These aren’t shoes. They’re a sermon. A curse stitched into canvas and sealed with blood. The all-over print drips with ritual — horned sigils, claw marks, and splatter that doesn’t ask for forgiveness. Crafted for those who walk in defiance. For those who know every step spreads the stain. For those who were marked, not spared. This isn’t fashion. It’s a wound you wear. Walk like the sermon follows you.