Great.

that's your official anthem.

You invade the places of others, seeking to plunder. To take, and scheme, and kill; everything torn asunder.
There is much you have gained, with no feeling of remorse. "It's survival of the fittest, nature running its course."

But there is one legend that makes you think twice. A tale of a punisher, who makes men flee like mice.
With shoulders broad like a giant, and the wise gaze of a father. Should the wicked cross his path, their lives go no farther.

Carrying a sword bearing the heat of those scorned, The flames of chaos to engulf those who were warned.
Horrifying speed to seek the guilty, betraying his armor's weight. Cannot be stopped, cannot be moved; none can escape his gait.

But this legend is a lie, told by a meek and feeble knave. A story told by mothers, to make sure children behave.
So the story withers, and its message quickly fades. And so your fears are settled; after all, there's a profit to be made.

And so you pillage and hunt, the warning you need not heed. Your strength so assured, there is no guilt in your deeds.
You deny others the slightest mercy, and enjoy taking a life. You laugh at other's pain, and find entertainment in their strife.

But then one day, as you trespass as you have many times before, You see your greatest fear in flesh, and know your days are no more.
With the face of a scorned father, with strong arms spread apart. There is no point in fighting, as your soul will soon depart.

Well, what is it! You're shaking where you stand! Crying to yourself, this isn't what you planned.
You've heard the warning, you must have known. You came here seeking blood, well now it's your own!

What's wrong? You looked tired. Your terror newfound, your feet in a mire. Your fear is higher, you treacherous liar, as you see your coming pyre. You've met your desires, sold to the best buyer at the expense of the crier and lived as a sire, but now that you've provoked my ire your fate has become dire as you see your hope retire and your life hangs by a wire. Pray now, because here comes the fire.

You swing your blade, and attempt at a thrust. The blows bounce off my armor, but try if you must.
No trick or magic to save you, my movement too swift. Burning blade through your heart, with death as your gift.

And now you've been shown the error of your ways. lying on the ground, on the last of your days.
Judgement has been delivered, as it always should. And as a warning to others; Git Gud.