The Raven Has Landed 2

The calm before the storm.The forest breathes, swaying to the rhythm of the morning wind, oblivious to the approaching tragedy. Among tangled branches, in the shadows of sunlit beams, a figure lurks a nameless shadow, a conscience-less specter. Black Assasin fearless, silent, ruthless.

Footsteps do not exist. The air does not tremble. The soldiers unknowing pawns on the chessboard of fate are consumed by their thoughts, their duties, their illusions of safety. But he is already there. He moves like a nocturnal specter imprisoned in daylight, like hunger that knows no mercy.

The first blow falls without warning. The enemy does not yet know they are dead. Bodies sink into the damp earth, oblivious to their fate, like leaves that will never see another autumn. One is taken not for mercy, but for suffering. Torture is not an act of violence, but a ceremony of revealing truth.

When silence returns, it is deeper than before. It is thick, oppressive, marked by the weight of what has just unfolded. The ground remembers. The trees remember. And he departs only a shadow, only a fading echo, only a RAVEN that fell from the sky and left behind a trail of blood.

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