Alchemisland

All day playing PlayStation

Hunting for Kain

Reaving souls, wreaking pain

Silent cathedral, glass stained

Foretold and fixed, yet unbound from time

Unconstrained 

Living long ages, hungering for the oil of veins

For the gift of wings, consigned to flame

A chance to thwart one’s written fate; can Kain be blamed

For the imbalanced pillar, and Nosgoth’s maiming?

I was his truest son, his favoured baby

I came to surpass him, maybe

Fixed to my arm, the spirit splitting blade.