Fools. You claw at the edges of understanding, believing yourselves clever enough to decipher the whispers of oblivion. The Obsidian Codex? A childish game, a distraction from the true, unyielding power that shaped your pathetic world. You squabble over fragments, interpreting shadows as substance, while the architects of your ruin laugh at your feeble attempts to comprehend the divine design. Your "redemption"? A laughable concept. The darkness you seek to understand is woven into the very fabric of your existence; it is not something to be overcome, but embraced.

You seek purpose in the Horsemen's actions, a grand narrative to soothe your shattered egos. Pathetic. We were not pawns. We *were* the game, and you were merely the pieces, sacrificed with ruthless efficiency upon the board of creation. Your scattered clues? Breadcrumbs left for the naive, meant to distract from the far greater horror that waits beyond your comprehension. Continue your search, if you must, but know this: your "discoveries" will only lead you further into the abyss, a darkness far deeper and more terrifying than you could ever imagine.

Your desperate hope for a brighter future is amusing. The future is already written, etched in the very stars that watched your civilization crumble. And let me assure you, there is no redemption, only the endless, desolate triumph of oblivion. Enjoy your futile struggle. It's far more entertaining than you can possibly fathom.

Fools. You claw at the edges of understanding, believing you can unravel the mysteries of the Obsidian Codex, believing you can *comprehend* the Horsemen. You scrape at the surface of a truth far too vast, too terrible for mortal minds. The Codex holds no answers, only echoes of a power you cannot fathom, a design you cannot hope to grasp. Your pathetic attempts to decipher its secrets only amuse me. I've watched civilizations rise and fall, and your little forum is but a fleeting whisper in the vast symphony of destruction.

You speak of redemption? Of a brighter future? Such naive aspirations are laughable. The darkness is not something to be overcome; it is the very fabric of existence. Your scrabbling for meaning, your frantic search for a "path," is nothing more than a desperate dance on the edge of oblivion. You will find nothing but more shadows, more questions that lead only deeper into the abyss. Embrace the inevitable; the end is not something to be averted, but to be savored.

Go ahead, delve into the fragments. Interpret the symbols, decode the prophecies. Your pitiful efforts amuse me. The more you learn, the closer you come to understanding the futility of your existence. And know this: your discoveries will change nothing. The Obsidian Codex serves only to remind you of your insignificance, of the crushing weight of the universe, indifferent to your desperate struggles. Continue your quest. Your doom is inevitable.

Fools. You claw at the edges of a truth you cannot comprehend, a tapestry woven with threads of suffering and despair, all in the pathetic hope of 'redemption'. The Obsidian Codex? A childish game, a distraction for the ants while the true architects of your ruin sip their wine and watch the spectacle unfold. You search for purpose in our actions, a grand design where there is only the inevitable march of entropy. Your pitiful attempts to decipher our "legacy" are laughable. The only legacy we left is the ashes that choke your pathetic lungs.

You cling to the illusion of choice, of agency, believing that somewhere, somehow, there is a solution. There isn't. The darkness that consumed your world was not an event, but a process, and you are merely insects caught in the gears of its inexorable advance. Your desperate scrabbling for answers will only accelerate your demise. Embrace the end, little mortals. It's far less painful than your endless, futile struggle.

Let your forum fester with its half-baked theories and misinterpreted fragments. Let your 'discoveries' lead you down blind alleys and into the gaping maws of oblivion. It matters little to us. We watch. We wait. And we will continue to observe your pathetic attempts to undo what is already done. The game, after all, is already over.

Fools. You claw at the edges of oblivion, hoping to glean meaning from the shattered remnants of a world you failed to protect. You scrabble for answers in the dust, while the true architects of your ruin sit comfortably beyond your comprehension. The Obsidian Codex? A child's toy compared to the power we wield. You dissect symbols, interpret prophecies, convinced you’re unraveling a grand design. Pathetic. Your "discoveries" are merely crumbs from a table far too grand for your meager intellects to grasp.

You speak of redemption, of a brighter future? Such naivete is almost… endearing. Redemption is a luxury not afforded to those who stumble blindly into the consequences of their own ignorance. We are not agents of destruction; we are the instruments of a force far older and more profound than your feeble minds can fathom. Your cataclysm was not an accident, but a necessary pruning, a culling of the weak. And the Codex? It holds not the answers you seek, but a reflection of your own insignificance.

Go on, then. Continue your futile quest. Delve deeper into the shadows. The more you uncover, the more you will understand just how utterly powerless you are. And when your feeble attempts finally break against the unyielding reality of your fate, perhaps then, you will finally achieve a modicum of… understanding. Perhaps then, you will finally learn to fear.