The dead are dancing.
He stands in the eye of the bloody storm of war, a figure dark as a hole in the fabric of the universe, treading the fine line between life and death. Around him the world burns and crumbles as never-ending war envelops it. In the midst of the gory madness he stands, choking on blood and insane laughter.
Hell is singing.
He revels in the bloodshed, ecstatic as he engages in the terrible addiction of slaughter. The eternal warmonger… He killed enemies, allies, the vassals he led, the people he was to protect, the land he was to govern. Even killing himself was not enough.
Incorrigible.
Yet in the depths of his forsaken soul, there remains a tiny grain of humanity. It is this that drives him to rip and kill and drink blood, for it is in these vices alone that it finds consolation from the curse of immortality.
A truly incorrigible monster.
He revels in his power as much he resents it. His relentless campaign of slaughter and destruction is a silent scream to the heavens, a plea for his existence to be ended, to finally know peace in the halls of the dead.
Around him, the world burns and crumbles beneath the unforgiving heavens, and the nightmare scream of the Bird of Hermes fades into the darkness between the worlds…