โ ๐'๐ฅ๐ฅ ๐ซ๐จ๐ญ ๐๐ฏ๐๐ซ๐ฒ ๐ฌ๐๐๐ ๐ญ๐ก๐๐ญ ๐ฒ๐จ๐ฎ ๐ ๐ซ๐๐ฐ. โ
Oh, how they love their torches and pitchforks. And John is nothing if not consistent in his mob mentalityโalways a leader, but only where that leadership means little more than destruction. The wind has always carried the smoke of kings who built their thrones on the bones of those who had no choice but to live for them. Those kings burned just the same.
Just one more for the pile, boys.
Shame, though. They could have been such GOOD FRIENDS; if only John had aligned himself with proper ministry, rather than the pain and mayhem of a false god. The thought inspires upon the lips of the Adversary the slightest hint of a saddened smile. This man could have been so much. He could have taken on the world, and for a moment, he almost did. Now, he stands dogmatic for a cause not even his own. A pity, really.
โ Oh, Iโm sure, โ Its voice floats, weighted against the ravenous pull of the threatโs gravity. He could so easily be asked, And your brothers, John? What of the people who follow them unquestioningly? And those in the footsteps of the Baptist himself? But it would not matter. There is only one thing about which John has always cared: โ โ Youโve already worked wonders with yourself. โ
