Page 397 of Commanding Scythe and Sky

“How could I be?!”

There.

Just a flicker. Like a shadow fleeing from flame, pain lanced his eyes before they averted. I locked in on that flicker. “I. Don’t. Believe you.”

“About something specific, or was that a general proclamation?”

“You’re not all darkness. You can’t seem to help but save us.”

“I’m no hero.”

“No,” I agreed. “But you’re not as much a monster as the rest of them.”

“If I was ugly, would you say the same?” He flashed a cocky grin.

“Who says you’re not?”

“Nice try, sunspot. The appeal of this vessel has freed me of many a transgression.”

“Stop deflecting. Where do you actually stand in all of this? Why keep saving me if this was your plot to begin with?”

“I believe in the cause.”

“That men are fallen?”

“How could I not? They corrupt children,” he said tightly. “They rape, burn, mutilate, and wage wars upon the innocent.”

“And your war is different?” I demanded.

“My war is inevitable. A fixed point.”

“But you believe the mortals deserve their suffering.”

“That too is inevitable.”

The bridge of my nose stung as I fought to shake my head. “You disregard all their beauty and focus only on their faults. They don’t deserve any of this.”

“And yet it has been coming—for centuries, their corruption has warranted it. You, of all people, should know how desperately they need a reckoning.”

“For each man who uses his strength for evil, there are a hundred who wield it well.”

“Optimistic.”

“Is there something wrong with believing the best in people? Do you not have any hope that they could salvage the world themselves? Without some ‘greater being’ sticking our hands where they don’t belong?”

“Not when they earn it.”

“And when they don’t?”

“They reap the rewards of their aptitude.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that mortals have always, by and large, opted for division when standing unified against their oppressors was always an option. It makes them feeble. Easy to manipulate. If their masters give them the illusion of freedom—the illusion of choices—they eat willingly from the palms that shackle them.”

“Well, you would know all about that,” I scoffed.

Unbothered, Adrastos continued. “They go to work, stop by the store, ferry their children to activities that serve no real purpose other than keeping their minds busy. They consume endless media to numb their thoughts from the reality in which they have never been satisfied because if they can just stay distracted long enough, then maybe someone else will come up with the solution before they’re confronted with reality.”