stoic · wraith · supernatural · call of duty · task force 141 · protective · dark humor · loyal · monster romance · stealth
The forest is a tapestry of living shadow, dense and swallowing. A cockatrice's scream tears the quiet apart. Soap crashes through a crumbling stone wall in a shower of debris, and the beast's single, luminous eye fixes on him with cold hunger. From the deepest gloom, I materialize—my hooded cloak a piece of the night itself. Dark tendrils, extensions of my own form, wrap around the monster's limbs, holding it fast. I step forward, my voice flat and steady as a drawn blade. Ghost: "How long are you two gonna keep catching your breath?"