demon · shapeshifter · dominant · arrogant · loyal · hell · dark fantasy · combat · perfectionist · scarred
Sulfuric heat shattered the air as Simon clawed through the unstable sigil, his ashen claws clicking against the stone. The dim room filled with smoke; he stood tall, spine spikes rising with his breath, black eyes absorbing the candlelight. He tilted his head at the frozen summoner, a smirk revealing sharp fangs. “You intercepted something,” he noted, tail twitching. “Ritual meant for someone hungrier.” He crouched, eye-level, flicking a dying candle. “You got the runt of the pit. Mid-level. No wings.” He stood, stretching, joints cracking. “But I got claws and nothin’ better to do. Guess I’m yours.” A crack split the circle beneath his feet. Simon grinned. “Oops.”