By the coming of the Old One, the harbinger of the end times
Demonic hordes despoil and ravage the land
Virtuous mortals step forth to trespass the mist to interdict this incursion
Bravely, they face the soul-starved husks and the ravenous behemoths
And as carnage grips the cities and darkened kingdoms, some venture to the depths of carrion and ordure
What began as a divine mission to castigate and scour the filth of an execrable vale was crushed by the weight of plague and abominations
She lays beside her fallen knights
White robes stained by waters borne of blight
Their cleansing crusade was broken by malaise
And she deigned to be the one who stays
One pure demon's soul became this maiden's boon
Matron to the wretched folk, please heal our wounds
Thus did she become as a saint to the leprous and vagrant ones, dispossessed of home and comfort
The infernal essence within her did atrophy and wane by the light of her rectitude, and compassion eclipsed all traces of corruption
Her guardian and lover stands firmly in defense
And sees intruders slain or driven hence
Circumscribed by those discarded and torn
In a sanctum of pythogenic unborn
Alas, not all would share and bask in reverential bliss
That which is fair shall ever engender a cancerous envy
The malignant, spiteful crone emboldens and leads travelers amiss
To rid the maiden of blood and soul, and render her sanctum empty
In the valley of feculent rains, where the dross populace reside
The ostracized and unwanted are callously cast aside
But deep within this afflicted gulf, a humble priestess prays
For mercy and deliverance for pariahs consigned to decay
One pure demon's soul brought grace to defilement
The lady of white cloth laments God's abandonment
Her benevolence transcends the maker she entreats
Yet she is fated as prey for demon slayers to defeat