Oh here lies the truth my doomed darlings, for gathered have we for the tale of once hailed endings. To shower the ruined lives of men in praise, may the dead meet their wretched solace. So we wish. But they prey, to stray from their leash. To the Deities. Catastrophic clash of sins, of dreams, between fools that have since lost. For my lot, none shall win, only bear the mighty cost. Sacrifice. Crown chooses who it has willed, fate drowns in blood of revolutions it has killed. Blasphemed have they, those that fight yet. Against the divine itself, a need to settle a debt. Alas, humanity birthed its light. Until it flickered, history had never been right. Martyrs died laughing, and deceit reigned in their coffin. Gather around ye, to watch the dance of death, the symphony of retribution, and the birth of an end.  For behold, the child who was never meant to stand. The dog kicked too many times, the beggar whose hands found nothing until the evening chimes. He walks where even the wretched dare not tread, where gods have turned their gaze, where men are swallowed whole and spat out in the shape of things set ablaze. There is no song sweet enough to sway him, no plea strong enough to stay his hand. He has lost, and lost, and lost again—until loss has become his only companion. So let us laugh! Let us revel! For at the end, no being shall find the truth, each to its own must fend! When the embers die and ashes remain, new kings shall rise, but none to rule. Jesters to mock! Let us dance in the tragedy for when nothing is sacred: Only fire Only wrath Only the ruin we built with our hands. All that Burns is Holy.