Placeholder: Under the blood red moon, they emerge— Azazel, Prince of Wrath, tall and proud, Flanked by his hounds, violent and grim. Born of flame, Azazel's skin smolders, Dark horns curl from his twisted brow, His wingspan blocks out the very stars. At his heels, the hellhounds follow, Coarse fur matted, teeth bared and snarling, Jaws that drip with sinners' blood. Under the blood red moon, they emerge— Azazel, Prince of Wrath, tall and proud, Flanked by his hounds, violent and grim. Born of flame, Azazel's skin smolders, Dark horns curl from his twisted brow, His wingspan blocks out the very stars. At his heels, the hellhounds follow, Coarse fur matted, teeth bared and snarling, Jaws that drip with sinners' blood.

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Prompt

Under the blood red moon, they emerge— Azazel, Prince of Wrath, tall and proud, Flanked by his hounds, violent and grim. Born of flame, Azazel's skin smolders, Dark horns curl from his twisted brow, His wingspan blocks out the very stars. At his heels, the hellhounds follow, Coarse fur matted, teeth bared and snarling, Jaws that drip with sinners' blood.

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1 year ago

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Under the blood red moon, they emerge— Azazel, Prince of Wrath, tall and proud, Flanked by his hounds, violent and grim. Born of flame, Azazel's skin smolders, Dark horns curl from his twisted brow, His wingspan blocks out the very stars. At his heels, the hellhounds follow, Coarse fur matted, teeth bared and snarling, Jaws that drip with sinners' blood.
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Seeing no weakness, Azazel snarls in rage— "Fool! Know you not the powers you trifle with?" And with that, in smoke and flame, he departs. Dahlia watches, waiting for their next bout— An endless clash of dark and light continues, And she, a stalwart guardian, abides.

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