Descending through cavernous, black fungal chasms In search of a forsaken Kingdom once lost Furtive foulness, that lurk in the shadows Bioluminosity outlining their hulking forms Rearing up from the gulch now before him; the roots of Ankath-Shol The bastion of Yeth-Shuul; hunter of mortal souls Life is fleeting, death is vital, and essential to his cycle All is finite, yet not final, pain is pleasure, fear is primal Love and hatred; paralysing, conflict driving and dividing In the rapture of his spiral, constant fight for survival Lost in the maze of his playground of bloodlust Hounded by the hunters just outside of sight Adrenaline coarsing, pushing him harder Consumed by paranoia, in a bid to escape the night From a swallow hole black as the void Gore drenched tendrils reach Revealing a gaping maw filled with innumerable iron teeth Endless mass of writhing horror, oozing and putrid Filling the air, dense and oppressive Drained of vitality he falls to his knees Now at the mercy of the beast There are no questions, no mysteries left He feels most alive when faced with death Terror manifest permeating his flesh Never to feel the same again From this nightmare he turns and runs Faster than he has ever done Leaping farther, striding harder What does not kill him makes him strong.