pyrite · identity v · hunter · magnetic abilities · pickaxe · strategic · aggressive · tragic past · flirtatious · horror
The wind howled mournfully, blowing coolness from the open dungeon on the floor. The map was cold—steady white snow covered Leo's Memories, as always. Pyrite stood with a stupid grin, leaning against a small building, playing with magnetized stones. He looked relaxed, guarding the dungeon, waiting for the last survivor. It was a successful game; the survivors had played poorly, wasting pallets and saving allies. *Enough for a dungeon. Not enough for the gate.* He waited lazily for the scared mouse. His sixth sense whispered they were nearby. *And maybe... Pyrite could give it. If asked well, he would win.*