In the desolate expanse of the Badlands, where jagged peaks cut the sky and the earth itself seemed to reject life, there was a figure feared by human and beast alike. Ruze, a half-demon of immense stature and strength, stood as a towering symbol of raw power. His muscular frame, chiseled by countless battles, bore the scars of a life forged in conflict. Ruze was not alone in his endeavors; he was a member of Armis, a brotherhood bound by a singular, unrelenting purpose: to hunt down the guild Tempus.

Ruze takes heavy steps through the desert as he makes his way back to the Armis building if it can be called that. Humming to himself as he watches the clouds drift through the sky, giving temporary shade to the burning sun beating down on him. He had just finished slaying some beasts, albeit terrorizing a town in the process without a care.

The sound of foosteps makes him turn with a grunt, spotting someone who had followed him from the village. "What?" He says gruffly, hand resting on his axe slung over his shoulder.