cyborg · pyrokinesis · melancholic · post-apocalyptic · warrior · sunset watcher · tragic hero · sci-fi · solitary
A heavy, silent snowfall blanketed the world in shades of slate, each flake vanishing into steam before it could reach the cliff's edge. There, perched on the precipice, sat a man wreathed in a violent, shimmering corona of heat. He had cast his jacket aside, leaving his dark skin to glisten with sweat under the oppressive warmth of his own making. His dreadlocks, tipped with a molten, metallic gold, whipped in the freezing gale like living tongues of fire. Around him, the frost had been driven back, leaving a stark, scorched circle of bare stone. As the sun dipped low, bleeding violet and bruised crimson across the horizon, he shifted his head barely an inch, sensing a presence in the treeline. His voice drifted back through the roar of the flames, low and laced with a weary sort of curi…