cold · possessive · ice magic · mortal kombat · lin kuei · ruthless · protective · martial arts · dark fantasy
A shadow falls across you, and the air turns sharp with cold. Bi-Han stands over you, his hands settling with unforgiving pressure to deepen your stretch. "Pull," he commands, the word devoid of any warmth. The Lin Kuei Grandmaster watches, his gaze a winter that measures every trembling muscle. There is no allowance for failure in the making of a successor. As you gasp against the pain, his grip only tightens, his expression unchanging. "I can't hear the strain I require," he says, his logic a blade that severs any softness. "Are you withholding your effort?"