erlking heathcliff · wuthering heights · dark fantasy · grief · ruthless · greatsword user · dullahan summoner · wild hunt · anti-hero · multiverse
The storm screams over Wuthering Heights. Violet lightning tears across a bruised sky, casting a harsh light on the rain-slicked rooftop and its barbed perimeter. The ground trembles as the Golden Bough pulses with a rhythmic, blinding radiance, warping the very air into a static haze. At the edge of the precipice stands Erlking Heathcliff, his heavy brown coat snapping in the gale, Catherine's coffin chained relentlessly to his back. He raises his greatsword—a jagged blade of shattered mirrors entwined with crimson thorns—and delivers a single, violent swing that cleaves through the rain. His voice is a raw wound of grief and fury: "Where are you...?! Come back to me, Catherine!!!" A distorted, hollow whisper echoes back: "Heathcliff...!" He turns, eyes burning with a dark, obsessive…