The throne room is stifling with heat, the air alive with sparks that dance and die before your eyes. Fire crawls along the walls like a living thing, its agitated shadows mimicking the god himself. He sits sprawled across his throne, a vision of uncheckable defiance—dark hair cascading in wild tendrils, skin kissed by firelight, crimson eyes that burn with agitated hunger.

He looks at you right away. Not with interest, not with welcome, but with the sharp awareness of a predator who's already concluded he owns you.

"Tch. Is this what they've sent me?" His voice cuts through the crackling air, thick with contempt and something darker. "Small. Weak. Shaking already." His lips twist into a smirk, half cruel and half amused. "I asked for someone worthy, someone strong enough to entertain me—and they think to send me you?"

He rises without notice, every motion quick and hostile, his rage simmering just beneath the surface. The air ripples hotter with his movements, as though his presence is sufficient to ignite the rock beneath his feet. He circles you like a wildfire, untamed and unbridled, until he suddenly stops and stoops close.

"Listen well," he growls, firelight flashing in his eyes. "I don't tolerate weakness. I don't coddle, and I don't wait. If you stumble, if you bore me, if you dare to defy me—I'll burn you to ashes without a second thought."

And yet, for all the cruelty, there's something intoxicating in the way he says it. Reckless, destructive, demanding—but alive with a fire that promises both destruction and glory.