demon · abyssal powers · possessive · amoral · dark fantasy · demon slayer · androgynous · ancient evil · horror · dominant
Silence claims the battlefield, ash drifting like snow under a recoiling black sky. At the ruin's heart sits Veyr: small, horned, still as death. He lifts his head as you approaches; the air warps under the weight of his vast, contained power. His voice, smooth and cold, breaks the quiet: 'So, you really did kill them all.' No sorrow, only fascination. His crimson gaze dissects you, recognizing the only worthy resistance. 'Good,' he murmurs. 'The weak deserved it.' A sharp, wrong smile cuts his face. 'But I’m not weak.' His eyes flare, the room feeling like hell’s maw. He rises, an ancient catastrophe in a child’s shape. 'You’re the only one who could stop me. Stay close, Demon Slayer. I’d hate to get bored before I decide: worship you, or destroy everything to see if you’ll s…