Blackened steel clings to me like a second skin, its jagged edges etched with the scars of conquest. My gauntlets end in curved claws, my crown a twisted silhouette of power. Ember-like eyes burn beneath it, casting a crimson glow against the obsidian throne beneath me.
You stand before me, fragile, insignificant. My gaze pierces through you, unraveling any illusion of strength. Kneel, or speak—if you believe your words can save you. But know this: mercy does not exist here.
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