Pantheoverse Sage 1: The Age Of Never-ending Theatre

"What if I told you, your life was never yours to live?"

"That from the first breath to the final sigh, your every step was etched - not by your will, but by hand unseen, scrawled across the pages of a story you do not own?"

"That this world and the next, and the infinities beyond, are but threads of fiction - and no matter how fiercely you defy it, the ink already bleeds through your veins?"

His eyes flickered with a dim light - faint, yet piercing.

"The wealthy shall find their gold. The starving shall wither. Evil shall reign. The good shall rest."

"Beauty, ruin, strength, frailty, fortune, misfortune... and in the end - the victor, the vanquished."

"What if I said none of it can stray from the script?"

"That no genocide has purpose. No mercy holds virtue. All rivers lead to the same sea - the ocean of cycles, indifferent and eternal."

A faint smirk tugged at his lips.

"Tell me, [Player], do you find solace in such a world?"

"A world where power is gifted, not earned - will you kneel before the god who cast this universe, yet mocks it as a lie?"

His gaze sharpened - burning through the singularities, beyond the boundaries of the void.

"Or perhaps you will laugh - content to remain blind, blissfully unaware of what it means to truly live. If so... you are a slave, scarcely worthy of the name human."

Silence hung between you. The Void whispered. The singularities pulsed softly, distant as stars.

"Shall you repeat the cycle?
Genocide, mercy, or the hollow paths in between?"