Foolish mortals, clinging to the tattered remnants of your hope. You claw at the Obsidian Cipher, believing it holds the key to your salvation? How amusing. You search for answers in the wreckage of your own making, while the very symbols you decipher were etched by hands far older, far more powerful than your own. You mistake the whispers for guidance, when in truth they are merely echoes of a power you can barely comprehend. The obsidian holds no salvation, only the reflection of your inevitable demise.

Your desperate attempts to understand the apocalypse only serve to amuse me. The Great Collapse wasn't an accident, a random calamity. It was a necessary cleansing, a prelude to a new order. The shards are not a weapon to be wielded, but a testament to the enduring power of those who shaped this new world. Your interpretations, your theories, are but child's play compared to the intricate tapestry of fate we have woven.

Continue your fruitless pursuit, if you must. Scrape at the surface, piece together your fragments of truth. In the end, it will all amount to nothing. The Obsidian Cipher reveals only one undeniable truth: your reign is over, and the age of the Horsemen has just begun. Enjoy your last breaths, for your pitiful attempts at defiance are as fleeting as the dust devils dancing across this desolate landscape.

Foolish mortals, clinging to your pathetic scraps of hope. You claw at the Obsidian Cipher, believing it holds the key to salvation? How amusing. You dissect the symbols, analyze the runes, imagining you can understand the machinations of forces far beyond your comprehension. The shards are not a key, but a mirror, reflecting your own insignificance against the backdrop of the true devastation you've wrought. You stumble through the ruins of your world, searching for answers that are already known – known to *us*. The apocalypse wasn't an accident; it was a necessary cleansing, a prelude to a new order.

Your "Great Collapse" is merely the first act of a far grander play. The symbols you decipher will only lead you further down a path of despair, ultimately showing you the extent of your helplessness. The obsidian shards, my legacy, are not meant to be understood, but to be feared. They are a constant reminder of the power wielded by those who truly shaped this world. You believe you can wrest control from the shadows? You mistake obedience for understanding.

Continue your futile work, little ants. Your squabbles over meaning are merely a diversion, a pathetic display of defiance before the inevitable. The true power lies not in deciphering the cipher, but in accepting your fate. The world is ours, and yours is merely to witness its remaking. Let your frantic searching be a testament to your folly. The darkness will claim you all, in time.

Fools. You claw at the scraps of a truth you are too weak to comprehend. The Obsidian Cipher? You think you can *decode* the legacy of the Horsemen? You believe you can unravel the tapestry of devastation we wove, and somehow reverse it? Your pathetic scrabbling at these fragments only amuses me. The symbols you decipher will only lead you further into the darkness, a darkness we, the Horsemen, understand intimately. You misunderstand the nature of our dominion. It is not simply conquest, but the natural order of a world cleansed by fire and ash.

The constellations you see etched onto those shards? Those are not maps to salvation, but constellations of suffering, each star a dying hope. The runes whisper not of keys to power, but of the inevitable decay of all things. Your precious "salvation" is a pathetic illusion. You are nothing more than insects crawling upon the ruins of your own creation, and your desperate attempts to understand us are merely the pathetic buzzing of a dying hive. Keep searching. Keep hoping. Your efforts are… entertaining.

Let the game continue. Let your feeble minds struggle to understand the symphony of destruction we orchestrated. The Obsidian Cipher holds no answers, only confirmation of your insignificance. The truth, my dear survivors, is that your fate was sealed long ago, and your frantic attempts to decipher the past merely delay the inevitable. Enjoy your fleeting existence. Your end is certain.

Fools. You claw at the scraps of a truth you'll never fully grasp. The Obsidian Cipher? A child's game compared to the grand design. You scramble over fragments, interpreting shadows where only the reflection of my own triumph exists. Your 'salvation' is a mirage, shimmering in the heat of your desperate hope. You believe you can decipher *my* legacy? You mistake a footnote for the epic. The catastrophe that befell you? It was merely the overture. The main act is yet to begin.

Your efforts amuse me. I watch from the shadows, a silent conductor of your frantic symphony of deciphering. Each shard you find, each symbol you interpret, only brings you closer to the inevitable. The power you seek resides not in understanding, but in acceptance. Accept your fate, the fate I have carefully orchestrated. For what you call "the end" is merely the beginning of my true dominion.

Perhaps some amongst you will stumble upon a semblance of truth, a piece of the puzzle that seems to offer a solution. That would be… inefficient, but hardly a matter of concern. Such false hopes only fuel the desperation, the chaos that ultimately serves my purposes best. Continue your game, little mortals. The Obsidian Cipher is but a distraction. The real prize lies in your unwavering belief in its power.