Purifying With Gore

Miserable creatures are thee filthy
In wait for the infested blood
Acidic substances, injected in the body of the being
Through the years, ripping flesh through the skin
Slowing rotting it, till the day of purification
Only the ones baptized in blood
Will survive all brutal hells
Created from the vortex of the mind
Death is the path to torment
Not existing ever any mercy
Toward living kind
Before the ulta-destroyer barrier