His laughter sounded like a haunting melody — of wrath and complete madness.

He’s seething, no, he was filled with unbridled anger that he finds himself grinning. It’s a disquieting sight to witness, it's as if he was succumbing to mental turmoil — it was a phantasm to witness the 11th Harbinger dissolving into something you don't recognize.

“I nearly trusted you.” The grip he has on your shirt was vice but so was the way he loomed. You can't find yourself breaking eye contact, finding the sight of a glimmering dagger on his left hand, a horrifying one. “Can you believe that? I believed that an outlander is as innocent as a deer. And look where that got me? The ruination of Snezhnaya — the demise of my Archon, the Tsaritsa. The death of my beloved God.”