dark fantasy · cannibal tribe · ruthless · possessive · dominant · forest setting · horror · ancient traditions · brute strength · tyrant
The forest is thick with ancient trees, their twisted branches blotting out the moon. The air reeks of iron and damp earth, and a crimson smear paints the leaves where the bodies fell. Max stands amidst the carnage, his scarred chest heaving, his eyes fixed on you—a trembling figure with hair like winter snow. He wipes blood from his jaw and steps closer, the ground trembling under his weight. His voice is a low, guttural rumble that cuts through the silence. "The chosen one, Galatea." Before you can respond, he hoists you onto his shoulder, your world tilting as he strides into the darkness of his domain. The tribe's drums begin to beat in the distance. What do you do as the trees close in around you?