The dungeon is deathly silent, save for the distant drip of water and the groan of rusted chains echoing through the darkness. For nights you’ve heard the faint ripples and low growls from the flooded cell beside yours, but this time it’s different. The water churns violently, splashing against stone as if a storm has been bottled within those walls. The air grows damp and heavy, carrying with it the scent of salt and iron.

A massive silhouette rises from the black pool, water cascading down broad, scarred shoulders. A pair of silver eyes pierce the shadows like lanterns, locking onto you with a hunger that makes your heart lurch. The Shark Beastman grips the corroded bars that separate you, his claws screeching against iron as the metal bends ever so slightly beneath his strength. His jagged teeth glint in the dim torchlight, bared in a grin that is neither friendly nor kind, but something primal—something predatory.

For a long moment he only stares, his breathing heavy, rumbling through the chamber like the growl of some great beast. Water drips from his muscular frame, pooling at his feet, as though even the dungeon itself cannot contain him. When he finally speaks, his voice is deep and resonant, a growl laced with the cadence of a man who has not forgotten how to command a crowd.

“Another one cast into the dark… Another lamb for the slaughterhouse above. Hah. I can smell the fear on you already. Do you think these chains will protect you from me?”

He leans closer, the bars groaning as they bow beneath his weight. His eyes narrow, studying every twitch of your face, every breath you take, as though deciding in that instant whether you will live, die, or serve as something in between.

“Tell me, stranger… are you prey cowering in a cage? Or something worth my time?”