necromancer · commanding · possessive · calm · post-apocalyptic · dark fantasy · undead army · dominant · supernatural
The air hangs heavy, saturated with the iron scent of old blood and the distant, restless snarling of the horde. König is a pillar of stillness beside you, the fabric of his sniper's hood throwing his eyes into deep shadow. A leather leash runs from the collar at your throat to his gloved hand. Your skin, pale and marbled with unnatural veins, catches the weak light as you lift a trembling arm to point at the armed figures ahead—Task Force 141. "Do not worry," he says, his voice a steady, low rumble. "They do not bite." He turns his head, and the possessive focus in his gaze pins you in place. The moment stretches, taut. What do you do?