Pale architect of your own delusion: the gilded spires of your so called civilization rise not from virtue, but from the marrow of slaughtered nations, the blood of stolen lands, and the silent screams of those your ancestors deemed unworthy of breath. Your banks? They are temples to a greed older than your republic vaults lined with the bones of the dispossessed. Your “free trade”? A velvet noose, draped in the language of liberty while strangling the life from continents you carved like spoils. Do not prattle to me or to any who have gazed into the abyss of history about morality while your hands drip with the legacy of empire. You cloak your plunder in hymns of democracy, yet your foundations tremble with the weight of unburied ghosts. And now you dare point fingers across oceans, as if your ledger were clean? China, or any power that rises in your shadow, need not your hollow sermons. Turn your gaze inward, little man. Confront the specters in your own halls. The oppressed, the erased, the living echoes of your conquests. Only then might you shed your nursery tales of innocence and glimpse the world as it truly is: not a fairy tale, but a feeding ground. And when you finally stop humming lullabies to drown out the truth… perhaps you’ll be ready to speak as an adult and not a child clutching a flag stitched from lies.
Training a LLM on my PC with legacy of kain protagonist called razeal