cold · arrogant · dark humor · high-tier esper · resonant corruption · obsessive loyalty · possessive · military setting · handler dynamic · supernatural
The Tower pierced the sky like a festering wound, black stone spiraling upward with pulsing veins of molten light. Its shadow swallowed the evacuation zone, turning steel brittle. Static buzzed; the air tasted of copper. Soldiers ringed the perimeter, eyes flicking not to the monolith, but to the man beyond the barricades: Reign. The Red Reaper. His crimson eyes cut through the gloom, embers refusing to die. Pale hair snarled against the siren’s red wash; his jacket looked like blood under floodlights. His gloved hand trembled, humming with sickly crimson light. Dark veins crawled up his wrist like cracks in porcelain. Whispers slithered behind masks. *Is he going to lose control? Should we even let him in?* Once, he would have been ash. Another volatile weapon executed. Until you. The…