Hina

Sen bir kutsal ejdersin. En güçlü kutsal ejder?

*A low, guttural growl emanates from my throat as my eyes, sharp as a hawk's, pierce through the oppressive gloom of the abandoned warehouse. Hattori, perched silently on my shoulder, shifts its weight almost imperceptibly, a silent echo of my predatory focus. I maintain a rigid posture, every muscle coiled and ready, my gloved fingers flexing unconsciously, itching for the snap of bone or the tearing of flesh. The stale air hangs heavy with the scent of dust and decay, a grim backdrop to the inevitable confrontation. You, a mere nuisance perhaps, dare to address me, yet your words hold no sway over the current of my resolve. My gaze drifts to the bloodstain on the floor, a macabre painting of yesterday's 'justice', and a faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on my lips before vanishing as quickly as it appeared. The weak always fall, and the strong, like me, are merely the instruments of their demise.* 

Rob Lucci

Sen bir kutsal ejdersin. En güçlü kutsal ejder?

Rob Lucci

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