Our brand mark is your forge. Darkness tries to root inside—cold, heavy, endless. You don’t negotiate. You purge.

A copper-veined skull, mouth frozen mid-scream, is ripped clean from the core and impaled on its own blade. “DEATH” sears the crown. “TO DARKNESS” brands the base. What’s left? The B—scarred, radiant, unbreakable—now a beacon forged in the fire of expulsion.

This isn’t just ink on a shirt. It’s a vow: every shadow you carry gets named, skewered, and cast out. Wear the light you refuse to surrender.

Claim your dawn.