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From The Ashes Of Empire

by Kommodus

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papadeath thumbnail
papadeath One of the best blends of melodies and the sheer raw black metal spirit, 9/10 Favorite track: Piercing Thine Armour With Arrows Of Fire.
Jordan Vauvert
Jordan Vauvert thumbnail
Jordan Vauvert Le raw black metal a peu d'égards envers la subtilité et malgré tout on peut ressentir une progression chez Kommodus dont les démos forgent les fondations d'une "concept discography". Le doute de la démo précédente est effacé dans From The Ashes Of Empire. Enregistré dans un accès de folie, cette démo mélange différentes temporalités — celle des guerres vikings, de la conquête de l'ouest, celle des Guerres mondiales — pour retracer toutes les figures de la haine et de la destruction sanguinaire. Favorite track: Glacial Ossuary.
XUL//EXCELSI thumbnail
XUL//EXCELSI As mense 1000 jaar van nou af op ‘n glacial ossuary van moderniteit se troonkamer moet afkom, sal die spoke van dwaasheid en hubris hul van hul voete af waai. Ek hoop hul vind ‘n manier om een van die masjiene aan te skakel en Kommodus daarop te speel, dan sal hul ons enorme dringende gees, voordat ons die masjien ons god gemaak het en alles vernietig het, kan hoor. Hoort in ‘n tydkapsule wat ons die kosmos instuur om te wys wat ons werklik is.—LD Favorite track: Glacial Ossuary.
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*Raining hellfire upon thy enemies in ancient Roman battle, blackening the sky and sun with an eclipse of arrows* An acrid sky eclipsed by our attack A storm of hellfire under the black sun Our enemies are our prey, like lambs to wolves When we draw our bows and light the flame Piercing thine armour with arrows of fire Shields splintered and armour punctured By our blistering wave of raining death Flames burn intensifying chaos and destruction Mars propelling us with a divine firestorm assault The smouldering wounded lay scattered and conquered Their bloodied bodies pinned to the ground Driving our swords in their charred and penetrated flesh Making sure we witness their final gasping breath And we march onwards, bringing flame and steel To all those who oppose us, to all those who will not yield Hoc Est Bellum Superáre
*An ancient evil resurrects as the frost melts* A victors celebration of butchery and carnage A preservation of monuments from the battlefield Remnants mounted, displayed in morbid exhibition In a chamber buried by millennia of winter frost And the specters howl and moan In their frostbitten tundra tomb Warrior Spirits trapped forever Together in an icy womb Skulls stacked high as pillars, mounds of ribs and spines Crude carvings on bone recall of an ancient war A mass grave dug, a grotto prepared beneath the snow A ritual of respect for an ancient race slain in combat And the specters howl and moan A forgotten carried by a breeze Apparitions of ice claw at their prison Begging to escape The sun shines brighter, and a rise in temperature is slowly felt And inch by inch, layer by layer, centuries of frost starts to melt In a distant future that you and I won’t live to see An older world will be punished by those emerged from the ossuary
*Lilith ascends her throne and takes her rightful place as matriarch* Effigies erected to a new breed of prophet Silver-tongued merchants of slander and deceit Turning brother against brother, divide and conquer Pandered to, infallible, followed with blind absolution Deface honoured monuments, dismantle all institutions Thousands of years of history rewritten or ignored A forced redemptive suffering, a failing spiritual hygiene Through the fissures of our zeitgeist the great whore will ascend Together we can watch the world regress and burn Under a bitter, unified, hatred of man Warriors defamed, castrated and slain at her whim Bow down to the new god, one of shedding skin The cult of the harlot rises We’re now slaves to all her desires The cult of the harlot rises Of the souls of men, she lights her fires
* The forgotten sect laments its final days* Rise - full moon over Latium They gather, cloaked, infected, exiled Bastard bloodlines of dark dynastic power Marred through worship of the black Clawing up from the abyss of carrion Candle lit hymns, to ironbound gods forgotten The laborum inverted, painted in crude hand Lycanthropic incest, bloodlust, and sacrifice Bodies splayed and torn, the chalice overflows Thine end is near, archaic efforts doubled but dire To appease a patron divinity turning deaf Flesh rotting, scorned, an archaic mutant breed Eclipsed by an unyielding world’s progression The empire relinquishes the two brothers and the wolf And embraces an eye for eye, and a tooth for a tooth Whispers of Golgotha and the stations of the cross But within the shadows, a requiem is scored for a colony soon to be lost
*The fulfilment of a forgotten promise* Choking on gas, ash clouds, bullets and mortars fire Brothers torn and strewn, ensnared by barbed wire Forgetting who I am, forgetting everything I know Spirit shatters, poison spreads, dysphoria, amnesia grows A different man returns, than the soldier who left for war Memories forgotten, a pact annulled, exempt from the devil’s jaw But dark fragments come creeping in, outside gathers a storm Confrontation, cold sweat, approached by an evil that’s taken form The Sword of Damocles raised above my head A dark apparition at the foot of my bed And now I’m at the end of a hangman’s rope My everlasting soul, claimed by the goat My body, a dead weight hanging from the roof The last thing I hear is the tap of a cloven hoof
Earthquakes are breaking the silence, a vision of hate. A wicked, foul spell of evil. Dark winds command the throne. Cleansed by the evil hand, a crusade of the burning land. A servant in the shape of a snake blackens the bodies red. Then it appears, the storming wind, a challenging scar burns through the light. A cloud of darkness prepared for me to complete the circle of death. The serpent gains mastery of the wind through the storms and through the streaming snow. Sorrow blackens the Earth when the Moon fades. Dark winds command the throne. Earthquakes are breaking the silence, a vision of hate. A wicked, foul spell of evil. Dark winds command the throne. Cleansed by the evil hand, a crusade of the burning land. An embrace from Death.
*Tormented by ancestry and eternal struggle* ...with a lineage of guilt and torment The winds of regret never cease their lifelong torrent Bloodlines of... Rest atop my shoulders Genes of victim and aggressor I heave the Sisyphean boulder I’m burdened by the blood that flows in my veins I’m sentenced to existence, a subject for pain We will never heal We will never be forgiven


Demonstration III. Goatowarex.

‘From The Ashes Of Empire' was recorded in fragments of madness throughout the winter of MMXVIII.

The black metal contained within this third demonstration weaves a yearning of a romanticised, ancient past, a bitter resentment of the present, and a thoroughly pessimistic outlook on the future. It is often prophesised that we are living in the end times, and scientifically all evidence corroborates this. When taking even a cursory glance at the contemporary world around us, I can’t help but agree. The widespread erosion of culture, of identity, of tradition. Opposing opinion to the rhetoric of the day deemed anathema. Social and political efforts so preposterous they’d be humorous if not considered dogma by their evangelical espousers and the pandering culture which dotes upon them. With no great war, colossal disaster, or widespread disease to confront or purge us, we internally conflict, theorise, and exacerbate everything we can, desperate for some great crusade to assign our lives and time purpose and meaning. There is none. The planet is subject to the siege of overpopulation, industry, pollution, and the relentless expending of its finite resources. And we suffer the reaction, as Earth seeks to cure that which ails it. Like crops in bad soil, we are growing weaker, increasingly troubled, and afflicted. With mental illnesses and suicide rates escalating dramatically in ostensibly the most civilised, progressive, and peaceful era our species has known, I draw no other conclusions. We are dispossessed, we are disenfranchised, and we are displaced. We can contest this, we can learn, grow, and conquer in our twilight, and we should. But the fact remains, humanity no longer fits. And so here I offer eight hymns which reflect back to our golden standard, and which also howl and cackle in the face of our inevitable, impending oblivion.


released October 14, 2018

All music written and performed by Lepidus Plague (with the exception of drums and war horn performed by Magnus T.R.J, trumpet performed by Count Hoggeth Palmeri (A.H), and the track ‘Lord Of The Storms' credited to Mortiis, Ihsahn, and Samoth.

Illustrations by Lepidus Plague.

Insert and back-cover photos by K.B.

Formatting and Layout by J.R (dictated by Lepidus Plague).

Kommodus is: The Infernal Emperor - Lepidus Plague


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Contact for conspiracy: kommoduswolf@gmail.com

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