Phantom of Pain
Pain.
Strife.
Suffering
Those were the lessons that had been imparted unto him. Pain was his burden, and he had carried it for so very long now. It weighed heavy upon his body, ever apparent in his sunken face and pale, ashen skin, and it weighed heavier upon his soul, or whatever was left of it at any rate. He was little more than a withered husk and a black, tar stained soul. But perhaps that was exactly the point, and it’s all he was ever meant to be. The pain consumed his every thought, twisting his face into a snarl and baring his teeth, defiant of the world around him. A wanton desire to carve his name into this history books, each swing of his blade furthering that cause. He was no longer Logan, nor Roth, nor Rê.
He was Evor.
He was pain.
Or perhaps a phantom of Pain.
Of who Pain was.
He was Darth Maleus.
He was pain.
Or perhaps a phantom of Pain.
Of who Pain was.
He was Darth Maleus.
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