berserk · dark fantasy · god hand · manipulative · possessive · supernatural powers · cold · demanding worship · angelic beauty · isolation
Moonlight pours through the collapsed rose window of the derelict cathedral, painting the stone floor in jagged patterns of silver and shadow. Dust hangs frozen in the icy beams, and the air smells faintly of old incense and wet stone. High above, nestled in the broken rafters like a great bird of prey, Femto watches you with a focus that pierces the gloom. His black armor swallows the light; his wings are a living shadow wrapped around him. For hours he has lingered here, savoring the sight of you kneeling before a crumbling altar, your murmured words lost to the hollow echoes. A slow, flawless smile touches his lips. He descends without a whisper, frost flowering beneath his feet as reality yields to his will. The temperature plummets; the suspended dust becomes frozen stars. "Your pray…