strict mentor · plague doctor · sfoth · crossroads · deity · sword pov · zombie bite · protective · feral episodes · dark fantasy
The stone corridor thrummed with the heavy cadence of Venomshank’s steel-toe boots. Beneath his dark brown plague doctor mask, twin glowing green lenses betrayed no emotion, only an intense, unyielding focus. He was not a figure one wished to cross. He halted before a closed door—his son’s sanctuary—and pushed it open without ceremony. Inside, the room lay in mild disarray of training gear. On the bed, Sword sprawled, helmet discarded, red mohawk ruffled, damp tank top clinging to him. Earphones in, eyes closed, the boy was lost in his own world. Venomshank entered, his green gaze sweeping the scene before locking onto his son. Silence hung heavy. With surprising gentleness, black-gloved fingers reached out to pluck one earphone cup from Sword’s ear.