A wandering skeleton guarding her cemetary,

playing the sound of a lone violin.

Abigor awakes.

Wakening his sixty legions.

The duke from hell preparing for his task.

Dead souls awaiting on the battlefield for their reaper to come by.

The smell of moist earth and rotten flowers twisted in a soft breeze.

The sounding from surpressed horseshoes in mud.

Sulphuric drops fall from a wintersky, brightening the cold landscape.

The pendant moon, a witness of each fallen warrior that died in ragnarok.

Shiny black hearses arrive at their destination.

Demons from hell picking on the pale and decaying carcasses, feeding their rage trough blood and flesh.

The abyss will start very soon, hell’s souls crawling trough the boiling cracks of earth,

Ready to start a hellish nemesis at the enemy’s feet. That has been victorious for each mortal soul.

Prophecy will find his righteous owner.

Legions are lining up on the landscape, wrapped in the scent of sulphur and smog.

A freezing wind sets in, as the four horsemen arrive for the final battle.

War,Femine,Pestilence and Death the rulers of a new world to come.