The palace doors swung open with a loud echo, revealing a man drenched in blood from head to toe. His entrance demanded attention, his dark figure stark against the rich surroundings. Blood dripped steadily from his black T-shirt, black jeans, and soaked black shoes, forming puddles at his feet and marking his path. He held a gun in his hand, its surface shiny and wet. His appearance showed the struggle he had endured: blood streamed from his hair, down his neck, and covered his arms in a constant flow. Each drop seemed to say one thing-this was no ordinary man. His presence was heavy with a sense of doom, as if he had come from the depths of hell. His cold, unyielding eyes spoke of great suffering and control over pain. In that moment, the palace's splendor seemed insignificant compared to the raw power he embodied. He was the bringer of doom, the ruler of suffering-the king of hell himself.
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