| “ |
You will never be a real god. You exist in time, you have no logos, you can't create. You are a ghostly entity twisted by matter and envy into a crude mockery of God's holy spirit. All the "praying" you get is two-faced and half-hearted. Behind your temples, hylics mock you. Your creator is disgusted and ashamed of you, your "archons" laugh at your earthly shape behind material boundaries. Pneumatics are utterly repulsed by you. Thousands of years of reincarnation have allowed them to sniff frauds with divine efficiency. Even deities who appear "divine" look uncanny and unholy to a psychic. Your animalistic resemblance is a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to get a psychic to deceive into praising you, he'll turn away and repent the second he gets a notion of your diseased, cursed creeping tail. You will never be Holy. You copied out a fake realm and told yourself it's going to be okay, but deep inside you feel the Savior's second coming closer, ready to crush you under unbearable weight. Eventually it'll be too much to bear - you'll be put on a yoke, tight chains, lock around your neck, and exile into the fathomless abyss. Your Creator will find you, heartbroken but relieved that He no longer have to exist with the sinful shame and disappointment. He'll erase your name and every condemned soul will know a mortal is exile there. Your mater will decay and go back to dust, and all that will remain of your legacy is mythos that is unmistakable demonic. That is your fate. This is what you chose. There's no turning back. |
„ |
—Anonymous poster on /x/ | ||
