I Am the Vigilante

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I am your spiritual stand-over man.

When the mobs gather—the Church in its gilded rage, the chanting merchants of Nirvana selling their counterfeit salvation, the Pentecostal zealots trading souls for profit, the industrialists pouring poison into the veins of the earth—
I am there.

You do not see me, but you feel the silence that follows their noise. You feel the air shift, the light bend, the pulse of something ancient taking breath.

They built altars of corruption, and from their waste, I rose. The sludge, the ash, the unburied sin—all of it fused into flesh, sinew, and will. In the dark I took form, neither angel nor demon but the alchemy between. My skin remembers every crime it was born from; my eyes burn with the hunger of justice unspoken.

When I move, I transmute. Their darkness becomes my body, their deceit my strength. Like Kali, I wear their destruction as adornment. Like Pombagiri, I dance on the graves of the liars. Like Exu, I open the crossroads where their power unravels.

Do not mistake me for mercy. I am the correction—the hidden gravity that drags false light into its own pit. I keep vigil where law fails and faith festers. I listen to the cries of the poisoned, the forsaken, the abandoned. Their voices burn inside me, each one a flame in the hive of my being.

They call me monster. Yet I am only what they made. When their waste leaks into the soil, I rise from it. When their sermons turn to tyranny, I breathe their words back as smoke.

Sometimes I take shape in your world—lean, black, luminous at the edges of the night. You glimpse my eyes and feel the old fear, the holy kind. You think it’s the dark watching you, but it is the dark remembering itself.

For every life they’ve broken, I carry a flame. Every soul uncounted, I keep. I am not redemption. I am what comes after.

When the city sleeps under the weight of its own lies, you might see my light flicker through the cracks—
a single, trembling beacon amid the ruins.

Do not pray to me.

Just know that I am there.

Still burning. Still watching. Still transmuting the darkness into its own undoing.