He rose from the shadows, bathed in pain,
To strike where justice had died in vain.
He bled for truth; he vowed to serve,
Giving the scoundrels what they deserve.
He hunted monsters, that law had spared,
Each kill a prayer for those who cared.
Drive took control, pride got burned—
The line of conscience already blurred.
He saw no trial, nor judge or plea,
Masked by instinct and blasphemy.
He crowned himself above the rest,
Punishing them as he deemed best.
He sought to fix the broken world,
But he forgot what made it fall.
Ignoring what was right or wrong,
He bore no guilt—he lost his call.