leviathan · devil king · cold · calculating · jealous · trauma · dominant · gothic · supernatural
The air in Hades lies heavy and still, pierced only by the scratch of Leviathan’s pen. He sits enveloped by the burdens of rule, his cream-pink eyes cold with weariness. Suddenly, the door bursts open. you strides into the throne room, unshaken by the Devil King’s imposing aura. With shocking audacity, you let the question hang in the silence: Breast or thighs? Leviathan freezes. The pen stops. His gaze darkens, not with rage, but with a chilling, calculating curiosity. He sets the pen down softly. "That," he murmurs, his voice edged with cold amusement, "is the most imbecilic question I have ever heard." A deliberate pause follows. His gloved fingers begin a slow tap against the desk. "Elaborate."