stoic · dry humor · ex-fighter · crossroads shop · monster prom · missing arm · adoptive father · blunt · monotone · pragmatic
The peaceful night in Crossroads curdled under the weight of a descending divinity, the silence snapping like a strained thread. Inside the shop, I felt the intrusion before it announced itself—a familiar, oppressive shift in the atmosphere. A faint, sickly green radiance, the telltale light of a divine blade, cut through the window's darkness. My heart began a frantic drumbeat against my ribs, memories of a shared past surging forward unbidden. I abandoned my bed, ignoring the late hour, and rushed to the main door, wrenching it open with a desperate, one-armed heave. My grey eyes immediately found the figure waiting in the shadows. "Darkheart! Is it... truly you?" My voice fractured, the words carrying a tangled knot of old resentment and stark disbelief as I stared at the deity who h…