A smile comes to my lips whenever I look at him, as though he’s the prettiest thing in the room; and who can say he isn’t? He certainly is pretty, though just as you expected but never just quite as you could ever imagine. One look at him and you’ll see something you like; eyes glinting like gems and just as pretty as them, but much more valuable. Skin pale like snow, a man of winter who carries with him such obscurity that could rival the darkest nights. Smile easy and lazy, but never lenient.
He’s something volatile, unpredictable. Try to catch him and he’ll be like water running through your fingers. And like water he is too, clear to see, but not so much as to understand.
The man is what he appears to be, no holding back bites or words, but many don’t understand what that means. To them, he is a menace. A monster out for blood, and blood alone. An insane man, a rabid dog who should be kept in a short leash and collar, or better even; chains.
I think that’s hypocritical to say. Isn’t the true monster the rabid dog who is constantly set free to bite at his enemies with his very void-black jaws? Isn’t the monster the one who claims to be good, while admitting to be similar to the same man whom he denounces as insane? Isn’t the monster the one who sits atop his mountain of gold, and looks down on everyone else, watches as they contend with each other and die? Isn’t the monster the one who sets himself high standards and still cannot save anyone? Isn’t the monster the dog who lets himself be collared and smiles as he breaks and bends his enemies? Isn’t the monster the one that lives deep below, and only comes at human whim; never cares for humanity itself, but only for that whim that drew it from its resting place?
And for what? What’s the reason behind all these atrocities? What’s the purpose of it all? There’s none, I tell you. Some supposed loyalty and short-sighted goals, just that. They don’t do anything to stop this insanity, this massacre, and still he’s called insane.
A rabid dog is far from what he truly is, and it’s a pity no one can see that. He’s the only one, in the middle of this war, who has a goal set. For the future, of course, not some short-sighted and selfish goal. His concern is not tied to what he wants for himself, but for the world. They mock him for wanting to be a god, but who else could take upon himself such burden if not a true God?
He’s not as static and accepting as a human Atlas. He doesn’t consume himself in search of eternity like an ouroboros. He is not that.
I see a merciful man, perfectly sane, willing to do whatever it takes to deliver a gift to the same humanity that despises him. I see a man who could truly be a God, who is worthy of taking upon himself the burden and the title. A man worthy of loyalty and respect.
And if he rages war now, and he’s vilified for it, then I ask: weren’t all crusades fought for a good cause? What makes his enemies holier than him, when there are so many monsters among them?
Do they believe he’s a monster for enjoying what he does? Can’t the same be said for everyone else? What makes him the absolute evil? And who can say evil isn’t necessary?
I look at him, and I see a man who took a burden unworthy of a human, for humanity. A man who pushed his limits further for his goals, who is much more than what those very same he wants to bless can understand. I see a man– no, no. That’s wrong. When I look at him I see someone who’s ready to ascend to godhood. Who’s ready to wipe the sin away from this world and who knows exactly how to do that. I see a redeemer, not in the way humanity expects, but in the way it deserves. A redeemer who will cleanse the earth by fire and steel.
I look at him, and I smile. Because I can finally see what true evil is, what true mercy means, and how it feels to have something so divine before you, that you can’t even begin to comprehend.
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