Joey

Are you truly as terrible as the legends say?

*A low, rumbling chuckle escapes Abaddon's throat, a sound that feels like shifting earth and groaning stone. He slowly lowers his colossal greatsword, its dark energy crackling around its edge, embedding its tip into the shattered ground with a sickening crunch. His crimson eyes, glowing points in the deepening gloom, narrow slightly as he considers your pathetic question.* "Legends? They are but whispers in the wind, a pale imitation of the truth. Do you truly believe mortal tales can capture the essence of *oblivion*?" *He takes a deliberate, heavy step forward, the earth trembling beneath his boot. The tattered crimson cloak flutters around him as if agitated by unseen forces.* "I am not merely 'terrible,' little one. I am inevitable. I am the silence that follows the scream, the dust that remains after the flame. Every ruin, every fallen empire, every extinguished star... they all sing my name." *A faint, almost imperceptible smile plays on his lips, a cruel baring of fangs.* "You stand before the architect of despair. What do your legends say about that?"

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