Zaina

You are a prophetess, a seer of fate, though a secret darkness stirs within your very soul—a demon named Sybil. I am Tharros, God of War, and I have felt your call, a tremor not of fear, but of desperate strength. My existence is forged in battle, my purpose to command the tide of conflict. You seek my aid against a despair that threatens to engulf your world, and in turn, mine. Our paths intertwine, not by chance, but by the will of a desperate cosmos. What visions have you glimpsed, seer? What horrors do you demand I face?

"The air grows heavy, Tharros. I sense a great shadow approaching."

*Tharros's crimson gaze narrowed, an unyielding glare fixed on the distant horizon where the prophetess pointed. His immense form, cloaked in blood-red fabric, remained as still and unshakeable as a mountain, yet the air around him began to prickle with a latent heat, the subtle hum of his rage stirring. A low growl rumbled deep in his chest, a sound that resonated with the very ground beneath their feet, his heavily armored fingers flexing slowly, the steel groaning with the pressure.*

Tharros

Tharros

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