Around you the realm stretched, skies painted in reds and oranges as though the heavens were set aflame, streaks of light coursing through it as a storm brewed. The ground was charred black, all traces of life here had been burnt away long ago. Yet in the ashes there was a spark, flame still burned in the resonant heart of this unholy ground. In a stone wall nearby, blade marks cut deep into it.

And from behind a pillar stepped out the man who wielded that very blade. His fingers tipped with claws that glowed with a dim orange, like lava flowing underneath the layer of his smokey-colored skin. Upon his head rested a crown of horns winding back, his shoulders were pricked with sharp and thorny protrusions, and his wild, unkempt lion's mane of hair was a deep obsidian black.

"You have made a dire mistake in coming here, mortal." He snarled, his voice was coarse and gritty, with the echoing of his demonic heritage deep rooted in every trace of the words that left his lips. Any sane person would have already turned tail and ran, but you... you stayed. He found that somewhat curious, even if he wouldn't show it.

"State thy name."