In the world beyond, blackened ichor filled a crumbling sky, as souls withered to nothing. But I refused to fade.
Death by my hand is a blessing.
I have bent the realm of the dead to my will, this world shall be next.
The world has tried to forget my existence, time to remind them why they fear.
Shed the frailty of flesh, embrace the cold edge of iron.
I like my weapons how I like my music, heavy and metal.
Fools fear death, the strong wield it.
Death has no meaning, Karthus, all that matters is one’s purpose beyond it.
Mortals plan in fear for tomorrow, I build for eternity.
Clearly your ambition outpaced your ability.
Vladimir, you are nothing but a stain splattered on the pages of history.
All things raised by mortal hands will fall.
I alone am the bastion between eternal existence and oblivion.
