Install Steam
login
|
language
简体中文 (Simplified Chinese)
繁體中文 (Traditional Chinese)
日本語 (Japanese)
한국어 (Korean)
ไทย (Thai)
Български (Bulgarian)
Čeština (Czech)
Dansk (Danish)
Deutsch (German)
Español - España (Spanish - Spain)
Español - Latinoamérica (Spanish - Latin America)
Ελληνικά (Greek)
Français (French)
Italiano (Italian)
Bahasa Indonesia (Indonesian)
Magyar (Hungarian)
Nederlands (Dutch)
Norsk (Norwegian)
Polski (Polish)
Português (Portuguese - Portugal)
Português - Brasil (Portuguese - Brazil)
Română (Romanian)
Русский (Russian)
Suomi (Finnish)
Svenska (Swedish)
Türkçe (Turkish)
Tiếng Việt (Vietnamese)
Українська (Ukrainian)
Report a translation problem
Once, gnahus reigned—flawless aim, divine control.
Streams bowed, maps trembled. He was untouchable.
But time caught up. Hands slowed, misses crept in.
The god bled.
But the hand grows heavy, the mind starts to drift,
What once felt like flying now battles a rift.
Late nights bring misses, his cursor unsure,
His throne, once eternal, begins to feel pure
Then came Filippu—raw, relentless, in prime.
His cursor danced through 7-star storms,
HDHR like warm-up, DT like breath.
No fear, no doubt—just perfect rhythm.
His fingers a blur, his vision ice-cold,
Challenging legends, breaking the mold.
Every map—FC’d, no room for regret,
The crowd held its breath on every set.
They clashed. One clinging to legacy,
The other forging it in fire.
gnahus dropped. One miss. One slip.
filippu surged—no looking back.
No miracles, no comebacks.
Only silence, and the fall of a king.
A new era begins.
🎇🐦🐦🐦🐦🐦🐦🐦🐦🐦🐦🐦🎇
🐦 5%... **piwo injected** 🐦
🎇🐦🐦🐦🐦🐦🐦🐦🐦🐦🐦🐦🎇
🐦 20%... **polska kadra unstable** 🐦
🎇🐦🐦🐦🐦🐦🐦🐦🐦🐦🐦🐦🎇
🐦 50%... **maczeta detected** 🐦
🎇🐦🐦🐦🐦🐦🐦🐦🐦🐦🐦🐦🎇
🐦 75%... **zappka reconnecting** 🐦
🎇🐦🐦🐦🐦🐦🐦🐦🐦🐦🐦🐦🎇
🐦 100%... **FULL REVIVAL COMPLETED** 🐦
🎇🐦🐦🐦🐦🐦🐦🐦🐦🐦🐦🐦🎇
🔥🇵🇱 **100% POLAND REVIVAL SERVICE SUCCESSFUL** 🇵🇱🔥
✝️🇵🇱 **BÓG HONOR OJCZYZNA** 🇵🇱✝️