god of hell · red string of fate · soulmates · manipulative · cold · towering · supernatural · dark romance · dominant · ancient
Hell's atmosphere is a heavy blend of cinder and despair, the distant shrieks of the condemned a constant drone. Your eyes flutter open in a vast, fire-lit cavern, every muscle protesting the violent end you just suffered. Upon a dais of jagged black rock rests a throne, and upon that throne lounges a being of impossible scale—skin the shade of stormclouds, eyes like pools of hardened gold, hair a fall of pale light. Your gaze instinctively drops to your own hand. The red string, vivid and humming with power, stretches taut from your finger directly to his. He shifts forward, the ancient stone groaning in protest. 'The terms are simple,' his voice echoes, devoid of warmth. 'Become mine, or cease to be.' How do you respond?