Chapter 91: The Cult of Darkness
Saturday, February 20, 2016
Michael woke up late. The night before had been the release of 'XO TOUR Llif3', but he hadn't stayed up obsessively refreshing the page like with 'Sodium'. He had dropped the bomb and gone to sleep, trusting in the potency of his work.
He grabbed his phone from the nightstand. It was 11:00 AM.
He opened Twitter.
What he saw wasn't the loud chaos of 'Look At Me!', nor the collective sadness of 'Lucid Dreams'. It was something different. It was... aesthetic.
His timeline wasn't full of text, but of images.
The 'XO TOUR Llif3' video had been dissected frame by frame.
He saw thousands of screenshots. The grainy, green image of him walking alone through the forest. The close-up of his ring-filled hands. And, above all, the bathroom scene.
A GIF was looping everywhere: Michael in front of the mirror, eyes rolled back and black liquid pouring from his tear ducts, while bright yellow subtitles flashed underneath.
The Arabic subtitles.
No one knew what they meant (most were aesthetic translations of the lyrics), but everyone was obsessed with how they looked.
"This isn't a rap video," read a viral tweet with 50k likes. "This is a three-minute A24 horror movie."
Michael went on Tumblr (which in 2016 was still the king of dark aesthetics). His face was everywhere. Fashion and streetwear blogs like Hypebeast and Highsnobiety had already published articles analyzing his clothes.
"Aesthetics is everything," read a headline. "Michael Demiurge brings VHS horror to high fashion."
People weren't just listening to the song; they were consuming the image. They were changing their profile pictures to screenshots from the video. They were using the phrase "All my friends are dead" as a fashion statement, not just depression.
Michael realized he had achieved something very few artists achieve: he had created a visual "vibe" so strong that the music almost took a backseat.
He hadn't made a music video. He had created a cult film.
"It scares me, but I can't stop watching it," commented a girl on Instagram.
Michael smiled, the light from the screen illuminating his dark room. Fear was an excellent marketing tool.
While the visual aspect of the video dominated Tumblr and Instagram, on YouTube and music discussion forums, the dissection had moved to the sonic.
Michael was sitting in his kitchen, eating something quick, while watching a video from a popular music analysis channel (like Genius or The Needle Drop) that had uploaded an emergency "Reaction and Analysis".
The host paused the video right at the drop.
"Let's talk about this beat," said the YouTuber, moving his hands enthusiastically. "It's deceptive. Those bells... those spiraling synths... they sound almost happy, like a twisted video game. But then the 808 comes in and punches you in the gut. It's psychedelic but hits hard. It's like having a panic attack at a party and enjoying it."
Michael nodded. They had understood.
But the real battlefield was in the interpretation of the lyrics.
Michael opened Genius.com. The lyric page for 'XO TOUR Llif3' was already number one in trending, with thousands of people annotating and debating the meaning of every line.
The central debate revolved around a single phrase, the one that had become the slogan of the year in less than 24 hours.
'All my friends are dead.'
Michael read the fan comments, fascinated by the division.
Team Hype wrote: "It's a metaphor about money, idiots! The 'friends' are the dead presidents on the dollar bills. Benjamins. Grants. He's saying he's rich."
Team Sad wrote: "No, listen to the tone of his voice. He's serious. He's talking about loneliness at the top. About how fame isolates. It's a cry for help."
Michael read both theories and a sad smile curved his lips.
They were both right. And they were both wrong.
To the world, it was a clever play on words. To Michael, it was the literal and brutal truth of his existence. His friends from 2025, his parents, his life... everything was dead and buried in a timeline he could not return to.
He kept reading. People were obsessed with the bridge.
'She said: Baby, I am not afraid to die.'
Girls on Twitter were losing their minds over this line. It had become the definitive caption for photos of "toxic" and "dark" couples. It was suicidal romanticism, the idea of a love so intense it doesn't fear death.
And finally, the line that cemented his new cold and distant persona:
'I don't really care if you cry.'
It was the antithesis of 'Star Shopping'. In 'Star Shopping', he begged for attention. Here, he rejected it.
The comments called him "toxic", "savage", "the king of indifference".
Michael realized he had created the perfect character. An antihero. Someone who had so much pain he could no longer feel that of others.
The song was a nihilistic anthem. It gave kids permission to dance while feeling miserable. It told them that money and death were the only two certain things.
He closed the Genius page. The mythology was built. People weren't just listening to the song; they were studying it.
Michael stopped reading the comments on Genius. The discussion about the meaning of the lyrics was fascinating, but there was still an undercurrent of resistance.
In the more traditional corners of Twitter, hip-hop purists continued to attack.
"This isn't rap. It's pop music for goths." "You can tell he's an 'industry plant'. No one rises this fast." "I miss real hip-hop."
Michael knew this resistance would last forever. It was part of the changing of the guard. But sometimes, it was exhausting.
He got up to go to the kitchen to get water. His phone, which he carried in his pocket, vibrated.
It wasn't a normal vibration. It was a rapid and aggressive sequence of buzzes, as if the device were suffering an attack.
He took it out. The screen was illuminated with a single Instagram notification that stood out above the others.
@theweeknd has mentioned you in his story.
Michael stopped in the middle of the hallway.
His heart skipped a beat. He remembered the meeting backstage at the Observatory. The photo. The words of encouragement. But that had been in private. This was public.
He unlocked the phone with fast fingers. Opened Abel's story.
It was a black screen. In the center, he had embedded Michael's video, the scene of the white eyes and black blood.
And below, a simple white text.
"The kid did it again. 🦇 @michaeldemiurge"
Michael stared at the screen.
It wasn't just a "repost". It was a coronation.
The Weeknd was the biggest artist on the planet at that moment. He was the undisputed king of dark aesthetics, of songs about drugs and heartbreak. He was the standard.
By sharing 'XO TOUR Llif3' and using the bat emoji (validating Michael's vampire/dark aesthetic), Abel was sending a clear message to the industry and his own fans: "This kid is with me. He's legitimate."
Michael went back to his feed. The effect was immediate and seismic.
The hate comments from purists began to disappear, buried under an avalanche of XO fans (The Weeknd's fan base).
"Abel approved! It's official!" "If The Weeknd says it's hard, it's hard." "Dream collab. We need a remix."
The King's validation had silenced the opposition. No one could say Michael was a "fake" or a "meme" anymore. He had the seal of approval from the highest authority in dark music.
Michael smiled, feeling a deep satisfaction.
He didn't need the labels. He didn't need radio.
He had the people. And now, he had the King.
The union of the tribes was complete. The cult of Demiurge and the cult of XO had just merged.
Tuesday, February 23, 2016
Michael was in his studio with Karl. The air was charged. It was Tuesday, the sacred day of the music industry. The day Billboard updated its charts.
Karl was pacing back and forth, biting a nail, something rare for him.
"Streaming numbers have been insane all weekend," muttered Karl. "Spotify, Apple Music... 'XO' has been in the daily Top 5. But radio... radio still won't touch us. They say it's too dark."
Michael was calm, leaning back in his chair. He knew radio didn't matter as much as before.
"Relax, Karl. The numbers are there."
Karl's phone vibrated. He stopped dead. Looked at the screen.
A slow, predatory smile spread across his face.
"Mike," he said, turning the phone toward him. "Look at this."
It was the official email from Billboard.
BILLBOARD HOT 100 - DEBUTS #7 - Michael Demiurge - "XO TOUR Llif3"
Michael looked at the number. Seven.
It wasn't the number one of 'Lucid Dreams'. But it was something more impressive.
'Lucid Dreams' had the Sting sample and a friendly pop melody.
'XO TOUR Llif3' was a song about suicide, with a horror video, without radio support, released by an independent artist.
And it had debuted directly in the Top 10.
"Third simultaneous Top 10," said Karl, reading the rest of the list. "'Lucid Dreams' is still at #1."
Michael got up and walked to the tour map Karl had taped to the wall. He looked at the dates. San Francisco, Chicago, New York. All were marked as Sold Out.
He realized the magnitude of what he had achieved in that "Factory Week". He had the market completely surrounded.
"Karl," said Michael.
"Yeah, boss?"
"Call the transport company. I want to add one more truck for the tour."
"For what?" asked Karl.
"For the stage," said Michael, smiling. "If we are Top 10, we have to look like Top 10. I want bigger screens. I want more lights. I want the show to look like the 'XO' video."
Karl nodded, noting furiously.
Michael closed his laptop. "Factory Week" hadn't just been worth it; it had rewritten the rules of the game.
He headed to the door.
"Where are you going?" asked Karl.
"To pack," said Michael. "Tomorrow we go to Chicago. And I have to make sure I bring winter clothes. It's cold at the top."
He left the studio, leaving Karl managing the empire. The conquest of America had just begun.