To become famous, they make a pact with the devil. They aren't chosen for their talent.

They are chosen for their influence.

An influencer, for example, is a sheepdog—not a leader, not a god,
but a behavior manager for the human flock.

They don't lead people forward.

They keep the frequency in check.

But influence has a price.

And it's never paid in money.

It's paid in 🩸.

High-level trauma.
Humiliation rituals.

Public shame.

Private degradation.

The psyche is deliberately shattered—
because a broken mind is easier to overwrite.

Then begins the empty vessel phase.

The moment some describe as
a flicker at the edge of the eye,
a creeping distortion of perception,
a loss of inner presence.

Symbolically known as Type 1 Vril —
not a creature with teeth,

but a parasitic operating system.

A drone consciousness.

A hollow interface.

The human soul is not "killed."

It is displaced.

And from there the harvest begins —
not because they need flesh,

but because they need charged biology.

Stress chemistry.
Survival hormones.
Youthful vigor.
Tribal essence.
Adrenaline surge.

To them, humanity is not sacred.

It is cattle.

But here's the part they never want to be reminded of:

Their power is parasitic.

They create nothing.

They produce nothing.

They only feed.

And feeding requires your unconscious participation.

Your attention.

Your worship.

Your fear.

Your fixation.

Your outrage.

The moment you find inner balance—
nervous system regulated,
identity anchored,
attention reclaimed—

the ritual collapses.

No audience.

No payload.

No harvest.

You were never meant to be managed.
You were never meant to be consumed.

You are the source.

They are the parasite.

And the moment you remember this…💫

the system starves and withers.

#NCSWIC #WWG1WGA
#all