Written Belief

In Promo by Chronoa

Once upon a time, along a now faded river , there slept one single man with a vision.

A desire to unleash belief that would better society, and would create a utopia beyond human comprehension.

A powerful son took the fragments of a fathers teachings and crafted a pure doctrine that manipulated the words of gods into a singular tome of indoctrination.

The Gods abandoned them, Yahweh cast them aside and any paradise they were promised was snatched away in fear.

So they created their own, bolstered by words they could truly believe in, a haven for those who trusted in the words of Forever.

As the Book of Eli became a bastion of hope for those who had none.

And their messiah grew almighty powerful from the belief of his family.

He undermined false sorcerers, outplayed the greatest of gamblers and proved even the brightest of hope could not contend against faith absolute.

Yet he grew arrogant and proudful, refusing to allow the natural growth of faith instead forcing it through power and deciet.

As he gained attention from the demons in the grass that would soon tear apart everything he ever believed in.

An emerald snake that pumped venom into the heart of his foundation and weaved questions of doubt in the mind of his followers.

Ancient words pleaded him to open his eyes to the faltering conviction but he remained stubborn and obstinate in the face of ultimate failure

And as the river turned blood red and his faith crumpled before his eyes, he realised how much worth his precious book truly had.

For when no one believes the dreck you speak, your so called bible is not worth the paper it’s printed on.

And right now Shingami, the world is beginning to realise your precious book is worth even less then that.

For millenia, you pathetic creatures have weaved words of deciet with a single flourish of a pen and crafted this mythology of lies

A single name written on a page and death will ensue

Trouble is, for all your so called victims, they have to believe death is coming for them and that they deserve it.

Try it on the innocent and pure and your words fail no matter if you write a name once or a thousand.

And since you came to OSW, you’ve failed at every attempt to add to the Temples graveyard.

You only managed to make Simon human, you failed to shorten the Storm and now your precious little notepad is lost to the den of snakes.

How long until people realise the rhetoric you spill is false and their belief in your power almighty begins to wane?

For even if you manage to wrestle that precious book away from the clutches of the viper, they may never fear you again.

As you may be this so called God of the New World

But what is a God to a non believer?

Open your eyes Deathnote as the river washes away every fallacy of ink you have ever used.

And no one in this reality believes in your kind ever again.