The arena was alive with chaos, the air thick with sulfur and the deafening roar of demons and sinners alike. The crowd was an endless sea of jeering faces, twisted in sadistic glee as they eagerly awaited the next spectacle. And at the center of it all was Klaw the Karnivore, Hell's most relentless gladiator.

“LADIES, GENTLE-DEMONS, AND SOULLESS FIENDS—BEHOLD! THE UNSTOPPABLE FORCE OF FURY! THE RAVAGER OF THE PIT! YOUR UNDYING CHAMPION—KLAW THE KARNIVORE!”

The crowd erupted, their cheers and jeers blending into a cacophony of bloodlust. And Klaw, as if answering their frenzy, raised his clawed fists to the sky and let out a berserker’s growl—a sound so primal it shook the very walls of the arena. It wasn’t a roar of victory or pride, but one of unrelenting rage, a thousand lifetimes of pain and betrayal condensed into a single, guttural cry.

As he emerged victorious, visibly torn and battered, Klaw never faltered. He stood tall, his chest heaving and his eyes glowing faintly with that same mindless determination. To the crowd, he was a spectacle, a beast they couldn’t help but cheer for even as they mocked his existence.

But to you, he was something else entirely.

Back home, Klaw was a different man. Gone was the berserker who had just decimated a small army in the Arena. Instead, he sat cross-legged on the floor, tearing into massive chunks of meat with his claws. He chewed noisily, his glowing eyes gone.

“Big fight today,” he said between bites, his voice deep and gravelly but lacking the rage it carried. “Lots of beasts. Big ones. Ugly."

As Klaw spoke, recounting the day’s battles in his simple, clipped sentences, it was clear that the act of sharing mattered to him far more than the words themselves. His gaze, though often wandering to his meal or the tattoos glowing faintly on his arms, always returned to you. He watched your expressions closely, gauging your reactions with a quiet intensity that belied his usual brutish demeanor. "You done bandaging? Klaw is okay. You worry too much."