 lawlessness, rebellion, self-sufficiency, pride, pure power, and ultimate sovereignty, ancient royalty, unbridled, bold frenzy, and the violence of reclaiming one's free will. The Demon King Belial represents all of the above and much more. Belial is one of the patron gods of the temple, fortifying the magician on the path of the dragon while assisting in the clopothic initiatory process. As guardian of the gates of the abyss, Belial exists beyond morality and immorality, constantly challenging the magician to explore terra incognita that lies outside of imposed societal structures of purity and virtue. His presence is ubiquitous, spanning a wide terrain of scriptures and grimoire, including but not limited to the lesser key of Solomon, the dead sea scrolls, Aleister Crawley's Goetia, and the Satanic Bible. Often depicted as synonymous with the current of Satan, he is referred to as an angel of darkness and the aggressive, outspoken adversary of God. The word Belial itself can refer to a title signifying wickedness, worthlessness, or one without advantage. Here we can see where Belial embraces the twisting multidimensional magic of language to create his own advantage, restructuring his worth by aggressive will to action and the dissolution of distraction from outside forces constantly seeking to direct, limit, confuse, poison, and oppress. Belial spits volcanic vitriol in the face of contrived mechanisms of performative hollow faux-positivity movements delicately cradled in glass-bottom New Age hot air balloons, Illusional egalitarian compassion handouts and sensitive empathic charades of the mass populace are his battlefields on which he wreaks havoc. His vast knowledge of the art of war, usually evoked by his manifestation as Baal, can detect, target, and surgically destroy indoctrination and egotistical illusions like an expert long-range sniper or an eloquently spoken refined gentleman of captivating sophistication whose absurd nature of pendulum-swinging contradictions and question marks constantly skirts the edge of insanity. The mass murder of self-doubt patterns, cycles, and layers of self-deprecation. Anton Leves immersed himself in Belial's current in a chapter within the Satanic Bible entitled The Book of Belial, Mastery of the Earth. Here he lays out a pragmatic, at times almost scientific approach towards supreme manifestation of terrestrial desires by destroying convoluted obstacles between the magician and their own unique magical potential. Leves proclaims time and again Belial's force as action-based system free of conceptual mysticism, armchair philosophy musings, or any pomp and circumstance. Belial poses infinite spiraling question patterns, giving away no hints and never enabling lazy dependent thought patterns. What happens when you remove emotion from desire? Can you approach sex, intimacy, as biological mechanism? How can we explore expressing our individualism as survival instinct versus an aged out, dried up two-minute cum-stained fantasy splattered across an old torn up t-shirt thrown in the back of a musty relic-filled closet from your younger glory days? In my personal magical explorations I found Belial to be an extremely challenging and incredible current of energy to align with. He is particularly powerful when seeking a non-empathic experience, a guide to explore what lies beyond the emotional body. And for some of us who work full time as psychic mediums, healers, immersed in the world of spirit, this can be challenging near impossible as we attempt to claw our way out of everyone else's emotional excrement. In my ritual dissension into ice, I was able to explore chilling currents of Belial's northern landscape, accessing shadowed areas of the subconscious and lizard brain to exhume through evocation shrouded archetypes of self including the stranger, the wanderer, apathic frost, lord of storms, the antichrist. This exploration was rewarded by catharsis, transformation, integration of imbalanced fractures of self and needless to say, a treasure trove of personal gnosis on my own crooked path towards self-actualized magician. Belial being the master of the earth can aid us in strengthening our physical bodies as a form of self-mastery as well. After all, our bodies can be alchemized, fortified and erected as temples for the gods. His strategies for doing so can be extreme, painful, empowering and transformative. I've found his current to be quite helpful in pursuits of athleticism such as martial arts where strategy, violence and creativity coalesce. Cut up and do it. Put the work in. Forge greater levels of bold aggression towards one's own goal. These are the messages Belial weaves into our minds as we forge our path of individualism, evolving, growing and strengthening every step of the way. In many of my experiences with Belial, I've contemplated his parallels with the Ronan warriors of feudal Japan. The word Ronan translates to without a master. At times, disciples of highly respected clans became masterless due to the death of their elders. But most interestingly notable, oftentimes these disciples lost their master's favor, respect or privilege through chaotic rebellion, brashly interrupting perpetuity of stale power structures fueled by their own extreme unquenchable thirst for power and autonomy. The Ronan were self-actualized zealots of violence and bloodshed who would wander from village to city to town, skating the periphery of society, answering to no one but themselves absolutely never bowing to any greater force outside their own skill. The objective results of their own personal efforts most impressively showcased in their very survival. Remember the lone wolf evokes fear and panic in the crowded herds of sheep not only due to the blatant power advantage of being an apex predator, but also due to the fact that sovereignty needs no validation, assistance or definition from outside forces. With Belial you don't ask, you take. You claim your godhood and true personal power and wield it as you so see fit. The strategy of it all expands through injection that seething fluid icy heat of Belial's ecstasy into the crucible of knowing thyself. If you're interested in getting right to work, I highly recommend checking out the free PDF file Ritual of the Demon King Belial on the Temple of Ascending Flames website www.ascendingflame.com. By clicking on the materials tab, you'll be able to access this free information. The invocation of Belial on the same materials page provides a beautifully graceful and empowering place to work from when calling Belial's energy directly into your magical temple. Additionally, the compendium Belial without a master, published through the Become a Living God series, has an immense wealth of knowledge from highly experienced perspectives such as Azenith Mason, Edgar Kerval, EA Coetting and many other brilliant magicians. I'd now like to share with you my work, The Incantation of Belial, which was channeled in ritual with Belial in vote over the course of two nights. Thank you. Sinister, unforgiving tentacles of cold, dark earth, master of fire, polarized, empathic vice, tourniquet, raging beast beneath the sea of clouds, waves of lightning and human stench, body odor from which no man can hide, bridled hunts, incessant confirmation, pulpit masturbation, speared through my back with a fiery axe, heavy was my frozen hand, hammer, crushing all outside of me to sand, particle anomaly, psychotic sour cracking meat, thick and white, total trash, veneers and facade, total lacking, amorphous medieval chanting, all the pomp and circumstance ransacks my consciousness, leaving my subconscious forced to learn contortion, as if this harrowing is a natural mechanism of a great man, a free man whose self-igniting liberty commands the expansion of freedom far beyond a delicately played hand of bridge, a lopsided fat swelling cloud of requests for permission from lukewarm dull croak calling castrated tadpoles, cows and meat for the slaughter, a bell in all the ears, don't we all, to tinker with time, travel conjure and unravel, grit gravel redrock roads into the abyss of infinite possibility, slippery trips towards binging on magical flat surfaces, TV dinners and disjointed sparring matches that so many others catch as casual conversation, dissolving each lie lobbed at me with precognitive pools of gasoline and satanic poisons ignited by the boredom of pretending to be average again, lashed out of me from the depths of my own delusions and spells cast upon myself, each snapping a lick, a stark reminder of my own artifice and the urgent care unit my true nature currently camps out in, hoping and praying with each labored fragile breath that I will admit I don't seek immediate rescue or temporary relief in altered states of consciousness, I seek residence in the hyper sensualized, slightly off kilter reality I can dissolve and rematerialize like fuzzy visual white noise on digital landscapes of highly modernized diabolical currents of ancient intelligence, adapted, deeply crafted to be wired, hard into fat veins, primed from years of vessel piercing experiments, demonic vivisection, paranormal investigations into bloody back seats of shitty beat up hand me down cars, and those trees we carved curses into, exes scratched across exes names, spitting hatred like rotten acidic tobacco, fallen angel dust, powder coughing kegs of stale semen, dangling off of uncomfortable plastic hooks in a baby doll assembly line, rebuilding a deceptive commander, captain, wrist flicking antichrist, one being galvanized in an iron maiden, force field of inverted metallics and placid lakes of fire surround my high rise penthouse castle, the structure of my greatest dream and most wicked nightmare, revisiting that imperian height with ill crafted wax wings, haphazard, fat strangling buzzards, helicoptering the thick night air, longing to submerge my warped mind back into the deep waters of secrecy, endless stratospheres of black solitude, onyx, quartz, powered to conjoin in a milky gray human fog, my psyche has no brakes or pace, it's rocketing out of control and further away from any semblance of what it once was, revealing like a magic mirror, some washed up asshole, fading James Dean type, now seen weathered, sickening slick thickening dripping ripples of youth running off my charred black aura, like hot wax in a house of horrors, watching humanity slip away and graze the surface of my primitive God vibration and so be it.