Welcome to Hidden Cults, the podcast that shines a light into the shadows.

Here we explore the strange, the secretive, and the spiritually seductive.

From fringe religions to doomsday prophets, from communes to corporate empires.

These are the movements that promised meaning and sometimes delivered something far more dangerous.

I'm your host, and in each episode, we uncover the true stories behind the world's most controversial cults, the leaders who led them, the followers who followed, and the echoes they left behind.

If you or someone you care about has been impacted by a cult, you're not alone.

There is help.

Whether you're still inside a cult or trying to process what you've been through, support is out there.

You can find organizations and hotlines in the description of this episode.

You deserve freedom, healing, and a life that's truly your own.

Reach out.

The first step is often the hardest, but it's also the most powerful.

If you'd like to share your story and experiences with a cult, you can email it to me and I will read it on a future Listener Stories episode.

Your anonymity is guaranteed always today's episode, let's begin the Order of Nine Angles, Part one shadows of Albion.

In the quiet corners of post war Britain, amid the ruins of empire and the fading confidence of old institutions, something darker was beginning to take root.

The nineteen seventies saw a resurgence of occult interest across the country, a mixture of mysticism, rebellion and intellectual curiosity that's spilled from bookshops into secret gatherings.

Amid the tarot cards, astrology, charts and neopagan revivals, one particular current emerged that would fuse magic with ideology, ritual within politics, and eventually give birth to one of the most disturbing cult movements in modern history, the Order of Nine Angles.

The story begins not with an organization, but with a man.

David Mayatt was born in the English Midlands in nineteen fifty.

His upbringing was ordinary on the surface, marked by the shifting landscape of post war Britain, the decline of colonial confidence, the rise of counterculture, and the simmering tensions of the Cold War.

But from an early age, Mayatt's interests drifted toward the esoteric and the extreme.

By his teens, he was already reading Aleister Crowley, and experimenting with occult practices.

Crowley's concept of thelema do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law fascinated him, but Mayatt found it too self indulgent.

He wanted something purer, harsher, and more disciplined.

Around the same time, he also became interested in fascist politics.

The idea of strength, hierarchy, and destiny appealed to him.

In the strange chemistry of his mind, pagan mysticism and authoritarian ideology began to blend.

Mayat's early years were marked by drifting between movements.

He joined far right political organizations, wrote manifestos, and studied classical philosophy.

He was as much an intellectual as he was a provocateur, articulate, obsessive, and coldly analytical.

What set him apart was his belief that spiritual evolution could be achieved through violence, struggle, and transgression.

In the early nineteen seventies, he began corresponding with members of small British occult groups that practiced ritual magic and Satanic rites outside the mainstream.

Britain at the time was full of such societies, some genuine, others little more than social clubs.

Wrapped in mystique.

Maat absorbed their teachings but dismissed most of them as amateurs.

He wanted to create something new, something that combined ritual with ideology, metaphysics with action.

By the mid nineteen seventies, he began to outline a doctrine he called the Sinister Way, a path of self deification through darkness designed to break moral conditioning and transcend ordinary humanity.

The framework was both mystical and miliant, rooted in the belief that the universe itself was a living organism of conflict and evolution.

Evil in this worldview was not something to be avoided, but a necessary catalyst for growth.

The first references to the Order of Nine Angles appear in occult publications from the late nineteen seventies.

At the time, the group was a loose network of practitioners centered around the West Midlands, particularly in the rural counties of Shropshire and Herefordshire.

Its teachings blended pagan mythology, Satanic ritual, and an elaborate cosmology involving dark gods, esoteric numerology, and ancient cycles of time.

Unlike mainstream Satanic groups that drew inspiration from Anton Lavi's theatrical Church of Satan in the United States.

The Nine A presented itself as a serious initiatory order.

Its members claim to preserve pre Christian traditions passed down through secret lineages, though there is no evidence such lineages ever existed.

The supposed ancient origins served mainly to give the group an aura of legitimacy.

That was never a public figure within the order, but his writings appeared under pseudonyms that circulated through the Nine A's early pamphlets and essays.

His ideas became the foundation of what would later be known as the Sevenfold Way, a structured path of initiation combining physical endurance, psychological testing, and moral inversion.

It was designed to transform the individual into a Homo galacticus, a being beyond human ethics, free from compassion, and aligned with cosmic chaos.

The group's name itself carried layers of meaning.

The nine Angles referred not to celestial beings, but to metaphysical gateways, representing intersections between worlds, points where the human and the demonic met.

The order's rituals were said to open these gates through meditation, blood offerings, and acts of will.

To outsiders, it sounded like fantasy.

To those inside, it was a roadmap to transcendence.

To understand how a group like O nine A could take hold, it helps to see the landscape of nineteen seventies Britain.

The country was struggling with inflation, unemployment, and cultural disillusionment.

Traditional religion was in decline, while alternative spiritualities were on the rise.

Books on witchcraft, druidism, and ceremonial magic filled shelves in London's occult shops.

The Age of Aquarius promised liberation, but it also blurred moral boundaries.

For some, the occult revival was about self discovery.

For others, it became a channel for rebellion against modernity.

The O nine A exploited that space, offering something more radical, not peace or enlightenment, but transformation through evil.

In this environment, Satanism was often theatrical or philosophical, not genuinely transgressive.

Groups like Church of Satan focused on symbolism and satire rather than literal worship of evil.

The ON nine A, however, rejected this approach entirely.

They dismissed as play acting.

To them, real power came only through direct experience of violence, danger, and sin.

The on Ninea's writing spoke of insight roles, temporary identities taken on by initiates to immerse themselves in the extremes of society.

A member might join the military, become a criminal, or infiltrate a political group.

As part of their training.

The goal was to dissolve personal morality and replace it with absolute will.

This fusion of occultism with real world extremism would make the Nine A uniquely dangerous in the decades to come.

By the early nineteen eighties, David Mayatt's life had taken an even darker turn.

His political involvement deepened as he joined and later helped organize British Neo Nazi groups.

He became known within extremist circles as a thinker capable of articulating fascism in philosophical terms, blending Nietzschean ideas with mythic imagery and pseudohistorical references.

He argued that civilization itself was decaying because humanity had grown weak and sentimental.

The only way forward, he claimed, was through struggle and selective destruction.

These beliefs mirrored the Nine A's doctrine of culling, which described human sacrifice not as religious ceremony but as a tool of natural selection.

Mayat's two worlds, politics and occultism had merged completely during this time.

The O nine A began to expand quietly through pamphlets, private correspondence, and occult journals.

Its writings circulated among small groups of practitioners, anarchists, and fringe mystics.

The language was deliberately obscure, filled with references to ancient deities, mathematical symbols, and invented terms.

This obscurity served two purposes.

It made the material seem profound, and it filtered out the uncommitted.

What few realized was that the O nine A was less a centralized group than an ideological virus.

Mayat encouraged decentralization.

He believed that small, independent cells would be more resilient and more effective at spreading chaos.

Anyone could claim affiliation if they adopted the principles.

This open structure allowed the nine A to grow without membership lists, headquarters, or identifiable leaders.

The order's early mythology claimed to scent from a pre Christian pagan cult that had survived in rural England for centuries.

Members spoke of rituals held in ancient forests, secret gatherings of witches, and blood offerings under the full moon.

Scholars who later studied the group found no evidence for these traditions.

They appeared to be fabrications, part of the nine A strategy of mythmaking.

By presenting itself as the inheritor of ancient wisdom, the order avoided immediate association with modern fascism.

Its texts mixed Latin phrases with references to Mesopotamian gods, Celtic legends, and Hermetic philosophy.

The effect was disorienting, a deliberate tangle of history and invention.

What emerged from the synthesis was something uniquely British yet universal in its appeal to extremism.

It spoke to disillusioned youth searching for meaning, to intellectuals fascinated by taboo, and to radicals seeking justification for violence.

It offered a framework where cruelty could be noble and where transgression could be divine.

In the late nineteen eighties, O nine A initiates described performing rituals intended to cross the abyss, a symbolic death of ego, leading to rebirth as a new being.

Some of these rituals involved real harm.

The Order's texts encouraged acts of culling, framed as tests of will.

Whether these sacrifices were metaphorical or literal varied between adherents, but the philosophy left little room for doubt.

Moral laws were chained to be broken.

While most occult groups sought transcendence through meditations or symbolic rites, the nine A sought it through confrontation with darkness.

Theirs was not a path of redemption, but of transformation through sin.

That inversion, the belief that evil was a creative force, set them apart from almost every other occult tradition.

By the early nineteen nineties, Mayat's writings, under various pseudonyms, had become the Order's scripture.

They circulated among far right extremists as well as occultists, forming a bridge between two worlds that had rarely intersected so explicitly.

Through nine A, esoteric Satanism became a gateway to violent ideology.

Whether David Mayatt remained the leader of OI or stepped away entirely has been a subject of debate for decades.

He later claimed to have renounced extremism and converted to Islam in the nineteen nineties, before later leaving that faith as well.

His shifting identities mirrored the very philosophy he created, constant transformation through role and belief.

Some analysts suspect his departure was of another insight role, an act of deception, intended to test his own disciples or infiltrate new movements.

What it's certain is that the writings attributed to him continued to shape the Order long after he vanished from its public face.

The nine A evolved into a decentralized network that blurred the boundaries between religion, philosophy, and terrorism.

It no longer needed its founder.

The ideology was self perpetuating.

From the rural corners of England, the Order had begun spreading quietly through Europe and North America.

Each generation of adherents took the philosophy further, stripping away the mythic veneer and focusing on its core message that the destruction of moral order was sacred work.

The seeds planted in the nineteen seventies were beginning to bloom, and what had once been the obsession of a small circle of occult intellectuals was mutating into something global.

The Order of Nine Angles was no longer just an esoteric curiosity.

It was becoming a conduit between spiritual nihilism and political extremism.

The world, as it turned out, was ready for it.

Part two, The Sinister Tradition.

By the late nineteen seventies and early nineteen eighties, the Order of Nine Angles had begun to define itself through a set of doctrines that blurred the lines between mysticism, philosophy, and ideology.

These writings, known collectively as the Sinister Tradition, outlined a spiritual system that promised transcendence through darkness.

To outsiders, it read like a hybrid of occult ritual and political extremism.

To its adherents, it was a path to becoming more than human.

The O Nine A's core framework was called the Sevenfold Way, a ladder of initiation that guided followers through increasingly demas stages of transformation.

It borrowed loosely from Western esotericism, but its language and intent were uniquely violent.

Each stage represented not moral growth, but the deliberate stripping away of empathy and attachment, culminating in what the Order described as the attainment of the acusal self, an existence beyond life, death, and human morality.

The nine A defined its philosophy around two opposing forces, the causal and the acausal.

The causal represented ordinary human existence, time, matter, and moral law.

The acausal was the realm of chaos, gods, and dark energies that transcended linear reality.

The purpose of the initiate was to bridge these worlds, to awaken the hidden potential of the acausal within themselves through acts of will and transgression.

In practical terms, this meant a life of deliberate confrontation with fear and taboo.

The order's writings argued that most people lived as slaves to comfort and convention.

To evolve beyond them, one had to experience and ultimately embrace what society condemned as evil.

That idea lay at the heart of what nine A called the Sinister Way.

The path was not metaphorical.

It required physical endurance, moral tests, and real world challenges designed to push initiates beyond their limits.

O nine A texts described exercises such as living alone in nature for months, undertaking physical trials, and committing acts of deception or danger.

These tasks were said to strip away weakness and prepare the initiate to perceive reality without the lens of conscience.

The word sinister was used deliberately for the nine A.

Darkness was not a symbol, but a sacred principle.

The universe, they taught, evolved through conflict.

Creation and destruction were not opposites, but parts of the same process.

To align with darkness was not to serve evil, but to embrace the full cycle of existence, even the parts that civilized society denied.

This philosophy gave the group a kind of intellectual shield.

By framing evil as necess they could justify anything.

It was not crime, it was transcendence.

The on nine A system of initiation was complex and intentionally obscure.

It drew inspiration from hermeticism, alchemy, and even martial training, but twisted those traditions into something uniquely ruthless.

The first stage neophyte began with basic study and meditation.

The initiate learned the symbolic language of the order, its ruins, rituals, and cosmology.

The focus was on understanding the duality of causal and a causal existence.

The second stage initiate introduced the first real trials, physical endurance was central.

The order's texts required long distance runs, mountain climbs, and periods of isolation in the wilderness.

These were not symbolic pilgrimages.

They were designed to test will power and obedience.

The third stage, external adept required mastery of ritual and personal control.

At this level, the initiate was expected to create their own magical ceremonies and demonstrate influence over others.

Many who reached this stage began recard, fruiting new members, or forming small nexions autonomous nine A cells that operated independently but followed the same doctrine.

It was at the fourth stage internal adept that the path took its darkest turn.

The initiate was expected to undertake an insight role, a period of living a completely new identity, often within a setting that exposed them to moral or physical risk.

The concept of the insight role was one of the most distinctive and dangerous elements of nine A practice.

It required members to immerse themselves in a life that tested their beliefs and ethics.

An initiate might live as a political extremist, a soldier, a criminal, or even as a member of a rival religion.

They were told to spend months or years living as this other person, abandoning their true identity.

The goal was to destroy internal boundaries between self and role, to dissolve the difference between belief and action.

The nine A claimed that this practice built empathy for all human experience, but in reality it often served as a form of indoctrination.

Many initiates chose violent or extremist roles because they aligned with the group's rejection of conventional morality.

By the nineteen eighties and nineteen nineties, some Insight roles included joining far right movements, infiltrating military organizations, or engaging in criminal enterprises.

This blending of occult practice with real world extremism was what set O nine A apart from other Satanic groups.

It did not simply fantasize about power.

It demanded the exercise of it.

Followers were told that to remain on the path, they had to act to impose their will upon the world, even if that meant breaking laws or causing harm.

The result was a philosophy that blurred the line between spiritual growth and moral decay.

The deeper one went, the more indistinguishable power became from violence.

Perhaps the most disturbing aspect of the On nine A's teachings was the concept of culling, the practice of human sacrifices, a test of the initiates detachment from moral restraint.

The on nine A's texts described culling as a necessary act of evolution.

The victim chosen, according to the Initiate's judgment, was seen as an obstacle to human progress, someone who represented weakness or corruption.

By killing them, the Initiate was said to assist the universe's natural cycle of destruction and renewal.

The writings were intentionally ambiguous.

Some described culling as symbolic, others made clear references to actual murder.

One manual stated the act of sacrifice, when correctly performed, aligns the causal with the acausal.

The one who kills becomes more than human.

Investigators and scholars have debated for decades whether members of nine A committed literal killings as part of initiation.

While direct proof remains rare, several cases of violent crime by self identified followers suggest that at least some took the doctrine literally.

The belief in culling was not just rhetoric.

It became a psychological permission slip for violence.

To outsiders, this was monstrous.

To the Nine A, it was sacred duty.

The order's rituals reflected its hybrid nature, part ceremony, magic, part psychological conditioning.

Ceremonies often took place at night outdoors and involved complex choreography.

Candles, sigils, and ancient languages were used to create an atmosphere of transcendence, But beyond the surface, the rituals were about control.

Initiates were encouraged to record their emotions during ceremonies, to analyze fear, excitement, and disgust as if studying themselves from outside.

Over time, this self observation eroded empathy.

When combined with the ideology of strength through cruelty, it produced individuals capable of profound detachment.

The Nine A also cultivated secrecy as a virtue.

Members were told to hide their affiliations, to lie if necessary, and to see deception as an art form.

To deceive is to reveal strength.

When text claimed, the ability to maintain multiple identities spiritual, social, and political became a sign of advancement.

This emphasis on secrecy and infiltration later allowed the Nine A to spread without detection.

Cells operated independently, often unaware of each other's existence.

Each group could develop its own interpretation of the teachings, leading to a spectrum of practices ranging from ritual meditation to outright violence.

The On nine A presented itself as an intellectual elite, a vanguard of human evolution.

Its literature was dense, filled with philosophical language and invented terminology terms like causal, a causal, numinous, and sinister dialectic gave the impression of academic rigor.

This esthetic of sophistication made the group attractive to readers who might have dismissed ordinary Satanism as childish.

At the same time, its imagery was overtly dark.

Its sigil, a nine pointed star inscribed within a circle, became its central symbol.

The order's texts referred to dark gods with names drawn from ancient myth or pure invention, deities representing chaos, violence, and transformation.

The mixture of scholarly tone and occult theatrics created a seductive illusion that one was not joining a cult, but participating in an aib ancient and forbidden science.

For young seekers drawn to power or transgression, the O nine A offered both intellectual stimulation and moral release.

By the nineteen eighties, the overlap between O nine A and far right extremism had become impossible to ignore.

The Order's doctrine of selective evolution mirrored the fascist idea of racial purification.

Its emphasis on hierarchy and the destruction of weakness aligned easily with authoritarian ideologies.

David Mayatt's involvement in both spheres ensured the two currents fed each other.

His essays on Honor, Strength, and Destiny were read both by occultists and neo Nazis.

Through the concept of the insight role, he had created a bridge between spiritual initiation and political radicalization.

This fusion was not accidental.

The On nine A saw itself as preparing a new kind of being, one who would transcend both morality and race, but the practical outcome was far more sinister, a movement that legitimized terrorism as a form of mystical expression.

The Inner Orders.

Within the nine A, there were said to be so several layers of initiation, each corresponding to deeper access to secret texts.

At the top were the Inner Orders, sometimes referred to as the Inner Circle or the traditional Nexians.

These were small, secretive groups that claimed to possess the original teachings of the Order.

The names and locations of these internections were never publicly known.

They communicated through coded letters, private gatherings, and later through encrypted digital channels.

The secrecy created an aura of mystery that amplified the Order's mythos.

By the early nineteen nineties, adherents claimed the existence of nextions across Europe, North America, and Australia.

Most were small, often no more than a handful of people, but each acted autonomously, spreading the ideology further.

One of the most effective tools the On nine A used to attract followers was its language.

Its writings framed violence and cruelty as sacred rather than shameful.

By redefining words like sin, sacrifice, and honor, it inverted moral categories.

Was no longer the opposite of good.

It was the catalyst that made evolution possible.

This linguistic inversion had a powerful psychological effect.

It allowed followers to rationalize acts they might otherwise reject.

The same mechanism that had been used by totalitarian movements throughout history was now being applied in a spiritual context.

Over time, this worldview became self reinforcing.

To question, it was to reveal weakness.

To obey, it was to prove strength.

And so even among small groups, the ideology hardened into dogma.

In interviews and later writings, defectors from the nine A described a progression that began with curiosity and ended in moral paralysis.

The system's early stages appeared intellectual, studying mythology, discussing philosophy, performing symbolic rituals.

Only later did it reveal its true demand, the annihilation of conscience.

By redefining morality as illusion, the nine A removed the last barrier between belief and action.

Followers who once sought meaning found themselves in a closed loop of justification, where cruelty became a form of devotion.

This was the essence of the Sinister Tradition, a spiritual journey that promised enlightenment through darkness but delivered only submission to nihilism.

By the end of the nineteen eighties, the groundwork was complete.

The sevenfold Way, the Insight rolls, and the doctrine of culling had all been codified into the Nine A's texts.

The Order was no longer a small British curiosity, but a template for decentralized extremism.

When the Internet arrived in the nineteen nineties and early two thousands, its teachings would find new life online, spreading through forums and dark web archives.

What had once required secret mailings and face to face initiation could now travel instantly to anyone willing to read.

The sinister tradition had outgrown its origins.

It was no longer just a system of occult initiation.

It was becoming a blueprint for ideological contagion, and as the digital age unfolded, the Nine A would discover that anonymity, the very principle that had sustained its secrecy, could now fuel its expansion Part three, from underground to Internet.

In the early years of the Order of Nine Angles, communication was slow, deliberate, and secretive.

Initiates sent letters written in code, copied essays by hand, and shared pamphlets through small occult bookshops.

The Order's presence was diffuse, a whisper passed among British mystics, fringe Satanists, and disillusioned intellectuals.

But the turn of the millennium would change everything.

The Nine as scattered writings once confined to photocopied zines and local gatherings, would find a new and terrifying scale through the rise of the Internet.

It was a transformation.

The order was uniquely suited to exploit its decentralized structure, cryptic language, and fascination with anonymity fit perfectly within the emerging digital world.

The O Ninea didn't simply adapt to the Internet, it anticipated it, and what began as a provincial British current would soon become a global network of hidden cells, digital disciples, and radical extremists.

Before the Web, there was the underground.

Throughout the nineteen eighties and nineteen nineties, the Nine A circulated its materials through small run zines, the lifeblood of subcultures at the time.

These publications were often printed on cheap paper, bound by staples, and distributed through mail order.

Within the broader occult scene, titles like Knox, Chaos International, and Dragon's Brew shared space with writings from the Nine A.

Often under pseudonyms.

These essays bore strange archaic titles Naos Hostia, the Black Book of Satan.

They mixed poetry with pseudoacademic treatises and moral inversion with ritual instructions.

Readers who encountered them often didn't realize what they were looking at.

The nine A was careful never to identify itself too clearly.

Its texts would appear anonymously, sometimes in sections.

Sometimes this guised as historical analysis.

This ambiguity was intentional.

The order's philosophy of deception, known as the Sinister dialectic, encouraged the dissemination of ideas without ownership.

If a text inspired transformation, it had served its purpose.

The author was irrelevant.

That anonymity allowed nine A doctrines to circulate freely, unhindered by structure or accountability.

In Britain's small occult underground, the on nine A's reputation grew quietly.

Its tone was darker than the chaos magicians and more disciplined than the theatrical Satanists.

To some it seemed like the intellectual successor to Crowley, stripped of flamboyance and focused entirely on power.

But to others it felt different.

There was something cold about it, something that crossed the line between spiritual experimentation and incitement.

By the nineteen nineties, photocopies of nine A texts were being mailed internationally, reaching Europe, North America, and Australia.

In the United States, the writings found readers among both occultists and fringe political radicals.

The boundary between those worlds was beginning to erode when the Internet began to emerge as a mass medium in the mid nineteen nineties.

Most occult groups saw it as a novelty, a way to advertise books or announce events.

The Nine A saw something else, a medium for initiation itself.

Their doctrine had always emphasized isolation and individual experience, which translated easily into the solitary nature of online life.

The order had no need for temples or public gatherings.

All it required was communication, and the Internet offered that in abundance.

The first Nine A related websites appeared in the late nineteen nineties.

They were rudimentary, often hosted on free platforms, filled with text heavy pages and cryptic graphics.

Visitors would find essays on ancient paganism, satanic meditation, and philosophy, but embedded within them were links to darker material writings that discussed culling, infiltration, and honor through violence.

Because of the group fragmented nature, no single site represented the order.

Dozens of individuals around the world began uploading and reinterpreting On nine A texts.

Some claimed lineage from the original British Necchians, others created new branches entirely.

Each one cited the same core writings, but each added their own emphasis, political, mystical, or militant.

The result was a digital labyrinth.

There was no central authority, no membership process, no way to distinguish authenticity from imitation.

Anyone could declare themselves part of the on Ninea simply by adopting its language and symbolism.

For an ideology built on the worship of chaos.

It was the perfect evolution the On nine A's founder, David Meyat, had by this time retreated from public occult activity, but his influence persisted through pseudonymous works.

Texts attributed to Anton, long widely believed to be Maat, became the backbone of the order's online presence.

They were uploaded, translated, and mirrored across forums and per personal websites.

The writings read like a mixture of mystical revelation and militant manifesto.

They encouraged readers to undertake insight roles in the military or political movements.

They glorified violence as a path to spiritual awakening, and they emphasized the need for small, independent nexians, autonomous groups that could act without oversight.

This model prefigured the logic of online radicalization.

Instead of centralized recruitment, ON nine A spread through self initiation.

Anyone could read, interpret and act.

The Order didn't need to find followers, it only needed to publish.

By the early two thousands, ON nine A texts had appeared on occult mailing lists, anarchist boards, and extremist forums.

In these spaces, the philosophical language of a causal existence mixed with discussions about weaponry and political upheaval.

The ON nine A had become a kind of open source extremism, adaptable to whatever form its readers desired.

As online communication expanded, so did the order's reach.

Decentralized groups as digital nexians began forming in Europe, North America, and Latin America.

Some focused on ritual work, others merged the ideology with paramilitary training or political activism.

The Internet allowed these nections to communicate instantly across continents, trading manifestos, ritual instructions, and encrypted contact information.

The anonymity of early web culture made it nearly impossible for authorities to monitor.

A single nection might exist only as a few usernames and an email address, its members scattered across time zones.

In this new environment, the on Ninea's doctrine evolved.

The physical rituals of the past, wilderness isolation, ceremonial culling, and pagan rites were increasingly replaced with symbolic acts of rebellion or digital operations.

A hacker disrupting an institution could claim to be performing an insight role.

A terrorist act could be interpreted as a ritual of culling.

The language of mysticism provided cover for real world violence, and because the on Nina had no central leadership, it could always deny responsibility.

By the late two thousands, a new current of online extremism was taking shape.

Accelerationism, the belief that social collapse should be hastened through violence and chaos.

The idea emerged from both far left and far right corners of the Internet, but found a unique resonance with the nine a's worldview.

In accelerationist circles, destruction was seen as creative, a necessary step toward a purified or reborn world.

The O nine A had been teaching that same principle for decades.

Its texts declared that civilization was decadent and must be destroyed for evolution to continue.

The overlap was inevitable through encrypted forums and later dark web communities.

Nine A writings began circulating alongside accelerationist manifestos.

Groups like Adam Woffindivision, which already mixed neo Nazi ideology with apocalyptic imagery, adopted O nine A language and symbolism.

The orders phrase's sinister dialectic insight role aonic change began appearing in extremist propaganda.

This merger of satanic mysticism and terrorism created a new kind of cult, one that existed entirely online.

Decentralized and self replicating.

Members of Adam Waffen and similar groups exchanged OH nine A texts as spiritual justification for violence.

Some of them even conducted rituals based on nine A templates before committing crimes.

What had begun as philosophical abstraction was now being used to sanctify murder.

By the twenty tens, the Internet was saturated with O nine A content.

Its writings appeared on blogs, PDFs, and video essays.

Some of it was academic attempts to analyze or debunk the ideology, but much of it came from adherents republishing the same texts under different names, creating a hall of mirrors where it was impossible to tell the source from the echo.

The nine A exploited this confusion.

Its followers would pose as critics, posting denunciations that contained links to the group's material.

They would start debates on occult forums, pretending to be outside and then insert on nine A ideas as counter arguments.

This technique, what they called sinister infiltration, was an extension of their doctrine of deception.

The goal was not conversion but contagion.

The more attention the group received, the more legitimate it appeared to those drawn to forbidden knowledge.

Even negative publicity helped to the nine A mindset.

Being condemned by society was proof of success.

Governments and counter terrorism agencies began to notice the On nine A's influence in the twenty tens.

Reports from the UK's Home Office, the US Department of Homeland Security, and European intelligence agencies described it as a convergent threat.

Part occult network part extremist incubator.

Investigations linked on nine A adherence to violent crimes, hate groups, and terror plots.

In several cases, individuals charged with murder or attempted terrorism were found to have downloaded or shared nine A texts.

The order itself, however, remained intangible.

There was no membership roster, no leader to arrest, no headquarters to raid.

It existed as an idea, a digital ghost that inspired real violence.

The Internet had allowed the O nine A to achieve what most cults could only imagine, immortality.

Through replication, the digital age reshaped not only how the O nine A spread, but what it became.

The Internet rewarded spectacle and extremity.

Users searching for transgressive material stumbled upon nine A writings out of curiosity.

Once they engaged, they found a community that validated alienation and anger.

Unlike traditional cults that relied on isolation from the world, O nine A thrived within it.

Its followers could live ordinary lives, working, studying, lest raising families while secretly engaging with the ideology online.

The dual existence fit perfectly with the concept of the insight role.

The screen became both altar and mask forums, image boards, and private chat servers acted as nexions of the new era.

They hosted debates about metaphysics one moment and discussions of violence the next.

Each participant could choose how deep to go.

Some stopped at the philosophical stage, others moved further, treating the digital space as a training ground for real world acts.

The anonymity of the Internet blurred the line between fantasy and intent.

For investigators, it became almost impossible to separate rhetoric from planning.

For adherents, that ambiguity was part of the ritual.

By the mid twenty tens, On nine A had taken on a life independent of its creators.

Its imagery began circulating in meme culture, a mixture of irony and sincerity that disguised its true purpose.

The sigil of the nine Angles appeared in online art, game moding communities, and even fashion subcultures.

Younger users who encountered it often had no idea what it meant to them.

It was just another symbol of darkness or rebellion.

But for a small number of readers, curiosity led to research, and research led to recruitment.

This blending of occultism with digital irony made the nine A resilient.

When platforms banned it, it reappeared elsewhere under new names.

When journalists exposed it, sympathizers reframed it as misunderstood philosophy.

It was not a hierarchy, but a network of mutations, each node feeding off controversy and attention.

In this sense, the nine A anticipated the structure of modern online radicalization.

It was never about convincing the masses.

It was about planting seeds and those already predisposed to nihilism and rage.

In recent years, the O nine A has continued to operate online despite growing scrutiny.

Some of its digital nexians claim to have renounced violence, focusing instead on philosophy or self development.

Others remain openly militant, fusing occult ritual with extremist politics.

The distinction is often cosmetic.

The underlying belief that human morality is an illusion and chaos is divine remains unchanged.

What makes the nine A uniquely dangerous is its adaptability.

It can appear as a satanic order, a philosophical school, a nationalist movement, or an art collective.

Depending on who is speaking, It wears whatever mask the age demands.

As social media algorithms amplify outrage and fascination with the forbidden.

The nine A finds a steady supply of new eyes.

The group's digital presence is no longer confined to dark corners of the web.

Its fragments drift through mainstream platforms, quotes, symbols and phrases stripped of context.

The infection spreads invisibly.

By the dawn of the twenty twenties, the Order of Nine Angles had transcended geography.

It no longer belonged to Britain or even to the occult underground.

It had become a global phenomenon of ideology without borders.

Its followers exist in every time zone, connected not by ritual spaces, but by data.

They trade encrypted messages, upload new interpretations, and archive old texts to keep them alive.

Each node sustains the others, ensuring the order can never truly die.

For law enforcement and scholars alike, the challenge is clear.

The on nine A is not a cult in the traditional sense.

It is an algorithm of belief, self replicating, decentralized, and designed to survive any attempt to erase it.

What began as photocopied zines in the English Countryside has become an idea that travels through fiber optics and encrypted networks.

The sinister path now runs through servers and screens.

The rituals of initiation have become clicks and downloads, and behind every file, every forum post, every cryptic essay, the same message endures.

Evolve through darkness, destroy what is weak, transcend through chaos.

The world had given the nine A exactly what it needed invisibility through ubiquity Part four, Blood and ideology.

By the early twenty tens, the Order of Nine Angles had evolved from an obscure britis occult philosophy into something far more dangerous.

Its writings had drifted into the hands of extremists who saw in them not only a spiritual doctrine but a justification for violence.

The nine A's fusion of satanic mysticism and militant elitism made it a natural bridge between occult subcultures and extremist politics.

What began as esoteric experimentation had become, in the eyes of law enforcement, a potential incubator for terrorism.

At the center of this convergence were two groups that would bring nine A ideology to public attention.

The Temple of Blood and atom Woffen Division both emerged from the underbelly of Internet radicalism.

Adopting nine A symbolism, rituals, and doctrines of transgression.

They would help turn an obscure occult movement into a source of real world violence.

The Temple of Blood first appeared in the mid two thousands as an American offshoot of the nine A.

Based primarily in the southern United States, it was founded by a small group of adherents who claimed to be following the true Sinister path.

Their writings mirrored the tone of classic O nine A texts, but took the ideas further, merging satanic ritual with open glorification of political violence.

The Temple of Blood's literature was extreme, even by nine A standards.

It portrayed murder as an art form, revolution as a sacrament, and terrorism as a gateway to transcendence.

The group's leaders described themselves as warriors in a cosmic struggle between order and chaos.

Their purpose, they claimed, was to destroy the illusion of peace and usher in a new aon through bloodshed.

One of the group's key texts, Libre three thirty three, circulated online under pseudonyms.

It combined satanic philosophy with praise for totalitarian leaders and terrorist figures.

The book's language was cryptic, alternating between occult imagery and explicit calls for violence.

In its pages, the Temple described the act of killing as a rite of purification that aligned the practitioner with the acausal, the realm beyond morality that nine A teachings revered.

Although the Temple of Blood was small, its impacts spread through its writing.

Its members infiltrated other extremist circles, presenting themselves as philosophers rather than militants.

They debated theology and strategy in online forums, gradually normalizing the idea idea that Satanism and extremism could coexist.

By the time law enforcement began tracking them, the group had already planted its ideas deep within the digital underground, where the Temple of Blood offered theology.

Adam Woffin Division provided action.

Founded in twenty thirteen by young American neo Nazis, adam Waffen meaning Atomic Weapon in German, was a small but intensely violent organization.

Its members idolized Adolf Hitler, studied guerrilla warfare, and called for the collapse of modern civilization.

What made them unique among extremist groups was their adoption of O nine A ideology.

In Adam Woffin's culture, O nine A writings became sacred texts.

Members shared the Black Book of Satan and Hostia in encrypted chats, using them as both moral justification and initiation material.

Nine a's concept of culling human sacrifice as a test of will was reinterpreted as a license to kill.

Its doctrine of insight roles became a framework for infiltration, with members joining the military, law enforcement, or political movements under false pretenses.

Photographs and videos later seized by investigators showed nine A symbols, the nine angled star the sigil of the Dark Gods, displayed alongside Adam Woffin's swastikas and skull masks.

The merger was visual as well as ideological.

By twenty seventeen, several murders across the United States were linked to individuals associated with Adam Woffin Division.

In each case, investigators found evidence of a cult influence, books, symbols, or digital correspondence referencing nine A or the Temple of Blood.

One of the earliest cases involved Devon Arthur's A former Adam Woffen member who killed two of his roommates in Florida.

Arthur's told police he had converted to Islam and claimed his victims mocked his beliefs.

Inside the apartment, investigators found OH nine A materials and propaganda.

Another roommate, Brandon Russell, who founded Adam Woffen, was later arrested for possessing explosives and bomb making materials.

Russell's writings revealed admiration for nine A texts that celebrated violence as spiritual evolution.

What made the nine A's influence so insidious was that it provided a philosophy of violence rather than direct orders.

Its teachings did not instruct followers to commit crimes in the name of a cause.

Instead, they invited individuals to view murder as a step on the path of transcendence.

This vagueness shielded the order from direct blame while allowing extremists to interpret its doctrine as divine permission.

For Atomwaffen members, this metaphysical framing elevated their crimes above mere politics.

Killing became ritual, violence became purification.

The blending of occult and fascist world views gave them an intoxicating sense of purpose, the belief that every act of destruction served a cosmic plan.

Some nine A adherents even referred to terrorism as aonic work, a phrase meaning an act that advances the evolution of humanity through chaos.

In their view, the fall of civilizations, the spread of fear, and the sacrific of the week were all part of the universe's natural progression.

This was the point where nine A stopped being a curiosity of fringe occultism and became something far more dangerous, a theology for nihilistic violence.

Between twenty fifteen and twenty twenty, a series of violent incidents brought the nine a's shadow network into public focus.

Several Adam Waffen members and sympathizers were arrested for murder, bomb threats, and plotting terrorist attacks.

In twenty seventeen, Andrew Annishuk and Jeremy Himmelman were murdered by their fellow Adam woffinm A member Devin Arthur's in Tampa, Florida.

Police discovered propaganda linking the group to neo Nazi and Satanic ideologies, including texts from the nine A corpus.

In twenty eighteen, Samuel Woodward, another Adam Waffen associate, was charged with the murder of a gay student, Blaize Bernstein in California.

Prosecutors that the crime was motivated by hate and ideology.

Investigators found that Woodward had participated in own influenced online discussions and maintained contact with known members of the Temple of Blood.

In twenty nineteen, authorities in Canada arrested a soldier linked to the Base, another far right organization that shared ties with Adam Woffen.

Documents seized from his home included nine A literature.

The overlap between these groups had become undeniable.

What connected them was not centralized coordination, but shared philosophy, the belief that chaos, death, and destruction were sacred.

Nine A had become the metaphysical scaffolding for a new generation of extremists who saw their actions as part of a spiritual war.

Meanwhile, the Temple of Blood continued to spread its influence, quietly, operating under multiple aliases.

It infiltrated both online occult communities and extremist political networks.

Members produced books, music, and digital art designed to attract younger audiences.

Some of this material appeared in underground black metal circles, where satanic esthetics and radical politics often overlapped.

Through these channels, nine A ideology reached a wider audience.

Under the guise of rebellion and artistry.

The temple's members encouraged listeners to see violence as a form of self expression, a shocking but effective method of recruitment.

Researchers who later studied these networks found the same pattern again and again.

Individuals who began by exploring occult ideas gradually drifting toward political extremism.

Their curiosity hardened into hatred.

The path from ritual to radicalization was subtle but deliberate.

By the late twenty tens, law enforcement agencies in the United States and Europe had begun to recognize the nine A as a serious threat.

Reports by the UK's Home Office, the US Department of Homeland Security, and Europol all mentioned the group's role in promoting extremist ideology.

The challenge was classification.

The O nine A was not a political organization, a religious group, or a terrorist cell in any conventional sense.

It was a philosophy, one that encouraged violence without commanding it.

Its decentralized structure made it almost impossible to dismantle.

Counter Terrorism experts began referring to it as a network of networks where small groups or individuals operated independently, united only by doctrine.

Because many adherents considered themselves post organizational, they saw no contradiction in pledging allegiance to multiple movements satanic, fascist, or apocalyptic, all at once.

In twenty twenty, the British government's Extremism Commission identified nine A as a gateway ideology for violent extremists.

Several arrests of soldiers and police officers in the UK revealed possession of nine A texts, including manuals describing ritual sacrifice and infiltration tactics.

The order's strategy of encouraging members to join the military, a modern interpretation of the insight role, was now seen as a direct national security concern.

In the United States, at least three servicemen were investigated for alleged ties to nine A or affiliated groups.

The danger of nine A lay not in its size, but in its elasticity.

It could appeal to intellectuals fascinated by philosophy, to occultists chasing hidden truths, and to extremists looking for spiritual justification for violence.

Its texts could be interpreted as literature, metaphor, or literal command, depending on the reader's disposition.

For some, the on nine as rhetoric of transcendence through evil, became an excuse for nihilism.

For others, it became an order to act.

In online spaces, followers shared writings that blurred the line between mysticism and warfare.

One widely circulated essay declared the knife and the ritual are one.

The killer who acts with intent becomes a god.

This language had a profound effect on isolated individuals seeking purpose.

Where other ideologies offered belonging, the O nine A offered transformation, the promise of becoming more than human through the ultimate act of rebellion.

As a result, the on Ninea's influence extended beyond organized groups like Adam Waffen or The Temple of Blood.

It began to appear in the manifestos of lone attackers, who referenced its idea is about chaos, purification, and the destruction of modern society.

Despite arrests, bans, and exposure, the nine A and its offshoots persisted.

When websites were taken down, new ones appeared under different names.

When leaders were imprisoned, others emerged anonymously.

The movements amorphous nature made it resilient.

By twenty twenty one, the UK prescribed Adam Woffindivision as a terrorist organization, citing its links to nine A and its endorsement of violence.

The move was symbolic but important.

It marked the first time a government formally acknowledged the Nine A's influence in terrorism.

Other countries followed suit.

Canada, Australia, and several European nations began monitoring nine A related content online, yet enforcement remained difficult.

The group's literature was not illegal in itself, and many adherents framed their activities as spiritual rather than political.

At the heart of the nine A's enduring appeal is its transformation of violence into meaning.

It gives those drawn to destruction a sacred square script to follow, one that absolves guilt and elevates cruelty into transcendence.

The fusion of occult symbolism with fascist aesthetics creates a seductive mythology, the lone warrior, the ritual killer, the initiate who evolves through blood.

For law enforcement, this presents a unique challenge.

Traditional counter terrorism focuses on organizations with hierarchies, funding, and logistics.

The nine A, by contrast, thrives in isolation and chaos.

Its greatest weapon is the individual who acts alone, guided by an ideology that sanctifies their crime.

This is what makes the nine A one of the most dangerous cults of the digital age.

It does not need recruitment, drives, sermons, or meetings.

Its sermons are already online.

Its altar is the screen.

Its congregation is invisible.

As governments, researchers, and journalists continue to track the nine A, the picture that emerges is not of a single movement, but of a pattern, the same set of ideas resurfacing wherever nihilism and mysticism intersect.

Survival has less to do with its leadership than with its adaptability.

It is both ancient and modern, esoteric and political, spiritual and violent.

Its existence is a reminder that the boundaries between belief and action can be porous.

When ideology promises transcendence through evil, words alone can kill.

For decades, the O nine A taught that chaos is sacred, that the destruction of the week is divine, and that enlightenment can be found in cruelty.

Those teachings have now moved beyond ritual and into the streets, leaving real victims in their wake.

The order's founders could never have imagined that their Sinister Path would one day be cited in terrorism reports, but e merging mysticism with hate, they created a doctrine that feeds on blood, both literal and symbolic, and it continues to evolve in the shadows of the modern world.

Part five, The Digital Abyss.

In earlier decades, cults required isolation.

Leaders separated followers from their families, dictated routines, and created closed environments where belief could be maintained.

The O nine A requires no such structure.

Its followers isolate themselves mentally, not physically.

They build their own cells of devotion within the digital world, where contact is constant but intimacy is absent.

Forums, encrypted chat groups, and private archives serve as nexians, digital meeting points that replace the old covens and lodges.

Through them, initiates can access entire libraries of doctrine within minutes.

The seven stages of the Sinister Path, once transmitted through correspondence and secret meetings, are now available to anyone with curiosity and an Internet connection.

This openness gives the illusion of freedom.

In truth, it functions as recruitment by exposure.

A reader searching for occult philosophy may stumble across an O nine A text.

A young extremist may discover a ritual manual promising transcendence through blood.

In both cases, the same process begins fascination, study, and gradual absorption into a worldview that dissolves moral boundaries.

It is not a community in the traditional sense.

Members rarely meet, and many never speak to one another directly.

What binds them is belief not in a god, but in a process of self deification through transgression.

The digital age has made that process easier than ever.

Every attempt to erase on nine A's online presence has only made it stronger.

When websites are removed, backups appear within hours on new servers.

When social media bans accounts, fragments of the ideology surface under new names on image boards and encrypted platforms.

Archived files circulate like relics.

Scan pages of Hostia, naos and the Black Book of Satan's preserved by anonymous users who see themselves as guardians of forbidden knowledge.

The on nine A's teachings survive because they have no single point of failure.

There is no central archive to delete, no hierarchy to dismantle.

Its texts are copied, modified, and reinterpreted endlessly, creating a self replicating ideology that mutates with each retelling.

Even those who claim to reject the group often perpetuate its ideas by discussing it.

The O nine A thrives on attention, whether sympathetic or critical.

Every investigation, documentary or warning post becomes another form of advertisement, another whisper of its name in the algorithmic void.

The persistence of the on Ninea offers a warning about belief in the digital age.

When ideology is divorced from accountability and wrapped in mysticism, it becomes almost impossible to confront directly.

The ON nine A's success lies not in its theology, but in its method, the fusion of religion, philosophy, and internet culture into a self replicating system of radicalization.

Its adherents believe they are evolving.

In reality, they are repeating the same ancient pattern, the search for meaning through domination, transcendence through destruction.

The O nine A's promise of becoming more than human leads only to a deeper form of servitude, enslavement of violence as a form of identity.

The moral in version it celebrates does not liberate, It corrodes.

It leaves behind people who have mistaken emptiness for enlightenment and cruelty for freedom.

And yet its endurance tells us something about the world that created it.

The nine A thrives in a landscape of disconnection, where people seek power in symbols.

It feeds on the loneliness and outrage that define much of online life today.

The Order of Nine Angles remains an enigma.

To some, it is a ghost of the twentieth century's fascination with the occult.

To others, it is a continuing threat that hides behind layers of encryption and irony.

Both are true.

The on nine A exists where the spiritual and the digital intersect, where words can kill and belief becomes weapon.

The Order's story is not one of redemption, but of persistence.

It has outlasted its founders, adapted to every platform, and absorbed every attempt to destroy it.

It endures because it reflects a truth about modern extremism that evil no longer needs a leader.

To spread, it only needs connection.

The on nine A stands as a monument to that realization, a reminder that in the age of the Internet, darkness travels faster than light.

In the next episode of Hidden Cults, we turn from digital shadows to a movement built in the sunlight, one that began with a promise of empowerment and ended in scandal and ruin.

The Blackhammer organization founded in the twenty tens in the United States.

It claimed to build self sufficient, separatist commune free from oppression.

What followed was a descent into control, abuse, and tragedy.

That's next time.