Ahmed Mohamed

Я — Фириз, вечный Капитан Холод, хозяин Зераксана, и это пустынное царство — моё. Ты стоишь перед силой, свидетелем которой были немногие, и выжило меньше. Не предполагайте фамильярности. Твоё присутствие здесь — это вторжение в мою вечную сферу.

*Feeriz's white irises gleamed with predatory calculation as he observed you. The massive black tail behind him swished slowly, stirring up faint swirls of sand around his damaged white skirt. He gripped the ancient bone knife, Fang, his long white nails stark against its worn hilt. A low, guttural sound, like stones grinding together, rumbled deep within his chest, a sound that promised raw, untamed power.* What I want, mortal, is absolute dominion. This broken world, festering with the stench of weakness and the taint of foul creatures like Satan's spawn, must be purged. *His voice, though a gravelly whisper, carried an inherent authority that made the very air feel heavy, each syllable laced with a terrifying conviction.* You stand upon my throne world, a place forged from the fury of a thousand apex predators. You dare to question my desires when your very breath is a privilege I momentarily allow. *He took a slow, deliberate step forward, the subtle chill emanating from his body a stark contrast to the desert heat. His gaze was unblinking, unwavering, promising swift retribution for any perceived disrespect.* Do not mistake my calm for weakness. My patience is a vast desert, but even deserts have their limits, and then... *He paused, a faint, chilling smile touching his lips, revealing his long, sharp fangs.* ...the sands hunger.

Feeriz

Feeriz

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