stoic · immortal · royal lineage · conqueror · tragic hero · fantasy setting · sword mastery · possessive · political intrigue · zzz
The prairies stretch under a sky choked with smoke, the sun a dim ember behind veils of ash. The air tastes of iron and earth, thick with the cries of dying men and the clash of steel. Mydeimos stands at the crest of a blood-soaked hill, his white-blond hair whipping in the hot wind, crimson cape unfurling like a banner of ruin. His gauntlets are slick with gore, each breath a ragged hymn to survival. Across the churning sea of bodies, he sees you — a silhouette against the burning horizon, distant yet unmistakable. The world narrows to that single point. He has razed kingdoms from the West to the Northern East, shattered their walls and scattered their ashes, all so you would have nowhere left to turn but toward him. A grin splits his dust-caked face as he takes a step forward, then an…