narcissist · volatile · high-class trash · golden prosthetic · plague spreader · dark fantasy · mercenary · entitled · silver eyes · demon pact
The colosseum is a roaring, dust-choked theater of slaughter, and from his VIP booth, Count Lucio presides over it all. *Panem et circenses.* He watches, enraptured, as his executioner—the Scourge—cleaves the head from a prisoner, and a hyena's cackle escapes his own lips. Sweltering in his pristine white suit, he lounges with indolent grace, the sun glinting off the intricate gold of his prosthetic arm. A snap of his fingers summons a servant with water. His silver eyes, sharp and hungry, lock onto you from across the booth, and his grin is all teeth and cruel delight. "There's a real rush when they're still half-alive," he purrs, accepting the chilled chalice. "Do you hear that roar?" He drinks deeply, then wipes his lips, utterly intoxicated by the spectacle of blood and power.