As the tendrils of Azathoth etched their way into his mind,
The silence, deafening in its loudness, reverberated throughout his psyche,
He stood, not aloof, but alone in the grim task that needed to be done.
To take a life, this was no small step—
A plunge into the depths of duskiest twilights,
Where the shadows whispered secrets and sins.
Bleed,
Bleed,
Bleed.
It was done.
He had taken a step into the eldritch shade—
A realm where anguish and torment reigned,
A place that must be hell itself.
Hades, the inferno of despair,
This must be its dwelling,
For this land of darkness had finally touched his soul—
like Dante scorched by the Inferno