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In a scorched landscape of forgotten names, the last ones rise — not as heroes, but as haunted echoes of justice long delayed. Their silhouettes are forged from shadows, walking on broken timelines where they were erased, ignored, buried. Now, the forgotten carve their names into the stone with screams, not whispers. Above them, a blood-red sky flickers with memories others tried to burn. Thrones are built from bones and betrayals — every step once crushed underfoot is now a stairway to reckoning. The first ones, once exalted, tremble in gold thrones turned to ash, as silence turns into screams. They don’t seek glory. They come with verses soaked in vengeance, with truths that cut like blades, and eyes that never blink again. No ink. Only blood. No mercy. Only balance. Style keywords: apocalyptic prophecy, poetic wrath, uprising of the forgotten, throne of pain, justice sculpted in shadow, biblical tone, dark surrealism, Shady Vlad energy rising from ruins.
In a desolate world, the forgotten rise, echoing justice long denied. Shadows carve their names into stone, seeking reckoning amidst a blood-red sky, wielding vengeance and truth as their weapons.
