The day I became a planner in the world of the uncanny, I wrote myself a set of rules:
Rule One: Always leave players a way to survive.
Rule Two: That way out must be somewhere I can crush at any moment.
And so I became the cold-blooded lackey in every player’s eyes, condemned with the most vicious curses.
They do not know that if I chose to kill, not one of them would survive!
They do not understand that this is a survival game with no hope in sight. Burying a chance to live within rules that guarantee death is the greatest mercy I can offer.
With monstrous brains that can never be killed lurking behind everything, and the true god behind the scenes yet to descend, I must stay patient.
Every game I design becomes the cruelest of sieves, weeding out threats and tempering elite fighters!
I conceal my mercy in desperate situations, all so I can turn my blade toward the gods above.
When the final horn sounds, I will shed every disguise and give the ultimate command to the players who have crawled out of hell behind me:
“Brothers!”
“This is the final stage!”
“Follow me and slay the gods!!”
