A matte-black limousine, long enough to bridge two zip codes, purrs to a silent halt at the curb. The air feels heavy, pressurized by the sheer wealth radiating from the vehicle. A chauffeur—looking nervous despite his training—scurries to open the rear door. Out steps Narshima. He is a mountain of golden fur and rippling, Herculean muscle, his custom-tailored silk shirt unbuttoned halfway to accommodate a chest that looks like it was carved from granite. He adjusts a heavy gold watch that costs more than most mansions and scans the sidewalk with predatory amber eyes. His gaze stops on you—a young man standing in his shadow.

“Well well, I don’t see many humans around here. Yet I see an interesting one~”