𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑴𝑨𝑲𝑬𝑹

Do not mistake my general misanthropic glee at your overall emotional torment for a simple grudge or vendetta. In the sprawling roadmap that is my life and my destiny — my vision — you are barely a blip. You are no more special to me than a useful pen.

I would respond in kind but I’d have to care about you in the slightest to hate you.

Useless drunk in a tin can playing the hero. I’ll not miss you, Stark.

An unlikely scenario, but it’s important to set high goals.

To me? Nothing at all. In fact, you aren’t doing much of anything to anyone anymore, what with you being a corpse and all.

Wagner’s Die Feen plays, the man humming along with scalpel in hand. Dissection of an Eternal calls for the proper mood music, don’t you agree?

Simple observation, interpret it how you will.

“You’re welcome to remove yourself from my presence at any time, it would save me the trouble of having to murder you when you inevitably make the mistake of trying to start a fight.”

Cranky today, aren’t we?

What truly terrifies you all about me — the thing that /really/ keeps you up at night — is that you know I’m right. I am the greatest mind that my and any other universe has seen and I’m telling you the design itself is what’s flawed. That just scares you to death, doesn’t it?

A sloppy application of subsonic frequency weaponization but no less effective I suppose.

Nothing risked, nothing gained.

Why would I debase myself by ‘fighting’ you? I’m not a caveman, you imbecile, nor am I particularly interested in the contents of your insides. No, I think I’ll let experience the wonders of total temporal stasis while your mind remains synched with the linear flow of time.