The system output a self-righteous, communal neurotic to stop its takeover by an apocalyptic, grandiose narcissist.

The grandiose looked to divide into tribe, ordain its decree, embellish as a brilliant monarch, and had grown intrigued with a world seeking to brighten or dim its shine. The formative light of a fascist.

The self-righteous had a family tradition to uphold, a blind faith needing enforcement, tweaked paranoia as a moral judge, and dismissed a world seeking recovery. The shadows of a devote saint.

The first sought its own burning light to scorch across the face of the earth,

The second stirred a fire in the heart of all others from their sickly devotion.

The first had only itself to contain itself, only desire to fuel it, used others as a vanity of engorgement, and saw a world ready to blazon their image upon.

An army is all they need.

The second saw its image reflected in the face of devotees, spoken in familiar word, and responded to uphold those traditions as their own image.

A community is all they need.

The first spoke fire from brilliant display, the second wove fear by community tie.

The first burned poison up into our body, the second burned fear down in our soul.

So which to choose if a choice must be made?

I know no future except of today, but I will always choose a way to allow our fire within to burn and spread, warding off heavenly darkness through shared flame.

And even if an old shadow must dwell in heaven, upholding a sickly devotion, it has allowed space for our hearts to shine together with bodies unburnt by fascist rage.

We can renew hallowed halls within the fading memories of a grand communal tale, but must find vision to see past fog, forgetting old stories, singing new echoes along.

The last two Managers of Mithra,

Flipping sides of the same heavy coin,

One of bursting body, the other of vulnerable mind,

One raging poison to your biology, one eking fear in your brain.

Without them we may yet come together,

For with them we had to rely on each other.