Lord, you know I walk this land seeking destruction. It is my duty. I crumble empires and lay waste to kingdoms, turn titans to tyrants and kings to criminals. I spread fire, raze forests, and fill the ground with the husks of men. For this, I ask no forgiveness for it is my nature, my purpose, and my right.
If I did not commence catastrophes, weave wicked warfare, and pass the seasons in flame and freeze then all that which rises would never fall, and all of that which grows would carry on eternal until the world was no longer big enough for the egomania that is spawned by the hands of humankind. They would decimate themselves; they would no longer exist and would never transcend the pitiful state of their dismal existence.
When I rain locusts down on valleys, I do it justly. I climb from the catacombs of Sheol and recite the declaration of chaos in the winds that carry the mighty blare of trumpets. Many call me demon, applying their sinister connotations to the name, but I am necessity, much as is Samael–the demon-maker, the death-lord, and the demiurge–beneath his shaded cloak. From the wake of my passing, new phases of the world shall grow.
All look upon destruction as being synonymous with evil, but when I orchestrate the fall of that which is not regarded with even the most minimal acceptance by men, then my labors are celebrated though my name goes unsung. Regardless of that, I would not change my destiny. It is one of honor and distinction, and fit for only one as deserving as I: the Fingers of Doom.
In the shadows I walk, striding through the streets of a perceived masterful creation; an industry erected by mere men who consider themselves gods, thinking they can ascend to a level comparable to that of our kind. In time, such maniacal narcissists will fall, their irrelevant towers to topple upon them, all across the world, like dominos; everything mighty will spill over into one-another, becoming ruined remnants of ridiculous revelry just before I open the doorway to the pit and cast it all in, set it aflame, and celebrate the billowing of the final ashes upon the wind. Long gone will be the most ignominious blight upon the face of the Blackened Earth. And, in the smoke of the devastation, I shall emerge, unscathed, as your maestro of mayhem and your architect of the Armageddon.
I shall welcome you to the Burning Kingdom: the world cleansed by the fire. Together, along with our sisters and brothers, our faithful, we will build a dominion of darkness alongside your legacy of light. By the many names you have been called through the ages, words twisted into labels to vilify, though the truth within has always been that you are the one to lead us to Liberation, enlightenment, and to eternity. They call you adversary, but we call you king.
In the name of the Bringer, the Accuser, and the Master of Shadows.