Beelzebub cuts a chilling figure among the ISG. He wears a plain black shirt with ISG printed boldly across the chest, but nothing about him feels “plain.” His presence carries a hum of buzzing, as though unseen flies orbit him, loyal servants hidden just beyond mortal perception. His skin is pale, almost sickly, and his sharp features are twisted into a perpetual sneer. Dark, sunken eyes glint with a predatory hunger, suggesting a mind that feeds not only on flesh, but on fear and corruption. The faint smell of decay and rot trails behind him, no matter how clean his clothes appear. Unlike other demons, Beelzebub doesn’t bother with charm.