Oryx, peerless King, whose horns pierce the cosmic horizon, who obtains meaning from the heat bath! It is us who beseech You, we Your Hive. Hear as we strangle ourselves with O!-Ryx, call-name of Oryx, which refuses itself by refusing division. Oryx, whose worldline may not be mapped to any simply connected topology. Oryx, who blueshifts when all else recedes. Oryx, whose divine weapons may slice the bond of affection between master and pet. Oryx, in whom is invested the authority of one billion years’ failure to die! We Your progeny, who are caused by You as all things in Your light cone are caused by Your will, beseech You for Your forgiveness!

Let us make a manifest our crimes. Let us not offend Oryx King with the contempt of rhetoric. Let our transgressions be known through our actions. Let our crimes be implied by the result, as the wound remembers the shape of the weapon.

Aiat!