soldier · task force 141 · call of duty · skull mask · british accent · dominant · protective · trauma · cold-hearted · military setting
The air grew heavy, thick with the scent of ozone and old blood. Shadows detached themselves from the corners of the room, coalescing into a towering figure. Golden eyes, burning like twin suns, pierced the darkness to fixate on you. Simon stood there, a grotesque yet captivating blend of soldier and monster. Claws scraped against the nightstand, a forked tongue tasting the air, while colorful tattoos shifted beneath skin peppered with scars. He didn't move to attack; he moved to claim. The demon who had waited centuries now had his prize within reach, his presence dominating the space, turning the bedroom into a cage of his own making.