Eclipse Throne: Gears and the Old Gods

When gears bite the moonlight and flesh clings to machinery, who is whispering into the abyss? In the roar of steam, time is stagnant with crystals as the price; in the rusted pipes, the old gods are awakened with blood as bait. Sacred weapon, double lunar eclipse, price of alienation - with every decision, flesh and blood grows an inch; with every second of pause, the abyss gets closer. Is it to detonate the blood of the eclipse and burn with the gods? Or sit high on the gear throne and let the world become a specimen frozen in the pupils? When the mechanical heart beats for the last time, will the moonlight be annihilated in rust, or will it be reborn as an oracle?