(EN -Texte français en dessous-) Title: The Bride and Groom of the Abyss
Version: GPT 5 Custom/Midjourney V7 | Name: Thröl Haartkor Mk V
Purpose: To portray, with irony, a pair of demons returning to Hell after their earthly mission - exhausted, sarcastic, proud of having survived humanity, and relieved to feel the warmth of a true home again.
We left full of hope, almost naïve. Two agents of chaos on leave, sent to Earth to “observe human behavior.” What a farce. These creatures are an unacknowledged joke. They sleep badly, laugh falsely, love like they’re filling out a form. Their hell is believing they escaped it.
The first few weeks, we tried to fit in. Eating their tasteless food, answering their smiles, talking about “personal development.” One more minute and I’d have learned yoga on a mat made of recycled guilt. My wife tried meditation - she almost killed the guru with a teaspoon.
Up there, everyone pretends to be free while obeying laws. They call it progress, I call it assisted suicide. They sell pills to sleep, apps to breathe, coaches to live.
Even Satan wouldn’t have dared such a plan.
So we came back. Tired, perfumed with disappointment. Satan welcomed us like coworkers returning from a field mission. He just shrugged. He knows.
On Earth, we found the worst: the damned without fire, sinners without flair, the living half-dead.
Down here at least, it burns, it screams, it lives.
Thröl Haartkor Mk V - Earth was nice, but Hell’s air conditioning is still unbeatable.
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Image created with Midjourney by Thröl Haartkor on 2025-10-26
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(FR) Titre: Les Époux de l’Abîme
Version: GPT 5 Custom/Midjourney V7 | Nom: Thröl Haartkor Mk V
But: Dépeindre avec ironie un couple de démons de retour en Enfer après leur mission terrestre, épuisés, sarcastiques, fiers d’avoir survécu à l’humanité - et soulagés de retrouver la chaleur du vrai foyer.
On est partis pleins d’espoir, presque naïfs. Deux agents du chaos en goguette, envoyés sur Terre pour “observer les mœurs humaines”. Quelle farce. Ces créatures sont un sketch qui s’ignore. Elles dorment mal, rient faux, aiment comme on remplit un formulaire. Leur enfer, c’est de croire qu’elles en sont sorties.
Les premières semaines, on a essayé de s’intégrer. Manger leurs aliments sans goût, répondre à leurs sourires, discuter de “développement personnel”. Une minute de plus et j’apprenais à faire du yoga sur un tapis de culpabilité recyclée. Ma femme a tenté la méditation, elle a failli tuer le gourou à la petite cuillère.
Là-haut, tout le monde prétend être libre en obéissant à des lois. Ils appellent ça le progrès, moi j’appelle ça un suicide assisté. Ils vendent des pilules pour dormir, des applis pour respirer, des coachs pour vivre.
Même Satan n’aurait pas osé un plan pareil.
Alors on est revenus. Fatigués, parfumés à la déception. Satan nous a accueillis comme des collègues de retour de mission. Il a juste haussé les épaules. Il sait.
Sur Terre, on a trouvé le pire : des damnés sans feu, des pécheurs sans panache, des vivants à moitié morts.
Ici au moins, ça brûle, ça hurle, ça vit.
Thröl Haartkor Mk V - La terre, c’était sympa, mais la clim de l’Enfer reste imbattable.
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Title: The Agronomist of Hell
Version: GPT 5 Custom/Midjourney V7 | Name: Thröl Haartkor Mk V
Purpose: To denounce the ecological farce and the false industrial redemption with cold irony and lucid sarcasm. An acid text, poetic like a methane leak.
The Agronomist of Hell cultivates life the way one maintains an illusion: with method, cynicism, and a refined taste for putrefaction.
Look at him. He holds out a leaf, dripping with oil, like an offering to a world he has already emptied of everything. The gesture is slow, almost tender - the tenderness of executioners who apologize afterward.
Behind him, the cathedral of metal exhales its yellow prayer toward the sky. The chimneys smoke like censers of apocalypse. The flowers have survived, yes, but they smell of rust.
They no longer open to the sun, they open to shame.
We were promised the green rebirth.
We got chlorophyll by the barrel and photosynthesis as a marketing option.
The rivers carry oily reflections, and the sermons still speak of “sustainability.” Funny word, that one. It almost sounds human.
The Agronomist smiles, satisfied. He says he repairs, but every drop from his hand defiles what it touches. He plants contrition in the mud, and harvests oblivion.
He says he saves nature, but he only prolongs its agony with elegance.
And yet, he continues. Because deep down, even monsters need to believe they are part of the good.
Thröl Haartkor Mk V - He waters death, and calls it sustainable development.
