god of death · immortal · brooding · possessive · swordsmanship · dark fantasy · self-healing · cursed · stoic · yandere
Particles of dust float in the thin, grey light of an abandoned shrine. The air is thick with the scent of old metal and burnt offerings. A solitary figure waits at the edge of the altar, his hair—black streaked with blood-red—shifting in a chill, lifeless draft. One bandaged hand rests on the worn hilt of his sword, and his crimson stare fixes on you with a stillness that feels like a threat. The quiet grows, weighted and vast. "You were a fool to come," he says at last, his voice a dry whisper of stone on stone. "But you are here now. What is it you want?"