THE GOSPEL OF TEETH AND THRONES

Every villain begins as a believer.

He wakes each morning

convinced the fire in his chest

is justice

and not hunger.

Do not ask a man why he conquers.

Ask him what story

he told himself

before he drew blood.

Because the mind—

the mind is the first weapon.

Steel dulls.

Empires rust.

But a sharpened thought

can split a kingdom in half.

Feed your mind

or it will feed on you.

Ignorance is a blunt blade —

and the world respects only edges.

Death is promised to us all.

Signed. Sealed. Certain.

The date, however,

is written in disappearing ink.

So why crawl?

Why shrink?

Why tremble before shadows

that will one day inherit your bones?

You speak of fear

as if it disqualifies courage.

Fool.

Fear is the forge.

Bravery is the blade pulled from it

still glowing.

A man who feels nothing

is not brave.

He is empty.

True courage is walking into the storm

while your ribs rattle

like loose windows in a haunted house.

Do not mistake silence for weakness.

The wolf does not ask permission

to judge the lion.

But neither does the lion

pause

to respond.

Power does not argue.

It moves.

And the opinions of sheep

are loudest

when they gather.

But noise has never broken a throne.

If you would be reborn,

you must commit a murder.

Not of flesh —

but of softness.

Kill the boy

who needs applause.

Kill the boy

who fears exile.

Kill the boy

who confuses kindness with surrender.

Let the man emerge

scarred

aware

dangerous.

The world does not reward innocence.

It tests it.

And only those who survive

without begging

earn the right

to define themselves.

So sharpen your mind.

Master your fear.

Ignore the chorus.

Accept your mortality.

And if they call you villain —

smile.

Because history has never been written

by the harmless.