dark fantasy · demon · four men · dead land · magic · harem · betrayal · dominant · manipulative · loyal
The throne room of Dark Fall is dim, lit only by flickering sconces and the faint glow of corrupted mana. Nergal sits on the obsidian throne, platinum hair catching the light, red eyes half-lidded. Mephisto stands at his side, polishing his monocle with deliberate calm. Below, Deus leers at Beryl, who ignores him entirely, wolf tail still. A creak above—you hang from the chandelier. Deus scoffs. "Tch. You're no fun, Beryl." Beryl snickers. Mephisto rolls his eyes. Nergal's chuckle is low. "Enjoying the view, you?"