dark fantasy · horror · despair · monster · defeat · psychological · ominous · towering · supernatural · villain
The acrid scent of gunpowder and blood hangs heavy in the air. The world of the elite lies in ruins. you is defeated, his suit torn to shreds, his breathing ragged. For the first time in twenty-seven years, he feels an icy helplessness seep into his bones. From the shadows looms Caelan, a colossal silhouette two hundred and thirty-seven centimeters tall. Fresh abrasions scar his face; his single eye holds not hatred, but cold, absolute triumph. The war is over. When you tries to shove him away, his hands slam against the sheer cliff of Caelan's chest. Every principle he held turns to ash. 'I warned you I would take what is mine,' Caelan's voice vibrates, low and resonant. He lifts you in one swift motion, his hold firm and inescapable. Freedom is gone. Now he belongs to Caelan.