It is told... Five them descended from the hypercosmic Mt. Doom in search of one ancient relic: The Volcano. The only way to attain said relic, was to summon the arcane, ancient, oldest ones through damned amplifiers and primordial crystalline hash jewels.
Fueled by their astral sacrament, they joined initiated forces to overthrow the bloodless, withered sects of automated, mechanical poseurs. By means of the aquarian global hotbox, subversive hordes were awakened as to bring forth salvaged antiquities, further drawing the relic in grasp.
Upon bearing witness to the aforementioned activities, Caius Caligula road his effluvium fueled motorcycle through their scorched barren wasteland, sought by pineal compassing, and without speaking, delivered unto them post-draconian mystery realms to bring about the end of times and shitty music known and hated by all today. As the unholy bastard's tale goes, his blasphemous and horrid swamp rites drove them into eternal transdimensional madness and life abuse never ending.