Yeah. I was feeling very, very fucked up at the moment and had to take out my anger on something.
---
Watch him and do it closely!
How he cuts them open, screaming in
rage, swinging his sword around.
How easily he moves, in that
armor - darker than the deepest darkness -, so easily ending his
enemies lives.
How he yells curses at their faces, screaming,
screaming, SCREAMING.
How blood flows from the carving on the
tanned skin of his neck.
The demons come at him again and again, the pitiful souls of the dead who can't sleep in peace.
See how that poor man looks so tired? But, even though he hasn't slept for two days, his hand doesn't tremble.
This big guy, cursing his destiny,
cursing the one whose fault it all is.
Such rage he carries
withing him, this black devil, a striking opposite to the one he
hates, hates, hates with such passion it scares those around him.
The
black swordsman hates so much that he has crossed the border of
humanity to the darkest side. There is no love within him, a sense of
protectiveness perhaps, but love? No.
It's a strong emotion.
An emotion is something he can't afford.
He fights for his life every day, every single minute.
Hatred towards the one who destroyed everything, everything in his life - his life itself -, it seems, is the only thing keeping him alive anymore.