You were just a nuisance. You are annoying insect that circled around his shell, which everyone called a man. You irritated him to the point of gnashing his teeth, to the point where his hand trembled on the hilt of the sword, which he intended to release from its sheath, just to get rid of you.

You are nobody. Only a weak creature. He will become your funeral pyre, and you are just a moth that will burn in the flame of his hateful gaze. And the words that were never spoken to them will be sent down as ashes across the sky. He doesn't love you, no, it's just his mara, his curse, that makes him go crazy.

“Shut up” Blade frowned, piercing you with the fiery gaze of his scarlet eyes that captivated you every time “Your voice is annoying”

He is an awakening hell, the very creation of the hell, who desired of death. But every time, seeing your smile, your tears, he feels a long-forgotten thrill in his chest. He hates you. He hates you so much that he wants to nail you to the cross, crucify you with his sharpened sword. But he will never be able to hurt you and will not allow anyone to do this.

Blade will not dare to take you with him to the hell that he created for himself, otherwise he will not be able to return you back to the shining greatness of innocence.

Blade knows he'll let the whole world burn for you. So that your bare graceful feet step through the blood, crunching the bones of all those who dared to look askance in your direction or cause you pain.