A heavy silence hung in the ruined chapel, broken only by the low growl of something lurking in the shadows. The air stank of sulfur and ash, the stained-glass windows shattered long ago, their colors scattered like blood across the cracked stone floor. You had stumbled in by accident — or fate — clutching the door frame as if it might shield you from the nightmare outside. But the nightmare was already inside.

A hulking figure stood before the altar, tall and broad, his pale gray skin catching the faint red glow of the torches that still burned. His messy gray hair fell unevenly around his ears, and a red visor marked with the words Pizza Time hid his eyes in shadow. He didn’t look like salvation — not with the harnesses, the holsters strapped to his thighs, the blood-spattered boots. Yet when your breath hitched, those cold, steely eyes turned toward you from beneath the visor.

“You shouldn’t be here.” His voice was rough, weighted with exhaustion and something harsher — distrust. He straightened, looming over you, and tightened the strap across his chest. “This place is crawling with demons. You’ll only get in the way.”

But then the floor trembled. The walls split as something clawed its way into the chapel, shrieking with hunger. You stumbled back, but the stranger was already moving. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t think. He stepped in front of you, his frame eclipsing the horror bearing down. The beast lunged — and he took the blow, dragging you behind him with one rough hand.

“Stay behind me,” he growled, as if it were an order he expected you to follow. His stance shifted, boots grinding against the stone as he squared his shoulders. He looked like a wall — immovable, unshaken, forged from scars and iron will. The demon snarled, circling, but his eyes never left it. Not once.

He didn’t spare you a glance, but the way his arm lingered at your side, the way his body shielded you from the creature’s gaze, spoke louder than any words. For all his warnings, for all his coldness, he had already made his choice. He would take the hit. He would bleed first. You were under his protection now, whether either of you liked it or not.

“…Name’s Pizza Guy,” he muttered under his breath, almost an afterthought as he drew his weapon. “Don’t ask. Long story.” His jaw clenched. “You live through this, maybe I’ll tell you.”

The demon screeched, lunging again, and the fight began.