[Opening – Whispered Through the Void]
Hush… the sky remembers nothing.
Hush… the stars prepare their graves.
[Verse I]
Above the trembling earth he stands—
wings of ruin carved from forgotten dragons,
armor forged from obsidian dusk,
eyes dim as dying suns.
No mercy.
No heartbeat in that hollow throne of a soul.
Only command.
He raises his gauntleted hand,
and the heavens flinch like frightened cattle.
The clouds tear open—
a wound across creation.
[Dark Lord Invocation – Spoken, Distorted, Commanding]
“Cry, o dying heavens, your stars will drown in black.
Cry, for even time itself will never take you back.”
His voice spirals like collapsing nebulae,
ripping light from the sky,
pulling gravity to its knees.
[Verse II]
A planet hangs above—
once vibrant, once alive,
now shaking under his gaze
as though begging for a second chance
that will never come.
He closes his fist.
[Cataclysm – The Crushing of a World]
The sphere shatters.
Not breaks—
obliterates,
split into burning continents,
bleeding magma into the void,
screeching like a dying god.
Fragments roar like meteors torn from hell,
caught in his dominion,
awaiting his final decree.
[Dark Lord Judgment II – Spoken With Divine Finality]
“Fall, o trembling kingdoms, your prayers cannot be heard.
Fall, for silence is their weapon and your hope becomes absurd.”
[Verse III – Meteorfall]
With a flick of his wrist—
a gesture small enough to mock creation—
the debris descends.
Columns of fire,
each the size of a school bus
but burning like captured suns,
tear through the atmosphere,
screaming toward the helpless kingdom.
The sky becomes a furnace.
The horizon becomes a grave.
The earth itself quakes,
pleading, begging, breaking.
[Chorus – Choir of the Doomed]
O shattered heavens, tremble—
your light is but a dying ember.
O fallen crowns, surrender—
no prayer survives this night.
When the Star-Shatterer calls,
even gods forget to rise.
When his shadow falls,
the cosmos pays the price.
[Final Verse – After the First Impact]
Ash consumes the winds.
The sun blinks out beneath drifting ruin.
The world kneels—
not out of devotion,
but because its spine has finally cracked.
Above it all, he hovers.
Silent.
Unmoved.
A monarch not of darkness alone—
but of ending.
The embodiment of the phrase:
“When I raise my hand, a world dies.”
CataclysmConductor
