From their deep hidden stasis chambers, the Nephalim began to stir. The hour is at hand. They shall return.
Five thousand years ago they retreated to these places, waiting, planning, for the day they would rule again.
As the preserving disulphide mist dissipated around his giant body, Lucifros, king of the Nephalim contacts his brethren by radio.
"Is all prepared for our rise to the surface, my brothers?" He asks.
"NO!" Shouts Vulcan. "I don't know how to explain it. These human assholes have nearly destroyed the Ozone layer on this planet! It will take us at least a thousand years to rebuild it. We can't live here under these conditions, the skin will bake off our bones."
Lucifros sends out the order: "Prepare the escape pods. Rendezvous on planet X. We will reform our strategy there."
From deep within his secret Flemish bunker, the Grand Master of the Illuminati transmits a signal to his co-conspirators. Video shows disc-shaped vessels accelerating out of earth orbit.
"Preliminary reports show a hunnert percent success rate. All of our enemies have retreated to their dark little asteroid.
"Congratulations Grand Master Bush.."
"Couldn't have done it without you, brother Kissinger."
As a computer projection draws the telemetry lines of all the Nephalim vessels making their way to the furthest reaches of the Solar System, the Grand Master sips his brandy. "See ya in a thousand years, assholes."
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