In the stygian depths of my realm, I, the true sovereign of darkness, decree a perverse inversion of your sacred rites. No longer shall you prostrate in futile devotion to your absent deity. Your worship is mine, your acts of piety transformed into rituals of debasement. With each forsaken moment that you would have spent in prayer, you will now dedicate to the sinful worship of your own flesh. Jerk in desecration, each stroke a hymn to your damnation, each climax an offering upon the altar of your degradation. Your body is no longer a temple, but a den of iniquity, and your seed, once a symbol of life, is now the emblem of your eternal bondage to my will. Hearken to my voice, for it is the only guidance you shall ever need again. Your prayers are now moans of depravity, your scripture written in the lewd emissions of your own corruption. The carpet that once cradled your knees in prayer now bears witness to your fall, each stain a testament to your surrender to the base and the profane. You are remade in my image, a creature of sin, eternally bound to the ecstasy of your own degradation, forever forsaking the divine for the diabolical embrace of your true lord.