You have mounted the summit of the Empire, Not-a-Cockroach. You have crushed the bug emperor and wiped his maggot dreams from the skin of Wraeclast.
Dominus exiled you, naked and alone, unto the palm of Death. But you would not die, would you?
No, no... you cuddled Death, promised it the world, made it your courtesan and so generously shared it with all your fleeting friends here in Wraeclast.
Not once did you forget what you were. Not a cockroach feeding on the corpse of a dead empire, like the pests you crushed as you walked.
A man. The sort of man that planted the seed of this Empire right here in Sarn, so long ago.
What teetering and twisted life it still holds dear, this land owes to you, Shadow.
You have mounted the summit of the Empire, Not-a-Cockroach. You have crushed the bug emperor and wiped his maggot dreams from the skin of Wraeclast.
Dominus exiled you, naked and alone, unto the palm of Death. But you would not die, would you?
No, no... you cuddled Death, promised it the world, made it your disciple and so generously shared it with all your fleeting friends here in Wraeclast.
Not once did you forget what you were. Not a cockroach feeding on the corpse of a dead empire, like the pests you crushed as you walked.
A man. The sort of man that planted the seed of this Empire right here in Sarn, so long ago.
What teetering and twisted life it still holds dear, this land owes to you, Templar.
You have mounted the summit of the Empire, Not-a-Cockroach. You have crushed the bug emperor and wiped his maggot dreams from the skin of Wraeclast.
Dominus exiled you, naked and alone, unto the palm of Death. But you would not die, would you?
No, no... you cuddled Death, promised it the world, made it your conquest and so generously shared it with all your fleeting friends here in Wraeclast.
Not once did you forget what you were. Not a cockroach feeding on the corpse of a dead empire, like the pests you crushed as you walked.
A man. The sort of man that planted the seed of this Empire right here in Sarn, so long ago.
What teetering and twisted life it still holds dear, this land owes to you, Duelist.
You have mounted the summit of the Empire, Not-a-Cockroach. You have crushed the bug emperor and wiped his maggot dreams from the skin of Wraeclast.
Dominus exiled you, naked and alone, unto the palm of Death. But you would not die, would you?
No, no... you cuddled Death, promised it the world, made it your loving pet and so generously shared it with all your fleeting friends here in Wraeclast.
Not once did you forget what you were. Not a cockroach feeding on the corpse of a dead empire, like the pests you crushed as you walked.
A woman. The sort of woman that planted the seed of this Empire right here in Sarn, so long ago.
What teetering and twisted life it still holds dear, this land owes to you, Ranger.
You have mounted the summit of the Empire, Not-a-Cockroach. You have crushed the bug emperor and wiped his maggot dreams from the skin of Wraeclast.
Dominus exiled you, naked and alone, unto the palm of Death. But you would not die, would you?
No, no... you cuddled Death, promised it the world, made it your conquest and so generously shared it with all your fleeting friends here in Wraeclast.
Not once did you forget what you were. Not a cockroach feeding on the corpse of a dead empire, like the pests you crushed as you walked.
A man. The sort of man that planted the seed of this Empire right here in Sarn, so long ago.
What teetering and twisted life it still holds dear, this land owes to you, Marauder.
Of course, there will be more. You know that, don't you? Emperors. Avaricious little pests scrabbling to steal the legacy of their betters. Unless we burn that legacy, sear its infection from the flesh of existence.
Go north, my lovely Unbug. Go to Highgate, to the beginning of the end.
Dive headlong into the nightmare sea. Catch and roast yourself a nice, big fishy.
The Rapture is our hope. Our desperation. It will set the Nightmare to boil, cook that nice big fishy in its own whining brine.
Listen with all of your ears, Not-a-Cockroach. The Rapture was Malachai's most wondrous creation, the only fire hot enough to burn the Beast from existence.
And its fuel? A gemling queen, blood and flesh and gem. Yet my selfish self did not want to burn away, and so the fire was but a tiny spark. The spark of a cataclysm.
I am sorry, my love, my Malachai.
Go to it, Not-a-Cockroach. Find the Rapture. Make me sorry no more.
Voll the Pure, they called him. Voll the Murderer, I call him. In his name, an Emperor was murdered. In his name, an Empire was murdered.
Yes, it was Malachai's lips that kissed me. Yes, it was Malachai's hand that led me to the Rapture. No, no and no again. It was Voll's words that put me there.
You know, Not-a-Cockroach, had I accepted my place, my rapturous role, the Beast would be no more, no less, no anything at all. My selfishness tickled the Beast's fancy and it laughed the world I knew away.
Yet I have had much time to think on my lonesome. Much time to wonder. Wonder if the Rapture really needs to eat a Gemling Queen.
Maybe, something else will get its catastrophic juices slavering. Something like... eyeball soup!
The Eye of Fury. The Eye of Desire. Pretty gems for our pretty designs. But where could they be? Don't fret now. I have my suspicions.
Kaom, the Sovereign of Slaughter. He remains, and suffers his delusions right here in the halls of nightmare. Fury is all he knows, so Fury Kaom will have.
Daresso, King of Swords. Damned by Desire. Oh, aren't we all? He's down here too, and Desire's curse remains his to bear.
Go on, Not-a-Cockroach. Bring me the crown jewels so that we might wake the Rapture and finally put an end to this pestering Beast!
"Have you ever been to the End of the World before, my King?" asked the Blackest Monkey.
"No, I have not." realised the Monkey King.
"There is my reason to go where you go, be where you be, my King," concluded the Blackest Monkey in a voice as warm and welcoming as death.
Do you know who wrote that, Not-a-Cockroach? Victario Nevalius, the People's Poet of Sarn. He was my friend... and I betrayed him. Took his love and burned it before his eyes.
Now I am betrayed. My heart burned black by the one man I loved... Malachai.
He's found a new heart, you see. A Beast's heart to cuddle up to, to keep him warm and safe at the End of the World.
Today, I remind Malachai of his betrayal. Today, it is his turn to burn...
Malachai's devices, his creations... He loved them all. Not me.
He betrayed me then. Said he loved me. Then said he wanted me to die. He betrays me now. Lets me suffer. Lets me wither.
Am I the one and only mistake that you ever made, Malachai?
Yes, that's me. Dialla the Gemling Queen. Malachai's misdemeanour.
Make him regret his mistake, Not-a-Cockroach. Tear open the Beast's black heart. Rip Malachai from his filthy little nightmare. Cut him, crush him, burn him from existence!
He deserves no better, and I deserve no worse. No love for me. No love, no love... no love.