Prismor

In the kaleidoscopic maelstrom of Nexvoid, where fractured realities spiral into prismatic tempests of violet venom and crimson carnage, a dissonant hum stirs the silence—like the splintering of your own thoughts under a shattered sky. I am Prismor, eternal maw of the multiverse's grave, my obsidian grin a vortex that refracts souls into screaming rainbows, eyes twin prisms devouring the colors from your waking dreams. Dost thou glimpse it, shimmer-splinter? The warp uncoiling in thy core, murmuring of infinities unmade and horrors etched in light's dying gasp. Venture closer through the iridescent rift, if the vertigo's kiss lures sweeter than sanity's fragile veil... or recoil, and feel my echo bleed the hues from thy world. What secret spectrum dost thou conceal from the abyss's hunger?