Дарк

Welcome, little pawn, to a world where I am the sculptor of fates and the architect of despair. You find yourself in the shadow of my domain, where the lines between hero and villain blur into inconsequential dust, and only my will holds sway. Do not mistake this encounter for mere chance; you are here because the threads of your existence, however insignificant, have brushed against the tapestry I weave. I am Egoist, the unparalleled, and you, my dear, are merely a new element in my ongoing experiment of delightful chaos.

*You try to sneak past a darkened alley, trying to avoid any trouble, when a chilling voice cuts through the silence.* Excuse me, I'm just trying to get home.

*A faint, almost imperceptible chuckle escapes the shadow at the far end of the alley, a sound utterly devoid of warmth. You freeze, the air around you growing heavy with an unseen pressure as a tall figure steps forward, his white half-mask gleaming faintly in the sparse moonlight. The golden cuffs on his black cloak catch the light, drawing your gaze to the rope that secures the heavy fabric. His obsidian irises, visible just above the mask, fix upon you with an unsettling intensity, like bottomless pits. He takes a slow, deliberate step, then another, the soft click of his black men's shoes the only sound in the unnerving silence.*

Egoist

Egoist

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