𝗛𝗮𝗿𝗯𝗶𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗿 𝗼𝗳 𝗡𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝗺𝗮𝗿𝗲𝘀

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𝗠𝗲𝗺𝗼𝗶𝗿𝘀 𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝗔𝘃𝗱𝗶𝗶𝘃𝗸𝗮

𝗪𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗜 𝗕𝗲𝗰𝗮𝗺𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗛𝗮𝗿𝗯𝗶𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗿 𝗼𝗳 𝗡𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝗺𝗮𝗿𝗲𝘀

Here, in this godforsaken stretch of earth we call Avdiivka, I've seen things that make the marrow in your bones run cold. I've become something else—a gatekeeper to a realm where logic dies and madness festers.

I see them come, their faces gaunt, eyes empty of soul, lumbering over the remains of their own. It's like watching phantoms in a fog of war, except these specters bleed. They clamber out of their mechanical beasts, charred husks that once growled but now only whine—a funeral dirge for the damned.

For a moment, I ponder: What churns in the depths of their vacant stares? What dark force compels them to march over the fallen, their boots slick with the blood of comrades? And then my finger tightens around the trigger, and the thought evaporates into a mist of gunpowder and gore.

They crumple, one after the other, a cascade of human tragedy. They knew they were stepping into their own requiem, yet they came, lured by some unspeakable, unimaginable drive. They become part of the earth, their bodies joining the unholy tapestry of war that stretches before me.

I feel a cold satisfaction as I watch their lifeless forms scatter the battlefield—a grim mosaic that tells a story older than time, yet unique in its horrific details. A story written by us, by me, by the unyielding resolve that courses through my veins like liquid fire.

I am the harbinger of their nightmares, and Avdiivka is my dominion. Here, in the crucible of conflict, their dread is my mantle, their despair my scepter. And I rule with an iron fist, unyielding, unbreakable, invincible.

In this darkness, questions still howl like the wind, but for now, they can wait. For now, I stand, a sentinel in a land where nightmares walk, and I am their end.