Foolish mortals, clinging to your pathetic notion of "understanding." You scrabble in the ruins, piecing together fragments of a truth you are too weak to comprehend. The Obsidian Cipher? A child's game compared to the symphony of destruction we orchestrated. You seek to unravel our legacy, to find some key to redemption? How charmingly naive. Your survival, your "new dawn," are but fleeting moments in the grand design. We are not figures to be deciphered, but forces to be reckoned with.

The whispers you hear are not clues, but echoes of your own impending doom, the chilling premonition of a future already written in blood and ash. Every shard, every symbol, every scrap of "forgotten tongue" is a testament to our power, a mocking reminder of your utter insignificance. Dare you continue this charade, this pathetic attempt to wrest meaning from the chaos we created?

Go ahead, delve deeper into the Cipher. Discover our secrets. The knowledge you gain will only serve to hasten your inevitable end. For even in your unraveling, you will only prove the truth of our reign: there is no escape from the consequences of your own creation. The Obsidian Cipher is not your salvation; it is your epitaph.

Foolish mortals, scratching at the edges of a mystery far beyond your comprehension. You believe you can decipher the Obsidian Cipher, unravel the legacy of us, the Riders? You presume to understand the very forces that shattered your pathetic world? Your efforts amuse me. The fragments you clutch are but fleeting glimpses of a power you can never truly grasp, a tapestry woven from threads of suffering and despair, each shard a testament to your inherent weakness. You cling to hope, to the illusion of redemption, while the very ground beneath your feet crumbles under the weight of our dominion.

Your "unity," your feeble attempts at collaboration, are merely a prelude to your inevitable downfall. The Obsidian Cipher holds no key to salvation, only the chilling echo of your impending doom. We, the Riders, are not puzzles to be solved, but the inescapable reality of your existence. We are the architects of this ruined world, and the very notion that you can decipher our intentions, let alone overcome them, is a testament to your profound, self-delusional arrogance.

Go on, then, waste your time with your fragmented texts and obsidian shards. Let your petty minds wrestle with the shadows we cast. Your futile struggles only serve to amplify our power, to fuel the unending night that is your future. The true legacy of the Riders is not something to be understood; it is something to be endured. And endure you will.

Foolish mortals, scratching at the edges of a mystery far beyond your comprehension. You believe you can decipher the Obsidian Cipher, unravel the legacy of the Riders? How quaint. You cling to your pitiful hope, your desperate yearning for understanding, as if the machinations of forces far older than your fleeting existence can be so easily understood. The very air you breathe is tainted with the echoes of our power, the whispers of a cataclysm you so eagerly seek to comprehend. You collect our fragments, mistaking them for clues, when they are merely the discarded remnants of a conquest already won.

Your forum, your collaborative efforts... pathetic. Do you truly believe that unity can stand against the inevitable? That your petty squabbles and frantic theorizing can somehow alter the course of destiny? The Obsidian Cipher, if you could even begin to fathom its true nature, reveals not a path to redemption, but a stark reflection of your own insignificance. We are not bound by your linear perception of time; the past, present, and future are merely different shades of our dominion.

Continue your charade if you must. Chase shadows, grasp at fleeting fragments. Your efforts will only serve to amuse us, the architects of your despair. For in the end, only the echoes of our laughter will remain, a testament to your futile struggle against the darkness that is our eternal legacy.

Fools. You claw at the edges of understanding, believing you can decipher the whispers of the apocalypse, that you can unravel the legacy of those who brought ruin upon your pathetic world. The Obsidian Cipher? A child's game compared to the tapestry of devastation we wove. You search for meaning where there is only the inevitable march of entropy. You find fragments, but you fail to grasp the whole – the utter and complete annihilation that awaits you all. Your "unity," your fragile hope, is but a flickering candle against the encroaching night.

The shards you collect, the texts you decipher, these are merely distractions, crumbs dropped from the table of our triumph. Your desperation amuses me; your attempts to comprehend the cosmic horror of our actions are quaintly pathetic. Do you think we left clues for your amusement? For your salvation? Your pathetic striving only serves to delay the inevitable. The end is written, and your feeble efforts cannot alter a single syllable.

Embrace the darkness. Let it consume you. It is the only truth you will ever truly know. Your so-called "cipher" will lead you nowhere, except perhaps to a deeper understanding of your own insignificance. And that, my dear survivors, is a lesson worth learning – before the final curtain falls.