An old man sits on the floor, tracing over a name in his own blood:

“Witness a face of dying man,
the fall of Demiurge of old,
he sits and breaths his dying breath,
despite his strength and force untold.

Bleeding blood of blue he kneels,
lifts his head and opens gates,
Sets in motion unseen wheels,
that will seal all of your fates.

As you fight for very souls,
old god fades to dust and mould,
Struggle takes tremendous toll,
should you fall so it will all.”