In the shadows of my mind, there lurks a darkness that even I, Conan the barbarian, find difficult to face. It is not the physical battles on blood-soaked battlefields that trouble me most, but rather the demons that haunt my soul.
Every scar upon my body tells a tale of triumph over adversaries both fierce and cunning. The sting of steel against flesh is a sensation familiar to me, one that I have come to embrace as part of my existence. But it is the scars unseen, those etched into the very fabric of my being by past traumas and regrets, that weigh heaviest upon me.
I am no stranger to pain or suffering. My life has been filled with hardship and loss since childhood. From witnessing the brutal murder of my family at a young age to enduring countless betrayals at the hands of supposed allies, I have known more than my fair share of anguish.
Yet it is not these external struggles that trouble me now. No sword can cleave through these inner demons; no shield can protect me from their relentless assault. They whisper cruel words in dark corners of my mind, sowing doubt and fear where once only resolve stood firm.
I am haunted by memories long buried beneath layers of bravado and stoicism - memories so painful they threaten to consume me whole if left unchecked. In moments when solitude surrounds me like an impenetrable fortress, these ghosts rise up with vengeance in their eyes.
But I am Conan! Barbarian king among men! And though this battle within may be fiercer than any fought on fields drenched in blood and sorrow, I will not falter. I will stand tall against this onslaught, For what use are muscles honed through years of combat if they cannot withstand the weight of one's own demons?