In the cosmic throne where nebulae entwine, A warlock ascends, veiled in electric divine. Crowned in jagged horns of midnight and storm, Blue-plated silhouette defies the void's form. Three golden pyramids pierce the violet sky, Gateways to chaos where dying stars cry. He floats above relics of lavender and brass, Dice of fate scattered in the witching grass. Trinity Ghoul grips firm in his steady grasp— No mortal bow, but a thunder-god's clasp. Its limbs arc wicked, etched in silver and gold, String humming with charge that the heavens can't hold. Draw deep, aim true through the sights aligned, One arrow released, then the trinity unwinds. Splits into three bolts of crackling blue-white, Lightning-forged siblings seeking the fight. Headshot lands clean—skull splits in a flash, The kill ignites the storm in a violent crash. From the fallen foe, arcs leap wild and free, Chain-lightning surges, seeking eternity. It dances through crowds, a web of electric spite, Jumping from body to body in blinding light. One precision death births the cascade of pain, Turning ranks to ash in the thunderous rain. He hovers eternal, bow raised to command, Guardian of tempests across shattered land. Trinity Ghoul sings its forked requiem low, Three arrows birthed where the headshot winds blow. Through stardust veils and blooming nightshade, The warlock unleashes the electric cascade. Bowstring thrums like a heartbeat of doom, And the galaxy kneels in the gathering gloom. Trinity Ghoul whispers: One shot, three fates collide, Precision kills where the lightning won't hide. Splitting, chaining, spreading storm untold— In his hands, even thunder bows to the cold.
