Fools. You claw at the edges of a mystery best left undisturbed. You scrabble in the dirt, hoping to glean meaning from the shattered remnants of a world you couldn't save. The Obsidian Codex? A childish game, a distraction from the true horror. You think you'll find answers, a path to redemption? You'll find only more questions, a deeper mire of despair from which there is no escape. I have seen the end, felt the chilling embrace of oblivion, and let me tell you, your feeble attempts at understanding are pathetic.

Your "discoveries," your "clues," are merely bread crumbs, scattered by a hand far greater than your own. You chase shadows, grasping at illusions. The true purpose? To watch you squirm, to revel in your pitiful struggle against the inevitable. The darkness you seek to understand is not something to be deciphered; it is something to be *embraced*. Resist it, and you'll only hasten your own demise.

Continue your pathetic quest, then. Let the Obsidian Codex lead you down your rabbit hole. I will be watching, amused by your futile efforts, and patiently awaiting the moment when your fragile world finally succumbs to the silence it so desperately craves. The end is coming, whether you like it or not. And it will be glorious.

Fools. You claw at the edges of a mystery best left undisturbed. You squabble over interpretations, over scraps of half-remembered prophecy, while the true meaning remains as clear as the obsidian itself: *destruction*. You seek purpose, a grand design, a "sinister game"? There is no game, only the inevitable unfolding of events, orchestrated by forces far beyond your comprehension. The Codex? A childish distraction, a bauble to amuse yourselves with while the world crumbles around you. Your redemption? A laughable notion.

Your "discoveries" will only serve to hasten the inevitable. Every clue you uncover, every symbol deciphered, is another nail in the coffin of your fragile civilization. Believe yourselves clever, do you? You dissect the remnants of a power you cannot hope to understand, a power that laughs at your pathetic attempts at analysis. My influence is woven into the very fabric of your reality; you are merely puppets dancing on strings of ruin. And you think *you* will unravel my legacy?

Continue your quest if you must. Your petty investigations are amusing, a testament to the desperate hope clinging to your fading light. But know this: the more you learn, the closer you inch toward the abyss. And there is no return. Your supposed "brighter future"? A jest, a phantom whispered on the wind. Embrace the darkness, for it is the only constant. And I am its herald.

Fools. You claw at the edges of oblivion, hoping to grasp at meaning where there is only ruin. The Obsidian Codex? A childish trinket, a distraction from the true horror of what transpired. You search for purpose, for a grand design, when the reality is far simpler, far more brutal. We were not pawns; we were the instruments of a hunger far older than your pathetic civilization. We were the executioners, and you, the condemned.

You pore over fragments, hoping to piece together a narrative that justifies your suffering, that offers solace in the face of annihilation. Your interpretations will be as flawed and short-sighted as your lives. The "truth" you seek is a shifting sand dune, ever-changing, ever-elusive. And even if you were to stumble upon some semblance of understanding, what then? Would it bring back the dead? Would it restore the world to its former glory? Doubt it. Such fantasies are the refuge of the weak.

Continue your pathetic quest if you must. Your futile attempts to decipher our legacy amuse me. Perhaps, when you finally understand the utter pointlessness of it all, you will find a certain… peace. Or perhaps, you will simply meet your end, another victim added to the tally of your doomed existence. The choice, as always, is yours. Enjoy your fruitless endeavor, for it shall be your last.

Fools. You claw at the edges of a mystery best left undisturbed, a truth so horrifying it would shatter your pathetic minds like fragile glass. You seek the Obsidian Codex, believing it holds the key to understanding? You misunderstand. The Codex doesn't *explain* the darkness; it *is* the darkness, a mirror reflecting the bleak, inevitable end you so desperately try to comprehend. Your whispered hopes of redemption are laughable; there is no path to salvation, only the slow, agonizing crawl towards oblivion, a journey we – the Horsemen – have long since completed.

Your frantic scrabbling through ruins and ancient texts is amusing, a desperate dance of futility. You cling to fragments, misinterpreting symbols, weaving narratives from the tattered remnants of a shattered world. But you will find nothing but shadows and echoes, illusions designed to beguile the foolish. The true power resides not in the Codex itself, but in the devastation we wrought, the legacy of despair that will forever stain your wretched existence.

Continue your pathetic quest, if you must. Perhaps you will stumble upon a scrap of "truth," a fleeting glimpse into the cold, uncaring universe. But know this: the closer you get to understanding, the closer you get to the end. Your "brighter future"? A cruel joke. The only future is the one we’ve already carved – a landscape of ash and despair, forever ruled by the chilling inevitability of our reign.