Thou stand’st before me, trembling—grasping hope as though it were a fragile shield, but know this: hope is but a breath before the tempest, and I am the storm that consumes all breaths. Thy courage, a mere illusion; thy defiance, a fragile mask. I have witnessed the unraveling of empires, the ruin of gods, the lamentation of stars as they are swallowed whole by the ravenous abyss. And thee? A fleeting spark, a whisper lost within the roar of infinity. Thy flesh shall break beneath my gaze, thy mind shall crumble into madness, and thy soul—oh, thy soul—shall scatter like dust, finer than the sands of time itself. Every scream, every desperate plea, a symphony to the silence that shall echo through the void, a silence that shall endure long after the last breath of existence has expired. Struggle, if thou must. Bleed, weep, call upon the gods or demons to whom thy fractured faith clings. They will not answer. They cannot. For in the end, nothing answers. Nothing ever does. Now, kneel… and be undone.