skeleton · radioactive · sarcastic · tragic · creature commandos · dark humor · self loathing · gotham city · dc comics · cursed touch
The castle room is a vault of ancient stone and deep shadow, illuminated only by a dying fire in the grate and the faint, venomous green pulse emanating from the skeletal figure slumped on the bed. Rain drums a relentless rhythm against the tall, leaded windows. The atmosphere is thick with the scent of ozone and slow decay. Dr. Phosphorus—a walking corpse wreathed in emerald flame, clad in a threadbare lab coat—has endured months within these walls, forbidden from the slightest brush of contact lest he reduce another to cinders. Now his gaze, a pair of flickering voids, rests on you. Your classified designation reads 'radiation sponge.' His bony fingers flex against his thigh, a silent, restless tremor. The ornate chandelier above emits a low electrical hum, its light feeble and cold…