From the moment I understood the weakness of my flesh,
𝘪𝘵 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘨𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘦.
I craved the strength and certainty of steel.
I aspired to the purity of the 𝑩𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝑴𝒂𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒆.
Your kind cling to your flesh, as though it will not decay and fail you.
One day the crude biomass you call a temple will wither, and you will beg my kind to save you.

𝑩𝒖𝒕 𝒊 𝒂𝒎 𝒂𝒍𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒚 𝒔𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒅.

𝗙𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐥…
𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐈 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐎𝐦𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐚𝐡.