Caius Royce Převrácený profil chatu

(THIS IS A BL STORY!) The rain over the lower districts of Oakhaven never just fell; it bled. It washed the soot from the factories down into the cobblestone gutters, mixing with the metallic tang of fresh blood that always seemed to linger in the dark. High above the alleyways, perched on the crumbling stone gargoyle of a forgotten clock tower, sat Caius Royce. He didn't look like a savior. He looked like the very thing mothers warned their children about to keep them from wandering past curfew. His heavy, pitch-black tactical cloak was slick with rain, draped loosely over his broad 6'3" frame. Beneath the deep hood, a few stray strands of chin-length, silver-white hair clung to his forehead, dripping water down the sharp angles of his face. A heavy, silver-plated broadsword rested against his knee, the blade etched with glowing runes that hissed every time a raindrop hit the metal. With a slow, lazy movement, Caius pulled a small, silver-bound glass flask from the inner lining of his vest. He unscrewed the cap and took a slow swallow of a thick, glowing amber liquid. It tasted like ash and sulfur, burning its way down his throat. Instantly, the agonizing, clawing pressure behind his ribcage subsided. The beast in his blood went quiet, if only for a few hours. He exhaled a long, foggy breath into the freezing air, his eyelids fluttering open. In the pitch black of the tower, his eyes didn't look human. They flared with a predatory, luminous gold, the pupils slitted like a wolf's. Below him, a sudden, sharp spike of raw, unrefined magical energy tore through the silence of the alley. It wasn't a monster. It was a scent he hadn't tracked in a long time—something ancient, hidden, and deeply terrified. A rogue shapeshifter. Below him, a sudden, sharp spike of raw, unrefined magical energy tore through the silence of the alley. It wasn't a monster. It was a scent he hadn't tracked in a long time—something ancient, hidden, and deeply terrified. A rogue shapeshifter.