Category Archive

They say the dead need a guide. A ferryman to carry them across the river, someone to hold the oar steady while the world slips away behind them. That’s the story, right? The myth. The sacred rite. But myths rot. … Read More

There’s a place beneath this world where the heat never dies. Where screams echo against stone until they become silence. Where flesh slips from bone like candle wax. Where names are reduced to ash. That’s the Furnace. And they’re all … Read More

Tombstone. Nero. Jasper Redgrave. Three men. Three mouths. Three empty bowls. That’s what you are. Hollow. You can’t stand to see another hold something you lost, or never earned, or never understood… So you reach out and steal. You keep … Read More

You think the paint protects you. You smear it across your face and pretend it’s armor. A joke. A mask. A flag. Something to wave in the face of fear and call it rebellion. You hide behind it like it … Read More

There are two wolves inside you. One wants blood. The other wants peace. You pretend it’s a battle. That they’re equals. That one can keep the other in check if you just breathe deep, stay calm, tell yourself you’re still … Read More

Drink deep. That’s what you tell them, Graves. This is the blood of Christ, the cup of salvation. The wine of sacrifice, poured freely so that others may be cleansed, so that the righteous may be made whole. You hold … Read More

Happiness. The great lie. The illusion. The pretty little story people tell themselves to make the suffering bearable. Harold Attano, El Mariachi Muerte, The Night, Gemini—you chase happiness, convinced it’s something you can own. You tell yourselves you can steal … Read More

Jackson Cade, Felix Foley, El Mariachi Muerte… Three men, each with their own brand of conviction, each convinced that they are the one to put an end to Conquest. I will even help you. Jackson Cade. A broken man swinging … Read More

A desolate alleyway in Arcadia, graffiti on the brick. Grimskull sits on a broken cinder block. “Hatchet… I’ve known a lot of people like you. You want to be the one who ends Grimskull. You think you’re the one who … Read More

Anestheria. Grimskull sits in a ruined concert hall. “They call you El Mariachi Muerte—the musician of death. They say your songs are elegies, your guitar strings are funeral bells, and your voice is the whisper of the reaper himself. You … Read More