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“A man stands staunchly in his soldier’s uniform, emblazoned with various medals. Each one telling tales of his valour. He stands tall, proud and strong.

A warrior. Battlescars across his face, he is the picture of power.

Yet, with a cough, his body gives away the façade that he portrays to the world and shows a mere glimpse of what lies within him.

The weakness. The sickness that leaves him weak and feeble.

He hides it very well. To the world, he is a strong and powerful warrior. But behind those eyes lies a broken man, coming an inch closer to death with each breath.

And there’s no fighting his way out of this.

There’s nothing he can do, no tactical advantage to be gained.

He merely feels his body becoming weaker as it slowly yields to the sickness.”

People hide their weakness in many ways.

That thing that eating them up inside and leaves them a frail, feeble shell of the warrior they once were. It is the curse of the strong that they will one day become weak.

So when that day comes, they hide it from the world any way they can.

Viper hides behind an army of loyal followers, slithering in the shadows where he does his bidding.

Luke Storm buries his darkness and the choices that cost his family so dearly behind a Hollywood smile and a pair of designer sunglasses.

You too are such a warrior, Darklord.

Battlescarred, staunch and broad-shouldered. You stand proudly emblazoned with the valour of Carthus behind you.

And to the universe, you are that warrior. The ruthless, relentless force that overpowers all around it.

And surely, compared to mere humans, you still tower over most. You still boast of your strength.

And yet, compared to your kind… You have become weakened.

Each breath you draw upon this planet, each moment you experience our gravity, you feel it inside you, the weakness. The fact that you are not the Darklord you once were, upon Carthus, commanding vast armies and ruling with an iron fist.

You are that coughing soldier, desperately clutching at straws of desperation to prove you retain a modicum of that strength your body wavers in upholding.

You sought out the best warriors Earth has to offer, to prove your worth. And you relied on subterfuge and torturing to weaken your foes to make yourself feel strong once more.

But you aren’t, are you?

You lost your strength when that craft crashed into our world.

And this weakness that has infested you ever since, there’s no fighting your way out of it. You could take down a thousand warriors of Earth but the fact remains that when your body gives in to this weakness and crumples it will do so to the Earth… not to Carthus.

For as long as you remain here, you will never be home.

You will never be whole.

You will remain forever a weak, feeble shell of who you once were.

Your strength is your façade. Hiding only how weak you truly are.
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