From the heart of a scorched battlefield, where fire consumes the land and smoke chokes the sky, rises a figure forged in pure destruction.
Towering and relentless, the warlord is encased in jagged black armor veined with molten cracks, as if hell itself pulses beneath the surface.
His eyes blaze with infernal power, and in his hand he grips a sword ablaze with cursed flame an extension of his will to annihilate.
Skulls litter the ground at his feet, a grim testament to countless conquests. Around him, the world burns in chaos, ash raining like snow beneath a crimson sky.
This is no mere warrior.
He is ruin incarnate a conqueror of kingdoms, a slayer of hope, and the harbinger of the end. Where he walks, only silence and smoldering ruins remain.