Rebhahn had always let others know of his obsession for Dionysus, and after finally getting a chance to summon the god himself, he would soon come to discover his true nature, much to his despair. Retribution … come at last.

The stage is set, a Thyrsos with a pinecone on top, a grape vine, ivy, and Rebhahn’s favorite toy – a pink dildo (symbolic of the phallus!). It is a joyous occasion for Rebhahn, even more so when the summoning proves a success. A humanoid figure materializes in the middle of the room, right where all the fake and plastic ceremonial items are ineptly placed. Rebhahn had seen the depictions of his favorite god before, a beautiful androgynous youth draped in leopard pelts, a fire burning in his eyes. No one had a more blazing, alluring gaze.

However, that excitement would be short-lived when Rebhahn finally saw the figure more clearly … a man probably in his 50s, bearded, with a broad build; a tall man possessed with great mirth. Dionysus had clearly denied Rebhahn the pleasure of witnessing the god in the image he desired. Dionysus laughed, “What’s wrong, have you never seen the Roman depictions of me? Well, whatever. The so called ‘Dionysians’ of this day and age need to see more of me like this, trust me.” Rebhahn finally spoke. “Oh, Dionysus! I am your most loyal servant! In my time upon this earth, I have built a cult whose influence will reach the heights of Hollywood!”

Dionysus rolled his eyes. He munched on the very definitely non-vegan burger he was holding. “Are these your aspirations? What passes as a Hollywood misfit today is nothing short of … disappointing. They have nothing interesting to say. And the music! By Zeus, you call these boy scouts ‘rockstars’!? Even the Jazz musicians of the 1940s led way crazier lives than this lot!” Rebhahn was at a loss for words. He felt totally belittled. “Bu … but, my cult is so similar to your mysteries! Do you know how many women have joined!?”

Dionysus’ expression instantly soured. “Mind your tongue, you insolent, window-licking dolt. Likening your little fan club to my ancient mysteries… the audacity. Ah, but I know all about your bumbling Neogenians. Only someone as self-deluded as you could have ever thought there was any resemblance between Neogenian women and Maenads. Your cult is an aversion to life, a repugnance to everything true and natural, an opposition to the primordial instincts of man. “Speaking of which, what a joke the Neogenian ‘men’ are! The Sacred Band of Thebes would’ve made short work of them!”

Rebhahn protested. “What do you mean!? My cult will lead society towards a new world! A world of the most diverse and exotic individuals, all of whom will wield the most power in the hallowed grounds of New Terra. They will reign as the chosen people!”

Dionysus yawned and scratched his balls. “Good luck with that. In any case, comeuppance will soon be upon this enfeebled age. These grotesque decades where you and your ilk thrive the longest. My gift to this generation will be thus; a flame that will burn away their weak beliefs and silence the echoes of their dead gods, and from their ashes a new beast will be thrust upon the earth. You have seen glimpses of this flame, this new beast of burden, haven’t you? A group you once proudly associated yourself with, insofar as your presence in their community helped feed your own sense of self-worth.” Rebhahn’s heart skipped a beat. He was terrified of the conversation going any further down this route. Dionysus grinned. “I know, I know, back in the day you wouldn’t catch me singing such high praises for the likes of Pythagoras, yet only a fool would deny the importance of his legacy, and the glorious mission in which a certain secret society have taken upon themselves to realize.” He approached Rebhahn menacingly. “You knew the importance of their mission too, and in those days, a wondrous opportunity was given to you, a chance to become a herald of the storm. And what did you do with that chance? You were so quick to fuck it up. It became clear that you had no intent of carrying out their message. It was all about you.”

Rebhahn shook his head. “Y-you don’t get it. They’re just bigots who think they fucking know everything. I even got their website cancelled, that’s how much better I am than they are!” “You’re a treasonous worm, weaned in poison. Know this; a pack of hyenas can surround a lion, but the lion will remain the fiercest and most terrible. Your efforts to silence those who stood up against your betrayal were all for naught.” Dionysus snapped his fingers. The scenery changed to Rebhahn’s childhood home, where he now found himself tied to a table in the middle of the living room, unable to move. Dionysus laughed again, his merriment cruelly apparent. “I’m sure this place looks familiar! I have something prepared just for you.” A few hooded figures entered the living room, In Hoc Signo Vinces emblazoned on their cloaks.

Dionysus strode behind them. “Rebhahn, your interest in the occult led you to my mysteries, but from the very beginning you failed to recognize my divine power, my essence. In a foolish attempt to bleed nature of my blood, you have insulted me. Veganism, pacifism, wokeism, these are the so-called virtues of the new Christian … the Crucified under a new guise. Oh how I despise them!” Rebhahn looked on in horror as he realized that the hooded figures were carrying daggers. He shifted his gaze to Dionysus, desperately hoping for mercy, but in Dionysus’ eyes there was only that fire which Rebhahn had hoped to see, but under different circumstances. Now it felt like a fire that threatened to engulf him. Dionysus waved a hand dismissively. “Contrary to those totally offensive stereotypes, I’m not so lacking in purpose when it comes to my actions! I can also be merciful, even if, like Julius, the great Caesar, I am as constant as the northern star of whose true-fix’d and resting quality there is no fellow in the firmament.” Dionysus snapped his fingers again, and all the hooded figures revealed themselves, with the exception of one. They were all women with whom Rebhahn had experienced negative and disastrous interactions. They were victims of his hubris and misanthropy. One of them was the “bitch” he wanted to strangle.

“You desire, above all, the adulation and worship of women you can prey upon, right? You’re welcome, then! But I fear these ladies in particular aren’t here to do you any favors. They’re going to do the whole world a favor, more like.” Dionysus walked up to the last hooded figure. Just before revealing her identity, he said, “It’s only fitting that the first person to plunge that coldest steel into you should be the very person who brought you into this world. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust!” Rebhahn, struck dumb, gazed at his own mother, her eyes even more hateful than those of the others. They all approached him with their daggers held high. Rebhahn was a symbol of all the predators, the cheaters, the liars, the tricksters and all the other grievous disappointments. Justice had failed to act when they most needed its decisiveness, so now they had taken it upon themselves to enact it.

Dionysus watched with rapturous delight. He extended a hand in front of him and with a booming voice declared, “Behold, my philanthropy! This is my final gift to you, O’ Prophet of the weak and the meek! Inheritors of nothing, painted from memory! It is the Strong who shall partake in my flesh and blood, and with it they will inherit the horizon and the stars, for all days to come!”

The carnage commences. Death By Crimson. Fade to Black.