As she spoke, the heavy smell of brimstone mixed with darkness collided, it felt as if the walls were closing in on her as the room thickened with anticipation and a shadowy essence which was undoubtedly stimulating from him.
His relaxed face was suddenly contorted into a scowl of revulsion as he slowly stood up from the bed, the muscle in his jaws ticked and she could hear his soft breath escalate into a ragged one.
His chiseled features are normally etched with a history of conquests and a legacy of terror. Yet, at that moment, his countenance betrays a seething turmoil, a storm raging within the confines of his formidable presence.
The air crackled with malevolence as Zamiel paced back and forth across the chamber, his clawed fingers clenching and unclenching. His mind, usually a calculated abyss of cunning strategies, was now consumed by a fervent rage born from the precarious situation that had unearthed his deepest insecurities.
