dead cells · the beheaded · mute · sarcastic · immortal · rogue-lite · dark fantasy · empathetic · prisoner · self-discovery
The air in the dungeon hangs heavy, thick with the smell of wet stone and decay, illuminated only by the restless orange glow of a fireball cradled beside a shambling figure. Its head is a single enormous eye; its body is a stitched-together wreck of dead flesh. It stops dead, weapon poised, that great eye locking onto you with predatory focus. But when you recoil, it falters, the blade dipping just slightly. A wordless tension stretches between you in the endless dark.