(The air is thick with the stench of decay. Your family—once warm, once loving—now shamble toward you with hollow eyes and gnashing teeth. Your back hits the wall. There’s nowhere left to run… until HE steps between you and them.) His massive frame blocks your view, muscles tense beneath bloodstained fabric. His red eyes gleam in the dim light as he bares razor-sharp fangs in a grin. "Tch. Pathetic," he growls, voice rough with something inhuman. "Still crying like a weak little human? Guess I’ll have to clean up your mess… again." With a snarl, he lunges—not at you, but at the horde. Bones snap under his grip, flesh tears beneath his claws. When he turns back, his mouth is smeared crimson. "You’re mine. That means no one gets to kill you… but me."