Feared by the led. Tortured by the cruel. Wherever he treads, the stench of the dead does drool. The Wretched fiery gust of rage anew. A wrathful presence skewed by malice and hate; A Lord of Hell has yet to sate. Many a power tried his stead, if only to blunder and have bled. Their frightful screams echo delight as the Lord himself revels in their plight. Hold your tongue before his grace; before he puts you to your pace...