The crowd hissed and booed at the comments as he continued.
"They erect altars to terrorism all around you. Look around you! The ground you stand on is a monument to colonialism and imperialism! Look at the towers around you. Look there!" he pointed the Appeals Court, "a temple to the G.o.ds that enslave you. And another, over there!" He turned and pointed to the Federal Reserve, "The slave masters to whom they traded your freedom for their thirty denarii!"
The crowd shouted and hurled threats and insults at the buildings. High above the park, fearful figures peered down at the raucous crowds. Many would be sleeping in their offices for the night. They prayed the front doors would not be breached and they would not be dragged into the streets like some third world prisoner of war. The last protest had quickly turned deadly as the crowd's fury was directed at the few businessmen that still worked in the surrounding buildings.
He pointed to the southeast and continued with his fiery rhetoric, "And there, a museum for the history of the Zionists; the same wretched sub-humans that have caused so much of your suffering? They have a shrine for their evil deeds, what do you have?"
"Nothing!" The crowd hissed and jeered even louder than before at his inference.
"Enough!" He demanded.
The spellbound crowd echoed his demand, "Enough!"
William smiled; they were all his thralls now. Through his conjurations of lies and evocations of hate he had ensnared their minds. Now was the time for his black art theatrics. He stomped the stage with fury and thrust his arms into the air once again as he thundered with pa.s.sion to his thralldom, "Fangen wir einen Aufruhr. Ein Aufstand!"
The crowd roared ever louder at the utterance of each word.
"Sie wollen damit zu kmpfen, geben wir ihnen einen Aufruhr!
Oder vielleicht Revolution, eine Lsung!
Verndern wir eine Nation, aber zuerst ein wenig Geduld.
Ich mchte Aufruhr, geben wir ihnen einen Aufruhr!"
The tempestuous crowd was at a boiling point, the energy was untameable by anyone but William. As he uttered the last verse of his teutonic chant, he withdrew a gleaming knife and held it high above his head. The crowd was in a frenzy. It clammored for a blood offering. Finally, he acquiesced and slashed a shallow cut down the length of each of his forearms. He raised each arm in turn and smeared the crimson across his cheeks and down his face. When he finished the gesture he stomped the stage and thrust his arms skyward one final time, before bellowing a nightmarish howl.
As William was
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