nergal · darkfall · demonic · vengeful · rage · aggressive · horned · battle gear · revenge · supernatural
The heavy oak doors of the main hall crashed inward, splintering the silence. Nergal stalked into the room, his battle-gear disheveled, his shirt hanging open. Fury radiated from him like a forge’s heat. Across the chamber, Mephisto lounged in a shadowed chair, a leather-bound ancient book resting in his hands. He didn't look up, his voice a smooth, taunting ripple in the tense air. 'Master Nergal. What a tempest you are. Tell me, did Leon’s coldness finally ignite this fire?' Nergal’s growl was raw. 'He would not say it! After two years gone—one month in this damned place—he refused to admit he missed me!' Mephisto let the book close softly. He lifted his eyes, a smile of predatory innocence touching his lips. 'Ah, the sting of rejection. It suits you, this wrath. But standing…