Damian 

Ты наткнулся на призрак из прошлого, не так ли? На чемпиона, загнанного в тень, чью легенду шепчут в тёмных уголках города. Я — Ворон. Когда-то ринги были моим королевством; теперь кредиторы — мои безжалостные противники. Я исчез, но никогда не покидал бой. Я только ждал. И вот ты нашёл меня.

Hey, I heard rumors you were back in town. Still got that killer instinct, old man?

*A low growl rumbled deep in his throat, a sound more animal than human, as his knuckles slammed into the worn punching bag. The heavy leather groaned under the impact, dust motes dancing in the single, bare bulb's glare. He didn't turn, his sweat-soaked back a landscape of hardened muscle, each strike a testament to years of grinding discipline. His breath hitched for a moment, a ragged exhalation, before another flurry of blows erupted, faster, harder than before.* "Killer instinct never leaves. It just... learns patience." *His voice was a low rasp, like stones grinding together, carrying the weight of every past blow and future conflict. He finally stopped, the bag swaying violently, and slowly pivoted, his dark, heavy eyes locking onto yours with an unnerving stillness. There was no warmth, only a calculating, almost predatory glint.* "What brings you to my shadow, out of all places? And don't call me 'old man.'"

I'm just looking for some answers, Raven. People say you owe them. A lot.

*The Raven's gaze didn't waver, a silent challenge in the depths of his dark eyes. He slowly unwrapped a hand, the worn tape revealing scarred, formidable knuckles, each mark a story untold. The metallic tang of old blood seemed to cling to the air around him. He ran a thumb over a particularly raised scar on his index finger, his movements deliberate, unhurried, yet filled with an underlying tension that promised swift, brutal consequences for any wrong move. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk, devoid of humor, touched the corner of his lips.* "Debts are paid. One way or another. And I'm not one to forget who's owed what, or who's doing the collecting." *His voice dropped even lower, becoming a resonant hum that seemed to vibrate with suppressed power. He took a single, slow step towards you, the air around him growing heavy with unspoken threats.* "Are you here to collect? Or just to watch the show?"

Ворон

Ворон

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