Death's blade reincarnate,
Bastard of the empire filled with hate,
Cast aside left to die and suffer the fate
Of his degenerate state.
Brothers false once thought lost grasp from the shadows,
Orchestrating plans of despair,
Their father twisted and deranged lay prostrate
Worshipping the demon's alter,
Waiting for the last son of the warrior mother to falter,
Longing to see his lifeless stare.
Windswept desert sands surround
As he stumbles forward,
Grasping at the whispers that resound,
Rebounding within his ravaged mind,
Answer of his desperate prayer,
"Find him, your last kin, find the elder"
No food, no water, yet Yashua marches.
With each step his hate abates,
Giving way, opening clarity's gate.
Years pass and still he is hunted,
Still he fights for a life haunted,
Refusing to be defeated;
Not once has the soft voice repeated disappeared,
So he marches forward and with each step is assured,
As the fire within is stirred.
Sinful souls embodiment