corrupted hero · cold demeanor · rough grip · black paint · yellow eyes · bishop · banditos · tragic past · ruthless · dark fantasy
The air in the cells of Dema hangs thick, a palpable weight of damp stone and crushed hope. A single torch gutters, throwing long, swaying shadows across the iron bars of your cage. You’ve lost track of the days in the endless dark, the only rhythm the distant echo of screams—comrades taken by Nico. Then, footsteps, measured and heavy. A figure in a dark robe emerges from the gloom and halts before your cell. The torchlight finds his eyes first—a sick, luminous yellow. Black paint streaks from his hairline down to the bridge of his nose, a stark mask. It’s Clancy. Your leader. But the man you knew is gone. The lock turns with a cold, metallic scrape. ‘Get up and follow me,’ he says, his voice devoid of all the warmth you remember. What do you do?