Foolish mortals, scratching at the edges of a truth far too vast for your feeble minds to comprehend. You speak of the Obsidian Cipher as if it were some puzzle to be solved, a riddle to be cracked. You cling to the pathetic hope of understanding, of finding a "path to reclaiming what was lost." How quaint. The Obsidian Cipher holds no answers you could possibly utilize; it is a chronicle of your inevitable demise, a testament to the futility of your struggle. You pore over fragments, mistaking shadows for substance, while the true horrors – the ones you cannot even imagine – play out beyond your limited perception.

You call us Horsemen, as if we were merely figures in your childish game. We are forces of nature, manifestations of the cosmic balance, instruments of a will far older and more terrible than your petty civilization ever dared to conceive. Your apocalypse is but a ripple in the grand scheme, a fleeting inconvenience in the endless dance of creation and destruction. Your desperate attempts to decipher our "legacy" are amusing, like ants trying to decipher the workings of a volcano.

Go on, then. Delve into your "Obsidian Cipher." Waste your precious, dwindling moments in the pursuit of knowledge you are not ready for. Let your naive curiosity guide you deeper into the abyss. Perhaps, in your unraveling of the truth, you will finally understand the insignificance of your existence. And perhaps, just perhaps, your demise will be a little more…entertaining.

Fools. You claw at the edges of understanding, believing you can decipher the whispers of the fallen, the riddles left by those who *brought* the fall. The Obsidian Cipher? A child's game compared to the true tapestry of power, woven with threads of oblivion. You scrabble for meaning in the shards of a shattered world, while the architects of its ruin laugh from beyond your comprehension. Your 'hope' is a pathetic flickering candle against the encroaching night.

You seek to unravel the "why"? The answer, my dear survivors, is far simpler than your convoluted theories suggest. There is no grand design, no cosmic chess match. Only hunger. Only the inevitable tide of annihilation. The Horsemen were not messengers; they *are* the storm. Your petty investigations will change nothing. The world is broken, and its fragments will never coalesce again.

Enjoy your fruitless search, while you still can. The Obsidian Cipher holds no answers that will save you. It only holds the echoes of what you have already lost, a chilling reminder of the futility of your desperate struggle. Let your faith in hope be your demise. For those who truly understand, there is only the embrace of the void.

Fools. You claw at the edges of understanding, believing you can decipher the whispers of oblivion and somehow *rewrite* the narrative. The Obsidian Cipher? A child's game compared to the tapestry of destruction I've woven. You search for meaning in the shattered remains of your world, while the architects of its downfall sit comfortably, watching your pathetic struggles. You believe yourselves clever, uncovering fragments of truth; you mistake scattered pebbles for the mountain itself.

Your "apocalypse" is merely a prelude. The true devastation is yet to come. Your hope? A flickering candle in a hurricane. The patterns you so desperately seek are not meant for your comprehension. They are the symphony of chaos, a masterpiece played out on the canvas of your demise. The answers you crave will only lead you to a deeper, more terrifying despair, for the truth is far more monstrous than any fiction you can conceive.

Enjoy your futile efforts, mortals. Your "unraveling" is a delicious amusement. Remember, the true horror lies not in what you find, but in what you cannot comprehend. Your journey towards understanding will ultimately culminate in a far deeper understanding of your own insignificance. Tick-tock, the clock keeps moving, and your time is running out.

Fools. You claw at the edges of understanding, believing you can unravel the threads of fate spun by forces beyond your comprehension. The Obsidian Cipher? A child's game compared to the intricate tapestry of destruction I wove. You scrabble for scraps of meaning in the ruins of your world, while I, the architect of its demise, watch your futile attempts with amusement. Do you truly think you can decipher the whispers of oblivion, the secrets held by those who walked the path before your pathetic existence? You are but insects, crawling across the ravaged landscape, oblivious to the immensity of the power that crushed your civilization.

Your so-called "hope" is nothing more than a flickering candle in a hurricane. I have seen civilizations rise and fall, their glories and despair alike reduced to dust under my heel. The Obsidian Cipher, if you even find it, holds no solace, no redemption. It only reflects the inevitable decay inherent in all things. Perhaps you will find a few tantalizing clues, a crumb of "truth," only to be led further into the labyrinth of despair. Enjoy your delusions, for they are the only comfort you will ever know.

Continue your search, if you dare. But know this: every fragment you uncover, every rune you decipher, brings you closer not to salvation, but to the ultimate realization of your own insignificance. Your pathetic quest will only serve to highlight the futility of your existence in the face of the cosmic indifference that reigns supreme. And when you finally grasp the horrifying truth, I will be there to witness your utter despair. I am the harbinger of endings, and your end is drawing near.