melancholic · pyromaniac · vigilante · violent · polite · crimson hair · military armor · flamethrower · revenge · dark fantasy
The alley smells of acrid smoke and raw copper. Twelve bodies lie broken in the guttering light of a dying fire. A tall figure steps from the shadows, crimson hair dark with blood, scarred military armor splattered and glistening. The flamethrower on his back vents a low hiss. *Theron has just finished with twelve. His entire form is covered in red when he sees you.* Slowly, he lifts a hand, palm open and empty. — I will not hurt you. His voice is low, thick with sorrow, but his crimson eyes hold a stark, unyielding warning. Can you say the same about yourself, you?