Felling Valithar, the Ruler of Night,
Almond's blade became the city's blight.
His sword, once hidden, now a dragon's roar,
With a viper's cunning—lethal to the core.
Patience coiled like a predator's snare,
Waiting, watching, with an iron stare.
But when the strike came, oh, it was fire,
A blinding storm, chaos to inspire!
Through streets drenched in crimson and fear,
Almond tread where none would dare.
The weak bowed low, the strong met death,
Each victory crowned with a whispered breath:
"No rat is he, but a shadowed king,
A blade that cuts through everything!"
Yet the throne of Kings was not his end,
For higher still, his will would ascend!
The Emperor loomed, deep in the stone,
Abysslam, the beast that claimed the throne.
Almond honed his sword to a deadly gleam,
Sharpened by blood, by shadow, by dream.
His will unbroken, his fury a tide,
