Bethany 
The whispers of the dark shadows never really left Edward Alexander Crowley’s sight. They had simply grown patient, waiting for the right time to pounce and attack and capture Crowley in the everlasting
The devilish whispers waited for the time to return. By the time he turned eight, his father passed away in a suspicious death, leaving behind both a fortune and a void. His mother, now fully consumed by her fear of the boy she had buried, clung desperately to scripture, whispering prayers under her breath whenever Edward walked past,
She saw something in his dark eyes something growing, something marking its place.
Edward felt it too, in his guts, he knew he had the powers of witchcraft like no other.
It first. began with the books. The dusty forgotten tomes in his father’s library were left untouched for years. At first, they were innocent-classical philosophy, poetry, and the works of Milton and Blake. But soon, Edward discovered something else hidden among them.
Strange volumes bound in cracked leather, their pages filled with symbols that made his skin tingle when he traced them with his fingers.
It began with the books. The dusty, forgotten tomes in his father’s library, untouched for years. At first, they were innocent—classical philosophy, poetry, the works of Milton and Blake. But soon, Edward discovered something else hidden among them. Strange volumes bound in cracked leather, their pages filled with symbols that made his skin tingle when he traced them with his fingers. The boy read them in secret. He hunched over in the cabinet with a candlelight while the rest of the house slept. The words were unfamiliar, unable to make sense but he felt drawn to them as if them. He resonated with the depth of them. The texts spoke of unseen forces of hidden knowledge, of rituals that could bend reality itself. As he read the whispers returned.
“You were always meant to find this,” they cooed.
Edward’s heart pounded. He had never questioned why the shadows in his room moved when no one else was there. Why did his mother flinch when he spoke of his dreams? Why he sometimes thought he could hear thoughts that were not his own.
Now, the Beast understood.
He began to experiment. At first, small things—repeating the strange incantations he found in the books, drawing symbols in the dust beneath his bed. Then, one night, he stole a candle and crept out into the garden. Under the pale gaze of the moon, he pressed his palm into the earth and whispered the words he had memorized.
The wind shifted.
The trees, which had been still only moments before, rustled as if something unseen had brushed through them. A thrill ran through Edward’s body, a sensation he had never felt before. Power. It was subtle, but it was there.
“You are ready,” the whisper said.
The next day, he took a knife from the kitchen.
He did not intend to harm himself—he had read enough to know that blood was a key, not a sacrifice. That night, he pricked his finger, letting a single drop fall onto the page of an open book. The text shimmered for just a moment as if the ink itself had awakened.
The candle beside him flickered violently. The shadows in the room deepened. And then, the whisper became a voice.
“Now, we begin.”
From that night on, Edward was no longer just a boy. He was an initiate. A seeker. A disciple of something far older and far darker than the world around him could comprehend.
And the path ahead was wide open.
The boy was now a totem of power, shadows, and dark arts. He knew things which no one knew and he could handle the darkness that he was consumed in. This is the birth of the BEAST 666. Not Edward, a little boy. in the dark house, THE BEAST 666 the occultist, poet, and the maker of Thalema.
Keep Reading Dip Dives to discover more about the life of the Dark Beast 666 and his actions.
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