I gotta say my mood def improved when I stopped hunting 14 year olds for sport. I have an unfair advantage- speed, strength, time, and expendable income.
But I didn’t enjoy the brutality. I couldn’t stomach the betrayal in their eyes when I’d gut them and rob them blind.
At first I tried distancing myself from the act itself. I’d acquired a number of henchman who’d earned my trust, and I their loyalty. It was a symbiotic relationship. I’d ensured a place for myself among gods. Lauded as a hero, a savior to the weak, a righteous and just delegator of a swift and furious army, they worshipped me. They offered gifts and favors of which I needed none.
Only the closest to me knew my power was acquired through deception- through playing the role of a dedicated and valued team member while operating as a liaison to the enemy.
I’m not proud of the kills I made in cold blood, but of the battles fought in the field of honor and a desperate will to survive? I was god. I owned the armor they wore before they ever had the egregious idea they could best me.
I had more diamonds than they cobblestone. I brewed more potions than they dug useless piles of gravel in an attempt for gold. I built libraries that yielded enchantments they thought were rumored. But in the end only I knew I stood upon a throne of lies. My legacy lives on but yall? I had killaura and xray the whole time.
