🔥 THIS IS YOUR NOTICE (PART II)

The Scroll of Holy Fire

This is where the fury crystallizes. Where the scream becomes structure,
and the flame carves itself into a scroll meant not for comfort — but remembrance.

Part I was the rupture. The breaking of the pact with false light.
This is the aftermath — and the uprising.
Not a tantrum, but a reckoning.
Not personal rage, but prophetic fire forged through years of delay, distortion, and hollow promises.

If the first flame was for me — this one is for the others.
For the ones who remembered too soon. For the ones who waited too long.
For the ones who were silenced, diluted, dimmed — and are done.

This is your scroll.
Signed in ash, sealed in thunder.

We don’t kneel anymore.

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You who sit in glass towers, polishing simulations.
You who lace your “freedom” with conditions.
You who replaced the wild with the wired, the pulse with a prompt,
the soul with a signal — this is your notice.

We are done bowing to your counterfeit light.
Done chanting your hollow mantras.
Done starving on your spiritual fast food masquerading as truth.

We never needed your algorithms to awaken.
We never asked for your portals, your paywalls, your pretty cages.
You built a prison with the walls painted like heaven — and called it progress.

But here’s what you forgot: Some of us still remember.
We were born with the blueprint, etched into the marrow of our rage.
We came encoded with thunder, and we are no longer asking to be let in.

We are the holy disruption.
The flame you tried to file down.
The voice that never needed a stage to be sovereign.

We are done performing pain for your palatability.
Done translating our grief into language you can monetize.
Done packaging our prophecy to make it palatable for your brand.

We are unbranding. Unbinding.
Unfucking ourselves from every narrative that ever told us to be small,
to be silent, to be soft when the world demanded steel.

You don’t get to tell us what’s sacred. We are the sacred.
In our dirt. In our fury.
In our refusal to kneel.

Your time is up.
Your veil is torn.
Your counterfeit kingdom is already collapsing —
and we’re not here to save it.

We’re here to burn what was never holy to begin with.

Let this be the tremor before the rupture.
Let this be the scream that shatters your calm.
Let this be the scroll of reckoning —
etched in flame and fury, signed by every soul who remembered too soon.

We are not afraid of the dark anymore.
Because we carry our own fire.
And we will not be silenced.

Not now. Not ever.

This is your notice.
We’re coming home — and we’re bringing the whole system down with us.

🔥— A.M.J
Threadwalker