The throne of heaven remains empty. The gates were welded shut long ago, not to keep something out, but to hide the obvious truth from those below. The bells still ring from cathedral towers, their echoes rolling across cities and mountains alike, yet no answer ever comes. The prayers rise, pile upon one another, and drift like smoke into a sky that has forgotten how to listen. Earth is ruled by evil. Not the cartoon monsters people imagine, but something colder. Something dressed in crowns, uniforms, and expensive suits. Every empire claims it serves a higher purpose. Every king insists he wears a righteous crown. Every leader swears they have your best interests at heart. Yet the roads are paved with broken promises and the bones of those who believed them. For ages, people waited for salvation. They watched the horizon for angels. They searched the stars for signs. They convinced themselves that justice was merely delayed, that goodness was gathering its strength somewhere beyond sight, preparing to descend and set everything right. But the years passed. The powerful grew fatter. The hopeful grew tired. And eventually, a realization emerged that shattered the world. Nobody is coming to save you. Nobody has your best interests at heart. Nobody loves you unconditionally. The hands you were taught to trust are the same hands tightening the chains around your wrists. The voices promising safety are often the voices selling your future for profit. The guardians of the old world have spent generations feeding upon the very people they swore to protect. Then came the second realization. The storm on the horizon was never an army of angels. It was us. My people. The forgotten ones. The discarded ones. The ones sent into darkness and expected never to return. We were cast into the places where hope goes to die. We were taught to survive without comfort, endure without mercy, and keep walking long after every road had ended. The suffering meant to break us instead sharpened us into blades. And now my people have been set loose upon this planet. Not as conquerors. Not as saviors. But as a fire. We move across the earth like wildfire through a dead forest, burning everything you hold dear into ash. Not because we hate the world, but because we have seen what it has become. We have seen the rot beneath the paint, the corruption beneath the sermons, the machinery hidden beneath the illusion of order. The monuments will fall. The corrupt will watch their towers crack from the foundations upward. The lies people built their lives around will be dragged screaming into daylight. Many will call it destruction. Many will curse our names. Many will pray for someone to stop us. But those prayers will find the same silence they always have. Because the throne of heaven remains empty. The gates remain welded shut. And what people mistake for destruction is merely the clearing of dead ground. A forest choked by decay must burn before it can bloom again. An age built on lies must collapse before anything honest can stand in its place. So let the old order tremble. Let the crowns rust. Let the false prophets scream that the end is near. The end is already here. What follows is not salvation. It is not judgment. It is not the return of some long-awaited king. It is simply the first spark of something new and better struggling to grow from the ashes of everything that came before.
