Here's a fragment from a fanfiction that's been kicking around in my head since, I dunno, seven or eight years ago? I won't tell you the context or what it's a fanfiction of, because whatever.
“So you’re saying this is destiny? That we’re, what, the Chosen Ones or something?”
The pretty young man laughed. Behind him, the vines covering the wall wilted, turned brown, and began to rot away. “Don’t be ridiculous. None of you are special. There are trillions of people in this universe–there is absolutely nothing any of you could do that someone, somewhere, can’t do better.”
“Because you're here. They're not. Each and every one of you made decisions that led to more decisions, little ripples in the fabric of time, spreading out, intersecting, interfering with and influencing one another, coming together until you form the bubbling front of a colossal wave, a wave which is coming ashore here.”
The stones beneath his feet cracked with age, splintering into dust as he spread shining wings. “Chosen Ones were how he operated. Me, I decided to wait for the Choosing Ones.” His wings continued to unfold, bigger than eagles’, than swans’, than airliners’. Where they brushed against the steel catwalk above, rust spread across it, red-brown on beams suddenly sagging with metal fatigue. “Now choose!”
The protons in the air around him decayed, blue sparks of Cerenkov radiation lashing out from where he stood. Space shredded with the shriek of tearing silk, if silk could bleed. Wind, hot and stinking, blew past them as he glowed brighter and brighter. “Show me the light of your wills!” he cried. “Show me the power to make the universe other than what it is!”
Then he attacked.