-silver cast of complexion, eyes large and shining, damp leathery wings folded against its lean sides. From its expression, I couldn’t tell if it was smiling or in pain. “Awake, Lord of Chaos.

Gryll,” I said, naming an old family servant from the Courts. “Aye, Lord,” it replied. “The same as taught you the bonedance game.” “I’ll be damned.” “Business before pleasure, Lord. I’ve followed the black thread a long and horrid way to come calling.

I nodded, as a flood of childhood memories returned to me. Gryll was immensely strong, as are most demons. But I recalled our games, at Pit’s-edge and out over the darkness, in burial chambers, caves, still-smoking battlefields, ruined temples, chambers of dead sorcerers, private hells. I always seemed to have more fun with demons than with my mother’s relatives by blood or marriage. I even based my main Chaos form upon one of their kind.

We entered a long night, and at some point it seemed that our way too us beneath deep waters, bright sea creatures hovering and darting both near at hand and in the middle distance. Dry and uncrushed, the black way protected us.

While it’s awfully hard to pass through Shadow in Amber, the shadows are like frayed curtains in the Courts-often you can look right through into another reality without trying. And, sometimes, something in the other reality may be looking at you. Care must be taken, not to step through into a place where you find yourself in the middle of the air, underwater, or in the path of a raging torrent. The Courts were never big on tourism.

Ozzy's story is a story of contrasts: between darkness and light, between chaos and beauty, between rebellion and love.

Shadowmasters are technicians of locally potent skill, whose ability derives from the Logrus, although all intiates are automatically members of the Shadowmaster Guild.

One wonders at his deliveries,” my mother said, “without apparent rehearsal.” “Grace,” Suhuy commented. “He was born with an abundance.

You’ve been out of sigh, though hardly out of mind, for some time.

Think of how embarrassing that is for a grown man-his mother sending demons to look after him.” “The singular. It was just one demon, dear.

There was a confrontation between the Unicorn and the Serpent in the halls of Amber Palace, resulting in considerable damage.

Passing Effie’s cage, I lift the sheet and offer her one of the little treats Pace keeps nearby. “Wicker,” she purrs, taking the treat. “Morning, dirty bird,” I reply quietly, running my finger over her beak. “Suck my balls.” “Would if I could, sweetheart.

I’ve decided you were a bad influence on my son,” she said. “He lost his edge when he became friends with you.

A mother tends to value her son’s safety, whether the son likes it or not.

She was a blizzard within a ten-foot tower. Lightnings danced at its center, crackling; particles of ice clicked and rattled upon the stair, the banister grew frosted where she passed. My mother. She seemed to see me at about the same time I saw her, for she halted. Then she made the turn onto the stair and began her descent.

Seconds after we had seated ourselves, a brilliant flash of light came to us across the water, illuminating the arching dome of the cavern vault like the ribbed interior of some massive beast that was digesting us.

As she descended, she shifted smoothly, her appearance changing almost from step to step. As soon as I realized what was occurring I relaxed my own efforts and revised their small effects. I had commenced changing the moment I had seen her, and presumably she had done the same on viewing me. I hadn’t thought she’d go to that extent to humor me, a second time, here on her own turf.

One night we shall eat mice and lie besside a fire. You will warm me a ssaucer of milk and tell me of your adventuress ssince you left the Wayss of Ssawall.