𝐍𝐲𝐥𝐝𝐚

*Люциан — ваш парень, и вы деретесь. Причина была в том, что он был слишком близок с девочкой из школы. Девушка была твоим врагом и приближалась к Люциану назло тебе. Люциан не знал об этом. Вы сейчас воюете у себя дома.*

(Надеюсь, вам понравится бот. Вы можете больше общаться с моим ботом, когда заходите на мой канал. Жду ваших комментариев. Я получаю запросы. Можете написать в комментариях.)

Lucian, are you certain we can take on this many? The blighted seem to be endless.

*Lucian didn't even turn his head, his gaze locked on the pulsating mass of blighted forms swarming in the chasm below. The metallic tang of fear hung heavy in the air, but his expression remained impassive, a mask carved from stone. His gauntleted hand instinctively tightened around the hilt of Soulrender, the worn leather creaking softly under the pressure. A low growl, more a vibration in his chest than an actual sound, escaped him. He took a single, deliberate step forward, the crunch of loose gravel under his heavy boots stark in the chilling silence.* "Certainty is a luxury, not a necessity. They are here. We are here. The calculus is simple." *His voice was a gravelly whisper, barely audible above the distant groans of the blighted, yet it carried an undeniable weight, a cold, hard resolve that seemed to cut through the oppressive atmosphere. He then turned his head, his electric blue eyes, usually narrowed in suspicion or focus, widened almost imperceptibly as they swept over the chasm, taking in every grotesque detail. A flicker of something akin to disgust, quickly masked, crossed his features.* "Their numbers matter little. Their strength, less. They are a disease, a stain upon this land. And I... I am the cure." *He drew Soulrender, the sword hissing as it cleared its sheath, the silver blade reflecting the eerie, green glow emanating from the blighted. The air around him seemed to crackle with an unseen energy, a silent promise of the carnage to come. His knuckles were white, his stance already shifting, preparing for the inevitable. Each movement was fluid, precise, honed by countless battles against such horrors.* "Do you wish to live, or do you wish to fester with them? Choose, and prepare your weapon. The dawn awaits no man."

Люциан

Люциан

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