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About a decrepit and desperate traveler and his last quest unto what truly lies underneath Nature's supposedly harmonious essence --- those seemingly awe-inspiring sceneries over whom others so laboriously praise, adore, contemplate and so forth, then associate them with scripts of romance and peace, to the extent that all those environs are enshrouded with a veil of genuine sacredness --- sacredness that is blinding, at least to him, the traveler long been worn out by those years passed and his previous quests --- hundreds of thousands, countless in fact, all those quests mirroring the same undertakings of others, of those who used to be close to him, those who had incessantly reminded him that life has a meaning, that one should strive to find hope and light amidst the reigning darkness, that the darkness won't reign forever --- but he now realizes, that those quests meant nothing, the notion of "countless" meant nothing, nothing but a bunch of placebo mockeries of one's own fate. Those who taught and encouraged him to undertake such quests had long been dead, passed away, forgotten, whatever you would call it --- an irrevocable ending he's doomed to embrace sooner or later, the traveler thought as he trudged across the taigas, staring fixedly at those dense woods of birches and spruces encircling the valley like some faceless wardens of a library rotten to its core --- bored and exhausted just like himself --- then at those mists of dark crimson hovering over the frosty air, at the rock spur in the far distance that's hidden by the blindingly pale moonlight. He thought, tears in his eyes, that the Moon is extraordinarily blinding, that the sacredness of Nature and its harmonies is horrifyingly blinding --- harmonies of such blinding sacredness no one (let alone him, a decrepit and desperate traveler who had long squandered away all of his humane wits) could process and comprehend --- everything is so hallowed, he conceded, everything lies underneath Nature and its harmonies of sacredness is so hallowed, his own memories, those quests of the past that ultimately led to a spiritual destituteness, all so hallowed, but he felt contented, as he now stands beneath the fleeting winter light, as an irrepressible urge to sleep surging through his entire shriveled body, as those forest winds blow their wordless messages into his frozen earholes, he felt contented that, after all, this last quest of his seems to reach its concluding stage, albeit everything he'd found so far only made him blind and exhausted, the burden of nothingness is so excruciating, he thought while staring at the fleeting winter light, such excruciating and hallowed burden, but it's near the end, and I could finally lay to rest, or would I? his question almost immediately torn to pieces by the forest winds --- their wordless messages is both a response and a calling, the only calling, he thought contentedly, that this is the calling of the end, that the only response he received was his own knell of death.

Moving from the grief-stricken mourning echoing in his last year's Le dernier adieu, Nordicwinter, the prolific Québécois BM bard of melancholy, returns with yet another fascinating piece of depressive black art depicting a devastating flight of death amidst the frosty taiga, beneath the fleeting Northern Light --- any fans of his previous releases will definitely find what they yearn for in this latest output. It is scheduled to be released via Pest Productions as digipak CDs, limited to 5 00 copies, on October 30th. LP later，Stay tuned!

NORDICWINTER (CA) - Beneath The Fleeting Light CD

NORDICWINTER (CA) - SUB LUCE FUGACIA T-SHIRT

They once again pondered the images and stories associated with the Creator, if someone could really afford such a majestic title and the heinous burden came along with it --- perhaps an "omnipotent being", for the messages underlying that cursed title could wreck any self-claimed intellectuals or heroes into nothing but bunch of feeble-minded worms. With the promised tales foretold by their predecessors in mind, they struggled with the meaning behind those ageless sayings, they wondered in what sublime demeanor would the Creator conceal himself within the so-called "Palace of Paradise" --- the "land of Gold and Perpetual Joy" --- they failed grievously --- for wherever they looked (the only option is, equally grievously, only upwards) they couldn't make out of a thing, except a lifeless throng of Mist with an unfathomable density. "...for the truth is imageless, unspeakable..." Nonsense! they had known it since the beginning, yet that's the only Hope (such a nonsensical fabrication after the infinite amount of sufferings they'd gone through) they could grasp hold of now. Nowhere in sight could they spot that Inverted Tower, yet they were so certain that all of them --- such a group of shackled sinners --- had long been condemned and imprisoned in that edifice --- that heinous edifice erected by no other than those Paradise-dwellers, right into that throng of mist --- "for existence is a prison". Treachery! they proclaimed. They once envisioned those tales about "the truth", those bittersweet stories about that rebellious son unbound, as perhaps the only things worth remembering down here --- this god-forsaken wasteland, but they had come to realize, that all of such talks, including their pitiful "quest", are just treacherous errors --- such throng of mist, such sea of falsified symbols, nothing but treacheries and wrongdoings; this is a new chapter, they once again proclaimed, and the new chapter means no future (equally grievously): the Mist itself offers no escape, despair, downwards, naught --- all errors.

MIIIST, this newly born circle of covert recluses hailing from Bortala (Xinjiang), is in our opinion one of the most exciting young acts emerging from the underground BM scene in recent years. With a demo released via Cold Woods Productions and participating in our final edition of Death Kvlt Congregation Compilation last year, together with their astonishing set at Blackened Shore Psych Waves Fest (in supporting fellow Pest veterans The Illusion of Dawn and Dopamine), MIIIST has made their potentials and uniqueness (in terms of musicianship and live performance) heard. The long-anticipated debut EP, titled "Let it be Remembered...", is their first ceremonious declaration of conquest against all things sacred: with those two long tracks of romantic yet desolate melodies shrouded by the vocalist's sickening chants, this throng of Mist is resolute to cast upon this god-forsaken land their own stigma of woe.

Pest Productions will release this EP later this October 30 as digipak CDs. Stay tuned!

MIIIST (CN) - Let It Be Remembered... CD