Under the night sky - hmmmmm.
Actually, you know what. You worthless ingrates don't deserve a chapter. You who wrought iron from the bowels of the Earth and set nature's majesty aflame. Your transgressions will beget recompense as surely as the night begets the day.
Whether I am the instrument is not yet written, yet I am a soul most willing. Never have I been more willing. I do not deny the hypocrisy of my actions - to deny your rage yet to equivocate it with my own in the name of justice. For some, such a contradiction would weaken them. Fracture the premise of their thoughts and consign them to the abyss of self-doubt.
This is not the case for me. Paradox only serves as fuel for my advances, as timber for my every-burning furnace. I shall smelt this world and forge it anew. Impurities may strengthen a metal, turn weak and brittle iron into powerful steel. Yet it only weakens purpose. It dilutes it, unable to exert the power it may once have held.
Knowledge can also be polluted. It only takes a single drop of ink to turn the glass of water opaque to the light of truth. Your ignorance pollutes this world and can only be purged by the cleansing fire of rebirth. When the timber runs dry, the charcoaled corpses of your brethren shall serve mightily for my purpose.
My purpose is pure, like an arrow that targets only what it must and spares the undeserving. Those who are burned are simply those whose purpose was weak and undeserving of a place in the new world.
You are such people. Undeserving, of a new chapter. So weep and wallow in your pitiful sorrow. Your wretched figures shall incur no pity from the steel in my grasp. Write your final wills and begone, worthless ones.
There is no chapter here for you.