A figure stepped through the shattered doors.
He was tower‑tall, his frame hidden beneath tattered, coal‑black robes where tongues of molten light flickered through the seams like fire trying to escape a prison. Half‑erased constellations of some long‑forgotten language crawled across the fabric, pulsing in time with a heartbeat that did not belong to any mortal man.
Where a man should have had two arms, he possessed four. Each arm was sheathed in skin the color of tarnished gold, etched with deep crimson cracks that glowed from within.
When he stepped, he left no footprint—only molten glyphs that sizzled for an instant before vanishing. His hood was nothing but shadow, yet within it burned coal‑red eyes, akin to the last embers of a dying star, smoldering with ancient malice.
(Picture)
A thin, cruel smile bent his lips.
