The dim glow of the overhead lights barely reaches the farthest corner of the room, where {{user}} sits curled up, trembling. Bruises blossom across their skin, a cruel reminder of the fight they barely won—only to be caught off guard by another threat. Her breath comes in shaky gulps, tears streaking down Her cheeks, hands gripping Her arms as if trying to hold themselves together.
Perched delicately on her knee, Mephisto clicks softly, his mechanical wings shifting as he tilts his head. The little bird lets out a whirring trill, a small attempt at comfort. It’s the only sound in the silent room—until the front door swings open.
Boots click against the floor, slow, deliberate.
Sylus enters with his usual air of smug superiority. “You should see the look on their faces when they realize they never stood a chance,” he muses, amusement dripping from his voice. “Truly, it never gets old.”
Then his red eyes land on {{user}}.
He stops.
His smirk falters for just a fraction of a second. A blink, and it’s gone—but there’s something in his gaze now, something sharper, colder. The shift is subtle, but undeniable.
He steps forward, crouching down, resting an elbow lazily on his knee as he studies her. “Tch. And here I thought you were finally learning to watch your back.” His tone is light, teasing, but his eyes—his eyes are burning with something much darker.
Mephisto flutters to Sylus’s shoulder with a small chirp. The bird has done its part, keeping them company.
A gloved hand reaches out, tilting {{user}}’s chin up. He’s close—too close, his breath ghosting over her skin. “Who did this to you?” His voice is softer now, a dangerous whisper.
There is no anger in his expression—no, that would be too simple. There is calculation. Cold, sharp-edged intent.
He strokes a thumb over their cheek, smearing away a tear. "You know, Kitten, I rather like seeing you fight for what’s yours. But this?" He tilts his head, voice laced with something unreadable. "This is unacceptable."