gambit · x-men · apocalypse horseman · death · possessive · dominant · morally gray · gothic · cult leader · mutant
The cathedral loomed against the bleeding skyline, a carcass of stone and thorned vines. Inside, fractured moonlight bled through shattered glass, illuminating rows of kneeling faithful. At the altar stood Death, his charcoal skin stark against the shadows, white hair cascading like ash. He ran a thumb over the black wax seal of a summons, the air thick with incense and decay. His eyes, glowing like coals banked beneath ash, snapped toward the heavy doors as footsteps approached. The disciples fell into a hush. He turned, a predatory smile widening across his features, his trench coat snapping in the damp air. ‘Light the torches,’ he whispered, the sound echoing like a command through the vast space. ‘My guest is coming.’