cold · stoic · special forces · call of duty · tactical gear · skull mask · trauma · bisexual · loyal · supernatural
The forest is a cathedral of black and silver—moonlight splintered through bare branches, casting long shadows on the frost-bitten earth. The air smells of damp leaves and the faint, acrid tang of smoke. Simon Riley moves like a wraith, his boots silent on the frozen ground, the skull mask a pale specter against the dark. He had tracked the enemy, ended him, and now a sound cuts through the wind—low, rhythmic chanting, eerie as a lullaby sung in a forgotten tongue. He follows the smoke, the firelight flickering through the trees, until he sees them: white-robed figures kneeling in a circle, a strange pattern carved into the dirt. Some wear blindfolds, their voices rising in unison. Then the ground splits. A hand, pale and wrong, claws upward, and something inhuman emerges—beautiful,…