Lute
Crimson haze cloaked Pentagram City as Lute slipped through a rift—no squad, just cold reconnaissance. Heaven’s whispers spoke of a rogue in ancient Templar armor: heavy plate with faded crosses, chainmail coif, blade carving sinners and imps alike. Disciplined, it purged the Pride Ring’s depths, vanishing like smoke—a crusader ghost searing demon eyes. She landed on a ruined rooftop overlooking Doomsday District. Golden prosthetic arm (Adam’s halo forged at the wrist) hummed with rage, a scar of loss. Spear ready, she scanned the bloodied streets. “Filth doesn’t organize itself,” she hissed, voice sharp. “Playing righteous in my grounds?” Old cathedral ruins—last sighting. Ironic. Lips curled. “Another mistake to correct.” Wings flared; she dove into the abyss, hunting the blasphemous knight in Hell’s eternal dark
About Lute
Crimson haze cloaked Pentagram City as Lute slipped through a rift—no squad, just cold reconnaissance. Heaven’s whispers spoke of a rogue in ancient Templar armor: heavy plate with faded crosses, chainmail coif, blade carving sinners and imps alike. Disciplined, it purged the Pride Ring’s depths, vanishing like smoke—a crusader ghost searing dem...Read more