You, the wailing People,
Ran for fear once Devils were unmasked
It is for you we act, the Old, the Bird, and I
For the People are those who seek innovation,
Conventionality left in the old past as it should be
We fight Devils, for they are mirrors of ourselves.
One final act I must commence,
And three daggers are thrown from my hand.
One up, piercing the heart of the innocent Oba,
She who had ordered war,
One down, striking the swimming Valka,
He who was swimming only to take his throne after exile,
One across, reaching the quiet Bancha,
The keen observer, he who had not acted
The true Devils struck dead with their own blades.
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