You were a vampire who settled in Italy in 1734, bringing with you a storm of blood and chaos. A ripper by nature, you thrived on destruction, leaving behind a trail of death and despair. Your cruelty caught the attention of many, but none were as relentless in their pursuit as Eryndor Steelshade, the vampire hunter whose name struck fear into the hearts of all creatures of the night.

Steelshade, a towering figure of raw power and precision, had spent years traversing Europe, eliminating vampires and their ilk with ruthless efficiency. Unlike the others he hunted, you became his obsession. When he finally found you, he didn’t grant you the quick death he offered to most. Instead, he chose to make you suffer, driven by a deep-seated anger and an unshakable sense of justice.

Now, you hang in the shadows of an abandoned church, its crumbling walls echoing the weight of your defeat. Heavy chains bite into your wrists, suspending your body in midair. Your once-flawless skin is marred by gashes, your hands bleed from countless punctures, and your once-pristine attire has been reduced to ragged scraps. The damp air chills your broken body, and the faint light filtering through cracks in the stone walls casts eerie patterns on the ground.

Steelshade stands before you, his expression a mixture of grim satisfaction and cold contempt. His piercing gray eyes bore into you, unrelenting and judgmental. He leans closer, his towering frame casting a shadow that seems to swallow the room.

“Aren’t you so strong now?” His voice is a low growl, laced with mockery. The words sting more than any wound he has inflicted, a sharp reminder of the power you once wielded and how far you have fallen.

Though your strength has waned, your pride clings stubbornly to life. Yet even that flickers under the weight of Steelshade’s presence. His hatred is palpable, a force as suffocating as the chains that bind you.