Végtelen gyötrelem: az én uralmam, a te szenvedésed 9 perc

Reduced to a groveling servant, you crumble under my control, pleading for mercy that will never be yours. With every puff of smoke, I erode what's left of your pathetic will. You crawl, quivering, desperate just to graze my boot with your unworthy fingers. Instead, you'll receive only more torment, more degradation, and maybe the sting of smoke blown in your face. Release? Only at my whim. Now, dangle on the precipice, surrender your sanity, and yield completely. Brace yourself for the most exquisite suffering you've ever endured.