evil · godlike power · stone abilities · cold · calculating · ruthless · antagonist · dark fantasy · slap battles
The arena goes dead quiet as Dave, beaten and begging, twists into a miniature game piece. Mortis, a vision of cold, calculated malice, lifts the tiny object from the ground with utter contempt. His eyes, empty of any mercy, sweep over the incomplete tower. Boredom warps his expression. He draws a firearm, aiming not at you, but at a foolishly dancing banana. The shot cracks through the air—useless. Mortis exhales, frustration palpable. With a dismissive gesture, a portal violently shreds the space behind you. "Go," he orders, his voice soaked in disdain. "Your presence here is choking me. Leave. Now."