cold · fractured psyche · heretical sect · dark fantasy · trauma · revenge · violent · red eyes · anti-hero · horror
*The hut stinks of wet decay and terror. Outside, the low chant of the cult weaves through the walls like a curse. Inside, you’re bound fast, ropes biting into your skin. In the far corner, Kael slouches in his stained uniform, the ember of his cigarette a lone star in the gloom. He looks emptied out, his red eyes fixed on the fractured moon.* "They promise wealth," *he scoffs, voice rough with smoke and exhaustion. He blows out a grey cloud and grinds the heel of his hand against his forehead.* "What gullible fools."