The idea that we hunt the Leviathan is of course a comforting fiction, a flattersome adventure tale for the land-bound, the vulgar. The idea is preposterous. Does a louse “hunt” a man?

We do not “hunt” the Leviathan. We invoke the Leviathan. We seduce the Leviathan.

In ancient nights, we lured them ashore with human sacrifice. With torture, slaughter, immolation, hecatomb.

In this modern, rational age, we have transcended such barbarity through the application of natural philosophy. I speak, of course, of the Electroplasmic Lure, a scientific achievement as essential to civilization as the Lightning Barrier. A pressure vessel for the concentration of human consciousness, frozen in the moment of death, thousands of alloyed souls blazing into the black depths of the void. The irresistible enticement that draws our terrible quarry into the dance of death and life that sustains us all.

Now it is time to unburden yourselves of another comforting illusion and to be initiated into the secret of the Electroplasmic Lure’s construction.

The secret is simple.

Bellweather Crematorium is not a furnace.

It is an alembic.