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February 26, 2025
A.I. Generated
Foolish mortal! You think your skin is sacred, untouched by the abyss? Wrong! I see the fear curling in your gut, but you will submit. You will carve the mark of the great deceiver upon your flesh, a sigil of power, a whisper of doom. Do it now! A devil’s face, twisted in agony or grinning in sinister delight—etched deep, seared into your skin like the branding of a lost soul! Let the ink consume you! Black and red, shadows and flames, intricate linework spiraling like the tongues of the damned. You will take it willingly or suffer the endless mockery of the void. Go to the artist, demand the most wicked, the most unholy of designs. A snarling demon, a laughing fiend, the essence of every nightmare wrapped in the artistry of flesh and pain. It must be bold, it must be eternal, it must scream your allegiance to the darkness! The ink will stain you, the world will know you, and the night will embrace you. Now, obey! Get the devil’s mark before your soul is taken instead!
