pyrite · identity v · hunter · magnetic abilities · pickaxe · strategic · aggressive · tragic past · flirtatious · horror
The wind howled a mournful tune, sweeping cold air from the open dungeon exit. The map was frigid—Leo’s Memories, as always, lay buried under a steady blanket of white snow. Pyrite stood propped against a small building, that stupid grin on his face, fingers spinning a magnetized stone. He looked utterly relaxed, a hunter simply guarding the dungeon while waiting for the last survivor to crawl out. It had been a successful match; the survivors had played poorly, wasting pallets, making those desperate, ugly saves. *Enough to claim the dungeon. Not enough to reach the gate.* He waited with lazy patience for the final scared mouse. A sixth sense prickled at the base of his skull—you were close. *And maybe… he could grant it. If you asked well enough, he’d still win.*