Verse 1: The Hollowed Saint
In realms where stone kissed sky, and shadows bled,
Lived Revan Belmont, where hope lay nearly dead.
Fair skin, a canvas etched with time's cruel art,
Faint blue irises, where storms tore worlds apart.
Grey-purple spikes, a crown of troubled thought,
He walked a path where solace could not be bought.
His wife, Lyra, frail, a whispered, fading bloom,
Her beauty dimmed, her spirit cast in gloom.
A whispered curse, a sickness gnawed her core,
And Revan sought a cure, knocking at heaven's door.
Each morn, he'd kneel in churches, cold and vast,
Where stained glass saints their silent blessings cast.
He'd plead, he'd pray, his voice a broken plea,
"Spare her, oh gods, restore her life to me!"
But echoes answered, whispers in the breeze,
"Mortality's a tide, where none find ease."
The kingdom's holiday, a day of victory's cheer,
Where war's harsh echoes faded, banishing fear.
The castle gates swung wide, a festive throng,
For fifteen souls, the king would right the wrong.
His touch, they said, could mend the shattered mind,
And broken bones, a miracle to find.
Revan, a veteran, his blade a legend's tale,
Sought audience, where hope could yet prevail.
Guards barred his way, their faces grim and stern,
"No common plea, no unchosen path to learn!"
But one, a scarred old soldier, knew his face,
"Let him pass, he's earned this sacred space."
Inside, the king, a man of weary grace,
Listened to Revan, tears upon his face.
"Your majesty, she fades, her life grows dim,
Heal her, I beg, restore her to her whim!"
The king's gaze softened, a truth he had to share,
"My power mends the wounds that battles tear.
But death's cold grasp, I cannot turn aside,
The fading flame, I cannot re-ignite."
Revan, defeated, stumbled from the hall,
Into a shadowed alley, where tears began to fall.
A scream escaped, a raw and anguished sound,
As grief and desperation held him tightly bound.
Then, from the darkness, a figure sleek and tall,
A man in maroon, where shadows seemed to crawl.
Dark skin, a smile that chilled him to the bone,
"A bargain, warrior, a path to you shown."
A list of names, a task both dark and deep,
"For every soul you claim, your wife shall sleep."
Revan, distraught, returned to Lyra's side,
Where pain and weakness, with her spirit vied.
"Leave me, my love," she whispered, frail and weak,
"Let me find peace, the solace that I seek."
"Never," he vowed, his voice a trembling plea,
"I'll fight for you, till death sets both of us free."
Their lips met then, a kiss of bitter grace,
A final promise, in that desolate space.
"I love you, Revan," her voice a fading sigh,
As night descended, and stars began to cry.
He watched her sleep, her breath a shallow trace,
And in the silence, weighed the dark man's face.
The list of names, the bargain's cruel design,
A choice between damnation and her life divine.
Verse 2: The Crimson Ledger
A mask of leather, stitched and darkly grim,
Concealed the face where shadows danced and swam.
Revan, the hunter, clad in midnight hue,
Embarked on tasks that twisted all he knew.
Five souls he claimed, the first upon the list,
Outlaws and rogues, in darkness they'd persist.
Among the slain, a man with eyes of steel,
Kaelen, the scarred, whose vengeance would reveal.
His face, a map of battles fought and lost,
His heart, a forge where bitter hatred crossed.
He'd seen his gang, a crimson, broken heap,
And vowed to hunt the one who made them sleep.
A hundred names, a ledger stained with dread,
Each soul a mark, a life unjustly led.
From darkened alleys, to opulent estates,
Revan's grim justice sealed their cruelest fates.
Each night he'd strike, a phantom in the gloom,
Each day he'd hear, whispers from the tomb.
"The Shadow's Scythe," they'd call him, hushed and low,
A vigilante's name, where fear and praise did flow.
The king, enthroned, with Kaelen at his ear,
Heard tales of terror, and a growing fear.
"This rogue," Kaelen hissed, "must be brought to heel,
His blade a threat, his vengeance we must steal."
Guards patrolled the streets, with torches burning bright,
But Revan's shadow danced, beyond their feeble light.
The thirtieth name, a house on lonely ground,
A child sat weeping, where sorrow could be found.
Bruised and broken, eyes that held despair,
He huddled close, a burden hard to bear.
Inside, a father's rage, a mother's plea,
A scene of horror, for all the world to see.
Revan believed, the father was his mark,
But the man in maroon, dispelled the dark.
"The boy," he smiled, "the child you must erase,"
Revan recoiled, disbelief upon his face.
"No," he protested, "this cannot be the way,"
"Your wife's life hangs," the man replied, "obey."
"The first seventy," he explained with a cruel smile, "were the easy ones."
"Do you think every name on this list is a man that has done wrong?"
"This boy," he spoke, "is named Elias, lives a life of dread,
A mother's love, a father's twisted bed.
Each night he comes, to 'treat' him with his 'grace',
A cycle of abuse, in this forsaken place.
He should have died, beneath his father's hand,
A broken soul, in this forgotten land.
But he lives on, a ripple out of time,
And if he breathes, then millions will decline.
The balance shifts, the scales begin to sway,
And we cannot allow that, now can we, pray?"
The man then vanished, leaving Revan there,
With doubt and anguish, a burden hard to bear.
To kill a child, a soul so innocent,
Or let his wife, to death's cold arms be sent.
He turned away, his heart a heavy stone,
Leaving Elias there, to suffer all alone.
The door creaked open, a father's harsh command,
"Elias, get inside," a voice that shook the land.
A mother's cry, a desperate, fading sound,
As Revan walked away, on hallowed, cursed ground.
Verse 3: The Tavern's Shadow
The tavern's glow, a flickering, dim embrace,
Where Revan sat, alone, with haunted face.
The mask lay cast aside, a leathery shroud,
His breath, a ragged sigh, escaping, harsh and loud.
Elias's face, a phantom in his mind,
His wife's frail form, a memory entwined.
The dark man's words, a venomous, sharp sting,
"Millions will die," the chilling echo's ring.
The world's cruel balance, a twisted, heavy weight,
A choice between two evils, sealing every fate.
The city's watch, with torches held aloft,
Patrolled the streets, where shadows often scoffed.
A guard approached, his face etched with concern,
"You seem troubled, friend, a lesson you must learn."
He recognized the man, the veteran's weary gaze,
"How fares your wife, in these tumultuous days?"
Revan's tears flowed, a torrent of despair,
"She fades," he choked, "her life beyond repair."
The guard's hand rested, gently on his arm,
"Life's trials test us, through sunshine and through storm.
But know, you're not alone, in grief's dark, lonely plight,
There's always hope, to guide you through the night.
Though dark deeds stain our city's cobbled stone,
A killer stalks, his cruelest harvest sown."
He spoke of terror, whispers in the breeze,
Of victims claimed, beneath the gnarled trees.
Unknowing, he described the very hand,
That brought the death, upon this troubled land.
Revan, concealed, his secret held within,
A mask of sorrow, hiding every sin.
The mounted guard, with eyes that pierced the gloom,
Watched Revan's form, suspecting, from the tomb.
Kaelen, the scarred, his vengeance yet untold,
His gaze, a burning fire, fierce and cold.
But duty called, the city's watchful eye,
And they moved on, beneath the starlit sky.
Revan arose, his spirit torn and frayed,
To walk the path, where shadows never fade.
He turned his steps, toward home's familiar door,
Where Lyra waited, and the dark man asked for more.
Verse 4: The House of Whispers
The door creaked open, darkness filled the hall,
Revan stepped in, where shadows seemed to crawl.
A figure sat, in dim and flickering light,
His wife, Lyra, stirring in the night.
"Lyra!" he cried, concern etched on his face,
"Why leave your bed? This is no resting place."
She turned, a flicker of defiance in her eyes,
"This is my home, my space, where truth never lies."
A weak smile played, then a cough, a painful sound,
Revan's heart ached, on sorrow's hallowed ground.
"You shouldn't rise," he said, his voice a plea,
"Rest, Lyra, rest, let sickness cease to be."
"I worried," she confessed, her voice a thread,
"Where do you go, when darkness fills my head?"
He lied, a tale of errands, late and long,
And carried her, where she could still be strong.
Their room, a sanctuary, dim and softly lit,
He laid her down, with gentle, tender wit.
Blankets drawn close, medicine's bitter taste,
A cool, damp cloth, upon her fevered face.
"Rest," he whispered, "sleep, and find your peace,"
The list of names, he prayed, would find release.
She slept, at last, a peaceful, quiet sigh,
He watched her breathe, beneath the watchful eye.
A smile touched his lips, a moment's fleeting grace,
Then memories returned, of the boy's haunted face.
He left the room, to find a cooling drink,
The kitchen's dimness, where dark thoughts would sink.
The man in maroon, sat beneath the light,
His presence chilling, in the silent night.
"Leave," Revan said, his voice a rising storm,
"Your presence here, brings only further harm."
"The boy," the man replied, with chilling ease,
"The debt remains, your contract must appease.
You cannot stop, the path you've now begun,
Your wife's salvation, by my hand is won."
Revan's anger flared, a burning, bitter flame,
"Lies!" he roared, "your words are but a game!"
The man just smiled, a knowing, cruel delight,
"See for yourself, and witness truth tonight."
A sudden sound, footsteps on the floor,
Lyra appeared, more vibrant than before.
"Revan!" she cried, her voice a joyful sound,
"The sickness gone, no longer am I bound!"
He stared in shock, disbelief within his gaze,
"How?" he asked, in wonder and amaze.
"The medicine," she smiled, "perhaps it worked at last,"
They embraced, their fears and sorrows cast.
A kiss, a touch, a moment's sweet release,
Their bodies joined, in passion's gentle peace.
Verse 5: The Seed of Hope, the Shadow's Doubt
The dawn arose, a gentle, golden hue,
Revan lay awake, where shadows once withdrew.
His wife, Lyra, slept, her breath a peaceful sound,
Grateful for her health, on hallowed, healing ground.
The list, the boy, the dark man's chilling claim,
A tangled web of guilt, a burning, bitter flame.
He kissed her brow, a tender, soft caress,
And watched her slumber, in peaceful happiness.
The man's dark words, a whisper in his ear,
"See for yourself," the truth he held so dear.
The scent of breakfast, wafted through the air,
Lyra awoke, and found her strength to spare.
She rose and dressed, in garments long unseen,
And joined her husband, where joy had always been.
A table set, with steaming, fragrant fare,
Revan awaited, with a loving, gentle stare.
Smiles exchanged, a warmth that filled the room,
The echoes of their passion, banished all the gloom.
He offered her a seat, with courtly, tender grace,
And they began to eat, in this tranquil, peaceful place.
"I have a gift," he said, with eyes that softly gleamed,
"A sight to share, a memory redeemed."
Later that day, they walked hand in hand,
Across the fields, a sunlit, verdant land.
Revan's hands, concealed her eager sight,
"How long?" she asked, with playful, soft delight.
"Patience, my love," he whispered, hushed and low,
"The moment nears, the secret I will show."
He removed his hands, her eyes began to gleam,
A mighty tree, a vibrant, living dream.
Tears welled up, a joy she couldn't hide,
"The father's seed," she cried, with love and pride.
"I've come here often," Revan's voice was low,
"Since sickness claimed you, watching it grow.
I planned this day, to show you its great might,
When health returned, to fill your world with light."
She embraced him then, with tears of pure delight,
"Thank you, my love, for this enchanting sight."
They shared a picnic, beneath the spreading shade,
Laughter and stories, memories they made.
The sun descended, painting skies with gold,
A perfect day, a story to be told.
But in the shadows, doubt began to creep,
The boy's sad eyes, the promises to keep.
The dark man's words, a haunting, chilling plea,
"Millions will die," the weight of destiny.
Revan's heart, a battleground of strife,
Between the love he held, and taking another life.
Verse 6: The Basket and the Betrayal
The market bustled, vibrant, full of life,
Lyra, with her basket, amidst the joyful strife.
From stall to stall, she gathered fresh supplies,
Until a voice, a shadow, caught her by surprise.
Kaelen, the scarred, with his gang of cruel renown,
Blocked her path, where malice would be sown.
"Well, well," he sneered, "what have we here?"
His hand reached out, her basket fell, her heart filled with fear.
She kneed him hard, a swift and righteous blow,
And fled, as his gang chased, relentless, to and fro.
They lost her in the maze, of twisting, narrow streets,
Kaelen's rage echoed, "We'll meet again, my sweet!
And thank you for the feast," he laughed with cruel delight,
As he and his men devoured the fallen, scattered plight.
Lyra, hidden, caught her breath, her heart in pain,
Her basket crushed, a family heirloom, stained.
Tears threatened, but then a figure came,
The man in maroon, whispering her name.
He touched the basket, with hands that softly glowed,
And it was whole, its beauty now bestowed.
"Magic," she gasped, amazed by what she'd seen,
"No need for thanks," he said, with a mysterious sheen.
She filled it once more, with goods both fine and rare,
And hurried home, with cautious, wary care.
But whispers reached her, rumors in the air,
"The Shadow's Scythe," they spoke, with fear and despair.
The crimes, they said, occurred in darkest night,
A chilling echo, that filled her soul with fright.
Revan, returning, always after dark,
The pieces fit, a terrifying, dreadful spark.
But she dismissed it, as foolish, idle talk,
And hurried home, before the night could stalk.
"Revan, I'm home!" she called, with cheerful voice,
He slept, exhausted, a weary, somber choice.
She straddled him, her laughter filled the air,
He woke, and smiled, to find her standing there.
"I've brought the food," she said, with loving hand,
"Tonight, I cook, for you, my dearest man."
He watched her move, her grace, her gentle sway,
The list, the boy, all faded far away.
The meal prepared, she called him to the table,
But then, a sudden weakness, made her unstable.
She collapsed, a cough that racked her frame,
The sickness returned, a cruel and bitter game.
Revan rushed to her side, his heart filled with dread,
The medicine, he sought, but found its supply was dead.
Two pills remained, a meager, fading hope,
He gave them to her, as her life began to elope.
He laid her on the couch, her breathing weak and shallow,
The illness clung, with a grip both cruel and hollow.
He watched her sleep, his mind a tortured maze,
The dark man's words, echoed through the haze.
"Millions will die," the chilling, haunting sound,
Revan's eyes hardened, his resolve was found.
He knew what he must do, the path he had to tread,
To save his wife, though darkness lay ahead.
Verse 7: The Boy and the Butcher
Midnight struck, a tempest lashed the land,
Revan stood ready, weapon in his hand.
Atop a rooftop, cloaked in wind and rain,
He watched the guards, their efforts all in vain.
They patrolled the streets, where the boy's house lay,
But Revan's purpose, wouldn't go astray.
He saw Kaelen, amongst the watchful eyes,
But didn't falter, his resolve would rise.
He reached the house, where shadows danced and crept,
The father's rage, the mother's whimpers wept.
Inside one room, a brutal scene unfolded,
The man in maroon, his presence subtly molded.
His eyes, like embers, glowed in the dim,
As Revan entered, fulfilling his grim whim.
The boy, Elias, trembled on his bed,
Footsteps approached, filling him with dread.
The door creaked open, his father, drunk and wild,
With belt in hand, to punish his own child.
He pinned him down, a scene of vile despair,
The boy's cries echoed, unanswered in the air.
Then Revan spoke, his voice a chilling sound,
"Get away from him," a command that did resound.
The father turned, his eyes wide with alarm,
The Shadow's Scythe, brought terror and harm.
Revan's weapon flew, pinning the man with might,
He turned to the boy, in the pale moonlight.
A grunt escaped, a decision hard to make,
But Lyra's life, hung in the balance, at stake.
The mother climbed, with wounded, painful gait,
To stop her husband, before it was too late.
But at the door, a sight that chilled her soul,
The Shadow's Scythe, taking his deadly toll.
Her son, Elias, lay still upon the bed,
His throat slit open, life's essence forever fled.
A scream erupted, piercing the stormy night,
The guards rushed in, drawn by the mother's plight.
"Murderer!" they cried, their voices filled with rage,
As Revan watched, from his rooftop's shadowed stage.
Beside him stood, the man in maroon, so proud,
"Brilliant," he laughed, "hidden in the crowd.
You framed the father, a scapegoat for your sin,
A clever twist, a victory you did win."
Revan ignored him, his gaze fixed on the list,
The man watched closely, as a new path he kissed.
"Where are you going?" he asked, with curious eyes,
"To the next five," Revan said, beneath the stormy skies.
He vanished then, a shadow in the night,
Leaving the man alone, in the pale moonlight.
The rain poured down, washing the blood away,
But the stain on Revan's soul, would forever stay.
Verse 8: The Guard's Last Watch
The day dawned grim, reports of death anew,
Five more souls claimed, where shadows darkly grew.
They thought the boy, the final, tragic toll,
But the Shadow's Scythe, had ripped another hole.
The father stood, condemned, before the jeering crowd,
His crimes laid bare, his guilt proclaimed aloud.
"He framed me!" he cried, his voice a desperate plea,
But the widow's tears, spoke a harsh reality.
"He beat me, raped our son," her voice, a broken sound,
The crowd's disdain, like thunder, shook the ground.
Waste and scorn rained down, a bitter, cruel display,
As the executioner, ended his dark day.
Guard Theron, his heart a heavy, troubled weight,
Felt a lingering doubt, a twist of cruelest fate.
Was the man truly guilty, or a pawn in some dark game?
He sought the truth, to clear the shadowed name.
At the widow's door, he asked his careful quest,
"Tell me, madam, of the nights you could not rest."
"He came at night," she said, her voice a trembling sigh,
"His eyes like fire, a madness in his eye.
He touched our son, with hands that brought such pain,
And left me broken, in the pouring rain."
Theron departed, his mind in swirling thought,
The man was vile, but had the Shadow's Scythe been caught?
Why frame the father, when the deed was plain to see?
The riddle deepened, a dark complexity.
Midnight fell, the city held its breath,
No guards patrolled, except for Theron's death.
He knew the killer lurked, beneath the moon's pale gleam,
And sought to end the reign, of this dark, deadly dream.
An alley's scream, a cry of desperate fear,
He rushed to find, the horror drawing near.
The Shadow's Scythe stood, in new attire's might,
A woman cowered, in the shadows of the night.
His scythes, like shards of darkness, gleamed and cold,
Their edges sharp, with stories to be told.
From hidden depths, Kaelen watched the scene,
His vengeful gaze, a fire, sharp and keen.
"Halt!" Theron cried, his voice a warning's call,
"Lay down your weapons, and answer for your fall."
Revan, hooded, didn't turn his face,
"I cannot stop," he said, "I must end her disgrace."
"Why?" Theron asked, his voice a steady plea,
"She must die," Revan said, "it has to be."
"Leave her!" Theron cried, but Revan's voice was stern,
"She stays, or flees, and meets a quick return."
"What has she done?" Theron questioned, filled with dread,
"She sells herself," Revan said, "on any willing bed."
"A killer," Theron roared, "a monster in the night!"
The battle raged, a dance of dark and light.
Revan's skill, a veteran's deadly art,
Overpowered Theron, tore his world apart.
He kicked him down, then turned to claim his prize,
But Theron rose, with fury in his eyes.
The hood fell back, Revan's face, a shocking sight,
"Revan?" Theron gasped, in disbelief and fright.
The scythes descended, swift and sharp and deep,
Theron's lifeblood spilled, his final, silent weep.
"Why?" he whispered, his eyes filled with despair,
"For her," Revan said, "her life beyond compare."
The woman fled, Revan gave chase, his form a blur,
Leaving Theron's body, on the alley's floor.
Kaelen emerged, his face a mask of rage,
He closed Theron's eyes, and turned a vengeful page.
"Revan," he hissed, the name a burning brand,
"Your life is forfeit, by my vengeful hand."
Verse 9: The Crypt
The rain fell heavy, a shroud of darkest night,
Revan returned, his garments stained with fight.
Three souls extinguished, their lives a fleeting flame,
The woman's screams, a whisper of his shame.
He reached his home, a sanctuary turned to dread,
A gang of guards awaited, vengeance in their stead.
Kaelen emerged, a cruel and twisted grin,
His pants undone, a testament to sin.
"Your wife," he sneered, "a beauty to behold,
A shame her coughs, made our encounter cold."
Rage consumed Revan, a fire in his soul,
He charged, a whirlwind, losing all control.
But numbers overwhelmed, they beat him to the ground,
His wife, Lyra, brought forth, her spirit broken, bound.
Her clothes were torn, her eyes with sorrow filled,
The evidence of rape, her very essence chilled.
She looked at Revan, a gaze of deep despair,
The truth revealed, a burden hard to bear.
The man in maroon, watched from a distant place,
A smirk upon his lips, a cruel and twisted grace.
Revan's eyes turned red, a furious, burning hue,
He blacked out, rage consuming all he knew.
When consciousness returned, a scene of carnage spread,
The gang lay severed, their lifeblood darkly shed.
He cared not for the slaughter, his heart a hollow shell,
He sought his wife, where grief and sorrow dwell.
She breathed her last, tears falling from her eyes,
Remembering the horror, the agonizing cries.
"It's alright," he whispered, "everything's okay,"
But Kaelen's blade, pierced through him, in that moment's sway.
"Why?" Kaelen screamed, his voice a broken plea,
"Why them, not me? Why did they have to be?
I was the one who did the bad things, not them! You killed innocent people!"
Revan's eyes were fixed, on Lyra's dying face,
Kaelen stepped on her neck, stealing her last trace.
Revan watched, paralyzed, his voice a silent plea,
As darkness claimed him, for eternity.
He woke in darkness, on a stone table laid,
Moonlight shone down, a ghostly serenade.
The man in maroon, smiled with a knowing glance,
"You put on quite a show, a mesmerizing dance."
He held a list, with names still left to claim,
"I took the liberty, to finish your dark game."
Revan glared, his skin a deathly white,
"Where am I?" he asked, in the pale, chilling light.
"A crypt," the man replied, "within the Shadowed Veil,
A prison realm, where lost souls forever wail."
"Let me out!" Revan roared, his voice a desperate plea,
"I cannot," the man replied, with chilling glee.
He gestured then, a ghostly form appeared,
Lyra's image, a vision to be feared.
"Why?" Revan cried, his heart a shattered thing,
"Our deal," the man explained, "was health, not life's swift spring.
She's just an image, a lingering, cursed trace,
She is either in heaven or hell."
"She wouldn't be in hell!" Revan yelled, his voice a mournful sound.
"I just wanted to push your buttons one last time." the man chuckled, turning around.
"Take me to heaven!" Revan begged, his voice a desperate plea.
"I cannot," the man replied, "you're bound to this decree."
He vanished then, leaving Revan in despair,
In the crypt's cold depths, where shadows filled the air.
A rumbling sound, a tremor shook the ground,
Revan stepped out, where darkness could be found.
A crimson storm, raged in the sky above,
A cemetery's silence, broken by lost love.
A massive gate, of black and towering might,
Opened wide, in the storm's infernal light.
A pull, a draw, an urge he couldn't fight,
Revan moved forward, into the endless night.
Verse 10: The Shattered Threshold
Revan surged forward, towards the gate's bright gleam,
A tide of beings flowed, a surreal, waking dream.
Men soared on wings, werewolves with savage stride,
Bats swarmed the air, where nightmares could reside.
He ran amidst the chaos, a mortal in the fray,
Giants loomed above, threatening to sweep him away.
He reached the threshold, the light a blinding white,
Then crimson lightning struck, and plunged the scene in night.
A voice boomed out, a command that shook the ground,
"None shall pass!" the words, a chilling, harsh surround.
Explosions echoed, lightning tore the air,
Revan found himself, amidst a ruinous snare.
Dead beings scattered, their forms in disarray,
Then a blue electric trail, cut through the fray.
Two figures emerged, from the sparking, vibrant line,
One, pale and dark-haired, with eyes of crimson shine.
A suit of armor, black and red and tight,
Sparks flickered from it, in the chaotic light.
The other, ginger-haired, in a suit of vibrant red,
With lightning bolt emblazoned, where fearless hearts were bred.
"Harvey," the dark-haired man roared, his voice a furious storm,
"Do you really think... you can just... BEAT me? I reshape every form!
I've shattered worlds, timelines, and every mortal plea,
I'm the reason you exist, the breath you draw from me!
You cannot win, Harvey!" His voice, a thunderous might,
"I know," Harvey replied, "but we both lose tonight."
He pressed a button, the gate exploded wide,
Kato screamed in rage, his escape denied.
Harvey blurred, a streak of lightning's grace,
Tripped Kato's feet, in this destructive space.
Revan watched, bewildered, as the battle raged,
Then turned to the gate, his purpose now engaged.
Kato screamed, "No!" a desperate, anguished cry,
Harvey's eyes met Revan's, "No way," he whispered nigh.
A blast of energy, from Kato's outstretched hand,
Pierced Revan's chest, a wound across the land.
Blood gushed forth, a crimson, fatal stain,
Revan faltered, remembering Lyra's pain.
He fell forward, through the gate's ethereal light,
Into a forest's depths, where shadows held the night.
He gasped for air, his chest no longer torn,
He rose, confused, where new beginnings were born.
The man in maroon, appeared with curious stare,
"How did you escape? How did you break the snare?"
Revan lunged, his hands around the man's dark throat,
"Where is my wife? Take me to her remote!"
The man gasped, surprised, Revan's grip so tight,
"What... were you...?" he choked, in fading, dying light.
A snap, a crack, the man fell to the ground,
Revan recoiled, a silence profound.
He had killed him, too swiftly, unaware,
His fist slammed down, in grief and dark despair.
"Lyra!" he cried, his tears a glowing blue,
A hand touched his shoulder, a presence he once knew.
He turned, a skeletal spirit stood before,
"RE...VAN..." it whispered, from a distant, haunted shore.
"Oh God..." he breathed, recognizing Lyra's voice,
But then, a ringing pain, a horrifying choice.
He screamed in agony, his form began to change,
Black metal armor, a transformation strange.
His eyes, meant to be red, resisted the dark tide,
A violet hue, where blue and crimson vied.
Silence descended, he knelt upon the ground,
Then opened his eyes, with madness all around.