Lyrics
overture (Sabnock theme)
- 誰もがみな 欲望のままには daremo ga mina yokubou no mama ni wa (Everyone, no matter who, when within the clutches of desire)
理由奪われて傷つけあって riyuu ubawarete kizutsukeatte (Loses reason to desire and hurt each other.)
互いを認めて理解することが tagai wo mitomete rikai suru koto ga (These people then seek to recognize and understand another like them)
平凡な世界への調べとなる heibon na sekai e no shirabe to naru (And that will become the song that guides them to a common world.)
幾千の争いに終焉の旋律がなり日々いたなら1 ikusen no arasoi ni shuuen no senritsu ga nari hibi ita nara (Countless strife brings about a hymn of their demise; should such days no longer exist)
忘れられた夢が希望が溢れて wasurareta yume ga kibou ga afurete (The dreams, the hopes you'd forgotten overflows)
モノクロの世界が色付きはじめる monokuro no sekai ga irotsuki hajimeru (And this monochrome world begins to seep with color.)
願う理想や幻想でさえも negau risou ya gensou de sae mo (The ideals and even the fantasies you wish for)
きっと現実になるともう言いたいの（信じさせて） kitto genjitsu ni naru to mou iitai no (shinjisasete) (Surely you'll want to say that they'll become real (let me believe))
流したら未来よ nagashitara mirai yo (Should you let it take its course, the future)
虹をかけて niji wo kakete (Draw a rainbow across your sky.)
誰もがみな 愛情の元に見た dare mo ga mina aijou no moto ni mita (Everyone, no matter who, saw the root of all love)
[詩満たされる]共に歩む世界へ2 shimitasareru tomo ni ayumu sekai e (A world where they all walk alongside each other, fulfilled in life.)
絶望も憎悪も恐怖も全ても zetsubou mo zouo mo kyoufu mo subete mo (Despair, hatred, fear, and even all of its kind)
受け止める勇気を奏でたら uketomeru yuuki wo kanadetara (If you could raise your courage to accept all of that in song)
忘れられた夢が希望が溢れて wasurareta yume ga kibou ga afurete (The dreams, the hopes you'd forgotten overflows)
モノクロの世界が色付きはじめた monokuro no sekai ga irotsuki hajimeta (And this monochrome world has already begun to bloom with color.)
願う理想や幻想でさえも negau risou ya gensou de sae mo (The ideals and even the fantasies you wish for,)
きっと現実になると思えそう（信じさせて）3 kitto genjitsu ni naru to omoesou (shinjisasete) (Surely, it seems you could hope that they'd become real (let me believe))
流したら未来よ nagashitara mirai yo (Should you let it take its course, the future,)
虹をかけて niji wo kakete (Draw a rainbow across your sky.)
共に過去に描いたキレイな景色に tomo ni kako ni egaita kirei na keshiki ni (The beautiful scene we'd drawn together in days long gone,)
色付いた世界は近づきはじめ irotsuita sekai wa chikadzuki hajime (A world swirling in color begins to draw closer.)
願う理想や幻想でさえも negau risou ya gensou de sae mo (The ideals and even the fantasies you wish for,)
きっと現実になると思えたの（この大地に） kitto genjitsu ni naru to omoetano (kono daichi ni) (Surely you could've hoped they'd become real (on this great Earth),)
現れた虹が明日へ向こう arawareta niji ga asu e mukou (The rainbow that appeared crosses the sky, towards tomorrow's light.)
響きだした平和への序曲 hibikidashita heiwa no jyokyoku (Echoing throughout, an overture for a world of peace,)
二度と破滅へ向わぬように（この大地に） nidoto hametsu e mukawanu youni (kono daichi ni) (To ensure that it will never head towards destruction again,)
鮮やかな虹に誓いをたたえて azayakana niji ni chikai wo tataete (Set your vows upon that vivid rainbow.)
Agito
Volk
To him, life meant only suffering. Born bare of all necessities, he has survived to this day through the sheer and unrelenting anger unique to those with nothing.
He had dreamed of saving the weak, but weakness is defined solely in relation to strength. Thus, to eliminate the strong is to eliminate the weak as well. Salvation is but destruction under a different name.
His heart yearned for an ounce of the happiness enjoyed by others, but it eluded him completely. In its absence came despair, the sneering reminder of what he lacked. And so, he decided to stab at happiness itself.
He obliterated all of it, from the curses that ate at him to the desires that preserved his being. He lost all sense of himself as a person, though he didn't care. He would not stop until he obliterated the world itself.
He wavered, teetering between human and beast, between life and death. To remain human was to invite death, yet still he wavered. Finally, he made his choice. And that was when he awakened.
The pain he felt was perpetual. He was starving, sick, exhausted; he was the subject of suspicion and exclusion, of scorn and disgust. And yet the sharpest pain of all was the contempt he harbored himself.
In the end, there was no choice but to burn the stricken land to ash. Flames engulfed everything, and he knew that within them, some small part of him would be lost forever.
The air was thick with his maddened screams. Those less fortunate were always being trampled by the privileged - and in a world where such privilege was seen as normal, madness was the only means of survival.
He howled. For nine nights did his wailing persist. Pain, grief, sadness, pity, charity, fraternity, hope, and future, all whittled away. All that remained was ardent determination. Madness. He was resolved to give himself over entirely to the oblivion of insanity.
He was entrapped by the looming reality of death, yet clung to life - this was his rebellion where haves and have-nots were decided at birth. So he scratched and scrabbled to survive...and then he met a man.
The man was a have-not. Deprived. His very existence had ended up belonging to others. The man whispered to him: Do you wish to rebel against this world?
The will to rebel changed him into a beast. And so freed from the yoke of weakness that had long tormented him, the beast swore to take revenge upon all things.
The beast was unchained. Starving and mad, it killed and butchered and devoured all it laid eyes upon. Yet no matter how much death it tasted, its spirit could not be satiated.
Though it ate much, the beast's desire flared, the weak who remained in turn ate the weaker. There was no salvation in this, and the world spun on as it had ever had before.
It was the weak that the beast had been devouring. The beast, having suffered as a have-not, was merely trampling the even weaker. Every shape of inhumanity is caused by the weak, and it is the weak that it continues to punish.
It was those blessed to have who gave rise to the have-nots. Simply by existing, the haves continue to produce have-nots. This was a sin that should never be permitted, and the beast came to hate the world which allowed it.
The beast swore a vow to destroy the world. Those with power and wealth and relationships and feelings would be consumed, thereby staining the world with the weak - with have-nots. This would be the beast's rebellion.
He had dreamed of saving the weak, but weakness is defined solely in relation to strength. Thus, to eliminate the strong is to eliminate the weak as well. Salvation is but destruction under a different name.
His heart yearned for an ounce of the happiness enjoyed by others, but it eluded him completely. In its absence came despair, the sneering reminder of what he lacked. And so, he decided to stab at happiness itself.
He obliterated all of it, from the curses that ate at him to the desires that preserved his being. He lost all sense of himself as a person, though he didn't care. He would not stop until he obliterated the world itself.
He wavered, teetering between human and beast, between life and death. To remain human was to invite death, yet still he wavered. Finally, he made his choice. And that was when he awakened.
The pain he felt was perpetual. He was starving, sick, exhausted; he was the subject of suspicion and exclusion, of scorn and disgust. And yet the sharpest pain of all was the contempt he harbored himself.
In the end, there was no choice but to burn the stricken land to ash. Flames engulfed everything, and he knew that within them, some small part of him would be lost forever.
The air was thick with his maddened screams. Those less fortunate were always being trampled by the privileged - and in a world where such privilege was seen as normal, madness was the only means of survival.
He howled. For nine nights did his wailing persist. Pain, grief, sadness, pity, charity, fraternity, hope, and future, all whittled away. All that remained was ardent determination. Madness. He was resolved to give himself over entirely to the oblivion of insanity.
He was entrapped by the looming reality of death, yet clung to life - this was his rebellion where haves and have-nots were decided at birth. So he scratched and scrabbled to survive...and then he met a man.
The man was a have-not. Deprived. His very existence had ended up belonging to others. The man whispered to him: Do you wish to rebel against this world?
The will to rebel changed him into a beast. And so freed from the yoke of weakness that had long tormented him, the beast swore to take revenge upon all things.
The beast was unchained. Starving and mad, it killed and butchered and devoured all it laid eyes upon. Yet no matter how much death it tasted, its spirit could not be satiated.
Though it ate much, the beast's desire flared, the weak who remained in turn ate the weaker. There was no salvation in this, and the world spun on as it had ever had before.
It was the weak that the beast had been devouring. The beast, having suffered as a have-not, was merely trampling the even weaker. Every shape of inhumanity is caused by the weak, and it is the weak that it continues to punish.
It was those blessed to have who gave rise to the have-nots. Simply by existing, the haves continue to produce have-nots. This was a sin that should never be permitted, and the beast came to hate the world which allowed it.
The beast swore a vow to destroy the world. Those with power and wealth and relationships and feelings would be consumed, thereby staining the world with the weak - with have-nots. This would be the beast's rebellion.
— The combined Flavor Text of the Flame Agito weapons, chronicling Volk's transformation into an Agito
Kai Yan
Earthly paradise was here once, wrought by his ancestors, wielders of ancient relics. It was a paradise of wealth, peace, and harmony for all who dwelled there—but alas, it fell, and few traces of that civilization remain.
He was wracked with regret. Shame gripped him. He'd believed peaceful coexistence to be the righteous path, yet his brethren who had never known conflict yielded to violence and died. And he was the one who had taught them that path.
He had learned how the world worked. Without strength, one had no right to exist. He saw now this unshakable truth. The weak will be culled from the world like ripe wheat. None were exempt from this rule.
He proselytized strength. He preached meaning in the conflict of races. But none were inclined to listen. Caught in the mire of peace, they lived in enervation. This, then, was the start of his eventual awakening.
He became the embodiment of the principle. His mighty arms struck with all of his fury, culling the disappointment that was his brethren. They died. He lived. This is what it means to be strong.
Their words were of no consequence to him, for all who lobbed them had fallen to an ill path. If they could not understand the will to power, they must be culled in the face of this principle.
He made a great realization, that he himself was the pinnacle of evolution. Thus did he make up his mind to cull the weak and let prove his strength.
Look and know the ultimate of this bodily vessel. Look upon me, ever following the true path. It was a state the weak could never reach. It was the earthly paradise he sought. It was the utter pinnacle.
Then he became a demon. each time he came to shatter their fantasy of shared prosperity, heretics lamented their weakness and begged for their lives. In their trembling visages did he see his former self who was once so lost—which is why he chose to forgive them nothing.
To the world he screamed—life is but never-ending pain within a fleeting world that tramples those without strength. Yet his lamentation did not reach ear, and weakness spread throughout the world.
A man appeared before him. One with power. One who shunned tranquility. Nay, since the moment of his birth, never had he known anything that could be called tranquility.
He became the beast: A toughened body with four muscled limbs. Having attained the ultimate form he sought, the beast rebelled against a world that dreamt a wrongheaded ideal.
The beast continued to show the world a path that was right and just. So long as different peoples filled this world, the strong and the weak could never be equal. So did he continue to beat at the weak with the principle of this inevitable culling.
Though his body was the ultimate, though he showed the right and just path, the beast's anger was never quelled. The more fleshy bodies burst, the greater did the beast rage—and with each day, his hatred for weakness grew.
Before the beast's overwhelming strength, the buffoons who had awoken from their dream regretted their weakness and were crushed. Without fail did the beast ever find his former self in the sight of them.
Weak souls, relying on one another, working together in fairness and peace. They were just like he had been back then, when he had allowed the outsiders to steal away the lives of his breathren.
What made the beast feel more furious than anything was his own weakness. And the world overflowed with those like he once was. Thus the rage within the beast would not disappear. Thus did he rebel against the world.
He was wracked with regret. Shame gripped him. He'd believed peaceful coexistence to be the righteous path, yet his brethren who had never known conflict yielded to violence and died. And he was the one who had taught them that path.
He had learned how the world worked. Without strength, one had no right to exist. He saw now this unshakable truth. The weak will be culled from the world like ripe wheat. None were exempt from this rule.
He proselytized strength. He preached meaning in the conflict of races. But none were inclined to listen. Caught in the mire of peace, they lived in enervation. This, then, was the start of his eventual awakening.
He became the embodiment of the principle. His mighty arms struck with all of his fury, culling the disappointment that was his brethren. They died. He lived. This is what it means to be strong.
Their words were of no consequence to him, for all who lobbed them had fallen to an ill path. If they could not understand the will to power, they must be culled in the face of this principle.
He made a great realization, that he himself was the pinnacle of evolution. Thus did he make up his mind to cull the weak and let prove his strength.
Look and know the ultimate of this bodily vessel. Look upon me, ever following the true path. It was a state the weak could never reach. It was the earthly paradise he sought. It was the utter pinnacle.
Then he became a demon. each time he came to shatter their fantasy of shared prosperity, heretics lamented their weakness and begged for their lives. In their trembling visages did he see his former self who was once so lost—which is why he chose to forgive them nothing.
To the world he screamed—life is but never-ending pain within a fleeting world that tramples those without strength. Yet his lamentation did not reach ear, and weakness spread throughout the world.
A man appeared before him. One with power. One who shunned tranquility. Nay, since the moment of his birth, never had he known anything that could be called tranquility.
He became the beast: A toughened body with four muscled limbs. Having attained the ultimate form he sought, the beast rebelled against a world that dreamt a wrongheaded ideal.
The beast continued to show the world a path that was right and just. So long as different peoples filled this world, the strong and the weak could never be equal. So did he continue to beat at the weak with the principle of this inevitable culling.
Though his body was the ultimate, though he showed the right and just path, the beast's anger was never quelled. The more fleshy bodies burst, the greater did the beast rage—and with each day, his hatred for weakness grew.
Before the beast's overwhelming strength, the buffoons who had awoken from their dream regretted their weakness and were crushed. Without fail did the beast ever find his former self in the sight of them.
Weak souls, relying on one another, working together in fairness and peace. They were just like he had been back then, when he had allowed the outsiders to steal away the lives of his breathren.
What made the beast feel more furious than anything was his own weakness. And the world overflowed with those like he once was. Thus the rage within the beast would not disappear. Thus did he rebel against the world.
—The combined Flavor Text of the Shadow Agito weapons, chronicling Kai Yan's transformation into an Agito
Ciella
She was once so certain—certain that law and righteousness brought peace and joy to all. And yet now she despaired, having learned these were vague notions that changed with time and situation as if on a breeze.
Unerring was her search for that which was just. But when she realized justice did not exist, she was overcome with despair and fell into the path of ill. And though it was, indeed, ill, for her it was the proper course
Ever was she tormented by an aimless isolation that made her feel as if she was in a dark cave. She plumbed her way through a darkness untouched by even a single beam of light, so it was only natural she would fall to gloom.
Any would acknowledge her strength. And yet exceptional ability conversely invites great egotism, so none would acknowledge her. Her righteousness denied, she began to hate the world, and so set her aim to insurrection.
She believed in the righteousness and justice espoused by the Church as she slaughtered hundreds and escaped death countless times. Yet as she trod over a mountain of bodies, she realized justice was nowhere to be found.
She loathed wasting time. Talk did not make any understand her righteousness. Appeals would not bring her true justice. Thus did she draw her bow taut, brush deception aside, and fill her nocked arrow with despair.
She hated those who did not know their place. She taught those who bleated of flimsy ideals and delusions their station in this world. This was how she saved those who blindly adhered to deception from despair.
She despaired of those she tried to protect and so cast them away, gaining the strength of one who has naught to lose. Yet this new path she walked beckoned unto the depths of a dark, gloomy despair, and alas, she wanders it still.
Her sorrow and hatred were unending, tinging even the bright rays of the sun dark with despair. Her heart had lost the sun—it jeered empathy, shunned faith, deplored justice, scorned hope. The one and only thing she believed in was the hopelessness that swirled endlessly inside her.
Unerring was her search for that which was just. But when she realized justice did not exist, she was overcome with despair and fell into the path of ill. And though it was, indeed, ill, for her it was the proper course
Ever was she tormented by an aimless isolation that made her feel as if she was in a dark cave. She plumbed her way through a darkness untouched by even a single beam of light, so it was only natural she would fall to gloom.
Any would acknowledge her strength. And yet exceptional ability conversely invites great egotism, so none would acknowledge her. Her righteousness denied, she began to hate the world, and so set her aim to insurrection.
She believed in the righteousness and justice espoused by the Church as she slaughtered hundreds and escaped death countless times. Yet as she trod over a mountain of bodies, she realized justice was nowhere to be found.
She loathed wasting time. Talk did not make any understand her righteousness. Appeals would not bring her true justice. Thus did she draw her bow taut, brush deception aside, and fill her nocked arrow with despair.
She hated those who did not know their place. She taught those who bleated of flimsy ideals and delusions their station in this world. This was how she saved those who blindly adhered to deception from despair.
She despaired of those she tried to protect and so cast them away, gaining the strength of one who has naught to lose. Yet this new path she walked beckoned unto the depths of a dark, gloomy despair, and alas, she wanders it still.
Her sorrow and hatred were unending, tinging even the bright rays of the sun dark with despair. Her heart had lost the sun—it jeered empathy, shunned faith, deplored justice, scorned hope. The one and only thing she believed in was the hopelessness that swirled endlessly inside her.
—The combined Flavor Text of the Wind Agito weapons, chronicling Ciella's trasformation into an Agito.
Ayaha and Otoha
They were together from the moment they were born into this world. They shared every first: Sights. Sounds. Smells. Murders. All of this, they did as one.
Their craving for freedom was pure. Like a butterfly moving from flower to flower, they spread their paired wings and flitted about. But soon, these innocent wings brought forth a storm that pulled all into a maelstrom of chaos.
They liked to play with dolls, for controlling such soulless toys made them feel free. For them, freedom was power—and wielding power the only way to obtain freedom.
They hated to be yoked. They bared their fangs at all who would confined them, and used violence against any who would hinder their freedom. Not even a blade of grass grew in their wake; the land they left behind was death.
The demon bore one heart in two bodies. She laughed and derided all as unshapely, scorning those things she saw as worthless. They were separate beings, but their heart was filled with the same chaotic madness.
They bore no ill will. No malice. Merely an insatiable lust for freedom and the simple-minded impulse to seek pleasure. As a result, they had no conscience to whisper a warning when it came to hurting others.
No one understood them. They ridiculed unsightliness and scorned dullness with a grotesque sneer warping their countenance. They spread madness to all they touched, and there were none who could resist them.
But then they met a man, and through the meeting they were changed. Their true nature, however, remained as it ever was, for the man was but a guidepost—it was their own freedom which loosed them on the glorious path.
Nary a soul could straighten them out as they flitted about in jocular glee. Those who were meant to teach and guide them were drowned in oceans of blood by the twin demons who lost themselves in pleasure and lusted for freedom.
Their craving for freedom was pure. Like a butterfly moving from flower to flower, they spread their paired wings and flitted about. But soon, these innocent wings brought forth a storm that pulled all into a maelstrom of chaos.
They liked to play with dolls, for controlling such soulless toys made them feel free. For them, freedom was power—and wielding power the only way to obtain freedom.
They hated to be yoked. They bared their fangs at all who would confined them, and used violence against any who would hinder their freedom. Not even a blade of grass grew in their wake; the land they left behind was death.
The demon bore one heart in two bodies. She laughed and derided all as unshapely, scorning those things she saw as worthless. They were separate beings, but their heart was filled with the same chaotic madness.
They bore no ill will. No malice. Merely an insatiable lust for freedom and the simple-minded impulse to seek pleasure. As a result, they had no conscience to whisper a warning when it came to hurting others.
No one understood them. They ridiculed unsightliness and scorned dullness with a grotesque sneer warping their countenance. They spread madness to all they touched, and there were none who could resist them.
But then they met a man, and through the meeting they were changed. Their true nature, however, remained as it ever was, for the man was but a guidepost—it was their own freedom which loosed them on the glorious path.
Nary a soul could straighten them out as they flitted about in jocular glee. Those who were meant to teach and guide them were drowned in oceans of blood by the twin demons who lost themselves in pleasure and lusted for freedom.
—The combined Flavor Text of the Water Agito weapons, chronicling Ayaha and Otoha's transformation into an Agito.
Tartarus
In a memory of long, long ago, he saw light. It was the first light that he, the Abyssalwyrm, had witnessed in his long life in the depths of the world. It was light, and it was a man— and that man became his king.
Bidden by the voice of the people, his king took up the cause of justice. He commanded the heavens, and so was radiant with light. Yet he was also made to shoulder hardship, and his was a light ever in danger of extinguishing.
The king was dead. Peace had come to the world. Yet he wailed his lamentation to the skies. His king had been murdered by those people. By justice. By peace. The world left behind was but another abyss in which he must dwell.
He hated it—hated everything about the world that had offered up his king as sacrifice in exchange for peace. He hated even his very flesh as the Abyssalwyrm, for it was part of that world, and so he broke his horns and cast them aside.
His anger and sadness would not subside—be it humans, dragon, or the world, all was now his foe. Ere long did he incur the wrath of the Five Greatwyrms, and half his body made forfeit; thus did he fall eternal into the deep abyss.
He lived—half of him a ruin—crawling, creeping through the abyss. Hundreds of years passed, but his hate for the world and loyalty to his lost king only grew more keen.
He hated justice more than anything; the world summoned his king to become a hero—to be its sword and shield— and so did end his life. His hatred burned unending. His existence was pure, an endless dive into the abyss of loathing.
A man's voice echoed through the abyss—a man who did grant him half a steel body. And when he gazed once more upon the surface, he saw a land replete with unlikely peace. Recalling the light now broken and dead, he swore revenge that day.
He stood. If the world would deem it right to be built upon sacrifices made by one, then he would ensure all were sacrificed. Such is the "fairness" beloved by fools and charlatans alike. For him, there can be no exception—all must pay a price.
Bidden by the voice of the people, his king took up the cause of justice. He commanded the heavens, and so was radiant with light. Yet he was also made to shoulder hardship, and his was a light ever in danger of extinguishing.
The king was dead. Peace had come to the world. Yet he wailed his lamentation to the skies. His king had been murdered by those people. By justice. By peace. The world left behind was but another abyss in which he must dwell.
He hated it—hated everything about the world that had offered up his king as sacrifice in exchange for peace. He hated even his very flesh as the Abyssalwyrm, for it was part of that world, and so he broke his horns and cast them aside.
His anger and sadness would not subside—be it humans, dragon, or the world, all was now his foe. Ere long did he incur the wrath of the Five Greatwyrms, and half his body made forfeit; thus did he fall eternal into the deep abyss.
He lived—half of him a ruin—crawling, creeping through the abyss. Hundreds of years passed, but his hate for the world and loyalty to his lost king only grew more keen.
He hated justice more than anything; the world summoned his king to become a hero—to be its sword and shield— and so did end his life. His hatred burned unending. His existence was pure, an endless dive into the abyss of loathing.
A man's voice echoed through the abyss—a man who did grant him half a steel body. And when he gazed once more upon the surface, he saw a land replete with unlikely peace. Recalling the light now broken and dead, he swore revenge that day.
He stood. If the world would deem it right to be built upon sacrifices made by one, then he would ensure all were sacrificed. Such is the "fairness" beloved by fools and charlatans alike. For him, there can be no exception—all must pay a price.
—The combined Flavor Text of the Light Agito weapons, chronicling Tartarus's transformation into an Agito
