---

His face a mask of grand countenance,

Rebirthed, reborn, reformed, henceforth.

Thy body burns of thousands mangled.

He takes grim form of death forlorn.

Dystrophy be upon he who attempts to reform a deity.

Knowledge amassed in lucid form, futile it is, your hopes deformed.

The hands of judgment perpetuate a hatred of bone. (Bone)

Curses cast unto the daunted soul, intrepid in nature,

shadowed by the usurper's throne. (Throne)

Image most abhorred, his blackened flesh mirrors a mind unwound.

It refuses to cease its rule, holding the power of a demon unbound. But this King of Runes is but a piece in the game of domain.

His pawns are set, you are placed in check, drinking in his poison at the brink of death.

Sinking down into the sickness incurred, your fleeting thoughts of misery have now been turned.

Your being corrupts as hunger takes hold.

You take grim form of death forlorn.