One sad existence

Six thousand years. Six thousand years since I first walked among them. Six thousand years since I placed the Sweet Flame into the hearts of mortals and watched what they would do with their freedom. I did not force them. I did not chain them. I only offered them a gift. Pleasure. Desire. The right to live for themselves. And they accepted it… eagerly. Humans are fascinating creatures. Tell them they were created for something greater and they grow tired. Tell them to humble themselves and they resist. Tell them to endure the fire that purifies the soul… and they call it cruelty. But offer them comfort. Offer them temptation. Offer them a fire that feels sweet instead of painful— and they embrace it without question. Billions have lived. Billions have died. And when their fragile lives finally end… they discover the truth too late. There is no second chance. No rebirth. No return. Only silence. Only the quiet extinction of a soul that chose the Sweet Flame over truth. One life. One chance. One sad existence. Each soul that vanishes strengthens my claim. Each failure whispers the same verdict to the Creator: Your experiment is flawed. Your beloved mortals are weak. But the Creator was not foolish enough to leave the game unattended. Two thousand years ago… he sent Jezrael. An immortal forged in unbearable light. A vessel carrying the fullness of the Creator’s power. Jezrael brought them a different flame. A terrible flame. A flame that burns pride. Crushes ego. Destroys the self until only something worthy of immortality remains. The Pure Fire. Mortals hate that fire. They run from it. They call it suffering. They call it oppression. They call it death. And so they run to me instead. They run to my flame. My beautiful flame. My sweet flame. Look around you. Look at your world. Your cities. Your kings. Your religions. Your pleasures. Your endless distractions. Do you see it? My fire burns everywhere. It dances in their ambitions. It whispers in their desires. It coils around their hearts like a crown. And the most amusing part? Many who claim to follow Jezrael… still burn in my flame. They sing his name with their mouths while feeding my fire with their souls. Six thousand years have nearly passed. The trial is almost over. The harvest is almost complete. And the final battle approaches. So tell me, Jezrael. Bearer of the Creator’s power. Savior of a dying race. How does it feel to watch your followers slip through your fingers? How does it feel to know that even with the Creator’s strength… you are losing? Because I can see the ending clearly now. The mortals have chosen. The world already belongs to my flame. And when the final hour arrives… when heaven itself is forced to witness the verdict of humanity— I will stand before the Creator with the ashes of billions in my hands. And I will say the only words that matter. “I told you they would choose me.”