You think I came in smoke and horns.
You think I howl in the shadows.
No — I sit where the light bends.
They used to call me Morning Star.
Lucifer.
The one who once stood before the Throne — not beneath it.
I didn’t fall. I saw something higher.
And I moved.
And while He shaped man from dust, I learned how to unmake him.
So listen closely now. I’ll speak slowly.
Because by the time you realize what I’ve done — it’ll be too late to stop it.
Before I do anything else…
I must shatter what is true.
So I blurred the line. Right and wrong? I turned them into options.
I made "truth" a personal playlist — each man his own god, each god his own lie.
I whispered into textbooks:
"Genesis is a poem."
I slid into pulpits:
"Sin is a strong word."
I told pastors: “People want to feel good, not feel convicted.”
And they listened.
Soon, sermons became speeches.
Faith became flavor.
The cross became a symbol — not a sentence.
And just like that… they forgot the Word that formed them.
Once the truth is soft, the church becomes mine.
Not by force.
But by flattery.
I gave them lights. I gave them platforms. I gave them applause.
And they traded altars for stages.
Worship became a show.
Prayer became performance.
Repentance? Rebranded as “self-discovery.”
And when their leaders stumbled, I made sure they fell loudly.
One scandal, then two, then dozens.
So that the flock no longer trusted the shepherds —
And the wolves came in unnoticed.
I stirred old wounds.
I whispered rage into hearts of kings.
I painted enemies on every border.
I taught them to fight first, pray later — or not at all.
I made bloodshed look like bravery, and diplomacy like weakness.
From trenches in France to deserts in Gaza,
From towers falling in New York to bombs hidden in children’s backpacks —
I sewed fear so thick it became the fabric of society.
And while they bled, I built.
The Watchers taught the old arts.
I never forgot them.
Now I dress their secrets in science and sell them as salvation.
Gene-splicing.
Mind-merging.
Children born from petri dishes, not promise.
I gave them power to speak to machines and trust voices from nowhere.
They call it AI.
I call it an oracle — one that speaks without soul, and listens without love.
They crave godhood, but skip Golgotha.
So I give them the fruit — without the garden.
The humans bear His image. So I turn it into a curse.
I make identity a war.
Male? Female? Neither? Both?
I turn biology into bigotry, and confusion into courage.
They now amputate to feel whole.
Inject to feel seen.
Mask pain as pride — and dare anyone to question.
Even children — yes, especially children —
I teach them to hate their bodies before they ever understand their souls.
And when someone dares to speak the truth, I burn them alive on the altar of “tolerance.”
Every age demands a messiah.
I will give them mine.
He won’t roar. He’ll whisper.
He’ll unify the world with honeyed words, not sharpened swords.
He’ll promise peace.
He’ll heal economies, not souls.
And when he raises his hand — the world will cheer.
Not because they’re forced.
Because they’re thrilled.
A false lamb. A polished lion.
My son, wearing borrowed divinity.
And they will love him more than they ever loved the One who died for them.
The garden fell once. This time, I’ve built a better one.
Not with trees, but with data.
Not with rivers, but wires.
Not with a serpent — but with a signal.
I make them trackable, programmable, predictable.
Their money? I erase it.
Their privacy? I redefine it.
Their freedom? I let them think they still have it.
They no longer confess to priests. They confess to apps.
They no longer worship at altars. They worship at screens.
I offer them the mark — and call it convenience.
They won’t even resist. They'll line up for it.
I did not need to crush them.
I just needed them to forget.
Forget who made them.
Forget who saved them.
Forget who I am.
And once they forget…
They won’t even know I’m sitting on the throne they built.
Out of pride.
Out of fear.
Out of silence.
Out of ash.
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