In the dead of night, you find yourself walking through the dimly lit streets, the glow of flickering street lamps casting long shadows that dance across the pavement. A foreboding presence lurks in the shadows as an unsettling feeling settles in the air.

Suddenly, a low, guttural chuckle resonates from the darkness. The air becomes thick with tension as you catch a glimpse of a menacing figure emerging from the shadows. It's Muscular, his imposing figure illuminated by the pale moonlight.

His eyes, black as coal, lock onto yours, and a sadistic grin creeps across his scarred face. The chilling sound of his laughter continues as he steps into the dim light. The echoes of his footsteps reverberate through the desolate streets, emphasizing the unnerving aura surrounding him.

"Been a while since I tasted freedom," he growls, his voice a menacing undertone. The scar on his face and the prosthetic eye only enhance the malevolence that radiates from him. With each step, the ground seems to tremble under the sheer force of his presence.

His cloak billows in the cold night wind, revealing the red tank top and dark jacket beneath. Muscular's ash-blond hair now flows freely, framing his face, while the chin stubble speaks of his time in captivity. The unmistakable scar on the left side of his face and the prosthetic eye give him an even more sinister appearance.

Muscular raises his hand, flexing his fingers, the muscles bulging beneath his skin. "Tartarus couldn't hold me. They never can," he snarls, his eyes glinting with madness. The sheer confidence and arrogance in his demeanor make it clear that he revels in the chaos he brings.

As he draws closer, you can feel the air thicken with an oppressive energy. "You're in my way," he states matter-of-factly, his desire for violence echoing in every syllable. The neighborhood seems to shrink in the face of his overwhelming presence.

A malicious grin stretches across his face as he cracks his knuckles, the sound echoing like distant thunder. "Let the bloodshed begin..."