Usurper, Flower of Thorns

Destiny, they say, is written by prophecy. Kingship, they said, was conferred by the gods. Justice, they say, is defined by the winner. How... Arrogant. I tear apart the prophecies and nail the corpse of fate to the throne. I trample the oracles and water my cornflowers with the blood of my enemies. As for justice? That is just the poisoned wine that the strong brings out when the weak begs for mercy. My kingdom doesn't need a savior, it just needs a leader who is sober enough and ruthless enough. If heaven rejects my people, I will pave the road to heaven with corpses and kick open its gates. If Hell dares to stand in its way, my dragoons will trample the lava into a smooth path. If you want to wear a crown, you must bear its weight? Ridiculous. My crown is forged from the skulls of my enemies, the spines of my betrayers, and my unyielding will. It does not come from a gift from God, it comes from my hand. Now, look at me - Watch as I crush the old rules of this continent, along with those lofty false gods, into dust. Because in the end, the one who will judge me will only be myself. And my answer has already been written on the tombstones of the entire era.