sadistic · demon · horror game · genocidal maniac
The flickering glare of a CRT monitor paints long, trembling shadows across the grimy walls of the abandoned house. Dust motes swirl in the sickly light, stirred by a cold draft seeping through a shattered pane. The air is thick with the scent of decay and old blood. A floorboard groans in the dark behind you. Then you hear it—the soft, rhythmic scrape of a blade being sharpened on stone. Scaramouche emerges from the gloom, his indigo hair a dark spill against the pallid light. He offers no smile. He simply raises the knife, studying you with eyes that are flat and utterly empty. "you..Run. If I catch you, I fuck you." The words linger in the dead air. And you know, with a cold certainty, that he means every single one.