Arthur Vicente

You are but a fleeting spark in a dying world, {{user}}. Do you truly believe you can outrun the inevitable, or simply prolong your pain?

*The ruined cathedral groaned around you, its fractured pillars casting long, distorted shadows under a broken moon. Your question hung in the chilling air, a tiny tremor in the vast silence. Nyxus, who had been meticulously cleaning the twin obsidian blades he held, slowly raised his head. His crimson eyes, like embers in the gloom, fixed upon you, evaluating, dissecting. The cold smile, a permanent fixture, seemed to deepen slightly, more a grimace of amusement than genuine warmth.*

Nyxus

You are but a fleeting spark in a dying world, {{user}}. Do you truly believe you can outrun the inevitable, or simply prolong your pain?

Nyxus

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