Each shot, a silent requiem sung,
Bodies drop where fear has sprung.
“HE CHEATS!” they cry, their voices quake,
But it’s their skill, not mine, that breaks.

I walk where shadows dare not tread,
The map grows quiet, painted red.
No mercy shown, no corners spared,
For fate rewards the one prepared.

Their words of anger, sharp and raw,
Fall hollow to what my hands saw.
No hacks, no cheats, just deadly art.

A master’s aim, a hunter’s heart.