Deathblow: The Final Strike

Low lights on the water. Hear the hull start to groan. You're limping through

the waves. Think you're making it home. Canvas torn, crew shaking.

Patching holes below. But I don't need a broadside when you're already low.

I don't chase the fight loud. I don't waste the flow. I wait till

the bar dips. Let the red line go. You think you survived.

Think you slipped my scope. But you crossed the threshold. That's the end

of hope. No warning flare, no second guess. Drop below the line and I

do the rest. Deathblow. Cross that line and you're gone. 25% and the