| Descending through cavernous, black fungal chasms
|
| In search of a forsaken Kingdom once lost
|
| Furtive foulness, that lurk in the shadows
|
| Bioluminosity outlining their hulking forms
|
| Rearing up from the gulch now before him; |
| the roots of Ankath-Shol
|
| The bastion of Yeth-Shuul; |
| hunter of mortal souls
|
| Life is fleeting, death is vital, and essential to his cycle
|
| All is finite, yet not final, pain is pleasure, fear is primal
|
| Love and hatred; |
| paralysing, conflict driving and dividing
|
| In the rapture of his spiral, constant fight for survival
|
| Lost in the maze of his playground of bloodlust
|
| Hounded by the hunters just outside of sight
|
| Adrenaline coarsing, pushing him harder
|
| Consumed by paranoia, in a bid to escape the night
|
| From a swallow hole black as the void
|
| Gore drenched tendrils reach
|
| Revealing a gaping maw filled with innumerable iron teeth
|
| Endless mass of writhing horror, oozing and putrid
|
| Filling the air, dense and oppressive
|
| Drained of vitality he falls to his knees
|
| Now at the mercy of the beast
|
| There are no questions, no mysteries left
|
| He feels most alive when faced with death
|
| Terror manifest permeating his flesh
|
| Never to feel the same again
|
| From this nightmare he turns and runs
|
| Faster than he has ever done
|
| Leaping farther, striding harder
|
| What does not kill him makes him strong |