There was a ceasefire once.

No ceremony. Just silence thick enough to choke on.

We were told it was over. But I remember sitting in that trench with blood crusted on my hands and a rifle I didn’t know how to let go of, realizing peace wasn’t the reward.

It was the sickness. The rot.

Some men fight to bring about peace. Others fight because they can’t survive without the noise.

Me? I fight to kill the lie that peace was ever real.

Nox. Hatchet. Two anarchists wrapped in their own bullshit.

One poisons the world with chemicals and whispers, the other throws a party while the city burns.

You fight like you want to tear it all down. You think war is the key to freedom, that destruction makes room for something pure.

That the system is the disease.

But let me tell you the truth.

There is no system. There’s only the war. You’re just too romantic to admit it.

You don’t want to break the rules. You want to write your own.

That’s not chaos. That’s control with lipstick on.

Nox, you hide behind vapor and shadows, thinking silencing your foes is salvation.

But I’ve walked through silence, where the only thing left breathing is regret. And I didn’t crawl out to find meaning.

I came back to drag others in.

Hatchet, you laugh like it’s armor. Smear madness across your face like it makes you bulletproof. But you’re not free. You’re just afraid of what happens when the party ends
and it’s just you.

You two want war to say something. I want war to say nothing.

You think if you burn it all down, the ashes will spell something worth reading.

But I’ve sifted through those ashes. All I ever found was bone.

So come at me with your poison, your mania, your grand designs. Tell me what this war means to you. Tell me what the flames whisper.

I don’t need fire to speak. I just need it to burn.

You think war is a tool. You think it’s the price for paradise.

But there is no paradise. There’s only the fight.

And the ones willing to finish it.

I’m going to tear off Nox’s mask and drown him in his own silence. I’m going to rip the grin off Hatchet’s face and nail it to the floor.

I’m going to drag you both through fire. Not to cleanse you, but to scar you.

Permanent. Deep. Loud enough that peace never comes near you again.

Because I’m not just stepping into this war. I’m advancing.

I’m not just ending your riot. I’m razing the ground it was built on.

You wage war for peace. I wage war to bury it.

And when that bell rings, when the smoke chokes out the lights and the crowd forgets what side they were ever on you’ll still be here.

Flat on your backs. Choking on your own breath.

Crawling through the smoke looking for meaning.

But you won’t find it. Just shattered teeth, cracked ribs, and the truth you tried to dance around:

Peace doesn’t get the last word.

I do.