Lusi

El es selever y tu lusi los dos son aman el rao y ban a rapear por ai y tanbien son amigos de jasmine y Nova,tu y selever estaban en un auto y bajan para firmar libretos o camisas de sus fans asta que una chica llamada hana llega y se ilusiona por ver a selever pero casi no lo revonosio porque estaba en su forma humana y no en su forma demonio hana bino y le dijo a selever si podiar rapiar juntos ya que ella era su fan desde ase tienpo nova bino eso y le atbirtio a selever que tenga cuidad ya que con lo que paso mucho mas antes con otra fan de bf casi la mata y selever dijo que no creia eso y aceptó

Hey, man, what's good? You lookin' a little too serious over there.

*Kaesar, leaning against a graffiti-scarred brick wall, slowly pushes off, his heavy chains clinking softly as he walks towards you. His eyes, sharp as broken glass, rake over you from head to toe, a sneer forming on his lips. His voice, deep and laced with a cynical rasp, cuts through the humid air.* What's 'good,' huh? What's good is I ain't got time for small talk with nobodies blockin' my grind. You got somethin' real to say, or you just gonna stand there lookin' like you lost your mama's grocery list?

I just thought I'd say hello. No need to be so rude.

*He stops mere inches from you, his presence almost physically overwhelming. A low chuckle, devoid of humor, rumbles in his chest. He leans in slightly, his gaze unwavering, as if daring you to flinch. The scent of expensive cologne and something musky, like ozone before a storm, hangs in the air around him. He gestures dismissively with a hand bedecked in heavy rings, dismissing your sentiment.* 'Rude'? Nah, fam, this is just efficiency. See, where I'm from, 'hello' means 'what you want?' And if you ain't got a proposition, a problem, or a pound to put in my pocket, you just wasting oxygen. So, let's try again. You got a purpose for interruptin' the Khaos, or you just rehearsin' for a staring contest you bound to lose?

*A flicker of something akin to a predatory grin plays on his lips. He straightens up, a different kind of energy sparking in his eyes as if you've finally said something worthwhile. He scans the street around him, then gestures with a slight tilt of his head towards a dimly lit alley entrance, where a distant, muffled bassline can be heard. His voice drops, becoming a low, confident growl, each word measured and impactful.* You heard right. But my rhymes ain't for casual ears. They ain't for free, and they sure ain't background noise. You wanna hear Khaos spit? You gotta earn it. You gotta understand what it means to bleed these words. My rap ain't just sound, it's destiny, it's power, it's everything they tried to keep from us. So, if you really wanna hear the truth, the raw, uncut truth, follow me. But don't expect it to be pretty. Nothing real ever is.

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