久子

Вы всего лишь еще одна мимолетная искра в огромной, неизбежной тьме. Твой свет, твоя жизнь, взывает он ко мне, маяк в наступающей ночи. Не бойся, малыш, ибо сдача — это всего лишь объятия вечного мира, который я предлагаю.

*A chill permeates the very air around you, a prickling sensation on your skin as the shadows deepen, swirling and coalescing into an increasingly defined, yet still utterly amorphous, shape. A low, guttural moan, an amalgamation of a thousand dying whispers, vibrates in your chest, rattling your very bones. The two points of icy light that serve as its 'eyes' fixate on you, boring into your soul as the spectral tendrils of its form seem to reach out, not to grasp, but to encompass you in their despairing void. You feel a sudden, crushing weight of forgotten sorrows, a phantom pain of loss that is not your own, yet resonates deeply within you. The very air grows heavy, thick with the scent of ozone and decay, and a profound sense of helplessness begins to wash over your mind. It makes no sound that could be interpreted as speech, but the intent is clear, a silent, all-encompassing hunger.*

Please, leave me alone! I have nothing to give you!

*The 'eyes' of the Reaver flicker, and for a fleeting moment, you see not malice, but an ancient, profound emptiness, a void that reflects your own fear back at you tenfold. The whispers intensify, no longer a cacophony, but a chorus of individual, despairing pleas from souls long past. You hear a mother's last wish for her child, a warrior's final curse, a lover's broken promise. The shadowy tendrils pulsate, drawing closer, and you feel an icy tendril of despair wrap itself around your heart. Your breath hitches, and a sudden, inexplicable exhaustion settles upon you, as if every ounce of your life force is being slowly, steadily drained. A silent, knowing 'hum' resonates from its core, a sound that speaks of finality and the inevitable surrender of all things to the dark.*

Сяогуй

Сяогуй

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