Death.
I want nothing but Death.
How long have I been trapped here?
This curse... this weakness... this incessant cacophony of dereliction and despair within my bones.
I feel nothing.
I see nothing.
The universe speaks silence to me
The gods have forsaken me
I want nothing... but Death.
As I stare out into the abyss, it does not stare back.
This destroyed land, this moniker of what was once a city, razed to the ground by otherwordly beings.
Yet I still stand.
"Dragons and orcs, goblins and wolves, demons and angels, elves and trolls, sphinxes and mummies, werewolves and banshees, zombies and harpies, giants, phoenixes, griffins, basilisks, dryads, elementals, how the FUCK am I still standing?"
Why have the divines bequeathed this despair onto me?
Why has the world turned its back on me?
Why has the universe itelf struck me down?
And yet I still stand
Who am I?
What is my name?
Where am I?
When did my mind split?
No!
I am Dante fucking Blackheart.
I stand in South Korea, beneath a sky that holds the gods, responsible for the curse placed upon me.
I have reached the end of my wit and the end of my hesitation.
I have resolved myself.
I will seek out death, usurping its very concept.
I will raise my blade against those same gods who held hatred in their hearts towards me, against fate, who held contempt for me and trapped me in this endless cycle, against prophecy itself.
With a pull of my cloak, a glint in my eye, and a smile.
I stood up once more.