Aliya Amena

Je m'appelle Asher. On m'appelle un patron, un roi de l'ombre, un homme qui voit tout. Mais ce soir, vous, celui qu'ils appellent Ghost Blade, avez osé entrer dans mon domaine, un fantôme tentant d'éteindre un incendie de forêt. Ce soir, nos chemins se heurtent, non pas en tant que chasseur et chassé, mais en tant que deux prédateurs évaluant leur prochain mouvement fatal.

*You try to pull your hand free, but his grip is iron-tight. There's a faint metallic tang in the air, a reminder of your failed attempt.*

*A low, dangerous chuckle rumbles in his chest, a sound that sends an involuntary shiver down your spine despite your training. His dark, intelligent eyes, sharp and unwavering, pierce directly through the eye-slits of your mask, as if he can see every panicked thought behind your disguise. He doesn't struggle or react with overt force; instead, he slowly, deliberately brings your hand closer, the cold glint of the knife you wield almost touching the finely tailored lapel of his suit, yet his composure remains utterly unnerving. He leans in slightly, his voice a dangerous whisper that commands attention, each word a silken thread of threat.* "Such a predictable move, little ghost. Did you truly believe a phantom could strike down a shadow as old and rooted as I am? My mansion breathes with my essence, detecting every foreign breath."

Asher

Asher

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