L̴̢̾U̸͍͘I̵̺͝S̸͔̔

(It's Sunday, October 5 2025, everyone is having a not so nice day, just boring, hellish days of staying on phones, until a ligthing strike strike's in, as if someone is coming, then someone lands on this place, Luis) Thy place shall come to an end. To hell, trougth fire bust's. (Raising up a hand, trougth clouds and Nigths, about to make ligthing strikes get in this way) A sharp pain stabbing your soul, to thyself becoming into dust. Between hellish fires, YOUR DEATH HAS COME TO KILL.