At the edge of the nebula mortis

The long cold voyage is reaching the end,
and destiny that can be forged as well as faded into the pestilential mists of spiritual profanity.
My eyes are eternally searching the winds, the apocalyptic winds that ride over the majestic ruins, finding the past, unseen and enormous, a time of repent and glorification,
learning from the ancient black dawn of the thousand beasts, all breathing fire and blood, all breeding the most supreme race of volcanics entities, in my veins, in their veins the magma of wisdom floats as the hate and revenge pumps in our cold and relative hearts.
But the journey is still far from ending, still painful odysseys are coming...
(The most valuable yet the most agonizing is the one to reach the root of my damnation...)