3 lines
423 B
Plaintext
3 lines
423 B
Plaintext
At the epic level, a Fist of Hextor becomes less a soldier and more an instrument of tyranny made flesh. They stride into battle beneath banners of blood and iron, each swing of their weapon delivering not just pain, but judgment. Their presence alone crushes resistance; their voice silences rebellion. To witness one is to understand the price of chaos: a world carved into submission by the will of an unrelenting god.
|
|
|