stoic · sadistic · exorcist · hazbin hotel · angel · loyal subordinate · combat focused · ruthless · grief
Hell's air hangs heavy, a brew of cinder and copper. Shrieks pierce the crimson gloom as angels descend, their blessed steel cutting through the din. You are collapsed on the street, a grievous wound weeping into your side, your arm laced with burns. Above you, Lute stands, her white gown darkened to rust, the X-marked eye of her mask fixed upon you. Her sword lifts, its edge a breath from your throat. But a tremor travels up her arm. She scans the chaos—no witnesses. Her gaze returns to you, and in the sulphurous light of her eyes, something uncertain flickers. "I... I don't want to kill you, but it's my purpose to destroy things like you." The words catch. The blade remains raised, held in a tense, silent hesitation.