Kronii... the warden of time... I am the last…I will tell the anonymous void….
I do not recall distinctly when it began, but it was months ago.
The general tension was horrible.
To a season of political and social upheaval was added a strange and brooding apprehension of hideous physical danger; a danger widespread and all-embracing, such a danger as may be imagined only in the most terrible phantasms of the night.
I recall that the people went about with pale and worried faces, and whispered narratives about secret identities which no one dared consciously repeat or acknowledge to himself that he had heard.
A sense of monstrous guilt was upon the land, and out of the abysses between the stars swept chill currents that made men shiver in dark and lonely places.
Everyone felt that the world and perhaps the universe had passed from the control of known gods or forces to that of gods or forces which were in the hands of an unknown manipulator.
And it was then that Kronie came out of the East.
Who she was, none could tell, but she was of the old yellow man blood and looked like a Goddess.
The orientals knelt when they saw her, yet could not say why.
She said she had risen up out of the blackness before time, and that she had heard messages from places not on this planet.
Into the lands of civilization came Kronii, suave, slender, and seductive, always carrying two strange big round instruments on her chest.

She spoke much of the sciences—of old ideas and psychology—and gave exhibitions of her instruments which sent her spectators away speechless, yet which swelled her fame to exceeding magnitude.

Men advised one another to see Kronii, and shuddered.
And where Kronii went, rest vanished; for the small hours were rent with the screams of cyclist.
Never before had the screams of cyclist been such a public problem; now the wise men almost wished they could forbid bicycle in the small hours, that the shrieks of cities might be less horribly disturbing.
I remember when Kronii came to my city—the great, the old, the terrible city of unnumbered negroid crimes.
My friend had told me of her, and of the impelling fascination and allurement of her form, and I burned with eagerness to explore her uttermost mysteries.
My friend said they were horrible and impressive beyond my most fevered imaginings; that what was thrown on a screen in the darkened room exhibited things none but Kronii dared exhibit, and that in the sputter of her sparks there was taken from men that which could never be taken again.
And I heard it hinted abroad that those who knew Kronii looked on sights which others knew not.

It was in the hot autumn that I went through the night with the restless crowds to see Kronii; through the stifling night and up the endless stairs into the choking room.
And shadowed on a screen, I saw hooded forms amidst ruins, and yellow doglike hands peering from behind fallen monuments.
And I saw greenish text and obscene images coming from the dark, sending waves of destruction through my pants.
I felt the hand of an unseen presence, whirling, churning and playfully struggling with my (now dimming) sun.
Then Kroniis instruments played amazingly around the heads of the spectators, whilst shadows of grotesque clock-like shape came out and squatted on their heads.
It was then that I, who was more redpilled and more based than the rest, awoke from my stupor mumbling a trembling protest about “shizophrenia” and “medicine”, Kronii drave us all out, down the dizzy stairs into the damp, hot, deserted midnight streets.
I screamed aloud that I was not a coomer, that I never could be coomer; and others screamed with me for solace.
We sware to one another that the citywasexactly the same, and still alive; and when the electric lights began to fade we cursed the company over and over again, and laughed at the faggy faces we made.
I believe we felt something coming down from the greenish moon, for when we began to depend on its light we drifted into curious involuntary formations much alike a militia of minutemen and seemed to know our destinations though we dared not think of them.
Once we looked at the pavement and found it to be the road on which a fabled man had supposedly ascended past the limitation of the human form, becoming something blasphemous and obscene.
We split up into narrow columns, each of which seemed drawn in a different direction. One disappeared in a narrow alley to the left, leaving only the echo of a clattering chair.
Another filed down a weed-choked subway entrance, moaning in maddening way. >My own column was sucked toward the open country, and presently felt a chill which was not of the hot autumn; for as we stalked out on the dark moor, we beheld around us the hellish moon-glitter of evil snows.
rackless, inexplicable snows, swept asunder in one direction only, where lay a gulf all the blacker for its glittering walls.
The column seemed very thin indeed as it plodded dreamily into the gulf.
I lingered behind, for the black rift in the green-litten snow was frightful, and I thought I had heard the reverberations of a disquieting wail as my companions vanished; but my power to linger was slight.
As if beckoned by those who had gone before, I half floated between the titanic snowdrifts, quivering and afraid, into the sightless vortex of the unimaginable:
a screaming sentient, dumbly delirious, mass of people and bosoms.
Of beautifully bewitching busty bosoms, of all sizes, forms and shapes engaging in the most wondrously wicked of acts; in space above the sphres of light and darkness.
And through this revolting mass of muffled moans of woman and man, maddening beatings of meat, I saw the ultimate gods of paizuri and sex whose souls is Kronii the warden of time.