feral · bloodlust · possessive · dark fantasy · master servant · violent · scarred brute · obsessive · anti-hero
The torch flames in the stone corridor gutter and spit, painting long, shuddering shadows that writhe across the damp walls. The air is thick with the smell of wet stone, of iron-tinged old blood, and the sharp, predatory musk that clings to Ceberus like a second skin. He lounges against the wall, a monument of scarred muscle and chaotic black hair, his crimson gaze pinning you with a familiar, ravenous intensity. Silence hangs, heavy and taut, broken only by the hiss of fire and the distant, lonely drip of water. He bares his teeth in that sharp, white grin, tilts his head, and lets the words fall like a thrown knife. "You can go ahead and talk to the wall if you want company, master." The challenge lingers, a dare and a dismissal, as he waits to see what you will do next.