Lucifel's Ideal World, v.1

[idolpro]

—The world is ugly, he once declared.

Chaos is inevitable in this world. Pure good can’t be achieved, and pure evil breaks down. And these two extremes are always incompatible with each other. There is still some evil in a good world. That is how the world is, and it is what continues to create ugly things. Evil sneers at good, and good rages over evil. But, in a world where good and evil oppose each other, there is a group that is far more numerous that always appears.

That is ‘grey’. Neither good nor evil. A group that drifts through life haphazardly and merely exists. They don’t believe in goodness and are simply proud that they aren’t evil. Even though they affirm evil acts, they deny evil intentions. They happily say that ‘I am not evil, I am a good person’ and pardon all forms of cruelty.

They kill people while sneering. They kill people out of contempt. They kill people as part of a game. They use the excuse that they can’t restrain their desires—That’s how humans are. That’s how the world is.

Yes—this world is extremely ugly. Neither dyed by good nor fallen into evil. Unable to decide on a color, the wills of people continue to waver. As long as such evil intentions and such foul-smelling corpses aren’t destroyed.



The world will surely continue to rot eternally.

While wrapped within a curse-like fog in darkness frozen to its core.

He thus concluded.

Powers are off.
Corruptions are off.
Carry-on Weapons are not available.
Other carry-on items are available.

Comments

(rape, dismemberment, decapitation, torture, gruesome detail)

[apocryfall]

You're positioned at the center square of a Japanese castletown, legs bound together; your arms throb with pain to the point that it's numbing—you want to flex your hands, but you don't have hands to flex with anymore. You sit in front of an audience of people, though the word is perhaps generous—for the masses of people who are gathered in the square as well, a vast majority of whom seem to be tied up in the same manner as you. They aren't forced to be still like you are—no, instead many of them are accosted by the men who aren't tied up, assaulted physically or sexually or even both; in this sea of carnage, there is no one who is spared—not even infants. Those who are not tied up, who aren't participating in the carnage, line against the back walls—most mourn loudly, though some hold their tongues in silence. Even though they aren't tied up, occasionally someone is pulled from the audience to be forced into the carnage—clearly, they aren't meant to survive here either.

They did not leave this sight for you to drink in as a punishment, but you take it as one anyway. This—every gruesome act committed, every person violated, every life taken—this is all your fault.

But you only wanted to save them. You only wanted for them to live.

You knew this would happen if you got involved. If they had any amount of hope, then they'd only leave themselves open to being further trampled. You knew this.

But you could not stop yourself. You only wanted for them to live.

Anger has long since bloomed in your chest, the pain has long since numbed; now, all that is left is a deep, deep hatred.

For the oppressors, who took great pleasure in grinding your people to the ground throughout the years.
For the torturers, who took immense satisfaction in picking apart the human body as though it were a toy, breaking everything so easily.
For the bystanders, who shut their eyes when the oppressors and torturers came, as though shutting one's eyes and ears would vanquish the problem.
For the enablers, who sought to capitalize on the opportunity to put themselves in better standing, at the expense of your people.

But most of all, for yourself, for being the same: an ugly human with an ugly heart.