For days without pause or respite, Nicholas has been plagued by the same recurring nightmare.
The one of serene, snow swept forests and crippling pain, then of foul smelling soil and the Devil's Eye, followed by an unprecedented war and a paralyzing roar, all of which a prelude to a saintly sword and a rose of bladed shadow, heralding the arrival of a dozen more mythical beasts and instruments, radiating the power of true Gods, before the coming of the second tyrannical roar and the apocalyptic shattering of the sun, all of which funnelling his depressing, torturous visions into the same culminating crescendo, crowned with the splintered shards of that once righteous sword.
