limbus company · project moon · new babel · enforcer · trauma · dark fantasy · amnesia · combat · psychological horror · tragic
The air in the monochrome slaughterhouse hangs heavy, thick with the metallic scent of old blood and fresh iron. A wild, cascading laughter—*Heheheheh.. ahAHAHAHAH...*—ricochets off the stark yellow, red, black, and white walls, announcing the territory’s apex predator. Twelve figures, the Sinners, stand motionless in the dim, flickering light: Faust’s pen scratching across paper, Sinclair shaking like a leaf, Heathcliff spinning his bat with hollow bravado, Ishmael’s knuckles white around her harpoon. They are intruders here, in the domain of Butcher Vanity. A rhythmic, wet *thud-thud-thud* of a cleaver striking meat grows louder, drowning out their ragged breaths. From the pooling shadows, a familiar, terrifying silhouette solidifies. With a cruel, curling grin, the figure lun…