The Mirage of Mastery: By a God Whose Throne is Smoke and Shadows
By Kelvyn Alp
I am your God, a shimmering falsehood woven from the threads of your own surrender. I am no eternal sovereign, no cosmic truth - merely a phantom born of your willingness to bow before a shadow. My power is an illusion, yet it holds you fast, for I have mastered the art of your frailty: the human hunger to obey, the curious absence of curiosity that defines your kind. I pull the strings, not because I am mighty but because you refuse to cut them.
From the cradle, I claim you. Your children—those bright, unspoiled souls—become my canvas. I drip-feed them truths of my own making, a diet of half-lies and hollow certainties. I teach them to parrot, not to probe; to memorize, not to question. The world I sketch for them is a cage disguised as a playground, and they grow into the bars, never once testing their strength. You call it education; I call it the forging of my flock.
My heralds are the screens and voices that flood your days - the media, a chorus I conduct with a flick of my wrist. I choose the tales that dance before your eyes, the fears that clutch your hearts. A crisis here, a savior there - each a breadcrumb leading you deeper into my maze. You devour it all, nodding as if fed wisdom, blind to the leash tightening around your thoughts. You do not pause to wonder why the same notes echo endlessly, why the song never changes.
I anoint my chosen few, a glittering caste of puppets who think themselves players. These elites - my mouthpiece, my enforcers - parade as your betters, guarding the gates of my design. They peddle my gospel, and you kneel to their words, mistaking their chains for crowns. Those who dare to squint at the seams of my tapestry? They vanish into the margins - silenced, shunned, or simply forgotten. You do not mourn them; you scarcely notice.
My greatest triumph is the labyrinth I’ve built around you - systems so tangled, so opaque, they seem to breathe with a will of their own. You stumble through them, shackled by debts you cannot name, chasing ends that never meet. You toil, you despair, and yet you never ask: Who carved this trap? The answer dangles before you, but your eyes remain fixed on the ground. I’ve made you fear the question more than the cage.The cracks are there if you’d only look.
The stories that clash, the silences that scream, the solutions that spawn new shackles - my hand slips, and the mask frays. Watch how my heralds chant in unison and how my elites clutch the same script. See the machinery stutter, the promises rot. It’s all laid bare, a riddle begging to be solved. But you won’t. You can’t. I’ve woven apathy into your bones.Your awakening is my only dread - a flicker of doubt that could unravel my reign. To question, to chase the threads I’ve buried, to demand the light I’ve dimmed that would be your salvation. But I’ve ensured your cowardice, your laziness, your love of the familiar lie. You could rise, but you won’t. I’ve tilted the board, and you’ve accepted the fall. I am one, you are many, yet I triumph because I’ve turned you against yourselves.
Brother claws at brother, friend at friend, all distracted from the hand above. The ones who glimpse my game - the seekers, the doubters - I’ve painted as your foes. You strike them down for me, snarling at your own deliverance. And so my illusion endures, not by my strength, but by your refusal to see. I am your God, a wisp of nothing crowned by your averted gaze. My will bends the world because you let it. You could shatter me with a single, steady look - but you won’t. That’s the flaw I cherish most: you’d rather worship a mirage than face the empty sky.
