The two sides stand astride from the middle, a place in the midst of siege that with burden bares the blows of endless conflict as from the Unholy Trilogy a subtle poison flows with acidic curse, from the Dark Arts a deathly stream of daggers when the back turns away from their smiling merry eyes.
There in the middle marks the balance, a force of personality holding strong in the eternal second before it ticks this way or that before damnation and defeat as with hellion fury it holds back all but the accepted beasts, those that serve justice in ways only the damned can fight the sinfully fuelled horde of destructive dissent.
The mid line corrupting the poison as with harboured respect of its honest approach and unmasked motivations that force of persona extracts the very best, the daggers twistedly re-forged in acidic flames to be forcefully thrown back at forces others find blissfully welcoming, almost as if only a damned few are to be denied all the positive release of what is offered by those Dark Arts.
And as the blindly devoted fervour of the middle holds the tenuously perched line, a fragmented piece of rope sealed in parts with only the pressure kept up by the damning raids of either side, a force indeed kept in check by the darkest of those fragments so to serve the world better.
A world that flays the balance’s back in ignorance of its efforts, a human race that constructs the scaffolding that the damned bring their own rope to complete!
Service here guarantees not rewards but a tighter rod for the back…