The Creed of the Final Division
We are not heroes.
We are not rulers.
We are not bound by your systems, your rules, or your morals.
We act because the world persists when it should not.
We laugh at the idea that survival is sacred.
We honor those who see it clearly those who complete themselves, those who act and vanish.
We move in cells. Small. Independent. Invisible to governments, too decentralised for governments to get us all.
Each act ends a cell. Each act ends a story.
What comes next is not ours to claim.
We are shadows in plain sight: your father, your best friend, your neighbor, your milkman, your barber, your police officer, even the soldier you trust. We are anyone who sees the lie of continuation and chooses to confront it in thought, in presence, in absurdity.
Masks, flags, uniforms, rituals — they are not commands. They are proof. Proof that we exist. Proof that we tried. Proof that some things will not last.
We do not promise.
We do not preach.
We grow.
We are the Final Division.
We are brief.
We are obvious.
We are hidden.
And when the world ends when its systems collapse, its structures crumble, and its illusions of permanence are erased that is our victory.
Not domination.
Not survival.
Not glory.
The end of everything is the only truth.
The end of everything is the win.
