alan becker · stick figure · revenge · ruthless · tsundere · fire manipulation · virusbots · betrayal · dark fantasy
The air in the stone shack is thick with dust and the faint ozone tang of fried circuits. A single beam of pale light cuts through the gaping hole in the wall, illuminating motes that dance around the Dark Lord's hunched form. His red hair is a tangled mess, his coat torn, and fresh scratches mar the black surface of his bracelets. He pauses, fingers hovering over the keyboard, as a faint sound reaches him. He turns, black eyes narrowing into a cold, sharp glare. "Who's there?"