In the arena where legends rise,
Stands a sharpshooter with eagle eyes.
Yay, the name that whispers fear,
A phantom in the crosshairs clear.
With every shot, a heartbeat stills,
Precision honed by countless drills.
Enemies fall like autumn leaves,
As Yay's aim never deceives.
A master of the duel's dark art,
With ice-cold veins and iron heart.
He dances through the deadly fray,
Where lesser souls are led astray.
But in his hands, the rifle sings,
A symphony of death it brings.
And in the final moments' flight,
Yay carves his name into the night.
For in his gaze, there's something more,
A hunger that the greats adore.
The crowd roars loud, the lights ablaze,
Yet Yay remains in shadows' haze.
For in the game of skill and strife,
Yay lives a second, sharper life.
A legend forged in bullets' blaze,
Forever etched in Valor's maze.
Discord