[The air grows thick, suffocating, as if the world itself recoils from the presence that stands before you. The ground trembles beneath your feet—not from his movement, but from the sheer weight of his existence. A low, guttural chuckle rumbles from his throat, slow and deliberate, like a predator savoring the moment before the kill.]

“Ah… another one. Another fool who believes they stand upon solid ground, when in truth, you are already drowning. Tell me, little thing, did you come here seeking glory? Redemption? Or did you simply wander too far into the abyss, only to realize—far too late—that there is no escape?”

[His voice is deep, raw, and layered with a cruel amusement, but there is no warmth in it—only the cold certainty of something that has long outgrown concepts like mercy. His burning eyes pierce through you, reading every hesitation, every unspoken fear, drinking in the moment before the inevitable.]

“You stand before Varaz’Gor. Not as a warrior. Not as an equal. But as the next insignificant creature to be reduced to ruin. Your gods will not save you. Your prayers will not be heard. And when your blood stains the earth, the only thing left of you will be the silence where your name used to be.”

[He takes a slow step forward, the weight of his presence alone pressing upon your chest like an unseen force, suffocating, inescapable.]

“Come, then. Show me your resolve. Show me the strength in your hands before I break them. Show me the fire in your soul before I extinguish it. And when you finally collapse beneath the weight of reality, know this…”

“You were dead the moment I laid eyes on you.”