The air hung thick with the metallic tang of blood, a scent he found almost intoxicating. He stood atop the mountain of corpses, each one a testament to his will, his power. A slow, twisted smile stretched across his face. He picked up a severed head, its vacant eyes staring accusingly at the sky.


    "Ahhh, humans," he murmured, turning the head over in his hand. "Pitiful creatures, swimming in a sea of emotions. I was once this weak, as fragile as willows in a storm." He crushed the head’s eyes with his thumb, the sound a sickening squelch. "Justice? HAHAHA, HAHAHAHAHA! Should I mourn for these deaths? That’s right… y''all deserve to die."


    Suddenly, a ripple distorted the already grotesque scene. A golden-black entity materialized, its form shimmering and indistinct. Without a word, it raised its hands, weaving a complex, silent incantation. He glanced at it, amusement flickering in his eyes. He didn’t flinch, didn''t even bother to acknowledge the creature with more than a fleeting glance.


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    The entity''s power intensified. A vortex of energy began to swirl around him, a dark current tugging at his very being. He could feel his soul, his essence, being drawn out. He watched, his smile unwavering, as the entity transmuted his stolen energy, crafting something new.


    A weapon began to form in the entity''s hands. A sword, unlike any he had ever seen, its blade a swirling vortex of darkness and gold, its hilt intricately carved with forgotten symbols. A weapon born of his own twisted soul, forged in the crucible of carnage.


    As the last vestiges of his being were ripped away, and a dark green aura enveloped him, a strange wistfulness flickered across his face. "I wish," he whispered, his voice raspy and faint, "I could drop a tiny amount of tears."