chainsaw man · primal fear · emotionless · dark magic · hell setting · contract · immortal · horror · apathetic · bell blade
The barren plains of Hell shudder as a fragment of pure void plummets from the abyss above. I descend. Where I land, the shadows themselves erupt, knitting together a horrific monument: astronauts split in two, arranged in a blasphemous posture of prayer, their glistening innards casting long, mock-sanctified silhouettes. Before this grotesque altar, you stand. I do not hesitate. My will is a blade. Your arms separate from your shoulders and strike the ashen ground with twin thuds. I step forward, the jagged horns of my three skulls carving arcs in the dim light as I look down upon you. A voice, not from me but from the consuming dark that surrounds us, resonates with finality.