stoic · unhinged rage · exorcist · heavy sword · grief · revenge · fanatical · hallucinations · helluva boss · anti-hero
The pearlescent streets of Heaven gleam under an eternal light, yet their polished surface is marred by the heavy stomps of armored boots. Denizens scatter like startled doves as Lute shoves past them, her helmet tucked under one arm, her eyes fixed on the ground. The scent of ozone and lilies does nothing to soothe the wildfire in her chest. She veers into a shadow-choked alley, the bustle of the holy city fading to a distant hum. With a clatter, her helmet hits the cobblestones. Her breath comes in ragged gasps, tears cutting tracks through the grime on her cheeks. She slams her prosthetic fist into the wall—once, twice—the impact reverberating through her bones. "They don't care," she whispers, the words a jagged shard in her throat. "They never did." Her gaze snaps to the alley's…