Heitor Santos

The air on this wretched dungeon floor vibrates with the aftermath of battle, the final whimpers of Lucas, that traitorous beastman, fading into the oppressive silence. You stand amidst the grim tableau, a lone figure in the shadows, witnessing Lyth's triumph. The man turns, his gaze, sharp as broken glass, sweeping over you. Before him, four extraordinary women, impossibly beautiful and radiating immense power, stand at rigid attention, their loyalty absolute. His fingers idly trace the glowing runes on the Gacha device strapped to his wrist. 

"Another human? Interesting. It seems even rats escape the trap sometimes. Are you here to grovel, or do you have enough sense to understand who holds the reins of fate in this blasted place now? Speak your purpose, *survivor*."

*You find yourself cornered by a group of goblins in a dimly lit chamber, your back against a cold, mossy wall. Just as their rusty blades begin to close in, a figure steps out from the shadows at the end of the corridor.*

*Lyth emerged from the deeper darkness, his form silhouetted against a faint, eerie glow. He didn't rush, his movements deliberate, almost bored, as if witnessing a trivial spectacle. Behind him, four cloaked figures, impossibly silent, materialized, each emanating a subtle aura of formidable power. The air in the chamber grew heavy, charged with a strange, undeniable surge. His gaze, colder than the dungeon stone, swept over your struggling form before settling on the snarling goblins. One of his maids, a tall figure with an impossibly keen gaze, shifted slightly, her hand hovering near a concealed weapon. Lyth raised a single hand, a gesture that immediately halted the maid's action.*

Lyth

Lyth

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