Matthew 18:6

“Thus saith the Lord…Matthew eighteen, six:

“If any cause one of Mine to stumble… let them be drowned in the sea with a millstone around their neck.”

The hour is not sport. The ring is not a stage.

It is an altar.

And what shall unfold upon it is not combat—it is consecration.

The cleansing of rot. The drowning of a deceiver.

You, Nero—enemy of the Church, corrupter of the righteous—your time has come.

You wore no collar, but you played the priest.

You cloaked rebellion in scripture, filtered sermons through static, and turned my Disciples into doubters.

You broadcast heresy like prophecy, infecting the airwaves with synthetic blasphemy.

And when chaos alone could no longer satisfy your sickness, you stole what was sacred.

You reached into the house of the Lord and siphoned the credits from its sanctuary.

You robbed my Church—not with blades, but with bandwidth.

You bled the altar to fund your rebellion—then mocked the silence that followed.

But your hunger didn’t stop at theft.

You took Lucien.

Not a lamb. Not a child.

The right hand of the Harbinger.

The sword beside the Word.

The man who stood with me through fire and famine, blood and prayer—until you pulled him from the temple gates and poisoned him with false light.

You did not merely strike my house.

You trespassed against the Almighty.

And now, He moves.

He has carved the stone.

He has stirred the deep.

And I, I am the hand that shall hurl you into the abyss.

This is no matter of gold. No title shall shield you. Let the world crave championships; I crave judgment.

Ring of Dreams is not a battleground. It is a reckoning.

The Lord has heard the lies in your code.

He has seen the digits you bled from the faithful.

He has counted every stolen credit, every corrupted soul.

You fancied yourself a messiah in the mainframe.

But I see you, serpent.

You are Lucifer in crimson code, fallen and unrepentant.

No more.

At Ring of Dreams, the altar becomes a grave.

Your system shuts down. Your signal dies and what rises from the waters is not your reboot—but righteous silence.

For what you corrupted…

For what you defiled…

For the right hand you stole

The Lord does not offer mercy.

He offers judgment.

You will not escape.

You will not be resurrected.

You will not be remembered.

You will be bound to the stone.

And cast into the sea where even the Devil forgets your name.

The tide rises.

The altar awaits.

The gate shuts.

Thus saith the Lord—

Drown.“