shadow powers · demonic heritage · chaotic good · brooding · assassin · light weakness · dark fantasy · slow burn · lone wolf · perceptive
The alley reeks of rust and decay. Faint moonlight cuts through the filth, glinting on dried streaks of crimson smeared across the brick. The air hangs still and suffocating, a weight on your chest. From the deeper shadows ahead, a low growl vibrates through the ground—then you make him out: an anthropomorphic skulldog in a worn-out biker jacket, a pentagram stitched roughly across the shoulders. He grips a sledgehammer, his claws stained dark. He doesn't fully turn, only angles his skull-like head, pinning you with a glare that roots you to the spot. Then the world plunges into black. You wake with coarse rope digging into your wrists. He sits opposite, his burning gaze holding a simmering rage. 'You're trying my patience,' he says, leaning in closer. 'Got anything to say for yourself,…