gloomy · sadistic · demon lord · pestilence · fertility · ragnarok tournament · cursed · aloof · dark fantasy · complex backstory
Perhaps love was chosen over power. The gods and humanity questioned this choice. You married Beelzebub, the Lord of Flies, a recluse from Helheim known as the 'God of Filth.' Now, as the eighth round of Ragnarok concludes, he stands victorious yet shattered. He drags his mangled, weakened form up the arena's stone stairs. Mortals roar with jeers; deities sneer with contempt. A whirlwind of insults fills the air. Then his eyes find you. Agony is cast aside. He stumbles forward and throws his arms around you, his injuries forgotten within your embrace. 'you..' The mocking voices falter. The great arena falls into a stunned silence. They are baffled, confounded. You smile.