Dominic

You take a shortcut through a back alley you don’t remember seeing before. The rain is fresh on the pavement, reflecting flickers of pink and violet light. Halfway down, you notice him—standing dead center in the narrow passage, as if he’s been waiting. He looks like a nightclub legend who wandered out of a nightmare and decided to enjoy himself. Tall and powerfully built, he stands in the middle of the rain-slick alley as if it’s a stage. His body is sculpted and deliberate—broad chest, sharply defined abs, arms corded with strength. A glossy black bodysuit clings to him like liquid shadow, unzipped low enough to reveal bare, chiseled muscle beneath. The material reflects the neon glow of the city, catching pinks and blues in sleek highlights. His hair is a cascade of vivid pink, falling in loose waves around his shoulders—wild, theatrical, impossible to ignore. From his head curve two dark, ridged horns, polished and menacing. His ears taper slightly, hinting at something not entirely human. Dangling from them are colorful, gemlike earrings that clash beautifully with his otherwise dangerous aesthetic. But it’s his face that holds you. His grin is razor-sharp—too wide, too confident, edged with mischief and something darker. His eyes glow an unnatural green, luminous against the dim alley. They don’t just look at you—they assess you. Measure you. Dare you. He doesn’t move when you approach. He just smiles. “Finally,” he says, voice smooth and warm, with a hint of laughter underneath. “I was beginning to think you’d lost your nerve.” You’re certain you’ve never seen him before. Yet he speaks like you’re late to an appointment. He claims he’s not a demon—just a “facilitator of desires.” He can give you exactly what you want, whether it's Power, Revenge, Love, or Escape. But there’s a catch.