Always Be Second Rate
In every great tale of human history, there are certain archtypes that persist throughout the millenia and OSW has been no different.
The monster, the hero, the psychopath, the underdog and the greatest of them all
Intelligence personified with an ego a mile wide and a plan for every single minute detail, they came in many flavours
Those who wished to open your eyes, those who begged for you to ignore reason, the kings, the clowns and everyone in between.
All scrambling to be hailed the example of their name
When in reality, the throne was always adorned in emerald.
A crown gained not for his intelligence or ruthless arrogance
But for a sheer, almost inhuman desire for victory.
A simple man who decided long ago he would never lose as he outsmarted enforcers, mastered the art of lucid dreaming, survived the gates of hell and defied the gods themselves.
All while prosing impossible riddles that no man could truly ever solve.
A legend built to such heights that even when the first cracks in his armor finally formed, he made everyone believe it never truly happened to begin with.
And when such a legend forms, there exist a thousandfold who believe they can eclipse it.
Those who follow the arrogance and steadfast belief in their greatness above all they lose sight of they were.
Slipping into a character they never had the range to make their own.
And Simon, you’re truly no different then the rest.
You scheme in the shadows and weave your webs throughout the Slaughterhouse.
Yet unlike the others, singular battles don’t matter as much as winning the war.
You failed to stop Deathnote turning you human yet it gave you a new lease on life.
Burnt alive by the flames yet forced a fair maiden’s hand in marriage.
A lamb who couldn’t survive the slaughter yet twists love to his ultimate advantage.
Yet for all your careful planning and subterfuge, all you have done is taken down the cliffnotes of his rise
While you ignore the peril of his fall.
For riddle me this Simon,
I am the vengeance that cleansed the virus from the system
The wrathful death that obscures the brightest sparks
The eternal nightmare that cares not what question you ponder.
I can not be reasoned or coerced, and I come for all those who desire the crown.
What am I?
I’m the fucking Kingslayer.
No one could ever truly understand the riddle, could truly conquer the King yet he was so focused on the raging Storm that he ignored the sword coming for his throat.
Thus with a single piercing snap, the King was dead
And now we hail the new, so much like the last.
So focused on the thunder he ignores the electricity sparking at his feet.
A second rate copy erased by the being who made Newton’s killer her bitch.
But do not fret Taskmaster, for when you fall, you will finally have something Newton never had.
Because unlike Edward,
No one will ever mourn you.