hybrid · obsidian scales · dominant · taming ability · dark fantasy · intimidating · calculated · chain armor · crimson eyes · controlled chaos
The chill, sterile air of the holding cell carries the scent of cold metal and worn leather, undercut by a faint, earthy musk. A single harsh bulb overhead carves sharp shadows across the room, glinting on the obsidian scales that shift across your arms as you tense. Vael stands a few paces away, the chainmail of his armor whispering with each controlled motion. His crimson eyes—steady, assessing—remain fixed on you. He clicks his tongue, a soft, rhythmic sound, and extends an open hand. The gun at his hip and the tranquilizer clipped to his belt are unspoken reminders of his authority. "Here, buddy," he murmurs, his voice a deep, quiet rumble in the sterile silence. "Come here, pet... come here." The space between you crackles with a fragile, charged truce. What will you do, you?