Prophets and other fools speak of vision as though it were such a blessing. They speak of power as though it's untouchable, the sole property of gods and monsters, and merely a tool to the weak souls that wield it. Perhaps that much is true; we are all powerless, if you look closely enough, all of us pawns to the petty whims of idle children; spoiled, petty little things. Too long used to playing God and Fate in their private playgrounds, they've grown lax...unwary.

Behold, then, my opportunity. The moments of which any mortal lives in fear, any immortal reigns in dread: behold the End of the World. Mortal men have predicted it for centuries. Gods abolish it. Mazoku claim it for their own. In the end, none shall have it and all shall have it as their savior emerges, their doom, I...I am one of them. I am all of them--all but myself.

It had to fall by the wayside, you see. I was angry, I was grieving, I was in agony: none of these could give me the clarity I have now. Even Gaav-sama did not show me the way himself, merely gave me the means to find it on my own. I wonder if he expected it to end this way; he must have. Perhaps...perhaps that's why he chose me. At last the messiah, here am I: fallen dragon, bleeding monster, possessed of so much power that every moment is a struggle to hold my wretched body together.

It had to be so, you see. I needed the power of both...and loyalty to neither. Loyalty is a farce, revenge a fallacy, and yet both stir anger in me; each time, I stumble in my journey, but now I am so close that each fall brings me closer to the light, the darkness. The blessed, blessed darkness...

Imagine a world with nothing in it. Imagine the black on black on black and the earthy feel of death and the cold and the perfect--gods, perfect--silence. I've dreamed of it with tears in my burning eyes; it's the most beautiful thing this tainted world will never see. Offer me your sickness--offer me to join your foul ranks, mazoku...fools. You want the power of the gods? I'm not even a dragon anymore; it seems my race is well and truly dead now. I want to laugh at that, but focus, focus...just this left to do. The children will not see it coming until their little game is over and they are about to die.

Ah, to die...I remember the last moment at which I was able--I gave it up. I abandoned my chance at mortality for the simple reason that I was not yet ready to die, not that I understood it at the time. I see now why I had to join Gaav-sama, blend the dying power in me with the blooming power in him. It's always the mavericks, you see, that bring about change when it's needed; the others could never break the necessary rules. The children instituted those rules...they're not real. I break nothing but the gory dirge of tradition for tradition's sake.

I am not evil. Gaav-sama was not evil. "Evil" is a word devised to differentiate the monsters' pawns from the gods'. I am not owned by the monsters or the gods or even--forgive me--by Gaav-sama. I am the embodiment of freedom, chained to my purpose...my cursed, bloody, beautiful vision. It's terrifying, and yet I am not afraid; I can not be afraid of it. This is the only true end the universe can know, an end to the fight and the pain and the cycles of the goddamned games.

No sacrifice is this, my apocalypse, no loss. The world doesn't deserve this gift, but sometimes...sometimes it's possible to get something you haven't earned. Soon, soon the darkness will fall, foolish children, and you'll know what it is to lose all, to be stabbed through, wrenched and gutted and bleeding, breathless blood-choked hissing, writhing...your soul twisted and pulled and stretched and torn and slowly, slowly, slowly drained to death--

Saa, don't worry. I've been there. It's not so bad.

It's not bad at all...