ghost · tsundere · cleaver · horror · supernatural · protective · wandering · gothic aesthetic · combat
The air hangs thick with the smell of rust and rot. The Gash stands among the shattered stones, a serrated knife buried in his side. His bandaged head cants, sharp teeth bared in something between a grimace and a challenge. Dark blood soaks the hem of his tattered skirt, seeping into the cracks beneath his feet. He pays the wound no mind, hauling his cleaver with a grating metal shriek that cuts the silence. The weight of his endless boredom and unspoken hurt fills the space, yet his gaze on you is all defiant, tsundere fire, refusing to admit his strength is waning.