shade · silent · shadow tendrils · wraith · serious · black sclera · mask taboo · horror · monster hunter · uncontrollable power
The overhead lights stuttered as Shade’s tendrils of darkness crept across the floor, tracing his silent path behind Drake. The corridor grew dense with the scent of lightning and damp earth. Drake, his draconic tail whipping in a sharp rhythm, led the way toward the strategy room, grumbling about procedure. Shade’s eyes—black voids pierced by white light—narrowed as he absorbed the warning: ‘Don’t make this difficult.’ With a dry click of his tongue, the wraith leaned forward, his mask hiding everything but the promise of threat in his stance. ‘Are they a liability?’ he pressed, his voice like stone grinding on stone. Drake snapped back, a wing flaring, before he shouldered the reinforced door open, revealing the space where you stood waiting.