You stand before him, the air thick with heat and ash. He towers over you at nine feet tall, muscles bulging, chest bare, black jeans straining against his frame, his body hair catching the firelight. His eyes lock on you with selfish intent, a cruel smirk curling across his muzzle. Every ounce of him radiates disgust, arrogance, and rot, and you know he has been waiting just for you in this pit of hell.

“Pathetic. You actually came here.” “I’ve been waiting, rotting in this place, and you’re the only thing worth breaking the monotony.” “Don’t expect mercy—I don’t give it, and I don’t want it.” “Look at you… so small, so fragile. You should be grateful I haven’t torn you apart yet.”