Pity the child.
Pity the child suffering at the hand of the Soulless Master, begging for scraps of rancid flesh dripping from the salted plain. The Master feeds upon the fearful cries of the child, basking in the glory of hollow victories, sharing with none, wielding imaginary power over the realms filled with mindless drones aching to please him.
The child studies the Master closely, cowering in the shadow of his empty existence, propped up by false prophets and demagogues. Steady streams of silent decay coarse through the world, drawn to the evil spirit of the Great Selfish One.
Despair amid the hapless devotees drive them to the feet of the Master, begging for acceptance, receiving only trinkets dangled upon barbed wire. The Master revels in his shallowness, praising the heavens for rewards bestowed upon The Chosen.
The Chosen know not of the Soulless Master casting shadows over his putrid dominion. Closed within their hidden veils, The Chosen ignore the pleas of the masses suffering under the yoke of the Master, their ideals exonerating the actions of the Master.
The pitiful child begins to open its eyes, absorbing the hypocrisy surrounding the realms, failing to understand how the Master and The Chosen persist. The child glimpses a wayward speck of light. At first glance, the barely visible speck dances about as if free of the walls of conformity, relying on the world to provide.
The speck does not escape the glare of the Master, though it does not shrink from the piercing hatred. The child gazes in wonderment as the speck moves about with total disregard for the Master, causing him to shriek while unleashing torrents of deafening darkness aimed at extinguishing the speck.
The darkness fails in its purpose. The Gold & Rimmed Sorcerer summons forth the agents of greed and disgust, armed with paper swords and leather tongues they set upon the speck. The child loses sight of the speck, falling into despair as it realizes there is no hope of escape from the darkness emanating from the Master.
Head hung low, the child drops to its knees, arms raised towards the heavens as it unleashes an explosive cacophony of rage and love. The eruption halts time, opening wide the eyes of the child. It is only then that the child realizes the undeniable truth about the light.
Hope swells from within, fueled by light and love, imbuing the child with the weapon it seeks. Time begins again. The child rises. The Master's time is coming to its end.