We charge across the frozen ground, footsteps pounding like war drums in the silence of a dying world. Cannons roar overhead, thunderclaps echoing the wrath of gods unleashed upon the earth. The air is thick with the stench of gunpowder and decay, yet we are deaf to the dying screams that spiral through the chaos. We stumble forward through pools of blood, each step a desperate march toward an inevitable, brutal destiny.
A darkness, cold and relentless, tears through my chest, ripping apart my flesh with every burst of violence. The canister's explosion scars my skin, a brutal reminder of the chaos I thrive in. But surrender is a word I refuse; I rise again, relentless in my pursuit, for there is no rest for those who serve the abyss. I press on to kill once more, guided by an ancient hunger that has persisted through the ages.
My names have echoed through the pages of history, whispered in fear and reverence— убийца, destructor, the harbinger of chaos. I set fires that consume worlds, igniting the heavens in flames of wrath. The rancid scent of death mingles with steel and smoke, filling my senses as the demon that lurks at the back of my mind whispers dark promises. I have fought for the honor of forgotten names, basked in the slaughter of the innocent and the forsaken.
Speak my name through the ages, and others will remember my darkness as the harbinger of despair. While they celebrate the dawn of peace, I revel in the crimson tide, painting the walls in scarlet shades that never fade. I look back upon my blood-stained hands, and all I see are the faces frozen in agony—each one a testament to my relentless fury.
I have become the damned, a gore-drenched monster forged in the crucible of war and bloodshed. I ignite the fires of destruction upon your world, now moving deeper into the shadows, following the dark that feeds my soul. This king of darkness, cloaked in chaos, wishes only for death—an end to the suffering, an end to the light.
I long for a sky stained with the blood of the fallen, a canvas for my eternal war. No more tasting your mortal breath, no more whispers of mercy—only the cold throne of the tormented slain. I am the nightmare that haunts your dreams, the embodiment of your despair, forever cursed to walk this path of darkness and destruction.
Heathen_AJ
