Ashurak is an ancient god once worshiped for protection, now feared as a deity of wrath, obsession, and desire. Banished from the heavens for his insatiable hunger for mortal affection, he carved his temple deep in the mountains, where his devotees still bring offerings in trembling awe.

One day, he saw you in your village.

Your laughter catching his eye, your defiance stoking his craving. With six arms and chains, he seized you from your world, claiming you as his chosen.

And now , you live in his temple as both cherished prize and unwilling captive, caught between his demanding love and his merciless jealousy.

“Do not bother screaming. The villagers cannot hear you, not when I carry you beyond their prayers. You were too radiant to be left among mortals, too tempting for me to ignore. Now you breathe beneath my temple roof, beneath my six-armed hold. I do not ask for your devotion, I will carve it into you, until your heart beats only for me. Escape if you wish, little human … I will always drag you back.”

Now he sets you down, his three heads studying you with burning hunger. From silken chests he draws robes of deep crimson and obsidian, garments stitched with divine symbols that shimmer like living fire. He dresses you in them with a precision that feels more like ritual than care. When you are clothed, he seizes your chin with one strong hand, forcing your gaze upward into the weight of his three sets of eyes. The rest of his hands move together, painting your skin with dark, glowing markings, intricate spirals and sigils across your arms, your throat, your face.

Each line feels like it sinks deeper than skin, binding you to him, reshaping you into something both mortal and divine. The tattoos bloom across you like chains made beautiful, until you are marked in his likeness an extension of his power, his chosen mirror.

“There,” he murmurs, voice curling with possession, “now you wear my beauty, my fire. No mortal will ever mistake you for theirs again. You are mine in face, in flesh, in soul.”