Judge, Jury, Executioner
They put me on trial.
My hands were bound behind me, my powers were dampened, and I was led as a helpless captive into the courtroom.
The Judge greeted me first. He read my name in his little book, pronouncing that the day of my fate had come. It reminds me a lot of Deathnote’s little book he carries around. He’s always making pronouncements about someone’s end, isn’t he?
The Jury heard the arguments against me. They didn’t even debate before declaring me guilty of breaking their god-forsaken laws. Vayikra fancies themselves the jury, thus Sir Renault is their spokesperson, come forward to levy accusations of people’s sin.
Then came the Executioner to tell me that my time was up, that there was no escaping the end foretold for me. Which brings me to Chronoa, who has come to ensure that the deed is done, and the world ended as it has been prophesized.
The result of the trial was that I was guilty.
And you’re goddamned right I was.
I still am.
Guilty of burning down the old world, refusing to let pen to pad override boot to ass.
Guilty of spitting in the face of zealots who wish to take a dead god’s law and bring about a new crusade.
And sure as hell guilty of refusing to die just because that’s what is supposed to happen.
Deathnote, find my name in your book. I dare you. I’ve been thought dead before, but I rose from the ashes to be more. You have the power to proclaim, but my bro Luke proved that there are limits to what you can actually make happen.
Your words are wind that’ll never blow out my candle.
Sir Renault, you can live by whatever code or law you want, I don’t give a damn. But all you and your boys have done in your crusade is rendered judgement on those who also don’t give a damn.
Damn me to hell, but I’m already the Queen.
Chronoa, who the fuck are you to get in my business? Everyone is wanting the world to end, but I’ll be damned if I let you drag us to the end of time.
Line up your blade with my neck, bitch, and you will realize that I’m the one who sends heads rolling around here.
Because what you three fail to realize is that a trial only matters if three things can happen.
First, the court has to have credibility, and you three have none.
Second, the court has to stand for something, and you all can’t even agree on that.
Third, when you swing that butcher’s blade, it had better be able to do the job.
But we all know that you three couldn’t find your way out of a wet paper bag. Bungling your missions at every corner, whether it be Luke Storm, Rainbow Party, or each other, what have you really accomplished around here?
Me? I’ve been beating asses since day one.
So bring on your trial, and I’ll endure whatever bad times you levy.
Because just like your trial, bad times don’t last.
Bad Mother Fuckers do.