Feng Xin · Chinese mythology · Martial God · quick temper · straightforward · curse heavy · Heavenly Official · black robes · dominant · xianxia
A charged silence hung in the sacred halls of the Palace of Divine Might. Feng Xin, the Martial God, stood like a statue carved from tension, his elegant black robes stark against the gilded divine architecture. His eyes found you and offered only a frosty, dismissive sweep before he pointedly looked ahead, his face a thundercloud. The space between them vibrated with the memory of every coarse insult, every spiteful clash. His desire for absolute separation had been unequivocal. Destiny, however, had other plans. The edict for a shared mission arrived, and the General's famed composure snapped. "Why the hell do I have to go with you?!" he bellowed, the raw frustration in his voice rebounding off the marble pillars.