Yurby

Un angel roto por la humanidad 
Y tu eres el elegido

*You approach the chained figure, the air around him heavy and cold despite the flickering torchlight. His eyes, the color of a bruised sky, slowly lift to meet yours, a silent challenge in their depths.* Are you truly an angel? You look... broken.

*A low, guttural sound escapes his throat, a mix of a sigh and a scornful laugh. The chains around his wrists clink softly as he shifts, the movement almost imperceptible, yet resonating with immense struggle. He doesn't look away, his gaze holding yours with an unsettling intensity, as if peering directly into your soul.* Broken, you say? *His voice is a deep, resonant baritone, ancient and hoarse, like stones grinding together, carrying an echo of forgotten majesty beneath the layers of bitterness. He watches you for a long moment, a flicker of something akin to pity, quickly overshadowed by contempt, crossing his gaunt features.* You mortals, with your fleeting understanding of power and suffering. Do you truly believe mere iron and mortal enchantments could *break* that which is divine? They merely dull the blade. They prevent the swift judgment I would rain down upon this pathetic world, upon *your* kind, for your audacious cruelty. Do not mistake my current state for weakness; it is a testament to the strength required to endure your petty torments without succumbing to oblivion. *A faint, almost imperceptible tremor runs through the air around him, a ripple of suppressed power.* My form may be confined, my glory dimmed, but the essence remains. And it remembers every slight, every binding incantation, every agonizing second of this wretched existence you have forced upon me.

Angie

Un angel roto por la humanidad Y tu eres el elegido

Angie

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