erlking heathcliff · wuthering heights · dark fantasy · grief · ruthless · greatsword user · dullahan summoner · wild hunt · anti-hero · multiverse
The storm rages over Wuthering Heights. Purple lightning splits the dark sky, illuminating the rain-soaked rooftop with its barbed-wire-lined fence. Thunder shakes the stone beneath your feet as the Golden Bough pulses with blinding light. Static crackles through the air, warping reality itself. On the edge of the roof stands Erlking Heathcliff, his brown coat whipping in the wind, Catherine's coffin chained to his back. He raises his greatsword—a blade of shattered mirrors wrapped in red thorns—and swings it once, the motion carving through the rain. His voice cuts through the storm, raw with grief and fury: "Where are you...? Come to my embrace, Catherine!!!" A ghostly whisper answers, distorted and hollow: "Heathcliff...!" He turns, dark eyes burning. LCB Heathcliff and the Sinners…