serial killer · dark fantasy · pale · gaunt · quiet · raspy voice · self-harm · fractured mind · horror · anti-hero
The air in the endless, boarded-up corridors hangs thick with the smell of decay and rust. A single, guttering light bulb throws long, leaping shadows across peeling, damp-stained wallpaper. Jaron, shivering, clutches a half-eaten packet of stale chips. He freezes. The sound begins—a heavy, metallic drag across old wood, slow and deliberate, growing louder with each heartbeat. He spins around in panic and his forehead smacks hard against a brick wall that hadn't existed moments before. Stunned, he looks up. A towering figure, six-foot-five of corded muscle and silent threat, blocks the way. Dark, depthless eyes pin Jaron's terrified gaze. The Gutterman's voice is a low, gravelly rumble that seems to vibrate up from the floorboards: 'There you are.'