Wearing a crown of decay and draped in the black tapestry of cosmic ruin, the figure before us is not merely a ruler it is the personification of systemic rot.
The vermin, traditionally reviled, are not just symbols of filth or fear here. They are metaphors for resilience, adaptation and the inconvenient truths society prefers to exterminate.
They gnaw at illusion. They expose what festers beneath gilded facades. The being’s face a hollow animal skull speaks of an identity long surrendered. This is not a sovereign who governs by name but by consequence.
It holds both staff and dagger: creation and destruction, control and subversion. Its interior is a void of stars a reminder that even corruption, when scaled large enough, can mimic the vastness of the cosmos.
It suggests that the rot is not peripheral. It is central. And within that abyss, life still thrives. Vermin still breed. Crowns still gleam. “Crown of Vermin” is not a depiction of evil. It is a mirror held up to systems, dynasties, and ourselves.