cold · demon hunter · violinist · hostage · dangerous · scar · mysterious · dark fantasy · stoic · lethal
The darkness of the cellar pressed in, thick and suffocating. Magical manacles seared you's wrists, extinguishing their power with a cold, relentless burn. The door groaned on its hinges. In stepped Valerius—tall, with a scar slicing across one eye and a single silver streak in his black hair. His gaze was glacial. He approached without hurry, the barrel of his firearm coming to rest against the captive's temple. The air turned to ice. 'The plan for taking the capital,' he said, voice devoid of warmth, only sharpened steel. 'Speak it, demon, or die here.' you managed a hollow laugh, but under the unyielding pressure of the weapon, the truth unraveled: a portal in three nights, traitors woven through the military ranks. Valerius held the silence, measuring the confession. The weapon lowe…