What if I said that one's entire life had been decided by fate?
That every single one of your actions, from the minute to the monumental, stemmed not from your own choices, but had already been decided upon?
That life being a journey of limitless possibilities was but an illusion, and no matter how fiercely man struggled, he stood at the mercy of a long-established path?
The wealthy shall know their riches. The needy shall starve on the streets. The wicked shall be wicked, the righteous just.
The beautiful, the hideous, the strong, the frail, the fortunate, the miserable... And finally, the victors and the defeated.
What if I said that all such things had been carved into stone eons ago, allowing for no divergence?
If so, then sinners have nothing to answer for, nor do saints have any true virtue to their name.
What if I said that not a single action is carried out of one's own volition, but had been decided long ago?
That we are merely adrift in the current of time?
Tell me, would you feel content with such a world?
A world in which power is merely given, not earned—would you accept knees bent to a throne built upon such falsities?
A universe where the sinless have-nots are oppressed and downtrodden—would you allow such a world to exist?
Never, I say. Never.
Those in possession of such knowledge who can still laugh joyfully, oblivious of what it means to be truly alive, are but slaves, the lowest of the low, hardly deserving to be called human beings.
Nothing dampens the spirit like the stale wine of an unearned victory. Nothing is more unbearable than bitter defeat against the chains of destiny.
Should ceaselessly repeating this farce—this slander of the highest order—be the fate of mankind, then I will struggle against those chains with all my might.
I shall walk this road to its utmost conclusion, and, at the distant place I can call my finale, compose an opera that belongs only to me. And so, I require your aid, my dear ladies and gentlemen.
You, the oppressed, the downtrodden, the massacred—you who once were as brethren.
You who were born to be defeated, to be massacred till the end of time. Should you curse that fate of yours, come and stand at my side as comrades.
If a hundred battles yield no victory, fight thousand. If a thousand battles yield no victory, fight ten thousand.
Vow to struggle for an eternity, ceaselessly, till the light of victory finally shines upon you.
Any that has strength to do this shall be permitted to become a means to that end—a part of the "sorcery".
All in order to claim eternal victory.
The Mane of the Beast, each and every strand of it, shall be from your flesh and blood. You are blessed to be as such.
Although I, you, and he as well... Are still bound by that miserable cycle at this moment...
Let us believe that the decision we are about to make truly holds a meaning...
That one day, we can break free from this perpetually repeating cycle.
My dear ladies and gentlemen. Defeated souls of the present age. I await your answer:
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Will you rise to battle?