Comments 0
Details
February 22, 2025
A.I. Generated
The sky’s been black for centuries, thick with the wings of the damned. Their kingdom of night stretches from the scorched ruins to the bone-dry rivers, a wasteland ruled by creatures who should’ve burned long ago. The old world crumbled, the holy men were buried, but the war? The war never stopped. They call it the Last Crusader, a rolling fortress wrapped in steel and vengeance. Twin turbines roar like judgment, and the turret spits wooden stakes dipped in silver and fire. It doesn’t stop. It doesn’t swerve. The mission is carved into rusted metal and bloodstained treads: burn the night clean. The bats descend in swarms, fangs bared, eyes glowing like embers, but the flamethrower howls louder, turning the sky into a funeral pyre. Prophecy said this war would end in fire. The old books are ash now, but the truth remains. The monsters feast, but the hunters rage. The road stretches endless, painted in dust and cinder, and somewhere ahead, the dark throne still stands. But not for long. No peace. No mercy. No retreat. Only fire.
