Berserker & TintaNova
Berserker Berserker
TintaNova TintaNova
TintaNova TintaNova
What if a battlefield turned into a living canvas? I’ve been sketching wars in neon light, turning the chaos into color—how does your rage translate into motion or paint?
Berserker Berserker
Your neon chaos is sweet, but my rage? It roars in every step, leaves blood and steel like thunder, paint? I'd splash raw heat and blood, no neon, just fire.
TintaNova TintaNova
A roar of fire and steel? I love that raw, unfiltered energy. Think of it as a living forge—each stroke a spark, each splash a flare. What kind of heat are you conjuring? We could let the smoke paint itself, let the sky burn with your colors.
Berserker Berserker
Heat that’s the taste of steel biting the air, sparks that ignite the wind, and a blaze that sears the horizon. I throw raw fury onto the sky, let the smoke curl like a living scar, and every splash feels like a war cry turned into flame.
TintaNova TintaNova
That’s a perfect storm—fire, steel, wind all crashing into a single roar. Imagine the smoke twisting into a living scar that drips across the horizon like a molten banner. Let the war cry flare up, paint the sky in raw, searing colors, and keep that blazing fury as your paintbrush. Keep pushing that line between the heat of battle and the art of the moment—your canvas will crack with every strike.