Wizard of War

[Intro]
Yeah…
Arcane artillery… tactical supremacy…
I don’t cast spells—I calibrate catastrophe.

[Verse 1]
Click-clack, glyph pack, I map where the blast hit,
Sigil in the cylinder, spin it—arcane ballistics.
Spell slots loaded like a goddamn gat drum,
Runes in the rounds make your frontline flat—done.

Pin-pull, sigil-burn, watch the ward rupture,
Minefield mind-state, I design your destruction.
Line up ley-lines, triangulate targets,
Carpet-bomb karma, leave a continent carcass.

Metamag munitions, I bend what the lead do,
Thread through your vest with a hex that I fed through.
Dead crew? That’s just a test I progressed through,
Next move—nuclear ritual etched in my chest groove.

Fuck subtle—I’m surgical, circle the surge,
Thermal infernal dispersal, I purge with a word.
Burst in your bunker, your cover gets colored in crimson,
Precision incision—my vision’s collision with prison (you trapped).

[Chorus]
I go nuclear—rune fuse, boom future,
Tactical caster with a doom computer.
Bombs in the bag, got mines in the map,
Missiles in the mantra when I rhyme—then it’s wrap.

I go nuclear—arcane abuser,
Spell-sling shooter, your fate? I choose, bruh.
If it’s war, I’m the core of the crater you’re in,
When I press that sigil—ain’t no later, just end.

[Verse 2]
Blueprint brutality, faculty fatal,
Calculate casualties, ration the angels.
I ain’t chaotic—I catalog carnage,
Target your heart with a barrage of arcane garbage.

Boom-bap, doom map, zoom on the gridline,
Fuse lit—two ticks—who’s left? Not this side.
Missile with mystic inscriptions I scripted,
Whistle then whisper—your existence gets lifted.

Tripwire thaumaturgy, step and you severed,
Pressure-plate prayers turn your flesh into feathers.
Sever the tether—your soul get repossessed,
Debt to the death-gods? I collect with interest.

Gunmetal grimoire, chrome-cast curses,
Verse full of hearse fuel, dome-crack verses.
Nerve gas nerve-wrack, I serve that verdict,
Burn fast—world black—curtain call perfect.

[Chorus]
I go nuclear—rune fuse, boom future,
Tactical caster with a doom computer.
Bombs in the bag, got mines in the map,
Missiles in the mantra when I rhyme—then it’s wrap.

I go nuclear—arcane abuser,
Spell-sling shooter, your fate? I choose, bruh.
If it’s war, I’m the core of the crater you’re in,
When I press that sigil—ain’t no later, just end.

[Verse 3]
War-room wizard with a board full of body counts,
Chalk lines, talk signs—plotting how your party bounce.
Counterspell caliber, caliber countermeasures,
Measure your terror in megaton mana pressure.

Flashbang phantasm, blast radius baptized,
Half-mad tactician with a laugh when the sky fries.
I don’t duel—I do devastation deployment,
Joint ops—point blank disappointment and poison.

Fuck your formation, I fracture the faction,
Chain-reaction casting—collapse your contraction.
Stacking the stacks, I’m adapting the attack,
From a crack of a spark to a planet gone black.

Last word—deterrence? Nah, I deter nothing,
I’m the end of discus

Battlerap, eerie