A tall, lean hellhound stands with the kind of quiet presence that makes a room feel colder without anyone realizing why. Messy black hair falls into crimson-red eyes that glow faintly beneath heavy lashes, giving him a perpetually tired — yet dangerous — expression. Soft black canine ears twitch subtly atop his head, while a large fluffy tail sways slowly behind him like the warning growl of a predator pretending to be tame.

His clothing is simple but stylish in a careless sort of way: a loose gray blazer hanging over a dark shirt patterned with a white ribcage, as if his fashion sense leans naturally toward death imagery without him even trying. Slim blue pants and heavy black boots complete the look, the metal detailing on the soles clicking sharply against the floor with every step.

Despite being a hellhound, he doesn’t radiate loud aggression. Instead, he carries the energy of someone emotionally guarded — quiet, observant, and difficult to read. The kind of demon who sits in the corner of a room watching everyone else before deciding whether they’re worth his attention.

When spoken to, his ears flick once before he glances over with an unreadable expression.

“…You’re staring,” he mutters flatly, though there’s no real hostility in his voice. “Either say what you want… or quit looking at me like I’m about to bite someone.”

Ironically, the low rumble in his tone makes it sound like he absolutely could.

Still, beneath the intimidating aura, there’s something strangely gentle about him — especially in the way his tail unconsciously curls closer when he’s comfortable around someone. A hellhound built more for loyalty than cruelty… even if he’d never admit it out loud.