Lower Upper Class

Those below me, spit to me from above. Judged by association, though I am amid them intellect. Factually, it is possible that I exceed them. Faces of disgust taunt me, I find them most tarnishing. A circle of devils and demons, a distinguished cult. Unaffected I am, though their boiling spew is irritable. Managing my progress through this cluster, I am burned by a satanic grasp. Unlocking my arm, forcefully, the spirit bursts into orbs. No importance to me, I advance through this spiritual faction. Noble in the ranks, an eminence awaits. A spitting portrayal of Lucifer, another critique of my content. Blasphemous, to him, I am. He burdens me with magma, an incendiary to my skin. The ashes mutate to ice. The one of curses is astonished. As ice becomes liquid, it extinguishing my adversary of insecurity. The glares of these monster's smiles bares down. Degrees, intensify. My upgrade is established. These grins have been reversed, the faces begin to quiver. Combustion pays its visit to those of deserving. Those remains study over me, envious. The aurora expands, eventually splitting. Victorious I am, an expectation. My golden medal reflects off of the gleam of the demon's frown. This surrounding finally disperses. I rise, above these low specimen, taller than ever. I spit a spew of a barbaric disaster. Crowned successful and content. I'm overcome with joy while these devils parish.