…And Nero Plays A Golden Fiddle

Mankind loves their villains. They thoroughly enjoy their heroes, but there is a special place in their hearts for the wicked ones, the destroyers of worlds. I have come to believe this is because, even thought they aspire to be like their heroes, what they see in the villain of the story much more resembles what they see in the mirror. Or maybe they are simply entertained by evil.

At what point does a man pass over into that evil? Is there a specific moment where he ventures just beyond salvation, a split second when his humanity leaves him and there is nothing left within worth salvaging?

Is it the day where he kills a man and feels…nothing? Or is it when he gives in fully to the stew of fury, hate, and vengeance that boils just under the surface? Or when he decides to pursue power above all else, setting up his throne in the heavens like a wrathful god? I would think it happens long before then; these are simply symptoms of the evil that grows like a thorny vine in my soul.

What causes all of this? Are they destined to be evil, or do they choose it? When historians look back on the lives of abominable men, do they see pivotal moments that could have changed the course of history, or is their very birth a black stain upon the earth?

Tell me, is it innate? Is it insufferable choices and circumstances that snuff out the light that glows within? Is it the presence of evil that chokes out all that is good? Or is it simply the absence of good that allows the darkness to prevail?

There are men whose darkness inspires wicked actions. There are men whose lives mold them into monsters, men who are given no other choice but to turn to darkness in order to survive. There are those who do not wish to be this way, but their rage overtakes them, despite their will to live peaceful lives. Wickedness is sometimes a choice; other times, it is inherited.

I chose my darkness. My darkness also chose me. I did not wish to be an evil man, and yet…

It does not matter now; the monster I am is beyond any redemption; the depths to which I have fallen are far beyond where any light will reach. I have not much further to fall before I reach the burning pits of hell itself. I wage my wars at its gates, battling both white knights of earth and the winged bats of Hades. Sooner or later, be it by natural occurrence or violent means, their goal shall be achieved. I will meet my demise, and be dragged into further torment.

And yet, for some ungodly reason, I resist. To the bitter end, I resist. I may be destined for fire, but I will not go willingly. My city will burn before me, engulfed entirely in flame, and I shall sing a joyous song; I will dance amidst my kingdom’s destruction.


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