Kokubyaku no Avesta, chapter 12-9: Wings of Malice

Another story has come to an end. More accurately, it has been engulfed by an even greater story, but has surely come to its individual denoument. Both lamenting and enjoying this, "it" remains seated in its shallow slumber.

A dark abyss where nothing can touch "it". Absolute silence, where not even time has any meaning. Enveloped by this cradle, "it" does not stop perceiving the outside world for a single moment, and yet hardly puts any effort into this observation. Knowing too much will spoil the future enjoyment, which is why "it" currently gives priority to internal development.

The way "it" slowly forms its wings is mostly due to what "it" can recollect.

Everything is a made-up farce... This law of the world was the first thing "it" realized. Not a single factual truth exists, not a single living being can ascertain its way of life.

Indeed, that is why "it" followed this rule, coping with the way this place works.

Flawlessly played the role "everyone" demanded from "it", prayed for the future "everyone" was trying to build.

There was nothing to be displeased with. Rather, "it" has to admit it was fun, unbearably so.
"It" loves playing with dolls. Surely, "everyone" loves it, as well, since they have been doing it for so long. And in that case, the only thing left to do was to compete in the degree of perfection.

How perfectly can you fulfill your purpose? How accurately can you invoke the entire palette of emotions described in this story?
Now, let us do our best, let us play our roles. If our lives are nothing but a farce, the least we can do is put up a brilliant performance.

"It" was extremely dilligent. Stood above the rest thanks to its unprecedented talents. Became something that could be called a "legend", to the point of pushing through the framework of the world itself.

...However, that is exactly why its new position was so troublesome. Now that "it" has transcended the set stage, "it" no longer knew the role "it" should perform. Without a script, "it" could not decide on a purpose.

Since living and breathing fiction was its greatest cause, "it" is fundamentally incapable of thinking on its own.

What do I do? What should I do? If it goes on like this, I will stop being anything. Nonetheless, no one wants me to step down from the play I have left behind.

Despite meeting "everyone"'s swelling expectations perfectly, "it" could only shiver, much like a pup in a wasteland. The course of events allowed "it" a single moment of recess, but since its true nature is so infinitesimal, "it" could find no salvation in it.
The death penalty drew closer. "It" felt like a convict walking down the green mile. "It" kept smiling, but the smile was simply hiding anguish, the desire to be noticed and helped... That was when Heaven's gift fell into its lap.

"This entire world is... mistaken... Mad mother... Defeat... A new world..."

In the pits of despair, the resounding conviction of a single mediocre man became a ray of light. For something like "it", it is him who is the real legend, the real savior.

Ah, he tells me to paint "what's next". He promised to give me a new role, even if the current play comes to an end.
How scary it must've been, how painful it must've been. How splendid, how dazzling!

If someone wants you to act in a certain way, you have no choice but to obey. "It" knows it better than anyone else.
In that case, there is nothing to worry about. Let us do our best, let us play our roles. As brilliantly as required.

Within the darkness, "it" grips its sword and smiles. Soon, very soon, the wicked slice fueled by hopes and prayers will cut this curtain down.

What sort of "blade" did that child turn into? What sort of miracle did she discover, is he still unable to give up?

How exciting. "It" wants to cut it all to pieces. insert its fingers into their flesh and dig ever deeper, offering all and everything to the dying moments of the grand tapestry.

The terrific surge of malice takes shape of wings and flutters. No, it would be more accurate to call this idea devoid of color.

For "everyone"'s sake. For the great cause. For him, for her, for that child.

All there is to do is act the role desired of "it". As "it" is more dilligent than anyone, its unprecedented talents will surely allow "it" to dance according to the script, down to the letter.

That is why "it" has decided to become hell incarnate. The only thing left to do is wait for the curtain to rise.

Wings of Darkness, Aka Manah quietly dreams of awakening within the lightless abyss.