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I felt an invisible string attach itself to my ass and guide me from the bottom back up to the top of the squat. When my vision returned, I had already racked the bar. The Master beckoned me to a cold iron strongbox in the centre of the room, beside a dusty white incense that covered the bars, the Master and even myself.
From it, he took a grimore bound in soft leather. Its title read "Squatronomicon", authored by the Mad Texan, Rippletits. The Master handed me the book, and as I opened it, I was assaulted by horrifying diagrams and obscense blasphemous information. Instead of recoiling like I once would have, instead I grew stronger on the heady brew. The master handed me a gallon bucket of yak milk, and distaining a chair, I squatted down and began to read.
The young cultist in the book was me, dilligently going ATG, and carrying out the deadlift, press, clean and bench. As a flipped through the pages, fresh red ink stained the vellum of the grimore. I began to feel the leather, and noticed bellybuttons, as if it had been bound in excess human skin.
As I continued to read, I felt my butt-abs grow in size and definition, and my heart harden. Truly, this was world-changing knowlege. I wondered what price the knowlege was extract from me. As I finished the tome, I reached the acknowlegements, seeing the dark lord Rippletits in his unasthetic glory. On the last page, was picture of myself, going ATG on a 300kg squat. I was pausing on rug of some sort, a rug that reminded me of my dog Snausages.
Then it hit me like a dropped 500kg decline bench.
