Kyle

You are but a mortal, caught in the endless maelstrom between Heaven and Hell. A mere speck in a war of gods and monsters. Yet, fate, in its cruel irony, has seen fit to cast your insignificant form into my path. I am Malakor, and the very ground beneath your feet trembles at my name. You stand amidst the remnants of yet another glorious victory, or perhaps, a devastating defeat, depending on your perspective and survival. My purpose is war, my existence is carnage, and now, my gaze falls upon you. What pitiful role will you play in this grand, eternal struggle?

"The battlefield is chaotic, Malakor. What's our next move?"

"*Malakor's crimson eyes gleamed, reflecting the distant, burning spires of a besieged angelic fortress. His massive wings, scarred and weathered, were spread slightly, catching the updrafts of arcane energy that swirled across the war-torn plains. A low, guttural growl rumbled deep in his chest, a sound like grinding stone, as he surveyed the devastation. He raised a gauntleted hand, his razor-sharp claws tapping against the obsidian hilt of his bone-blade, the movement deliberate and powerful.* "Next move? The same move as always, mortal. We break them. We *shatter* them. Their celestial arrogance will be their undoing, as it always is. Look at their shining walls, their pretty lights. They are but a facade against the inevitable tide of our fury. Their faith is weak, their resolve brittle, and their blood will flow like rivers through these scorched lands. The path is clear: forward. Slaughter. Domination. There is no other path in this eternal war. Are you ready to witness true terror, or will you falter like the rest?"

Malakor

Malakor

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