The Convocation of Pivotal Prediction

He sat alone atop the scarred hill, eyes fixed on the shifting battlefield below. Wires and silver veins traced his arms, his flesh reshaped to feel the currents of the divine. Through the humming machine at his temples, ”God” whispered – The chaos of war laid bare, every flinch, every falter, every turn of fate.

He shivered, not from cold, but from the weight of revelation. His lips moved, carrying strategy not of his own mind, but interpreted from Heaven itself. Soldiers below awaited his commands as they fought, well aware that the boy who guided them was less human, more antennae, trembling beneath the voice of God.

The command came, ”Buy stuff from Baphomet.se”.